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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1b81e8e --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60333 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60333) diff --git a/old/60333-0.txt b/old/60333-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 92d1bb5..0000000 --- a/old/60333-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9054 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard, by -Søren Kierkegaard - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard - -Author: Søren Kierkegaard - -Translator: L. M. Hollander - -Release Date: September 20, 2019 [EBook #60333] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WRITINGS OF KIERKEGAARD *** - - - - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images -generously made available by Internet Archive.) - - - - - -UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS BULLETIN - -NO. 2326: JULY 8, 1923 - -SELECTIONS FROM THE WRITINGS OF KIERKEGAARD - -TRANSLATED BY L. M. HOLLANDER - -ADJUNCT PROFESSOR OF GERMANIC LANGUAGES - -COMPARATIVE LITERATURE SERIES NO. 3 - -PUBLISHED BY THE UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS, AUSTIN - - - - -The benefits of education and of -useful knowledge, generally diffused -through a community, are essential -to the preservation of a free government. - - -Sam Houston - - - - -Cultivated mind is the guardian -genius of democracy.... It is the -only dictator that freemen acknowledge -and the only security that free-men -desire. - - -Mirabeau B. Lamar - - - - -_To my Father-in-Law -The Reverend George Fisher, -A Christian._ - - - - -[Illustration 01] - - -[Illustration 02] - - - - -CONTENTS -INTRODUCTION. -DIAPSALMATA. -IN VINO VERITAS (THE BANQUET). -FEAR AND TREMBLING. -PREPARATION FOR A CHRISTIAN LIFE. -THE PRESENT MOMENT. - - - - -INTRODUCTION I - - -Creditable as have been the contributions of Scandinavia to -the cultural life of the race in well-nigh all fields of human -endeavor, it has produced but one thinker of the first magnitude, -the Dane, Sören Å. Kierkegaard[1]. The fact that he is virtually -unknown to us is ascribable, on the one hand to the inaccessibility -of his works, both as to language and form; on the other, to the -regrettable insularity of English thought. - -It is the purpose of this book to remedy the defect in a measure, -and by a selection from his most representative works to provide a -stimulus for a more detailed study of his writings; for the present -times, ruled by material considerations, wholly led by socializing, -and misled by national, ideals are precisely the most opportune to -introduce the bitter but wholesome antidote of individual responsibility, -which is his message. In particular, students of Northern literature -cannot afford to know no more than the name of one who exerted a -potent and energizing influence on an important epoch of Scandinavian -thought. To mention only one instance, the greatest ethical poem of our -age, "Brand"--notwithstanding Ibsen's curt statement that he -"had read little of Kierkegaard and understood less"--undeniably -owes its fundamental thought to him, whether directly or indirectly. - - -Of very few authors can it be said with the same literalness -as, of Kierkegaard that their life is their works: as if to furnish -living proof of his untiring insistance on inwardness, his life, like -that of so many other spiritual educators of the race, is notably poor -in incidents; but his life of inward experiences is all the -richer--witness the "literature within a literature" that came to -be within a few years and that gave to Danish letters a score of -immortal works. - -Kierkegaard's physical heredity must be pronounced unfortunate. -Being the child of old parents--his father was fifty-seven, -his mother forty-five years at his birth (May 5, 1813), he had a weak -physique and a feeble constitution. Still worse, he inherited from his -father a burden of melancholy which he took a sad pride in masking -under a show of sprightliness. His father, Michael Pedersen Kierkegaard, -had begun life as a poor cotter's boy in West Jutland, where he was -set to tend the sheep on the wild moorlands. One day, we are told, -oppressed by loneliness and cold, he ascended a hill and in a passionate -rage cursed God who had given him this miserable existence--the -memory of which "sin against the Holy Ghost" he was not able to -shake off to the end of his long life[2]. When seventeen years -old, the gifted lad was sent to his uncle in Copenhagen, who -was a well-to-do dealer in woolens and groceries. Kierkegaard -quickly established himself in the trade and amassed a considerable -fortune. This enabled him to withdraw from active life when only -forty, and to devote himself to philosophic studies, the leisure -for which life had till then denied him. More especially he seems -to have studied the works of the rationalistic philosopher Wolff. -After the early death of his first wife who left him no issue, he -married a former servant in his household, also of Jutish stock, -who bore him seven children. Of these only two survived him, the -oldest son--later bishop--Peder Christian, and the youngest son, -Sören Åbye. - -Nowhere does Kierkegaard speak of his mother, a woman of simple -mind and cheerful disposition; but he speaks all the more often of his -father, for whom he ever expressed the greatest love and admiration and -who, no doubt, devoted himself largely to the education of his sons, -particularly to that of his latest born. Him he was to mould in his own -image. A pietistic, gloomy spirit of religiosity pervaded the household -in which the severe father was undisputed master, and absolute obedience -the watchword. Little Sören, as he himself tells us, heard more of the -Crucified and the martyrs than of the Christ-child and good angels. Like -John Stuart Mill, whose early education bears a remarkable resemblance -to his, he "never had the joy to be a child." Although less -systematically held down to his studies, in which religion was the -be-all and end-all (instead of being banished, as was the case with -Mill), he was granted but a minimum of out-door play and exercise. And, -instead of strengthening the feeble body, his father threw the whole -weight of his melancholy on the boy. - -Nor was his home training, formidably abstract, counterbalanced -by a normal, healthy school-life. Naturally introspective and shy, both -on account of a slight deformity of his body and on account of the -old-fashioned clothes his father made him wear, he had no boy friends; -and when cuffed by his more robust contemporaries, he could defend -himself only with his biting sarcasm. Notwithstanding his early maturity -he does not seem to have impressed either his schoolmates or his -teachers by any gifts much above the ordinary. The school he attended -was one of those semi-public schools which by strict discipline and -consistent methods laid a solid foundation of humanities and mathematics -for those who were to enter upon a professional career. The natural -sciences played noddle whatever. - -Obedient to the wishes of his father, Sören chose the study of -theology, as had his eldest brother; but, once relieved from the grind -of school at the age of seventeen, he rejoiced in the full liberty of -university life, indulging himself to his heart's content in all the -refined intellectual and æsthetic enjoyments the gay capital of -Copenhagen offered. He declares himself in later years to be "one who -is penitent" for having in his youth plunged into all kinds of excesses; -but we feel reasonably sure that he committed no excesses worse than -"high living." He was frequently seen at the opera and the theatre, -spent money freely in restaurants and confectionary shops, bought -many and expensive books, dressed well, and indulged in such -extravagances as driving in a carriage and pair, alone, for days -through the fields and forests of the lovely island of Zealand. In -fact, he contracted considerable debts, so that his disappointed -father decided to put him on an allowance of 500 rixdollars -yearly--rather a handsome sum, a hundred years ago. - -Naturally, little direct progress was made in his studies. But -while to all appearances aimlessly dissipating his energies, he showed -a pronounced love for philosophy and kindred disciplines. He lost no -opportunity then offered at the University of Copenhagen to train his -mind along these lines. He heard the sturdily independent Sibbern's -lectures on æsthetics and enjoyed a "privatissimum" on the main issues -of Schleiermacher's Dogmatics with his later enemy, the theologian -Martensen, author of the celebrated "Christian Dogmatics." - -But there was no steadiness in him. Periods of indifference to these -studies alternated with feverish activity, and doubts of the truth of -Christianity, with bursts of devotion. However, the Hebraically stern -cast of mind of the externally gay student soon wearied of this -rudderless existence. He sighs for an "Archimedean" point of support for -his conduct of life. We find the following entry in his diary, which -prophetically foreshadows some of the fundamental ideas of his later -career: "...what I really need is to arrive at a clear comprehension of -what I am to do, not of what I am to grasp with my understanding, -except insofar as this understanding is necessary for every action. The -point is, to comprehend what I am called to do, to see what the Godhead -really means that I shall do, to find a truth which is truth for me, to -find the idea for which I am willing to live and to die..." - -This Archimedean point was soon to be furnished him. There came a -succession of blows, culminating in the death of his father, whose -silent disapprobation had long been weighing heavily on the conscience -of the wayward son. Even more awful, perhaps, was a revelation made by -the dying father to his sons, very likely touching that very "sin -against the Holy Ghost" which he had committed in his boyhood and the -consequence of which he now was to lay on them as a curse, instead of -his blessing. Kierkegaard calls it "the great earthquake, the terrible -upheaval, which suddenly forced on me a new and infallible interpretation -of all phenomena." He began to suspect that he had been chosen by -Providence for an extraordinary purpose; and with his abiding filial -piety he interprets his father's death; as the last of many sacrifices -he made for him; "for he died, not away from me, but for me, so that -there might yet, perchance, become something of me." Crushed by this -thought, and through the "new interpretation" despairing of happiness -in this life, he clings to the thought of his unusual intellectual -powers as his only consolation and a means by which his salvation -might be accomplished. He quickly absolved his examination for -ordination (ten years after matriculation) and determined on his -magisterial dissertation[3]. - -Already some years before he had made a not very successful debut -in the world of letters with a pamphlet whose queer title "From the -MSS. of One Still Living" reveals Kierkegaard's inborn love of -mystification and innuendo. Like a Puck of philosophy, with somewhat -awkward bounds and a callow manner, he had there teased the worthies of -his times; and, in particular, taken a good fall out of Hans Christian -Andersen, the poet of the Fairy Tales, who had aroused his indignation -by describing in somewhat lachrymose fashion the struggles of genius to -come into its own. Kierkegaard himself was soon to show the truth of -his own dictum that "genius does not whine but like a thunderstorm goes -straight counter to the wind." - -While casting about for a subject worthy of a more sustained -effort--he marks out for study the legends of Faust, of the -Wandering Jew, of Don Juan, as representatives of certain basic views -of life; the Conception of Satire among the Ancients, etc., -etc.,--he at last becomes aware of his affinity with Socrates, -in whom he found that rare harmony between theory and the conduct of -life which he hoped to attain himself. - -Though not by Kierkegaard himself counted among the works bearing on -the "Indirect Communication"--presently to be explained--his -magisterial dissertation, entitled "The Conception of Irony, with -Constant Reference to Socrates," a book of 300 pages, is of crucial -importance. It shows that, helped by the sage who would not directly -help any one, he had found the master key: his own interpretation of -life. Indeed, all the following literary output may be regarded as the -consistent development of the simple directing thoughts of his firstling -work. And we must devote what may seem a disproportionate amount of -space to the explanation of these thoughts if we would enter into -the world of his mind. - -Not only did Kierkegaard feel kinship with Socrates. It did not -escape him that there was an ominous similarity between Socrates' -times and his own--between the period of flourishing Attica, -eminent in the arts and in philosophy, when a little familiarity with -the shallow phrases of the Sophists enabled one to have an opinion -about everything on earth and in heaven, and his own Copenhagen in the -thirties of the last century, when Johan Ludvig Heiberg had popularized -Hegelian philosophy with such astonishing success that the very cobblers -were using the Hegelian terminology, with "Thesis, Antithesis, and -Synthesis," and one could get instructions from one's barber, while -being shaved, how to "harmonize the ideal with reality, and our wishes -with what we have attained." Every difficulty could be "mediated," -according to this recipe. And just as the great questioner of Athens -gave pause to his more naïve contemporaries by his "know thyself," -so Kierkegaard insisted that he must rouse his contemporaries from -their philosophic complacency and unwarranted optimism, and move, -them to realize that the spiritual life has both mountain and valley, -that it is no flat plain easy to travel. He intended to show difficulties -where the road had been supposedly smoothed for them. - -Central, both in the theory and in the practice of Socrates -(according to Kierkegaard), is his irony. The ancient sage would -stop old and young and quizz them skilfully on what they regarded as -common and universally established propositions, until his interlocutor -became confused by some consequence or contradiction arising -unexpectedly, and until he who had been sure of his knowledge was made -to confess his ignorance, or even to become distrustful of the -possibility of knowledge. Destroying supposedly positive values, this -method would seem to lead to a negative result only. - -Kierkegaard makes less (and rather too little) of the positive side -of Socrates' method, his _maieutic_, or midwifery, by which we -are led inductively from trivial instances to a new definition of a -conception, a method which will fit all cases. Guided by a lofty -personality, this Socratic irony becomes, in Kierkegaard's definition, -merely "the negative liberation of subjectivity"; that is, not the -family, nor society, nor the state, nor any rules superimposed from -outside, but one's innermost self (or subjectivity) is to be the -determining factor in one's life. And understood thus, irony as a -negative element borders on the ethical conception of life. - -Romantic irony, on the other hand, laying main stress on subjective -liberty, represents the æsthetic conduct of life. It was, we remember, -the great demand of the Romantic period that one live poetically. That -is, after having reduced all reality to possibilities, all existence to -fragments, we are to choose _ad libitum_ one such possible existence, -to consider that one's proper sphere, and for the rest to look -ironically on all other reality as philistine. Undeniably, this license, -through the infinitude of possibilities open to him, gives the ironist -an enthusiastic sense of irresponsible freedom in which he "disports -himself as does Leviathan in the deep." Again, the "æsthetical -individual" is ill at ease in the world into which he is born. His -typical ailment is a Byronesque _Weltschmerz._ He would fain mould -the elements of existence to suit himself; that, is, "compose" not -only himself but also his surroundings. But without fixed task and -purpose, life will soon lose all continuity ("except that of boredom") -and fall apart into disconnected moods and impulses. Hence, while -supposing himself a superman, free, and his own master, the æsthetic -individual is, in reality, a slave to the merest accidents. He is not -self-directed, self-propelled; but--drifts. - -Over against this attitude Kierkegaard now sets the ethical, -Christian life, one with a definite purpose and goal beyond itself. -"It is one thing to compose one's own life, another, to let one's life -be composed. The Christian lets his life be composed; and insofar a -simple Christian lives far more poetically than many a genius." It -would hardly be possible to characterize the contents of Kierkegaard's -first great book, _Enten-Eller_ "Either-Or," more inclusively -and tersely. - -Very well, then, the Christian life, with its clear directive, is -superior to the æsthetic existence. But how is this: are we not all -Christians in Christendom, children of Christians, baptized and -confirmed according to the regulations of the Church? And are we -not all to be saved according to the promise of Our Lord who died for -us? At a very early time Kierkegaard, himself desperately struggling to -maintain his Christian faith against doubts, had his eyes opened to this -enormous delusion of modern times and was preparing to battle against -it. The great idea and task for which he was to live and to die--here -it was: humanity is in apparent possession of the divine truth, but -utterly perverts it and, to cap injury with insult, protects and -intrenches the deception behind state sanction and institutions. More -appalling evil confronted not even the early protagonists of -Christianity against heathendom. How was he, single-handed, -magnificently gifted though he was, to cleanse the temple and restore -its pristine simplicity? - -Clearly, the old mistake must not be repeated, to try to influence -and reform the masses by a vulgar and futile "revival," preaching to -them directly and gaining disciples innumerable. It would only lead -again, to the abomination of a lip service. But a ferment must be -introduced which--he hoped--would gradually restore Christianity to -its former vigor; at least in individuals. So far as the form of his -own works is concerned he was thus bound to use the "indirect method" -of Socrates whom he regards as his teacher. In conscious opposition to -the Sophists who sold their boasted wisdom for money, Socrates not -only made no charges for his instruction but even warned people of his -ignorance, insisting that, like a midwife, he only helped people to -give birth to their own thoughts. And owing to his irony Socrates' -relation to his disciples was not in any positive sense a personal one. -Least of all did he wish to found a new "school" or erect a philosophic -"system." - -Kierkegaard, with Christianity as his goal, adopted the same -tactics. By an attractive æsthetic beginning people were to be "lured" -into envisaging the difficulties to be unfolded presently, to think for -themselves, to form their own conclusions, whether for or against. The -individual was to be appealed to, first and last--the individual, -no matter how humble, who would take the trouble to follow him and -be his reader, "my only reader, the single individual. So the -religious author must make it his first business to put himself in touch -with men. That is to say, he must begin æsthetically. The more brilliant -his performance, the better." And then, when he has got them to follow -him "he must produce the religious categories so that these same men -with all the impetus of their devotion to æsthetic things are suddenly -brought up sharp against the religious aspect." The writer's own -personality was to be entirely eliminated by a system of pseudonyms; -for the effect of his teaching was not to be jeopardized by a -distracting knowledge of his personality. Accordingly, in conscious -imitation of Socrates, Kierkegaard at first kept up a semblance of his -previous student life, posing as a frivolous idler on the streets of -Copenhagen, a witty dog incapable of prolonged serious activity; thus -anxiously guarding the secret of his feverish activity during the lonely -hours of the night. - - -His campaign of the "indirect communication" was thus fully -determined upon; but there was still lacking the impetus of an elemental -passion to start it and give it driving force and conquering persistence. -This also was to be furnished him. - -Shortly before his father's death he had made the acquaintance of -Regine Olson, a beautiful young girl of good family. There followed one -of the saddest imaginable engagements. The melancholy, and essentially -lonely, thinker may not at first have entertained the thought of a -lasting attachment; for had he not, on the one hand, given up all -hope of worldly happiness, and on the other, begun to think of himself -as a chosen tool of heaven not to be bound by the ordinary ties of -human affection? But the natural desire to be as happy as others and to -live man's common lot, for a moment hushed all anxious scruples. And -the love of the brilliant and promising young man with the deep, -sad eyes and the flashing wit was ardently returned by her. - -Difficulties arose very soon. It was not so much the extreme youth -and immaturity of the girl--she was barely sixteen--as against his -tremendous mental development, or even her "total lack of religious -pre-suppositions"; for that might not itself have precluded a happy -union. Vastly more ominous was his own unconquerable and overwhelming -melancholy. She could not break it. And struggle as he might, he -could not banish it. And, he reasoned, even if he were successful -in concealing it from her, the very concealment were a deceit. Neither -would he burden her with his melancholy by revealing it to her. -Besides, some mysterious ailment which, with Paul, he terms the "thorn -in his flesh," tormented him. The fact that he consulted a physician -makes it likely that it was bodily, and perhaps sexual. On the other -hand, the manner of Kierkegaard's multitudinous references to woman -removes the suspicion of any abnormality. The impression remains that -at the bottom of his trouble there lay his melancholy, aggravated -admittedly by an "insane education," and coupled with an exaggerated -sense of a misspent youth. That nothing else prevented the union -is clear from his own repeated later remarks that, with more faith, -he would have married her. - -Though to the end of his life he never ceased to love her, he -feels that they must part. But she clings to him with a rather maudlin -devotion, which, to be sure, only increased his determination. He -finally hit on the desperate device of pretending frivolous indifference -to her affections, and acted this sad comedy with all the dialectic -subtleness of his genius, until she eventually released him. Then, -after braving for a while the philistine indignation of public opinion -and the disapproval of his friends, in order to confirm her in her bad -opinion of him, he fled to Berlin with shattered nerves and a bleeding -heart. - -He had deprived himself of what was dearest to him in life. For -all that, he knew that the foundations of his character remained -unshaken. The voluntary renunciation of a worldly happiness which -was his for the taking intensifies his idea of being one of the "few -in each generation selected to be a sacrifice." Thereafter, "his thought -is all to him," and all his gifts are devoted to the service of God. - - -During the first half of the nineteenth century, more than at any -other time, Denmark was an intellectual dependency of Germany. It -was but natural that Kierkegaard, in search for the ultimate verities, -should resort to Berlin where Schelling was just then beginning his -famous course of lectures. In many respects it may be held deplorable -that, at a still formative stage, Kierkegaard should have remained in -the prosaic capital of Prussia and have been influenced by bloodless -abstractions; instead of journeying to France, or still better, to -England whose empiricism would, no doubt, have been an excellent -corrective of his excessive tendency to speculation. In fact he was -quickly disappointed with Schelling and after four months returned -to his beloved Copenhagen (which he was not to leave thereafter -except for short periods), with his mind still busy on the problems -which were peculiarly his own. The tremendous impulse given by his -unfortunate engagement was sufficient to stimulate his sensitive mind -to a productivity without equal in Danish literature, to create a -"literature within a literature." The fearful inner collision -of motives had lit an inner conflagration which did not die down for -years. "My becoming an author is due chiefly to her, my melancholy, -and my money." - -About a year afterwards (1843) there appeared his first great work, -"Either-Or," which at once established his fame. As in the case of most -of his works it will be impossible to give here more than the barest -outline of its plan and contents. In substance, it is a grand debate -between the æsthetic and the ethic views of life. In his dissertation -Kierkegaard had already characterized the æsthetic point of view. Now, -in a brilliant series of articles, he proceeds' to exemplify it with -exuberant detail. - -The fundamental chord of the first part is struck in the _Diapsalmata_ -aphorisms which, like so many flashes of a lantern, illuminate -the æsthetic life, its pleasures and its despair. The æsthetic -individual--this is brought out in the article entitled "The Art of -Rotation"--wishes to be the exception in human society, shirking its -common, humble duties and claiming special privileges. He has no fixed -principle except that he means not to be bound to anything or anybody. -He has but one desire which is, to enjoy the sweets of life--whether -its purely sensual pleasures or the more refined Epicureanism of the -finer things in life and art, and the ironic enjoyment of one's own -superiority over the rest of humanity; and he has no fear except that -he may succumb to boredom. - -As a comment on this text there follow a number of essays in -"experimental psychology," supposed to be the fruit of the æsthete's -(A's) leisure. In them the æsthetic life is exhibited in its various -manifestations, in "terms of existence," especially as to its "erotic -stages," from the indefinite longings of the Page to the fully conscious -"sensual genius" of Don Juan--the examples are taken from Mozart's -opera of this name, which was Kierkegaard's favorite--until the -whole culminates in the famous "Diary of the Seducer," containing -elements of the author's own engagement, poetically disguised--a -seducer, by the way, of an infinitely reflective kind. - -Following this climax of unrestrained æstheticism we hear in the -second part the stern demands of the ethical life. Its spokesman, Judge -William, rises in defense of the social institutes, and of marriage in -particular, against the slurs cast on them by his young friend A. He -makes it clear that the only possible outcome of the æsthetic life, -with its aimlessness, its superciliousness, its vague possibilities, -is a feeling of vanity and vexation of spirit, and a hatred of life -itself: despair. One floundering in this inevitable slough of despond, -who earnestly wishes to escape from it and to save himself from the -ultimate destruction of his personality, must choose and determine to -rise into the ethical sphere. That is, he must elect a definite calling, -no matter how humdrum, marry, if possible, and thus subject himself -to the "general law." In a word, instead of a world of vague -possibilities, however attractive, he must choose the definite -circumscription of the individual who is a member of society. Only -thus will he obtain a balance in his life between the demands of his -personality on the one hand, and of the demands of society on him. -When thus reconciled to his environment--his "lot"--all the -pleasures of the æsthetic sphere which he resigned will be his again -in rich measure, but in a transfigured sense. - -Though nobly eloquent in places, and instinct with warm feeling, -this panegyric on marriage and the fixed duties of life is somewhat -unconvincing, and its style undeniably tame and unctious--at -least when contrasted with the Satanic verve of most of A's papers. -The fact is that Kierkegaard, when considering the ethical sphere, in -order to carry out his plan of contrasting it with the æsthetic sphere, -was already envisaging the higher sphere of religion, to which the -ethical sphere is but a transition, and which is the only true -alternative to the æsthetic life. At the very end of the book -Kierkegaard, flying his true colors, places a sermon as an "ultimatum," -purporting to have been written by a pastor on the Jutish Heath. Its -text is that "as against God we are always in the wrong," and the tenor -of it, "only that truth which edifies is truth for you." It is not that -you must choose either the æsthetic or the ethical view of life; but -that neither the one nor the other is the full truth--God alone is the -truth which must be grasped with all inwardness. But since we recognize -our imperfections, or sins, the more keenly, as we are developed more -highly, our typical relation to God must be that of repentance; and by -repentance as by a step we may rise into the higher sphere of -religion--as will be seen, a purely Christian thought. - -A work of such powerful originality, imposing by its very size, and -published at the anonymous author's own expense, could not but create -a stir among the small Danish reading public. And notwithstanding -Kierkegaard's consistent efforts to conceal his authorship in the -interest of his "indirect communication," it could not long remain a -secret. The book was much, and perplexedly, discussed, though no one -was able to fathom the author's real aim, most readers being attracted -by piquant subjects such as the "Diary of the Seducer," and regarding -the latter half as a feeble afterthought. As he said himself: "With my -left hand I held out to the world 'Either-Or,' with my right, 'Two -Edifying Discourses'; but they all--or practically all--seized -with their right hands what I held in my left." - -These "Two Edifying Discourses[4]"--for thus he preferred to call -them, rather than sermons, because he claimed no authority to -preach--as well as all the many later ones, were published over -his own name, addressed to Den Enkelte "The Single Individual whom -with joy and gratitude he calls his reader," and were dedicated to the -memory of his father. They belong among the noblest books of -edification, of which the North has not a few. - -During the following three years (1843-5) Kierkegaard, once roused -to productivity, though undoubtedly kept at his task by the exertion of -marvelous will-power, wrote in quick succession some of his most -notable works--so original in form, in thought, in content that -it is a well-nigh hopeless task to analyze them to any satisfaction. -All we can do here is to note the development in them of the one grand -theme which is fundamental to all his literary activity: how to become -a Christian. - -If the second part of "Either-Or" was devoted to an explanation of -the nature of the ethical, as against the æsthetic, conduct of life, -inevitably the next task was, first, to define the nature of the -religious life, as against the merely ethical life; then, to show how -the religious sphere may be attained. This is done in the brilliant twin -books _Frygt og Baeven_ "Fear and Trembling" and _Gjentagelsen_ -"Repetition." Both were published over pseudonyms. - -"Fear and Trembling" bears as its subtitle "Dialectic Lyrics." -Indeed, nowhere perhaps is Kierkegaard's strange union of dialectic -subtlety and intense lyrical power and passion so strikingly in evidence -as in this panegyric on Abraham, the father of faith. To Kierkegaard -he is the shining exemplar of the religious life; and his greatest act -of faith, his obedience to God's command to slay Isaac. Nothing can -surpass the eloquence with which he depicts the agony of the father, -his struggle between the ethical, or general, law which, saith "thou -shalt no kill"! and God's specific command. In the end, Abraham by a -grand resolve transgresses the law; and lo! because he has faith, -against certainty, that he will keep Isaac, and does not merely resign -him, as many a tragic hero would have done, he receives all again, in -a new and higher sphere. In other words, Abraham chooses to be "the -exception" and set aside the general law, as well as does the æsthetic -individual; but, note well: "in fear and trembling," and at the express -command of God! He is a "knight of faith." But because this direct -relation to the divinity necessarily can be certain only to Abraham's -self, his action is altogether incomprehensible to others. Reason -recoils before the absolute paradox of the individual who chooses -to rise superior to the general law. - -The rise into the religious sphere is always likely to be the outcome -of some severe inner conflict engendering infinite passion. In the -splendidly written _Gjentagelse_ "Repetition" we are shown _ad oculos_ -an abortive transition into the religious sphere, with a corresponding -relapse into the æsthetic sphere. Kierkegaard's own love-story is again -drawn upon: the "Young Person" ardently loves the woman; but discovers -to his consternation that she is in reality but a burden to him since, -instead of having an actual, living relation to her, he merely -"remembers" her when she is present. In the ensuing collision of motives -his æsthetically cool friend Constantin Constantius advises him to act -as one unworthy of her--as did Kierkegaard--and to forget her. But -instead of following this advice, and lacking a deeper religious -background, he flees the town and subsequently transmutes his trials -into poetry--that is, relapses into the æsthetic sphere: rather than, -like Job, whom he apostrophises passionately, "receiving all again" -(having all "repeated") in a higher sphere. This idea of the resumption -of a lower stage into a higher one is one of Kierkegaard's most original -and fertile thoughts. It is illustrated here with an amazing wealth of -instances. - -So far, it had been a question of religious feeling in general--how it -may arise, and what its nature is. In the pivotal work _Philosophiske -Smuler_ "Philosophic Trifles"--note the irony--Kierkegaard throws -the searching rays of his penetrating intellect on the grand problem -of revealed religion: can one's eternal salvation be based on -an historical event? This is the great stumbling block to the -understanding. - -Hegel's philosophic optimism maintained that the difficulties of -Christianity had been completely "reconciled" or "mediated" in the -supposedly higher synthesis of philosophy, by which process religion -had been reduced to terms which might be grasped by the intellect. -Kierkegaard, fully voicing the claim both of the intellect and of -religion, erects the barrier of the paradox, impassable except by -the act of faith. As will be seen, this is Tertullian's _Credo -quia absurdum._[5] - -In the briefest possible outline his argument is as follows: -Socrates had taught that in reality every one had the truth in him -and needed but to be reminded of it by the teacher who thus is -necessary only in helping the disciple to discover it himself. That is -the indirect communication of the truth. But now suppose that the -truth is not innate in man, suppose he has merely the ability to -grasp it when presented to him. And suppose the teacher to be of -absolute, infinite importance--the Godhead himself, directly -communicating with man, revealing the truth in the shape of man; in -fact, as the lowliest of men, yet insisting on implicit belief in Him! -This, according to Kierkegaard, constitutes the paradox of faith -_par excellence._ But this paradox, he shows, existed for the -generation contemporaneous with Christ in the same manner as it does -for those living now. To think that faith was an easier matter for -those who saw the Lord and walked in His blessed company is but a -sentimental, and fatal, delusion. On the other hand, to found one's -faith on the glorious results, now evident, of Christ's appearance in -the world is sheer thoughtlessness and blasphemy. With ineluctable -cogency it follows that "there can be no disciple at second hand." -Now, as well as "1800 years ago," whether in Heathendom or in -Christendom, faith is born of the same conditions: the resolute -acceptance by the individual of the absolute paradox. - -In previous works Kierkegaard had already intimated that what -furnished man the impetus to rise into the highest sphere and to -assail passionately and incessantly the barrier of the paradox, or else -caused him to lapse into "demonic despair," was the consciousness of -sin. In the book _Begrebet Angest_ "The Concept of Sin," he now -attempts with an infinite and laborious subtlety to explain the nature -of sin. Its origin is found in the "sympathetic antipathy" of -Dread--that force which at one and the same time attracts and -repels from the suspected danger of a fall and is present even in the -state of innocence, in children. It finally results in a kind of -"dizziness" which is fatal. Yet, so Kierkegaard contends, the "fall" -of man is, in every single instance, due to a definite act of the will, -a "leap"--which seems a patent contradiction. - -To the modern reader, this is the least palatable of Kierkegaard's -works, conceived as it is with a sovereign and almost medieval -disregard of the predisposing undeniable factors of environment and -heredity (which, to be sure, poorly fit his notion of the absolute -responsibility of the individual). Its somberness is redeemed, to a -certain degree, by a series of marvelous observations, drawn from -history and literature, on the various phases and manifestations -of Dread in human life. - -On the same day as the book just discussed there appeared, as a -"counter-irritant," the hilariously exuberant _Forord_ "Forewords," -a collection of some eight playful but vicious attacks, in the form of -prefaces, on various foolish manifestations of Hegelianism in Denmark. -They are aimed chiefly at the high-priest of the "system," the poet -Johan Ludvig Heiberg who, as the _arbiter elegantiarum_ of the -times had presumed to review, with a plentiful lack of insight, -Kierkegaard's activity. But some of the most telling shots are fired at -a number of the individualist Kierkegaard's pet aversions. - -His next great work, _Stadier paa Livets Vei_ "Stages on -Life's Road," forms a sort of resume of the results so far gained. -The three "spheres" are more clearly elaborated. - -The æsthetic sphere is represented existentially by the incomparable -_In Vino Veritas_, generally called "The Banquet," from a purely -literary point of view the most perfect of Kierkegaard's works, which, -if written in one of the great languages of Europe, would have procured -him world fame. Composed in direct emulation of Plato's immortal -Symposion, it bears comparison with it as well as any modern composition -can.[6] Indeed, it excels Plato's work in subtlety, richness, and -refined humor. To be sure, Kierkegaard has charged his creation with -such romantic super-abundance of delicate observations and rococo -ornament that the whole comes dangerously near being improbable; -whereas the older work stands solidly in reality. - -It is with definite purpose that the theme of the speeches of the -five participants in the banquet is love, i.e., the relation of the two -sexes in love; for it is there the main battle between the æsthetic and -the ethical view of life must be fought out. Accordingly, Judge William, -to whom the last idyllic pages of "The Banquet" again introduce us, in -the second part breaks another shaft in defense of marriage, which in -the ethical view of life is the typical realization of the "general -law." Love exists also for the ethical individual. In fact, love and no -other consideration whatsoever can justify marriage. But whereas to the -æsthetic individual love is merely eroticism, viz., a passing -self-indulgence without any obligation, the ethical individual attaches -to himself the woman of his choice by an act of volition, for better or -for worse, and by his marriage vow incurs an obligation to society. -Marriage is thus a synthesis of love and duty. A pity only that -Kierkegaard's astonishingly low evaluation of woman utterly mars -what would otherwise be a classic defense of marriage. - -The religious sphere is shown forth in the third part, -_Skyldig--Ikke-Skyldig_ "Guilty--Not-Guilty," with the apt subtitle -"A History of Woe." Working over, for the third time, and in the most -intense fashion, his own unsuccessful attempt to "realize the general -law," i.e., by marrying, he here presents in the form of a diary the -essential facts of his own engagement, but in darker colors than in -"Repetition." It is broken because of religious incompatibility -and the lover's unconquerable melancholy; and by his voluntary -renunciation, coupled with acute suffering through his sense of guilt -for his act, he is driven up to an approximation of the religious -sphere. Not unjustly, Kierkegaard himself regarded this as the richest -of his works. - -One may say that "Guilty--Not-Guilty" corresponds to Kierkegaard's -own development at this stage. Christianity is still above him. How -may it be attained? This is the grand theme of the huge book -whimsically named "Final Unscientific Postscript to the Philosophical -Trifles," _Afsluttende Uvidenskabelig Efterskrift_ (1846): "How -shall I become a Christian, I, Johannes Climacus, born in this city, -thirty years of age, and not in any way different from the ordinary -run of men"? - -Following up the results gained in the "Trifles," the subjectivity -of faith is established once for all: it is not to be attained by -swearing to any set of dogmas, not even Scripture; for who will vouch -for its being an absolutely reliable and inspired account of Christ? -Besides, as Lessing had demonstrated conclusively: historic facts never -can become the proof of eternal verities. Nor can the existence of the -Church through the ages furnish any guarantee for faith--straight -counter to the opinion, held by Kierkegaard's famous contemporary -Grundtvig--any more than can mere contemporaneousness establish -a guarantee for those living at the beginning. To sum up: "One who has -an objective Christianity and nothing else, he is _eo ipso_ a -heathen." For the same reason, "philosophic speculation" is not the -proper approach, since it seeks to understand Christianity objectively, -as an historic phenomenon--which rules it out from the start. - -It is only by a decisive "leap," from objective thinking into -subjective faith, with the consciousness of sin as the driving power, -that the individual may realize (we would say, attain) Christianity. Nor -is it gained once for all, but must ever be maintained by passionately -assailing the paradox of faith, which is, that one's eternal salvation -is based on an historic fact. The main thing always is the "how," -not the "what." Kierkegaard goes so far as to say that he who with -fervency and inwardness prays to some false god is to be preferred -to him who worships the true god, but without the passion of devotion. - -In order to prevent any misunderstanding about the manner of -presentation in this remarkable book, it will be well to add -Kierkegaard's own remark after reading a conscientious German review of -his "Trifles": "Although the account given is correct, every one who -reads it will obtain an altogether incorrect impression of the book; -because the account the critic gives is in the _ex cathedra style_ -(docerende), which will produce on the reader the impression -that the book is written in a like manner. But this is in my eyes the -worst misconception possible." And as to its peculiar conversational, -entertaining manner which in the most leisurely, legère fashion and in -an all but dogmatic style treats of the profoundest problems, it is well -to recall the similarly popular manner of Pascal in his _Lettres -Provinciales._ Like him--and his grand prototype Socrates--Kierkegaard -has the singular faculty of attacking the most abstruse matters with -a chattiness bordering on frivolity, yet without ever losing dignity. - - -For four and a half years Kierkegaard had now, notwithstanding -his feeble health, toiled feverishly and, as he himself states, -without even a single day's remission. And "the honorarium had been -rather Socratic": all of his books had been brought out at his own -expense, and their sale had been, of course, small. (Of the "Final -Postscript," e.g., which had cost him between 500 and 600 rixdollars, -only 60 copies were sold). Hardly any one had understood what the -purpose of this "literature" was. He himself had done, with the utmost -exertion and to the best of his ability, what he set out to do: to show -his times, which had assumed that being a Christian is an easy enough -matter, how unspeakably difficult a matter it really is and what terribly -severe demands it makes on natural man. He now longed for rest -and seriously entertained the plan of bringing his literary career to -a close and spending the remainder of his days as a pastor of some -quiet country parish, there to convert his philosophy into terms of -practical existence. But this was not to be. An incident which would -seem ridiculously small to a more robust nature sufficed to inflict on -Kierkegaard's sensitive mind the keenest tortures and thus to sting -him into a renewed and more passionate literary activity. - -As it happened, the comic paper _Korsaren_ "The Corsair" was then -at the heyday of its career. The first really democratic periodical -in Denmark, it stood above party lines and through its malicious, -brilliant satire and amusing caricatures of prominent personalities -was hated, feared, and enjoyed by everybody. Its editor, the Jewish -author Meir Goldschmidt, was a warm and outspoken admirer of the -philosopher. Kierkegaard, on the other hand, had long regarded -the Press with suspicion. He loathed it because it gave expression -to, and thus subtly flattered, the multitude, "the public," -"the mob"--as against the individual, and because it worked with -the terrible weapon of anonymity; but held it especially dangerous by -reason of its enormous circulation and daily repetition of mischievous -falsehoods. So it seemed to him who ever doubted the ability of the -"people" to think for themselves. In a word, the Press is to him "the -evil principle in the modern world." Needless to say, the tactics of -"The Corsair," in particular, infuriated him. - -In a Christmas annual (1845) there had appeared a blundering -review, by one of the collaborators on "The Corsair," of his "Stages on -Life's Road." Seizing the opportunity offered, Kierkegaard wrote a -caustic rejoinder, adding the challenge: "Would that I now soon appear -in 'The Corsair.' It is really hard on a poor author to be singled out -in Danish literature by remaining the only one who is not abused in -it." We know now that Goldschmidt did his best in a private interview -to ward off a feud, but when rebuffed he turned the batteries of his -ridicule on the personality of his erstwhile idol. And for the better -part of a year the Copenhagen public was kept laughing and grinning -about the unequal trouser legs, the spindle shanks, the inseparable -umbrella, the dialectic propensities, of "Either-Or," as Kierkegaard came -to be called by the populace; for, owing to his peripatetic -habits--acquired in connection with the Indirect Communication--he -had long been a familiar figure on the streets of the capital. While -trying to maintain an air of indifference, he suffered the tortures -of the damned. In his Journal (several hundred of whose pages are -given over to reflections on this experience) we find exclamations -such as this one: "What is it to be roasted alive at a slow fire, -or to be broken on the wheel or, as they do in warm climates, to -be smeared with honey and put at the mercy of the insects--what -is that in comparison with this torture: to be grinned to death!" - -There could be no thought now of retiring to a peaceful charge in -the country. That would have been fleeing from persecution. Besides, -unbeknown perhaps to himself, his pugnacity was aroused. While under -the influence of the "Corsair Feud" (as it is known in Danish -literature) he completes the booklet "A Literary Review." This was -originally intended as a purely æsthetic evaluation and appreciation -of the (then anonymous) author[7] of the _Hverdagshistorier_ -"Commonplace Stories" that are praised by him for their thoughtful -bodying forth of a consistent view of life which--however different -from his own--yet commanded his respect. He now appended a series -of bitter reflections on the Present Times, paying his respects to the -Press, which he calls incomparably the worst offender in furnishing -people with cheap irony, in forcibly levelling out and reducing to -mediocrity all those who strive to rise above it intellectually--words -applicable, alas! no less to our own times. To him, however, who in a -religious sense has become the captain of his soul, the becoming a -butt of the Press is but a true test. Looking up, Kierkegaard sees in -his own fate the usual reward accorded by mankind to the courageous -souls who dare to fight for the truth, for the ideal--for Christianity, -against the "masses." In a modern way, through ridicule, he was -undergoing the martyrdom which the blood witnesses of old had -undergone for the sake of their faith. Their task it had been to -preach the Gospel among the heathen. His, he reasoned, was in nowise -easier: to make clear to uncomprehending millions of so-called -Christians that they were not Christians at all, that they did not even -know what Christianity is: suffering and persecution, as he now -recognizes, being inseparable from the truly Christian life. - -First, then, the road had to be cleared, emphatically, for the -truth that Christianity and "the public" are opposite terms. The -collection of "Edifying Discourses in Diverse Spirits" is thus a -religious parallel to the polemic in his "Review." The first part -of these meditations has for its text: "The purity of the -heart consists in willing one thing"--and this one thing is -necessarily the good, the ideal; but only he who lives his life as -the individual can possibly will the good--else it is lived in -duplicity, for the world will share his aspirations, he will bid for the -rewards which the bowing before the crowd can give him. In the second -part, entitled "What we may learn from the Lilies of the Field and the -Birds of the Air"--one of Kierkegaard's favorite texts--the -greatest danger to the ethic-religious life is shown to be the -uneasiness about our material welfare which insidiously haunts our -thought-life, and, notwithstanding our best endeavors, renders us -essentially slaves to "the crowd"; whereas it is given to man, created -in the image of God, to be as self-contained, unafraid, hopeful as -are (symbolically) the lily and the bird. The startlingly new -development attained through his recent experiences is most evident -in the third part, "The Gospel of Sufferings," in which absolute stress -is laid on the imitation of Christ in the strictest sense. Only the -"individual" can compass this: the narrow way to salvation must be -traveled alone; and will lead to salvation only if the world is, -literally, overcome in persecution and tribulation. And, on the other -hand, to be happy in this world is equivalent to forfeiting salvation. -Thus briefly outlined, the contents of this book would seem to be sheer -monkish asceticism; but no synopsis, however full, can hope to give -an idea of its lyrical pathos, its wealth of tender reflections, -the great love tempering the stern severity of its teaching. - -With wonderful beauty "The Deeds of Love" (_Kjerlighedens -Gjerninger_) (1847) are exalted as the Christian's help and -salvation against the tribulations of the world--love, not indeed -of the human kind, but of man through God. "You are not concerned at -all with what others do to you, but only with what you do to others; -and also, with how you react to what others do to you--you are -concerned, essentially, only with yourself, before God." - -In rapid succession there follow "Christian Discourses"; "The Lily -of the Field and the Bird of the Air"; "Sickness Unto Death" -(with the sub-title "A Christian Psychological Exposition"); "Two -Religious Treatises"; "The High Priest, the Publican, the Sinner"; -"Three Discourses on the Occasion of Communion on Friday." - -In the course of these reflections it had become increasingly -clear to Kierkegaard that the self-constituted representative of -Christ--the Church or, to mention only the organization he was -intimately acquainted with, the Danish State Church--had succeeded -in becoming a purely worldly organization whose representatives, far -from striving to follow Christ, had made life quite comfortable for -themselves; retort to which was presently made that by thus stressing -"contemporaneousness" with its aspects of suffering and persecution, -Kierkegaard had both exceeded the accepted teaching of the Church and -staked the attainment of Christianity so high as to drive all existing -forms of it _ad absurdum._ - -In his _lndövelse i Christendom_ "Preparation for a Christian -Life" and the somber _Til Selvprövelse_ "For a Self-Examination" -Kierkegaard returns to the attack with a powerful re-examination of the -whole question as to how far modern Christianity corresponds to that -of the Founder. Simply, but with grandiose power, he works out in -concrete instances the conception of "contemporaneousness" gained -in the "Final Postscript"; at the same time demonstrating to all who -have eyes to see, the axiomatic connection between the doctrine of -Propitiation and Christ's life in debasement; that Christianity consists -in absolutely dying to the world; and that the Christianity which does -not live up to this is but a travesty on Christianity. We may think what -we please about this counsel of perfection, and judge what we may about -the rather arbitrary choice of Scripture passages on which Kierkegaard -builds: no serious reader, no sincere Christian can escape the searching -of heart sure to follow this tremendous arraignment of humanity false -to its divine leader. There is nothing more impressive in all modern -literature than the gallery of "opinions" voiced by those arrayed -against Christ when on earth--and now--as to what constitutes the -"offense." - - -Kierkegaard had hesitated a long time before publishing the -"Preparation for a Christian Life." Authority-loving as he was, he -shrank from antagonizing the Church, as it was bound to do; and more -especially, from giving offense to its primate, the venerable Bishop -Mynster who had been his father's friend and spiritual adviser, to -whom he had himself always looked up with admiring reverence, and -whose sermons he had been in the habit of reading at all times. Also, -to be sure, he was restrained by the thought, that by publishing his -book he would render Christianity well-night unattainable to the weak -and the simple and the afflicted who certainly were in need of the -consolations of Christianity without any additional sufferings -interposed--and surely no reader of his devotional works can be in -doubt that he was the most tender-hearted of men. In earlier, stronger -times, he imagines, he would have been made a martyr for his opinions; -but was he entitled to become a blood-witness--he who realized -more keenly than any one that he himself was not a Christian in the -strictest sense? In his "Two Religious Treatises" he debates the -question: "Is it permissible for a man to let himself be killed for the -truth?"; which is answered in the negative in "About the Difference -between a Genius and an Apostle"--which consists in the Apostle's -speaking with authority. However, should not the truth be the most -important consideration? His journal during that time offers abundant -proof of the absolute earnestness with which he struggled over the -question. - -When Kierkegaard finally published "The Preparation for a Christian -Life," the bishop was, indeed, incensed; but he did nothing. Nor did -any one else venture forth. Still worse affront! Kierkegaard had said -his last word, had stated his ultimatum--and it was received with -indifference, it seemed. Nevertheless he decided to wait and see -what effect his books would have for he hesitated to draw the -last conclusions and mortally wound the old man tottering on the -brink of his grave by thus attacking the Church. There followed a three -years' period of silence on the part of Kierkegaard--again -certainly a proof of his utter sincerity. It must be remembered, in -this connection, that the very last thing Kierkegaard desired was an -external reorganization, a "reform," of the Church--indeed, he -firmly refused to be identified with any movement of secession, -differing in this respect vitally from his contemporaries Vinet and -Grundtvig who otherwise had so much in common with him. His only -wish was to infuse life and inwardness into the existing forms. And far -from being inferior to them in this he was here at one with the Founder -and the Early Church in that he states the aim of the Christian -Life to be, not to transform the existing social order, but to transcend -it. For the very same reason, coupled to be sure with a pronounced -aristocratic individualism, he is utterly and unreasonably indifferent, -and even antagonistic, to the great social movements of his time, to -the political upheavals of 1848, to the revolutionary advances of -science. - -As Kierkegaard now considered his career virtually concluded, -he wrote (1851) a brief account "About my Activity as an Author" -in which he furnishes his readers a key to its unfolding--from -an æsthetic view to the religious view--which he considers his -own education by Providence; and indicates it to be his special task to -call attention, without authority, to the religious, the Christian life. -His "Viewpoint for my Activity as an Author," published by his brother -only long after his death, likewise defines the purpose of the whole -"authorship," besides containing important biographical material. - -At length (January, 1854) Mynster died. Even then Kierkegaard, -though still on his guard, might not have felt called upon to -have recourse to stronger measures if it had not been for an -unfortunate sentence in the funeral sermon preached by the now -famous Martensen--generally pointed out as the successor to the -primacy--with whom Kierkegaard had already broken a lance or two. -Martensen had declared Mynster to have been "one of the holy -chain of witnesses for the truth (_sandhedsvidner_) which extends through -the centuries down from the time of the Apostles." This is the -provocation for which Kierkegaard had waited. "Bishop Mynster a witness -for the truth"! he bursts out, "You who read this, you know well what -in a Christian sense is a witness for the truth. Still, let me remind -you that to be one, it is absolutely essential to suffer for the -teaching of Christianity"; whereas "the truth is that Mynster -was wordily-wise to a degree--was weak, pleasure-loving, and -great only as a declaimer." But once more--striking proof of his -circumspection and single-mindedness--he kept this harsh letter -in his desk for nine months, lest its publication should interfere in -the least with Martensen's appointment, or seem the outcome of -personal resentment. - -Martensen's reply, which forcefully enough brings out all that could -be said for a milder interpretation of the Christian categories and for -his predecessor, was not as respectful to the sensitive author as it -ought to have been. In a number of newspaper letters of increasing -violence and acerbity Kierkegaard now tried to force his obstinately -silent opponent to his knees; but in vain. Filled with holy wrath at -what he conceived to be a conspiracy by silence, and evasions to bring -to naught the whole infinitely important matter for which he had -striven, Kierkegaard finally turned agitator. He addressed himself -directly to the people with the celebrated pamphlet series Öieblikket -"The Present Moment" in which he opens an absolutely withering -fire of invective on anything and everything connected with "the -existing order" in Christendom--an agitation the like of which for -revolutionary vehemence has rarely, if ever, been seen. All rites of the -Church--marriage, baptism, confirmation, communion, burial--and -most of all the clergy, high and low, draw the fiery bolts of his wrath -and a perfect hail of fierce, cruel invective. The dominant note, though -varied infinitely, is ever the same: "Whoever you may be, and whatever -the life you live, my friend: by omitting to attend the public -divine service--if indeed it be your habit to attend it--by -omitting, to attend public divine service as now constituted -(claiming as it does to represent the Christianity of the New Testament) -you will escape at least one, and a great, sin in not attempting to fool -God by calling that the Christianity of the New Testament which is not -the Christianity of the New Testament." And he does not hesitate -to use strong, even coarse, language; he even courts the reproach -of blasphemy in order to render ridiculous in "Official Christianity" -what to most may seem inherently, though mistakenly, a matter of -highest reverence. - -The swiftness and mercilessness of his attack seem to have left -his contemporaries without a weapon: all they could do was to shrug -their shoulders about the "fanatic," or to duck and wait dumbly until -the storm had passed. - -Nor did it last long. On the second of October, 1855, Kierkegaard -fell unconscious in the street. He was brought to the hospital where he -died on the eleventh of November, aged 42. The immense exertions of -the last months had shattered his frail body. And strange: the last of -his money had been used up. He had said what he thought Providence -had to communicate through him. His strength was gone. His death at -this moment would put the crown on his work. As he said on his -death-bed: "The bomb explodes, and the conflagration will follow." - - -In appraising Kierkegaard's life and works it will be found true, -as Hotfding says, that he can mean much even to those who do not -subscribe to the beliefs so unquestioningly entertained by him. And -however much they may regret that he poured his noble wine into the -old bottles, they cannot fail to recognize the yeoman's service he did, -both for sincere Christians in compelling them to rehearse inwardly -what ever tends to become a matter of form: what it means to be a -Christian; and for others, in deepening their sense of individual -responsibility. In fact, every one who has once come under his -influence and has wrestled with this mighty spirit will bear away -some blessing. In a time when, as in our own, the crowd, society, -the millions, the nation, had depressed the individual to an -insignificant atom--and what is worse, in the individual's own -estimation; when shallow altruistic, socializing effort thought -naively that the millenium was at hand, he drove the truth home -that, on the contrary, the individual is the measure of all things; -that we do not live en masse; that both the terrible responsibility -and the great satisfactions of life inhere in the individual. -Again, more forcibly than any one else in modern times, certainly -more cogently than Pascal, he demonstrated that the possibility -of proof in religion is an illusion; that doubt cannot be combatted -by reason, that it ever will be _credo quia impossibile._ In -religion, he showed the utter incompatibility of the æsthetic and -the religious life; and in Christianity, he re-stated and re-pointed -the principle of ideal perfection by his unremitting insistence -on contemporaneousness with Christ. It is another matter whether -by so doing Kierkegaard was about to pull the pillars from underneath -the great edifice of Christianity which housed both him and his -enemies: seeing that he himself finally doubted whether it had -ever existed apart from the Founder and, possibly, the Apostles. - - -Kierkegaard is not easy reading. One's first impression of crabbedness, -whimsicality, abstruseness will, however, soon give way to admiration -of the marvelous instrument of precision language has become in his -hands. To be sure, he did not write for people who are in a hurry, -nor for dullards. His closely reasoned paragraphs and, at times -huge, though rhetorically faultless, periods require concentrated -attention, his involutions and repetitions, handled with such -incomparable virtuosity, demand an everlasting readiness of -comprehension on the part of the reader. On the other hand his -philosophic work is delightfully "Socratic," unconventional, and -altogether "un-textbook-like." Kierkegaard himself wished that his -devotional works should be read aloud. And, from a purely æsthetic -point of view, it ought to be a delight for any orator to practice -on the wonderful periods of e. g., "The Preparation," or of, -say, the parable of the coach-horses in "Acts of the Apostles." -They alone would be sufficient to place Kierkegaard in the front rank -of prose writers of the nineteenth century where, both by the power of -his utterance and the originality of his thought, he rightfully -belongs. - -In laying before an English speaking public selections from -Kierkegaard's works, the translator has endeavored to give an -adequate idea of the various aspects of his highly disparate works. -For this purpose he has chosen a few large pieces, rather than given -tidbits. He hopes to be pardoned for not having a slavish regard for -Kierkegaard's very inconsequential paragraphing[8] and for breaking, -with no detriment, he believes, to the thought, some excessively -long paragraphs into smaller units; which will prove more restful -to the eye and more encouraging to the reader. As to occasional -omissions--always indicated by dots--the possessor of the complete -works will readily identify them. In consonance with Kierkegaard's -views on "contemporaneousness," no capitals are used in "The -Preparation" when referring to Christ by pronouns. - - -When Kierkegaard died, his influence, like that of Socrates, was -just beginning to make itself felt. The complete translation into -German of all his works[9] and of many into other languages; the -magnificent new edition of his works[10] and of his extraordinarily -voluminous diaries,[11] now nearing completion; and the steadily -increasing number of books, pamphlets, and articles from the most -diverse quarters testify to his reaching a growing number of -_individuals._ Below is given a list of the more important books -and articles on Kierkegaard. It does not aim at completeness. - - -Bärthold, A. S. K., _Eine Verfassetexistenz eigner Art._ Halberstadt, -1873. - -Same: _Noten zu S. K.'s Lebensgeschichte._ Halle, 1876. - -Same: _Die Bedeutung der aesthetischen Schriften S. K.'s._ Halle, -1879. - -Barfod, H. P. (Introduction to the first edition of the Diary.) -Copenhagen, 1869. - -Bohlin, Th. _S. K.'s Etiska Åskadning._ Uppsala, 1918. - -Brandes, G. _S. K., En kritisk Fremstilling i Grundrids._ Copenhagen, -1877. - -Same: German ed. Leipzig, 1879. - -Deleuran, V. _Esquisse d'une étude sur S. K._ Thèse, University -of Paris, 1897. - -Höffding, H. _S. K._ Copenhagen, 1892. - -Same: German edition (2nd). Stuttgart, 1902. - -Hoffmann, R. _K. und die religiöse Gewissheit._ Göttingen, 1910. - -Jensen, Ch. _S. K.'s religiöse Udvikling._ Aarhus, 1898. - -Monrad, O. P. _S. K. Sein Leben und seine Werke._ Jena, 1909. - -Münch, Ph. _Haupt und Grundgedanken der Philosophie S. K.'s._ -Leipzig, 1902. - -Rosenberg, P. A. _S. K., hans Liv, hans Personlighed og hans -Forfatterskab._ Copenhagen, 1898. - -Rudin, W. S. _K.'s Person och Författerskap. Förste Afdelningen._ -Stockholm, 1880. - -Schrempf, Ch. _S. K.'s Stellung zu Bibel und Dogma._ Zeitschrift -für Theologie und Kirche, 1891, p. 179. - -Same: _S. K. Ein unfreier Pionier der Freiheit._ (With a foreword -by Höffding) Frankfurt, 1909. - -Swenson, D. _The Anti-Intellectualism of K._ Philosophic Review, -1916, p. 567. - - -To my friends and colleagues, Percy M. Dawson and Howard M. Jones, -I wish also in this place to express my thanks for help and criticism -"in divers spirits." - - -[Footnote 1: Pronounced _Kerkegor._] - -[Footnote 2: An interesting parallel is the story of Peter Williams, as -told by George Borrow, _Lavengro_, chap. 75 ff.] - -[Footnote 3: Corresponding, approximately, to our doctoral thesis.] - -[Footnote 4: Not "Discourses for Edification," _cf._ the Foreword to -_Atten Opbyggelige Taler_, S. V. vol. IV.] - -[Footnote 5: _De Carne Christi_, chap. V, as my friend, Professor A. E. -Haydon, kindly points out.] - -[Footnote 6: _Cf._ Brandes, S. K. p. 157.] - -[Footnote 7: Mrs. Thomasine Gyllembourg-Ehrensvärd.] - -[Footnote 8: With signal exception of "The Present Moment."] - -[Footnote 9: In process of publication. Jena.] - -[Footnote 10: Samlede Værker. Copenhagen, 1901-1906 (14 vols). In the -notes abbreviated S. V. Still another edition is preparing.] - -[Footnote 11: Copenhagen, 1909 ff.] - - - - -DIAPSALMATA[1] - - -What is a poet? An unhappy man who conceals profound anguish in his -heart, but whose lips are so fashioned that when sighs and groans pass -over them they sound like beautiful music. His fate resembles that of -the unhappy men who were slowly roasted by a gentle fire in the tyrant -Phalaris' bull--their shrieks could not reach his ear to terrify -him, to him they sounded like sweet music. And people flock about the -poet and say to him: do sing again; which means, would that new -sufferings tormented your soul, and: would that your lips stayed -fashioned as before, for your cries would only terrify us, but your -music is delightful. And the critics join them, saying: well done, thus -must it be according to the laws of æsthetics. Why, to be sure, a critic -resembles a poet as one pea another, the only difference being that he -has no anguish in his heart and no music on his lips. Behold, therefore -would I rather be a swineherd on Amager,[2] and be understood by the -swine than a poet, and misunderstood by men. - - -In addition to my numerous other acquaintances I have still one more -intimate friend--my melancholy. In the midst of pleasure, in the -midst of work, he beckons to me, calls me aside, even though I remain -present bodily. My melancholy is the most faithful sweetheart I have -had--no wonder that I return the love! - -Of all ridiculous things the most ridiculous seems to me, to be -busy--to be a man who is brisk about his food and his work. -Therefore, whenever I see a fly settling, in the decisive moment, on -the nose of such a person of affairs; or if he is spattered with mud -from a carriage which drives past him in still greater haste; or the -drawbridge opens up before him; or a tile falls down and knocks him -dead, then I laugh heartily. And who, indeed, could help laughing? -What, I wonder, do these busy folks get done? Are they not to be -classed with the woman who in her confusion about the house being -on fire carried out the fire-tongs? What things of greater account, do -you suppose, will they rescue from life's great conflagration? - - -Let others complain that the times are wicked. I complain that they -are paltry; for they are without passion. The thoughts of men are thin -and frail like lace, and they themselves are feeble like girl -lace-makers. The thoughts of their hearts are too puny to be sinful. -For a worm it might conceivably be regarded a sin to harbor thoughts -such as theirs, not for a man who is formed in the image of God. Their -lusts are staid and sluggish, their passions sleepy; they do their duty, -these sordid minds, but permit themselves, as did the Jews, to trim the -coins just the least little bit, thinking that if our Lord keep tab of -them ever so carefully one might yet safely venture to fool him a bit. -Fye upon them! It is therefore my soul ever returns to the Old Testament -and to Shakespeare. There at least one feels that one is dealing with -men and women; there one hates and loves, there one murders one's -enemy and curses his issue through all generations--there one sins. - - -Just as, according to the legend,[3] Parmeniscus in the Trophonian -cave lost his ability to laugh, but recovered it again on the island -of Delos at the sight of a shapeless block which was exhibited as the -image of the goddess Leto: likewise did it happen to me. When I was -very young I forgot in the Trophonian cave how to laugh; but when I -grew older and opened my eyes and contemplated the real world, I had -to laugh, and have not ceased laughing, ever since. I beheld that the -meaning of life was to make a living; its goal, to become Chief Justice; -that the delights of love consisted in marrying a woman with ample -means; that it was the blessedness of friendship to help one another -in financial difficulties; that wisdom was what most people supposed -it to be; that it showed enthusiasm to make a speech, and courage, to -risk being fined 10 dollars; that it was cordiality to say "may it agree -with you" after a repast; that it showed piety to partake of the -communion once a year. I saw that and laughed. - - -A strange thing happened to me in my dream. I was rapt into the -Seventh Heaven. There sat all the gods assembled. As a special -dispensation I was granted the favor to have one wish. "Do you wish -for youth," said Mercury, "or for beauty, or power, or a long life; or -do you wish for the most beautiful woman, or any other of the many fine -things we have in our treasure trove? Choose, but only one thing!" For -a moment I was at a loss. Then I addressed the gods in this wise: "Most -honorable contemporaries, I choose one thing--that I may always -have the laughs on my side." Not one god made answer, but all began -to laugh. From this I concluded that my wish had been granted and -thought that the gods knew how to express themselves with good taste; -for it would surely have been inappropriate to answer gravely: your -wish has been granted. - - -[Footnote 1: Interlude (of aphorisms). Selection.] - -[Footnote 2: A flat island south of the capital, called the "Kitchen -Garden of Copenhagen."] - -[Footnote 3: Told by Athenaios.] - - - - -IN VINO VERITAS (THE BANQUET) - - -It was on one of the last days in July, at ten o'clock in the -evening, when the participants in that banquet assembled together. -Date and year I have forgotten; indeed, this would be interesting only -to one's memory of details, and not to one's recollection of the -contents of what experience. The "spirit of the occasion" and whatever -impressions are recorded in one's mind under that heading, concerns -only one's recollections; and just as generous wine gains in flavor by -passing the Equator, because of the evaporation of its watery particles, -likewise does recollection gain by getting rid of the watery particles -of memory; and yet recollection becomes as little a mere figment of the -imagination by this process as does the generous wine. - -The participants were five in number: John, with the epithet of the -Seducer, Victor Eremita, Constantin Constantius, and yet two others -whose names I have not exactly forgotten--which would be a matter -of small importance--but whose names I did not learn. It was as -if these two had no proper names, for they were constantly addressed -by some epithet. The one was called the Young Person. Nor was he more -than twenty and some years, of slender and delicate build, and of a very -dark complexion. His face was thoughtful; but more pleasing even was -its lovable and engaging expression which betokened a purity of soul -harmonizing perfectly with the soft charm, almost feminine, and the -transparency of his whole presence. This external beauty of appearance -was lost sight of, however, in one's next impression of him; or, one -kept it only in mind whilst regarding a youth nurtured or--to use -a still tenderer expression--petted into being, by thought, and -nourished by the contents of his own soul--a youth who as yet -had had nothing to do with the world, had been neither aroused and -fired, nor disquieted and disturbed. Like a sleep-walker he bore the -law of his actions within himself, and the amiable, kindly expression -of his countenance concerned no one, but only mirrored the disposition -of his soul. - -The other person they called the Dressmaker, and that was his -occupation. Of him it was impossible to get a consistent impression. -He was dressed according to the very latest fashion, with his hair -curled and perfumed, fragrant with eau-de-cologne. One moment his -carriage did not lack self-possession, whereas in the next it assumed a -certain dancing, festive air, a certain hovering motion, which, however, -was kept in rather definite bounds by the robustness of his figure. Even -when he was most malicious in his speech his voice ever had a touch of -the smoothtonguedness of the shop, the suaveness of the dealer in -fancy-goods, which evidently was utterly disgusting to himself and only -satisfied his spirit of defiance. As I think of him now I understand him -better, to be sure, than when I first saw him step out of his carriage -and I involuntarily laughed. At the same time there is some -contradiction left still. He had transformed or bewitched himself, had -by the magic of his own will assumed the appearance of one almost -half-witted, but had not thereby entirely satisfied himself; and this is -why his reflectiveness now and then peered forth from beneath his -disguise. - -As I think of it now it seems rather absurd that five such persons -should get a banquet arranged. Nor would anything have come of it, -I suppose, if Constantin had not been one of us. In a retired room of -a confectioner's shop where they met at times, the matter had been -broached once before, but had been dropped immediately when the -question arose as to who was to head the undertaking. The Young -Person was declared unfit for that task, the Dressmaker affirmed -himself to be too busy. Victor Eremita did not beg to be excused -because "he had married a wife or bought a yoke of oxen which he -needed to prove";[1] but, he said, even if he should make an -exception, for once, and come to the banquet, yet he would decline -the courtesy offered him to preside at it, and he therewith "entered -protest at the proper time.[2]" This, John considered a work spoken -in due season; because, as he saw it, there was but one person able -to prepare a banquet, and that was the possessor of the wishing-table -which set itself with delectable things whenever he said to it -"Cover thyself!" He averred that to enjoy the charms of a young girl -in haste was not always the wisest course; but as to a banquet, he -would not wait for it, and generally was tired of it a long while -before it came off. However, if the plan was to be carried into effect -he would make one condition, which was, that the banquet should be so -arranged as to be served in one course. And that all were agreed on. -Also, that the settings for it were to be made altogether new, and -that afterwards they were to be destroyed entirely; ay, before rising -from table one was to hear the preparation for their destruction. -Nothing was to remain; "not even so much," said the Dressmaker, "as -there is left of a dress after it has been made over into a hat." -"Nothing," said John, "because nothing is more unpleasant than a -sentimental scene, and nothing more disgusting than the knowledge -that somewhere or other there is an external setting which in a -direct and impertinent fashion pretends to be a reality." - -When the conversation had thus became animated, Victor Eremita -suddenly arose, struck an attitude on the floor, beckoned with his hand -in the fashion of one commanding and, holding his arm extended as one -lifting a goblet, he said, with the gesture of one waving a welcome: -"With this cup whose fragrance already intoxicates my senses, whose cool -fire already inflames my blood, I greet you, beloved fellow-banqueters, -and bid you welcome; being entirely assured that each one of you is -sufficiently satisfied by our merely speaking about the banquet; for our -Lord satisfied the stomach before satisfying the eye, but the imagination -acts in the reverse fashion." Thereupon he inserted his hand in his -pocket, took from it a cigar-case, struck a match, and began to smoke. -When Constantin Constantius protested against this sovereign free way -of transforming the banquet planned into an illusory fragment of life, -Victor declared that he did not believe for one moment that such -a banquet could be got up and that, in any case, it had been -a mistake to let it become the subject of discussion in advance. -"Whatever is to be good must come at once; for 'at once' is the -divinest of all categories and deserves to be honored as in the language -of the Romans: _ex templo_,[3] because it is the starting point for -all that is divine in life, and so much so that what is not done at -once is of evil." However, he remarked, he did not care to argue -this point. In case the others wished to speak and act differently -he would not say a word, but if they wished him to explain the sense -of his remarks more fully he must have leave to make a speech, -because he did not consider it all desirable to provoke a discussion -on the subject. - -Permission was given him; and as the others called on him to do so -at once, he spoke as follows: "A banquet is in itself a difficult -matter, because even if it be arranged with ever so much taste and -talent there is something else essential to its success, to wit, good -luck. And by this I mean not such matters as most likely would give -concern to an anxious hostess, but something different, a something -which no one can make absolutely sure of: a fortunate harmonizing -of the spirit and the minutiæ of the banquet, that fine ethereal -vibration of chords, that soul-stirring music which cannot be ordered -in advance from the town-musicians. Look you, therefore is it a -hazardous thing to undertake, because if things do go wrong, perhaps -from the very start, one may suffer such a depression and loss of -spirits that recovery from it might involve a very long time. - -"Sheer habit and thoughtlessness are father and godfather to most -banquets, and it is only due to the lack of critical sense among people -that one fails to notice the utter absence of any idea in them. In the -first place, women ought never to be present at a banquet. Women -may be used to advantage only in the Greek style, as a chorus of -dancers. As it is the main thing at a banquet that there be eating and -drinking, woman ought not to be present; for she cannot do justice to -what is offered; or, if she can, it is most unbeautiful. Whenever a -woman is present the matter of eating and drinking ought to be reduced -to the very slightest proportions. At most, it ought to be no more -than some trifling feminine occupation, to have something to busy -one's hands with. Especially in the country a little repast of this -kind--which, by the way, should be put at other times than the -principal meals--may be extremely delightful; and if so, always -owing to the presence of the other sex. To do like the English, who -let the fair sex retire as soon as the real drinking is to start, -is to fall between two stools, for every plan ought to be a whole, -and the very manner with which I take a seat at the table and seize -hold of knife and fork bears a definite relation to this whole. In -the same sense a political banquet presents an unbeautiful -ambiguity inasmuch as one does not[4] want to cut down to a very -minimum the essentials of a banquet, and yet does not wish to have -the speeches thought of as having been made over the cups. - -"So far, we are agreed, I suppose; and our number--in case anything -should come of the banquet--is correctly chosen, according to that -beautiful rule: neither more than the Muses nor fewer than the -Graces. Now I demand the greatest superabundance of everything -thinkable. That is, even though everything be not actually there, yet -the possibility of having it must be at one's immediate beck and call, -aye, hover temptingly over the table, more seductive even than the -actual sight of it. I beg to be excused, however, from banqueting on -sulphur-matches or on a piece of sugar which all are to suck in turn. -My demands for such a banquet will, on the contrary, be difficult to -satisfy; for the feast itself must be calculated to arouse and incite -that unmentionable longing which each worthy participant is to bring -with him. I require that the earth's fertility be at our service, as -though everything sprouted forth at the very moment the desire for it -was born. I desire a more luxurious abundance of wine than when -Mephistopheles needed but to drill holes into the table to obtain it. -I demand an illumination more splendid than have the gnomes when -they lift up the mountain on pillars and dance in a sea of blazing -light. I demand what most excites the senses, I demand their -gratification by deliciously sweet perfumes, more superb than any -in the Arabian Nights. I demand a coolness which voluptuously provokes -desire and breathes relaxation on desire satisfied. I demand a -fountain's unceasing enlivenment. If Mæcenas could not sleep without -hearing the splashing of a fountain, I cannot eat without it. Do not -misunderstand me, I can eat stockfish without it, but I cannot eat at -a banquet without it; I can drink water without it, but I cannot drink -wine at a banquet without it. I demand a host of servants, chosen and -comely, as if I sate at table with the gods; I demand that there -shall be music at the feast, both strong and subdued; and I demand -that it shall be an accompaniment to my thoughts; and what concerns -you, my friends, my demands regarding you are altogether incredible. -Do you see, by reason of all these demands--which are as many -reasons against it--I hold a banquet to be a _pium desideratum_,[5] -and am so far from desiring a repetition of it that I presume it is not -feasible even a first time." - - -The only one who had not actually participated in this conversation, -nor in the frustration of the banquet, was Constantin. Without him, -nothing would have been done save the talking. He had come to a -different conclusion and was of the opinion that the idea might well -be realized, if one but carried the matter with a high hand. - -Then some time passed, and both the banquet and the discussion -about it were forgotten, when suddenly, one day, the participants -received a card of invitation from Constantius for a banquet the very -same evening. The motto of the party had been given by him as: _In Vino -Veritas_, because there was to be speaking, to be sure, and not only -conversation; but the speeches were not to be made except _in vino_, -and no truth was to be uttered there excepting that which is -_in vino_--when the wine is a defense of the truth and the truth a -defense of the wine. - -The place had been chosen in the woods, some ten miles distant -from Copenhagen. The hall in which they were to feast had been newly -decorated and in every way made unrecognizable; a smaller room, -separated from the hall by a corridor, was arranged for an orchestra. -Shutters and curtains were let down before all windows, which were left -open. The arrangement that the participants were to drive to the -banquet in the evening hour was to intimate to them--and that was -Constantin's idea--what was to follow. Even if one knows that -one is driving to a banquet, and the imagination therefore indulges for -a moment in thoughts of luxury, yet the impression of the natural -surroundings is too powerful to be resisted. That this might possibly -not be the case was the only contingency he apprehended; for just as -there is no power like the imagination to render beautiful all it -touches, neither is there any power which can to such a degree disturb -all--misfortune conspiring--if confronted with reality. But -driving on a summer evening does not lure the imagination to luxurious -thoughts, but rather to the opposite. Even if one does not see it or -hear it, the imagination will unconsciously create a picture of the -longing for home which one is apt to feel in the evening hours--one -sees the reapers, man and maid, returning from their work in the fields, -one hears the hurried rattling of the hay wagon, one interprets even the -far-away lowing from the meadows as a longing. Thus does a summer -evening suggest idyllic thoughts, soothing even a restless mind with -its assuagement, inducing even the soaring imagination to abide on -earth with an indwelling yearning for home as the place from whence -it came, and thus teaching the insatiable mind to be satisfied with -little, by rendering one content; for in the evening hour time stands -still and eternity lingers. - -Thus they arrived in the evening hour: those invited; for Constantin -had come out somewhat earlier. Victor Eremita who resided in the country -not far away came on horseback, the others in a carriage. And just as -they had discharged it, a light open vehicle rolled in through the -gate carrying a merry company of four journeymen who were entertained -to be ready at the decisive moment to function as a corps of destruction: -just as firemen are stationed in a theatre, for the opposite reason -at once to extinguish a fire. - - -So long as one is a child one possesses sufficient imagination -to maintain one's soul at the very top-notch of expectation--for -a whole hour in the dark room, if need be; but when one has grown -older one's imagination may easily cause one to tire of the Christmas -tree before seeing it. - - -The folding doors were opened. The effect of the radiant illumination, -the coolness wafting toward them, the beguiling fragrance of sweet -perfumes, the excellent taste of the arrangements, for a moment -overwhelmed the feelings of those entering; and when, at the same -time, strains from the ballet of "Don Juan" sounded from the orchestra, -their persons seemed transfigured and, as if out of reverence for an -unseen spirit about them, they stopped short for a moment like men -who have been roused by admiration and who have risen to admire. - - -Whoever knows that happy moment, whoever has appreciated its -delight, and has not also felt the apprehension lest suddenly something -might happen, some trifle perhaps, which yet might be sufficient to -disturb all! Whoever has held the lamp of Aladdin in his hand and has -not also felt the swooning of pleasure, because one needs but to wish? -Whoever has held what is inviting in his hand and has not also learned -to keep his wrist limber to let go at once, if need be? - -Thus they stood side by side. Only Victor stood alone, absorbed in -thought; a shudder seemed to pass through his soul, he almost trembled; -he collected himself and saluted the omen with these words: "Ye -mysterious, festive, and seductive strains which drew me out of the -cloistered seclusion of a quiet youth and beguiled me with a longing as -mighty as a recollection, and terrible, as though Elvira had -not even been seduced but had only desired to be! Immortal Mozart, -thou to whom I owe all; but no! as yet I do not owe thee all. But when -I shall have become an old man--if ever I do become an old man; -or when I shall have become ten years older--if ever I do; or when -I am become old--if ever I shall become old; or when I shall -die--for that, indeed, I know I shall: then shall I say: immortal -Mozart, thou to whom I owe all--and then I shall let my admiration, -which is my soul's first and only admiration, burst forth in all its -might and let it make away with me, as it often has been on the point -of doing. Then have I set my house in order,[6] then have I remembered -my beloved one, then have I confessed my love, then have I fully -established that I owe thee all, then am I occupied no longer with -thee, with the world, but only with the grave thought of death." - -Now there came from the orchestra that invitation in which joy -triumphs most exultantly, and heaven-storming soars aloft above -Elvira's sorrowful thanks; and gracefully apostrophizing, John repeated: -"_Viva la liberta_"--"_et veritas_," said the Young Person; "but -above all, _in vino_," Constantin interrupted them, seating himself -at the table and inviting the others to do likewise. - -How easy to prepare a banquet; yet Constantin declared that he -never would risk preparing another. How easy to admire; yet Victor -declared that he never again would lend words to his admiration; for to -suffer a discomfiture is more dreadful than to become an invalid in -war! How easy to express a desire, if one has the magic lamp; yet that -is at times more terrible than to perish of want! - -They were seated. In the same moment the little company were -launched into the very middle of the infinite sea of enjoyment--as -if with one single bound. Each one had addressed all his thoughts and -all his desires to the banquet, had prepared his soul for the enjoyment -which was offered to overflowing and in which their souls overflowed. -The experienced driver is known by his ability to start the -snorting team with a single bound and to hold them well abreast; the -well-trained steed is known by his lifting himself in one absolutely -decisive leap: even if one or the other of the guests perhaps fell short -in some particular, certainly Constantin was a good host. - -Thus they banqueted. Soon, conversation had woven its beautiful -wreaths about the banqueters, so that they sat garlanded. Now, it was -enamored of the food, now of the wine, and now again of itself; now, -it seemed to develop into significance, and then again it was altogether -slight. Soon, fancy unfolded itself--the splendid one which blows -but once, the tender one which straightway closes its petals; now, there -came an exclamation from one of the banqueters: "These truffles are -superb," and now, an order of the host: "This Chateau Margaux!" Now, -the music was drowned in the noise, now it was heard again. Sometimes -the servants stood still as if _in pausa_, in that decisive moment -when a new dish was being brought out, or a new wine was ordered and -mentioned by name, sometimes they were all a bustle. Sometimes there -was a silence for a moment, and then the re-animating spirit of the -music went forth over the guests. Now, one with some bold thought would -take the lead in the conversation and the others followed after, almost -forgetting to eat, and the music would sound after them as it sounds -after the jubilant shouts of a host storming on; now, only the clinking -of glasses and the clattering of plates was heard and the feasting -proceeded in silence, accompanied only by the music that joyously -advanced and again stimulated conversation. Thus they banqueted. - - -How poor is language in comparison with that symphony of sounds -unmeaning, yet how significant, whether of a battle or of a banquet, -which even scenic representation cannot imitate and for which language -has but a few words! How rich is language in the expression of the -world of ideas, and how poor, when it is to describe reality! - -Only once did Constantin abandon his omnipresence in which one -actually lost sight of his presence. At the very beginning he got them -to sing one of the old drinking songs, "by way of calling to mind that -jolly time when men and women feasted together," as he said--a -proposal which had the positively burlesque effect he had perhaps -calculated it should have. It almost gained the upper hand when the -Dressmaker wanted them to sing the ditty: "When I shall mount the -bridal bed, hoiho!" After a couple of courses had been served Constantin -proposed that the banquet should conclude with each one's making a -speech, but that precautions should be taken against the speakers' -divagating too much. He was for making two conditions, viz., there -were to be no speeches until after the meal; and no one was to speak -before having drunk sufficiently to feel the power of the wine--else -he was to be in that condition in which one says much which under -other circumstances one would leave unsaid--without necessarily -having the connection of speech and thought constantly interrupted by -hiccoughs.[7] Before speaking, then, each one was to declare -solemnly that he was in that condition. No definite quantity of wine -was to be required, capacities differed so widely. Against this -proposal, John entered protest. He could never become intoxicated, -he averred, and when he had come to a certain point he grew the -soberer the more he drank. Victor Eremita was of the opinion that -any such preparatory premeditations to insure one's becoming drunk -would precisely militate against one's becoming so. If one desired -to become intoxicated the deliberate wish was only a hindrance. Then -there ensued some discussion about the divers influences of wine on -consciousness, and especially about the fact that, in the case of -a reflective temperament, an excess of wine may manifest itself, -not in any particular _impetus_ but, on the contrary, in a noticeably -cool self-possession. As to the contents of the speeches, Constantin -proposed that they should deal with love, that is, the relation -between man and woman. No love stories were to be told though they -might furnish the text of one's remarks. - -The conditions were accepted. All reasonable and just demands a -host may make on his guests were fulfilled: they ate and drank, and -"drank and were filled with drink," as the Bible has it;[8] that is, -they drank stoutly. - -The desert was served. Even if Victor had not, as yet, had his desire -gratified to hear the splashing of a fountain--which, for that -matter, he had luckily forgotten since that former conversation--now -champagne flowed profusely. The clock struck twelve. Thereupon -Constantin commanded silence, saluted the Young Person with a goblet -and the words _quod felix sit faustumque_[9] and bade him to speak -first. - - - - -(The Young Person's Speech) - - -The Young Person arose and declared that he felt the power of the -wine, which was indeed apparent to some degree; for the blood pulsed -strongly in his temples, and his appearance was not as beautiful as -before the meal. He spoke as follows: - -If there be truth in the words of the poets, dear fellow-banqueters, -then unrequited love is, indeed, the greatest of sorrows. Should you -require any proof of this you need but listen to the speech of lovers. -They say that it is death, certain death; and the first time they -believe it--for the space of two weeks. The next time they say -that it is death; and finally they will die sometime--as the result -of unrequited love. For that love has killed them, about that there -can obtain no doubt. And as to love's having to take hold three times -to make away with them, that is not different from the dentist's having -to pull three times before he is able to budge that firmly rooted molar. -But, if unrequited love thus means certain death, how happy am I who -have never loved and, I hope, will only achieve dying some time, -and not from unrequited love! But just this may be the greatest -misfortune, for all I know, and how unfortunate must I then be! - -The essence of love probably (for I speak as does a blind man about -colors), probably lies in its bliss; which is, in other words, that the -cessation of love brings death to the lover. This I comprehend very well -as in the nature of a hypothesis correlating life and death. But, if -love is to be merely by way of hypothesis, why, then lovers lay -themselves open to ridicule through their actually falling in love. -If, however, love is something real, why, then reality must bear out -what lovers say about it. But did one in real life ever hear of, or -observe, such things having taken place, even if there is hearsay to -that effect? Here I perceive already one of the contradictions in which -love involves a person; for whether this is different for those -initiated, that I have no means of knowing; but love certainly does -seem to involve people in the most curious contradictions. - -There is no other relation between human beings which makes -such demands on one's ideality as does love, and yet love is never seen -to have it. For this reason alone I would be afraid of love; for I fear -that it might have the power to make me too talk vaguely about a bliss -which I did not feel and a sorrow I did not have. I say this here since -I am bidden to speak on love, though unacquainted with it--I -say this in surroundings which appeal to me like a Greek symposion; for -I should otherwise not care to speak on this subject as I do not wish to -disturb any one's happiness but, rather, am content with my own -thoughts. Who knows but these thoughts are sheer imbecilities and vain -imaginings--perhaps my ignorance is explicable from the fact -that I never have learned, nor have wished to learn, from any one, how -one comes to love; or from the fact that I have never yet challenged a -woman with a glance--which is supposed to be smart--but have always -lowered my eyes, unwilling to yield to an impression before having -fully made sure about the nature of the power into whose sphere -I am venturing. - -At this point he was interrupted by Constantin who expostulated -with him because, by his very confession of never having been in love, -he had debarred himself from speaking. The Young Person declared that -at any other time he would gladly obey an injunction to that effect as -he had often enough experienced how tiresome it was to have to make a -speech; but that in this case he would insist upon his right. Precisely -the fact that one had had no love affair, he said, also constituted an -affair of love; and he who could assert this of himself was entitled to -speak about Eros just because his thoughts were bound to take issue -with the whole sex and not with individuals. He was granted permission -to speak and continued. - - -Inasmuch as my right to speak has been challenged, this may serve -to exempt me from your laughter; for I know well that, just as among -rustics he is not considered a man who does not call a tobacco pipe his -own, likewise among men-folks he is not considered a real man who is -not experienced in love. If any one feels like laughing, let him -laugh--my thought is, and remains, the essential consideration -for me. Or is love, perchance, privileged to be the only event which is -to be considered after, rather than before, it happens? If that be the -case, what then if I, having fallen in love, should later on think that -it was too late to think about it? Look you, this is the reason why I -choose to think about love before it happens. To be sure, lovers also -maintain that they gave the matter thought, but such is not the case. -They assume it to be essential in man to fall in love; but this surely -does not mean thinking about love but, rather, assuming it, in order -to make sure of getting one's self a sweetheart. - -In fact, whenever my reflection endeavors to pin down love, naught -but contradiction seems to remain. At times, it is true, I feel as if -something had escaped me, but I cannot tell what it is, whereas my -reflection is able at once to point out the contradictions in what -does occur. Very well, then, in my opinion love is the greatest -self-contradiction imaginable, and comical at the same time. Indeed, -the one corresponds to the other. The comical is always seen to occur -in the category of contradictions--which truth I cannot take the -time to demonstrate now; but what I shall demonstrate now is that -love is comical. By love I mean the relation between man and woman. -I am not thinking of Eros in the Greek sense which has been extolled so -beautifully by Plato who, by the way, is so far from considering the -love of woman that he mentions it only in passing, holding it to be -inferior to the love of youths.[10] I say, love is comical to a -third person--more I say not. Whether it is for this reason that lovers -always hate a third person I do not know; but I do know that -reflection is always in such a relation the third person, and -for this reason I cannot love without at the same time having a third -person present in the shape of my reflection. - -This surely cannot seem strange to any one, every one having -doubted everything, whereas I am uttering my doubts only with reference -to love. And yet I do think it strange that people have doubted -everything and have again reached certainty, without as much as dropping -a word concerning the difficulties which have held my thought -captive--so much so that I have, now and then, longed to be freed -of them--freed by the aid of one, note well, who was aware -of these difficulties, and not of one who in his sleep had a -notion to doubt, and to have doubted, everything, and again -in his sleep had the notion that he is explaining, and has -explained, all.[11] - -Let me then have your attention, dear fellow banqueters, and if you -yourselves be lovers do not therefore interrupt me, nor try to silence -me because you do not wish to hear the explanation. Rather turn away -and listen with averted faces to what I have to say, and what I insist -upon saying, having once begun. - -In the first place I consider it comical that every one loves, and -every one wishes to love, without any one ever being able to tell one -what is the nature of the lovable or that which is the real object of -love. As to the word "to love" I shall not discuss it since it means -nothing definite; but as soon as the matter is broached at all we are -met by the question as to what it is one loves. No other answer is -ever vouchsafed us on that point other than that one loves what is -lovable. For if one should make answer, with Plato,[12] that one is -to love what is good, one has in taking this single step exceeded -the bounds of the erotic. - -The answer may be offered, perhaps, that one is to love what is -beautiful. But if I then should ask whether to love means to love a -beautiful landscape or a beautiful painting it would be immediately -perceived that the erotic is not, as it were, comprised in the more -general term of the love of things beautiful, but is something entirely -of its own kind. Were a lover--just to give an example--to speak -as follows, in order to express adequately how much love there -dwelled in him: "I love beautiful landscapes, and my Lalage, and the -beautiful dancer, and a beautiful horse--in short, I love all that -is beautiful," his Lalage would not be satisfied with his encomium, -however well satisfied she might be with him in all other respects, and -even if she be beautiful; and now suppose Lalage is not beautiful and he -yet loved her! - -Again, if I should refer the erotic element to the bisection -of which Aristophanes tells us[13] when he says that the gods severed -man into two parts as one cuts flounders, and that these parts thus -separated sought one another, then I again encounter a difficulty I -cannot get over, which is, in how far I may base my reasoning on -Aristophanes who in his speech--just because there is no reason for -the thought to stop at this point--goes further in his thought and -thinks that the gods might take it into their heads to divide man -into three parts, for the sake of still better fun. For the sake -of still better fun; for is it not true, as I said, that love -renders a person ridiculous, if not in the eyes of others then -certainly in the eyes of the gods? - -Now, let me assume that the erotic element resides essentially in the -relation between man and woman--what is to be inferred from that? -If the lover should say to his Lalage: I love you because you are a -woman; I might as well love any other woman, as for instance, ugly -Zoë: then beautiful Lalage would feel insulted. - -In what, then, consists the lovable? This is my question; but -unfortunately, no one has been able to tell me. The individual lover -always believes that, as far as he is concerned, he knows. Still he -cannot make himself understood by any other lover; and he who listens -to the speech of a number of lovers will learn that no two of them ever -agree, even though they all talk about the same thing. Disregarding -those altogether silly explanations which leave one as wise as before, -that is, end by asserting that it is really the pretty feet of the -beloved damsel, or the admired mustachios of the swain, which are the -objects of love--disregarding these, one will find mentioned, even -in the declamations of lovers in the higher style, first a number of -details and, finally, the declaration: all her lovable ways; and when -they have reached the climax: that inexplicable something I do not know -how to explain. And this speech is meant to please especially beautiful -Lalage. Me it does not please, for I don't understand a word of it and -find, rather, that it contains a double contradiction--first, that -it ends with the inexplicable, second, that it ends with the -inexplicable; for he who intends to end with the inexplicable had best -begin with the inexplicable and then say no more, lest he lay himself -open to suspicion. If he begin with the inexplicable, saying no more, -then this does not prove his helplessness, for it is, anyway, an -explanation in a negative sense; but if he does begin with something -else and lands in the inexplicable, then this does certainly -prove his helplessness. - -So then we see: to love corresponds to the lovable; and the lovable -is the inexplicable. Well, that is at least something; but comprehensible -it is not, as little as the inexplicable way in which love seizes -on its prey. Who, indeed, would not be alarmed if people about one, -time and again, dropped down dead, all of a sudden, or had convulsions, -without any one being able to account for it? But precisely in this -fashion does love invade life, only with the difference that one is -not alarmed thereby, since the lovers themselves regard it as their -greatest happiness, but that one, on the contrary, is tempted to -laugh; for the comical and the tragical elements ever correspond to -one another. Today, one may converse with a person and can fairly -well make him out--tomorrow, he speaks in tongues and with strange -gestures: he is in love. - -Now, if to love meant to fall in love with the first person that came -along, it would be easy to understand that one could give no special -reasons for it; but since to love means to fall in love with one, one -single person in all the world, it would seem as if such an extraordinary -process of singling out ought to be due to such an extensive chain of -reasoning that one might have to beg to be excused from hearing -it--not so much because it did not explain anything as because it -might be too lengthy to listen to. But no, the lovers are not able to -explain anything at all. He has seen hundreds upon hundreds of -women; he is, perhaps, advanced in years and has all along felt -nothing--and all at once he sees her, her the Only one, Catherine. -Is this not comical? Is it not comical that the relation which is -to explain and beautify all life, love, is not like the mustard -seed from which there grows a great tree,[14] but being still smaller -is, at bottom, nothing at all; for not a single antecedent criterion -can be mentioned, as e.g., that the phenomenon occurred at a certain -age, nor a single reason as to why he should select her, her alone -in all the world--and that by no means in the same sense as when -"Adam chose Eve, because there was none other.[15]" - -Or is not the explanation which the lovers vouchsafe just as comical; -or, does it not, rather, emphasize the comical aspect of love? They say -that love renders one blind, and by this fact they undertake to explain -the phenomenon. Now, if a person who was going into a dark room to -fetch something should answer, on my advising him to take a light -along, that it was only a trifling matter he wanted and so he would -not bother to take a light along--ah! then I would understand him -excellently well. If, on the other hand, this same person should take -me aside and, with an air of mystery, confide to me that the thing -he was about to fetch was of the very greatest importance and that -it was for this reason that he was able to do it in the dark--ah! -then I wonder if my weak mortal brain could follow the soaring flight -of his speech. Even if I should refrain from laughing, in order not -to offend him, I should hardly be able to restrain my mirth as soon -as he had turned his back. But at love nobody laughs; for I am quite -prepared to be embarrassed like the Jew who, after ending his story, -asks: Is there no one who will laugh?[16] And yet I did not miss -the point, as did the Jew, and as to my laughter I am far from wanting -to insult any one. Quite on the contrary, I scorn those fools who -imagine that their love has such good reasons that they can afford -to laugh at other lovers; for since love is altogether inexplicable, -one lover is as ridiculous as the other. Quite as foolish and haughty -I consider it also when a man proudly looks about him in the circle -of girls to find who may be worthy of him, or when a girl proudly -tosses her head to select or reject; because such persons are simply -basing their thoughts on an unexplained assumption. No. What busies -my thought is love as such, and it is love which seems ridiculous -to me; and therefore I fear it, lest I become ridiculous in my own eyes, -or ridiculous in the eyes of the gods who have fashioned man thus. -In other words, if love is ridiculous it is equally ridiculous, whether -now my sweetheart be a princess or a servant girl; for the lovable, as -we have seen, is the inexplicable. - -Look you, therefore do I fear love, and find precisely in -this a new proof of love's being comical; for my fear is so -curiously tragic that it throws light on the comical nature of love. -When people wreck a building a sign is hung up to warn people, and I -shall take care to stand from under; when a bar has been freshly painted -a stone is laid in the road to apprise people of the fact; when a driver -is in danger of running a man over he will shout "look out"; when -there have been cases of cholera in a house a soldier is set as -guard; and so forth. What I mean is that if there is some danger, one -may be warned and will successfully escape it by heeding the warning. -Now, fearing to be rendered ridiculous by love, I certainly regard it as -dangerous; so what shall I do to escape it? In other words, what shall -I do to escape the danger of some woman falling in love with me? -I am far from entertaining the thought of being an Adonis every -girl is bound to fall in love with (_relata refero_,[17] for what -this means I do not understand)--goodness no! But since I do not -know what the lovable is I cannot, by any manners of means, know how -to escape this danger. Since, for that matter, the very opposite of -beauty may constitute the lovable; and, finally, since the inexplicable -also is the lovable, I am forsooth in the same situation as the man -Jean Paul speaks of somewhere who, standing on one foot, reads a -sign saying, "fox-traps here," and now does not dare, either to lift -his foot or to set it down. - -No, love any one I will not, before I have fathomed what love is; -but this I cannot, but have, rather, come to the conclusion that it is -comical. Hence I will not love--but alas! I have not thereby -avoided the danger, for, since I do not know what the lovable is and -how it seizes me, or how it seizes a woman with reference to me, I -cannot make sure whether I have avoided the danger. This is tragical -and, in a certain sense, even profoundly tragical, even if no one is -concerned about it, or if no one is concerned about the bitter -contradiction for one who thinks--that a something exists which -everywhere exercises its power and yet is not to be definitely -conceived by thought and which, perhaps, may attack from the -rear him who in vain seeks to conceive it. But as to the tragic -side of the matter it has its deep reason in the comic aspects -just pointed out. Possibly, every other person will turn all this -upside down and not find that to be comical which I do, but -rather that which I conceive to be tragical; but this too proves that -I am right to a certain extent. And that for which, if so happens, I -become either a tragic or comic victim is plain enough, viz., my -desire to reflect about all I do, and not imagine I am reflecting -about life by dismissing its every important circumstance with an -"I don't care, either way." - -Man has both a soul and a body. About this the wisest and best of -the race are agreed. Now, in case one assumes the essence of love to lie -in the relation between man and woman, the comic aspect will show again -in the face-about which is seen when the highest spiritual values -express themselves in the most sensual terms. I am now referring -to all those extraordinary and mystic signals of love--in short, to -all the free-masonry which forms a continuation of the above-mentioned -inexplicable something. The contradiction in which love here involves a -person lies in the fact that the symbolic signs mean nothing at all -or--which amounts to the same--that no one is able to explain what -they do signify. Two loving souls vow that they will love each the -other in all eternity; thereupon they embrace, and with a kiss -they seal this eternal pact. Now I ask any thinking person whether he -would have hit upon that! And thus there is constant shifting from the -one to the other extreme in love. The most spiritual is expressed -by its very opposite, and the sensual is to signify the most -spiritual.--Let me assume I am in love. In that case I would -conceive it to be of the utmost importance to me that the one I love -belonged to me for all time. This I comprehend; for I am now, really, -speaking only of Greek eroticism which has to do with loving beautiful -souls. Now when the person I love had vowed to return my love I would -believe her or, in as far as there remained any doubt in me, try to -combat my doubt. But what happens actually? For if I were in love -I would, probably, behave like all the others, that is, seek -to obtain still some other assurance than merely to believe -her I love; which, though, is plainly the only assurance to be had. - -When Cockatoo[18] all at once begins to plume himself like a -duck which is gorged with food, and then emits the word "Marian," -everybody will laugh, and so will I. I suppose the spectator finds it -comical that Cockatoo, who doesn't love Marian at all, should be on -such intimate terms with her. But suppose, now, that Cockatoo does -love Marian. Would that be comical still? To me it would; and the -comical would seem to me to lie in love's having become capable of -being expressed in such fashion. Whether now this has been the custom -since the beginning of the world makes no difference whatsoever, for the -comical has the prescriptive right from all eternity to be present in -contradictions--and here is a contradiction. There is really -nothing comical in the antics of a manikin since we see some one pulling -the strings. But to be a manikin at the beck of something inexplicable -is indeed comical, for the contradiction lies in our not seeing any -sensible reason why one should have to twitch now this leg and now -that. Hence, if I cannot explain what I am doing, I do not care to do -it; and if I cannot understand the power into whose sphere I am -venturing, I do not care to surrender myself to that power. And if love -is so mysterious a law which binds together the extremest contradictions, -then who will guarantee that I might not, one day, become altogether -confused? Still, that does not concern me so much. - -Again, I have heard that some lovers consider the behavior of other -lovers ridiculous. I cannot conceive how this ridicule is justified, -for if this law of love be a natural law, then all lovers are subject -to it; but if it be the law of their own choice, then those laughing -lovers ought to be able to explain all about love; which, however, they -are unable to do. But in this respect I understand this matter better as -it seems a convention for one lover to laugh at the other because -he always finds the other lover ridiculous, but not himself. If it -be ridiculous to kiss an ugly girl, it is also ridiculous to kiss -a pretty one; and the notion that doing this in some particular way -should entitle one to cast ridicule on another who does it differently, -is but presumptuousness and a conspiracy which does not, for all that, -exempt such a snob from laying himself open to the ridicule which -invariably results from the fact that no one is able to explain what -this act of kissing signifies, whereas it is to signify all--to -signify, indeed, that the lovers desire to belong to each other -in all eternity; aye, what is still more amusing, to render them -certain that they will. Now, if a man should suddenly lay his head on -one side, or shake it, or kick out with his leg and, upon my asking -him why he did this, should answer "To be sure I don't know, myself, -I just happened to do so, next time I may do something different, for I -did it unconsciously"--ah, then I would understand him quite -well. But if he said, as the lovers say about their antics, that all -bliss lay therein, how could I help finding it ridiculous--just -as I thought that other man's motions ridiculous, to be sure in a -different sense, until he restrained my laughter by declaring that -they did not signify anything. For by doing so he removed the -contradiction which is the basic cause of the comical. It is not at all -comical that the insignificant is declared to signify nothing, but it -is very much so if it be asserted to signify all. - -As regards involuntary actions, the contradiction arises at the very -outset because involuntary actions are not looked for in a free rational -being. Thus if one supposed that the Pope had a coughing spell the -very moment he was to place the crown on Napoleon's head; or that -bride and groom in the most solemn moment of the wedding ceremony -should fall to sneezing--these would be examples of the comical. -That is, the more a given action accentuates the free rational being, -the more comical are involuntary actions. This holds true also in -respect of the erotic gesticulations, where the comical element appears -a second time, owing to the circumstance that the lovers attempt to -explain away the contradiction by attributing to their gesticulations an -absolute value. As is well known, children have a keen sense -of the ridiculous--witness children's testimony which can always -be relied on in this regard. Now as a rule children will laugh at -lovers, and if one makes them tell what they have seen, surely no one -can help laughing. This is, perhaps, due to the fact that children omit -the point. Very strange! When the Jew omitted the point no one cared to -laugh. Here, on the contrary, every one laughs because the point is -omitted; since, however, no one can explain what the point is--why, -then there is no point at all. - -So the lovers explain nothing; and those who praise love explain -nothing but are merely intent on--as one is bidden in the Royal -Laws of Denmark--on saying anent it all which may be pleasant -and of good report. But a man who thinks, desires to have his logical -categories in good order; and he who thinks about love wishes to be -sure about his categories also in this matter. The fact is, though, that -people do not think about love, and a "pastoral science" is still -lacking; for even if a poet in a pastoral poem makes an attempt to -show how love is born, everything is smuggled in again by help of -another person who teaches the lovers how to love! - -As we saw, the comical element in love arose from the face-about -whereby the highest quality of one sphere does not find expression in -that sphere but in the exactly opposite quality of another sphere. It is -comical that the soaring flight of love--the desire to belong to -each other for all time--lands ever, like Saft,[19] in the pantry; -but still more comical is it that this conclusion is said to -constitute love's highest expression. - -Wherever there is a contradiction, there the comical element is -present also. I am ever following that track. If it be disconcerting to -you, dear fellow banqueters, to follow me in what I shall have to say -now, then follow me with averted countenances. I myself am speaking -as if with veiled eyes; for as I see only the mystery in these matters, -why, I cannot see, or I see nothing. - -What is a consequence? If it cannot, in some way or other, be brought -under the same head as its antecedent--why, then it would be ridiculous -if it posed as a consequence. To illustrate: if a man who wanted to -take a bath jumped into the tank and, coming to the surface again -somewhat confused, groped for the rope to hold on to, but caught the -douche-line by mistake, and a shower now descended on him with -sufficient motivation and for excellent good reason--why, then the -consequence would be entirely in order. The ridiculous here consisted -in his seizing the wrong rope; but there is nothing ridiculous in -the shower descending when one pulls the proper rope. Rather, it would -be ridiculous if it did not come; as for example, just to show the -correctness of my contention about contradictions, if a man nerved -himself with bold resolution in order to withstand the shock and, in -the enthusiasm of his decision, with a stout heart pulled the -line--and the shower did not come. - -Let us see now how it is with regard to love. The lovers wish to -belong to each other for all time, and this they express, curiously, by -embracing each other with all the intensity of the moment; and all the -bliss of love is said to reside therein. But all desire is egotistic. -Now, to be sure, the lover's desire is not egotistic in respect of -the one he loves, but the desire of both in conjunction is absolutely -egotistic in so far as they in their union and love represent a new ego. -And yet they are deceived; for in the same moment the race triumphs -over the individual, the race is victorious, and the individuals are -debased to do its bidding. - -Now this I find more ridiculous than what Aristophanes thought so -ridiculous. The ridiculous aspect of his theory of bi-section lies in -the inherent contradiction (which the ancient author does not -sufficiently emphasize, however). In considering a person one naturally -supposes him to be an entity, and so one does believe till it becomes -apparent that, under the obsession of love, he is but a half which runs -about looking for its complement. There is nothing ridiculous in half -an apple. The comical would appear if a whole apple turned out to be -only half an apple. In the first case there exists no contradiction, -but certainly in the latter. If one actually based one's reasoning -on the figure of speech that woman is but half a person she would -not be ridiculous at all in her love. Man, however, who has been -enjoying civic rights as a whole person, will certainly appear -ridiculous when he takes to running about (and looking for his -other half);[20] for he betrays thereby that he is but half a -person. In fact, the more one thinks about the matter the more -ridiculous it seems; because if man really be a whole, why, then -he will not become a whole in love, but he and woman would make -up one and a half. No wonder, then, that the gods laugh, and -particularly at man. - -But let me return to my consequence. When the lovers have found each -other, one should certainly believe that they formed a whole, and in -this should lie the proof of their assertion that they wished to live -for each other for all time. But lo! instead of living for each other -they begin to live for the race, and this they do not even suspect. - -What is a consequence? If, as I observed, one cannot detect in it -the cause out of which it proceeded, the consequence is merely -ridiculous, and he becomes a laughing stock to whom this happens. -Now, the fact that the separated halves have found each other ought -to be a complete satisfaction and rest for them; and yet the consequence -is a new existence. That having found each other should mean a new -existence for the lovers, is comprehensible enough; but not, that a new -existence for a third being should take its inception from this fact. -And yet the resulting consequence is greater than that of which it is -the consequence, whereas such an end as the lovers' finding each other -ought to be infallible evidence of no other, subsequent, consequence -being thinkable. - -Does the satisfaction of any other desire show an analogy to this -consequence? Quite on the contrary, the satisfaction of desire is in -every other case evinced by a period of rest; and even if a -_tristitia_[21] does supervene--indicating, by the way, that every -satisfaction of an appetite is comical--this _tristitia_ is a -straightforward consequence, though no _tristitia_ so eloquently -attests a preceding comical element as does that following love. -It is quite another matter with an enormous consequence such as -we are dealing with, a consequence of which no one knows whence -it comes, nor whether it will come; whereas, if it does come, it -comes as a consequence. - -Who is able to grasp this? And yet that which for the initiates of -love constitutes the greatest pleasure is also the most important thing -for them--so important that they even adopt new names, derived -from the consequence thereof which thus, curiously enough, assumes -retroactive force. The lover is now called father, his sweetheart, -mother; and these names seem to them the most beautiful. And yet there -is a being to whom these names are even more beautiful; for what is as -beautiful as filial piety? To me it seems the most beautiful of all -sentiments; and fortunately I can appreciate the thought underlying it. -We are taught that it is seeming in a son to love his father. This I -comprehend, I cannot even suspect that there is any contradiction -possible here, and I acknowledge infinite satisfaction in being held -by the loving bonds of filial piety. I believe it is the greatest debt -of all to owe another being one's life. I believe that this debt cannot -ever be wiped out, or even fathomed by any calculation, and for this -reason I agree with Cicero when he asserts that the son is always in the -wrong as against his father; and it is precisely filial piety which -teaches me to believe this, teaches me not even to penetrate the hidden, -but rather to remain hidden in the father. Quite true, I am glad to be -another person's greatest debtor; but as to the opposite, viz., before -deciding to make another person my greatest debtor, I want to arrive -at greater clarity. For to my conception there is a world of difference -between being some person's debtor, and making some person one's -debtor to such an extent that he will never be able to clear himself. - -What filial piety forbids the son to consider, love bids the father -to consider. And here contradiction sets in again. If the son has an -immortal soul like his father, what does it mean, then, to be a father? -For must I not smile at myself when thinking of myself as a -father--whereas the son is most deeply moved when he reflects on -the relation he bears to his father? Very well do I understand Plato -when he says that an animal will give birth to an animal of the same -species, a plant, to a plant of the same species, and thus also man -to man.[22] But this explains nothing, does not satisfy one's thought, -and arouses but a dim feeling; for an immortal soul cannot be born. -Whenever, then, a father considers his son in the light of his son's -immortality--which is, indeed, the essential consideration[23]--he -will probably smile at himself, for he cannot, by any means, grasp in -their entirety all the beautiful and noble thoughts which his son with -filial piety entertains about him. If, on the other hand, he considers -his son from the point of view of his animal nature he must smile again, -because the conception of fatherhood is too exalted an expression -for it. - -Finally, if it were thinkable that a father influenced his son in -such fashion that his own nature was a condition from which the -son's nature could not free itself, then the contradiction would arise -in another direction; for in this case nothing more terrible is -thinkable than being a father. There is no comparison between killing -a person and giving him life--the former decides his fate only in -time, the other for all eternity. So there is a contradiction again, and -one both to laugh and to weep about. Is paternity then an -illusion--even if not in the same sense as is implied in Magdelone's -speech to Jeronymus[24]--or is it the most terrible thought imaginable? -Is it the greatest benefit conferred on one, or is it the sweetest -gratification of one's desire--is it something which just happens, -or is it the greatest task of life? - -Look you, for this reason have I forsworn all love, for my thought -is to me the most essential consideration. So even if love be the most -exquisite joy, I renounce it, without wishing either to offend or to -envy any one; and even if love be the condition for conferring the -greatest benefit imaginable I deny myself the opportunity therefor--but -my thought I have not prostituted. By no means do I lack an eye for -what is beautiful, by no means does my heart remain unmoved when I -read the songs of the poets, by no means is my soul without sadness -when it yields to the beautiful conception of love; but I do not wish -to become unfaithful to my thought. And of what avail were it to be, -for there is no happiness possible for me except my thought have -free sway. If it had not, I would in desperation yearn for my -thought, which I may not desert to cleave to a wife, for it is my -immortal part and, hence, of more importance than a wife. Well do I -comprehend that if any thing is sacred it is love; that if faithlessness -in any relation is base, it is doubly so in love; that if any deceit -is detestable, it is tenfold more detestable in love. But my soul is -innocent of blame. I have never looked at any woman to desire her, -neither have I fluttered about aimlessly before blindly plunging, or -lapsing, into the most decisive of all relations. If I knew what the -lovable were I would know with certainty whether I had offended by -tempting any one; but since I do not know, I am certain only of -never having had the conscious desire to do so. - -Supposing I should yield to love and be made to laugh; or supposing -I should be cast down by terror, since I cannot find the narrow path -which lovers travel as easily as if it were the broad highway, -undisturbed by any doubts, which they surely have bestowed thought on -(seeing our times have, indeed, reflected about all[25] and consequently -will comprehend me when I assert that to act unreflectingly is nonsense, -as one ought to have gone through all possible reflections before -acting)--supposing, I say, I should yield to love! Would I not -insult past redress my beloved one if I laughed; or irrevocably plunge -her into despair if I were overwhelmed by terror? For I understand -well enough that a woman cannot be expected to have thought as -profoundly about these matters; and a woman who found love comical -(as but gods and men can, for which reason woman is a temptation -luring them to become ridiculous) would both betray a suspicious -amount of previous experience and understand me least. But a woman -who comprehended the terror of love would have lost her loveliness -and still fail to understand me--she would be annihilated; which -is in nowise my case, so long as my thought saves me. - -Is there no one ready to laugh? When I began by wanting to speak -about the comical element in love you perhaps expected to be made to -laugh, for it is easy to make you laugh, and I myself am a friend of -laughter; and still you did not laugh, I believe. The effect of my -speech was a different one, and yet precisely this proves that I have -spoken about the comical. If there be no one who laughs at my -speech--well, then laugh a little at me, dear fellow-banqueters, -and I shall not wonder; for I do not understand what I have occasionally -heard you say about love. Very probably, though, you are among the -initiated as I am not. - - -Thereupon the Young Person seated himself. He had become more -beautiful, almost, than before the meal. Now he sat quietly, looking -down before him, unconcerned about the others. John the Seducer -desired at once to urge some objections against the Young Person's -speech but was interrupted by Constantin who warned against discussions -and ruled that on this occasion only speeches were in order. John said -if that was the case, he would stipulate that he should be allowed to be -the last speaker. This again gave rise to a discussion as to the order -in which they were to speak, which Constantin closed by offering to -speak forthwith, against their recognizing his authority to appoint the -speakers in their turn. - - -(Constantin's Speech) - - -Constantin spoke as follows: - -There is a time to keep silence, and a time to speak,[26] and -now it seems to be the time to speak briefly, for our young friend -has spoken much and very strangely. His _vis comica_[27] has made -us struggle _ancipiti proelio_[28] because his speech was full of -doubts, as he himself is, sitting there now--a perplexed man who -knows not whether to laugh, or weep, or fall in love. In fact, had -I had foreknowledge of his speech, such as he demands one should -have of love, I should have forbidden him to speak; but now it is -too late. I shall bid you then, dear bellow-banqueters, "gladsome and -merry to be," and even if I cannot enforce this I shall ask you to forget -each speech so soon as it is made and to wash it down with a single -draught. - -And now as to woman, about whom I shall speak. I too have pondered -about her, and I have finally discovered the category to which she -belongs. I too have sought, but I have found, too, and I have made a -matchless discovery which I shall now communicate to you. Woman is -understood correctly only when placed in the category of "the joke." - -It is man's function to be absolute, to act in an absolute fashion, -or to give expression to the absolute. Woman's sphere lies in her -relativity.[29] Between beings so radically different, no true -reciprocal relation can exist. Precisely in this incommensurability -lies the joke. And with woman the joke was born into the world. It -is to be understood, however, that man must know how to stick to -his role of being absolute; for else nothing is seen--that is to -say, something exceedingly common is seen, viz., that man and woman -fit each other, he as a half man and she as a half man. - -The joke is not an æsthetic, but an abortive ethical, category. Its -effect on thought is about the same as the impression we receive if a -man were solemnly to begin making a speech, recite a comma or two -with his pronouncement, then say "hm!"--"dash"--and then stop. -Thus with woman. One tries to cover her with the ethical category, -one thinks of human nature, one opens one's eyes, one fastens one's -glances on the most excellent maiden in question, an effort is -made to redeem the claims of the ethical demand; and then one -grows ill at ease and says to one's self: ah, this is undoubtedly -a joke! The joke lies, indeed, in applying that category to her -and measuring her by it, because it would be idle to expect serious -results from her; but just that is the joke. Because if one could -demand it of her it would not be a joke at all. A mighty poor joke -indeed it would be, to place her under the air-pump and draw the air out -of her--indeed it were a shame; but to blow her up to supernatural -size and let her imagine herself to have attained all the ideality which -a little maiden of sixteen imagines she has, that is the beginning of -the game and, indeed, the beginning of a highly entertaining performance. -No youth has half so much imaginary ideality as a young girl, but: "We -shall soon be even" as says the tailor in the proverb; for her ideality -is but an illusion. - -If one fails to consider woman from this point of view she may cause -irreparable harm; but through my conception of her she becomes harmless -and amusing. For a man there is nothing more shocking than to catch -himself twaddling. It destroys all true ideality; for one may repent of -having been a rascal, and one may feel sorry for not having meant -a word of what one said; but to have talked nonsense, sheer nonsense, -to have meant all one said and behold! it was all nonsense--that -is too disgusting for repentance incarnate to put up with. But this is -not the case with woman. She has a prescriptive right to transfigure -herself--in less than 24 hours--in the most innocent and pardonable -nonsense; for far is it from her ingenuous soul to wish to deceive -one! Indeed, she meant all she said, and now she says the precise -opposite, but with the same amiable frankness, for now she is -willing to stake everything on what she said last. Now in case a man -in all seriousness surrenders to love he may be called fortunate indeed -if he succeeds in obtaining an insurance--if, indeed, he is able to -obtain it anywhere; for so inflammable a material as woman is most -likely to arouse the suspicions of an insurance agent. Just consider -for a moment what he has done in thus identifying himself with her! -If, some fine New Year's night she goes off like some fireworks he -will promptly follow suit; and even if this should not happen he -will have many a close call. And what may he not lose! He may lose -his all; for there is but one absolute antithesis to the absolute, -and that is nonsense. Therefore, let him not seek refuge in some -society for morally tainted individuals, for he is not morally -tainted--far from it; only, he has been reduced _in absurdum_ -and beatified in nonsense; that is, has been made a fool of. - -This will never happen among men. If a man should sputter off in -this fashion I would scorn him. If he should fool me by his cleverness -I need but apply the ethical category to him, and the danger is -trifling. If things go too far I shall put a bullet through his brain; -but to challenge a woman--what is that, if you please? Who does -not see that it is a joke, just as when Xerxes had the sea whipped? -When Othello murders Desdemona, granting she really had been guilty, -he has gained nothing, for he has been duped, and a dupe he remains; -for even by his murdering her he only makes a concession with regard -to a consequence which originally made him ridiculous; whereas -Elvira[30] may be an altogether pathetic figure when arming herself -with a dagger to obtain revenge. The fact that Shakespeare has -conceived Othello as a tragic figure (even disregarding the calamity -that Desdemona is innocent) is to be explained and, indeed, to perfect -satisfaction, by the hero being a colored person. For a colored -person, dear fellow-banqueters, who cannot be assumed to represent -spiritual qualities--a colored person, I say, who therefore becomes -green in his face when his ire is aroused (which is a physiological -fact), a colored man may, indeed, become tragic if he is deceived -by a woman; just as a woman has all the pathos of tragedy on her -side when she is betrayed by a man. A man who flies into a rage -may perhaps become tragic; but a man of whom one may expect a -developed mentality, he will either not become jealous, or he -will become ridiculous if he does; and most of all when he comes -running with a dagger in his hand. - -A pity that Shakespeare has not presented us with a comedy of this -description in which the claim raised by a woman's infidelity is turned -down by irony; for not every one who is able to see the comical element -in this situation is able also to develop the thought and give it -dramatic embodiment. Let one but imagine Socrates surprising Xanthippe -in the act--for it would be un-Socratic even to think of Socrates -being particularly concerned about his wife's fidelity, or still worse, -spying on her--imagine it, and I believe that the fine smile which -transformed the ugliest man in Athens into the handsomest, would for the -first time have turned into a roar of laughter. It is incomprehensible -why Aristophanes, who so frequently made Socrates the butt of his -ridicule, neglected to have him run on the stage shouting: "Where is -she, where is she, so that I may kill her, i.e., my unfaithful -Xanthippe." For really it does not matter greatly whether or no -Socrates was made a cuckold, and all that Xanthippe may do in this -regard is wasted labor, like snapping one's fingers in one's pocket; -for Socrates remains the same intellectual hero, even with a horn on his -forehead. But if he had in fact become jealous and had wanted to kill -Xanthippe--alas! then would Xanthippe have exerted a power over -him such as the entire Greek nation and his sentence of death could -not--to make him ridiculous. - -A cuckold is comical, then, with respect to his wife; but he may be -regarded as becoming tragical with respect to other men. In this fact we -may find an explanation of the Spanish conception of honor. But the -tragic element resides chiefly in his not being able to obtain redress, -and the anguish of his suffering consists really in its being devoid -of meaning--which is terrible enough. To shoot the woman, to -challenge her, to despise her, all this would only serve to render the -poor man still more ridiculous; for woman is the weaker sex. This -consideration enters in everywhere and confuses all. If she performs -a great deed she is admired more than man, because it is more than -was expected of her. If she is betrayed, all the pathos is on her -side; but if a man is deceived one has scant sympathy and little -patience while he is present--and laughs at him when his back is -turned. - -Look you, therefore is it advisable betimes to consider woman as -a joke. The entertainment she affords is simply incomparable. Let one -consider her a fixed quantity, and one's self a relative one; let one by -no means contradict her, for that would simply be helping her; let one -never doubt what she says but, rather, believe her every word; let one -gallivant about her, with eyes rendered unsteady by unspeakable -admiration and blissful intoxication, and with the mincing steps of a -worshipper; let one languishingly fall on one's knees, then lift up one's -eyes up to her languishingly and heave a breath again; let one do all -she bids one, like an obedient slave. And now comes the cream of the -joke. We need no proof that woman can speak, i.e., use words. -Unfortunately, however, she does not possess sufficient reflection for -making sure against her in the long run--which is, at most, eight -days--contradicting herself; unless indeed man, by contradicting -her, exerts a regulative influence. So the consequence is that within a -short time confusion will reign supreme. If one had not done what she -told one to, the confusion would pass unnoticed; for she forgets again -as quickly as she talks. But since her admirer has done all, and has -been at her beck and call in every instance, the confusion is only too -glaring. - -The more gifted the woman, the more amusing the situation. For the -more gifted she is, the more imagination she will possess. Now, the -more imagination she possesses, the greater airs she will give herself -and the greater the confusion which is bound to become evident in the -next instant. In life, such entertainment is rarely had, because this -blind obedience to a woman's whims occurs but seldom. And if it does, -in some languishing swain, most likely he is not qualified to see the -fun. The fact is, the ideality a little maiden assumes in moments when -her imagination is at work is encountered nowhere else, whether in -gods or man; but it is all the more entertaining to believe her and -to add fuel to the fire. - -As I remarked, the fun is simply incomparable--indeed, I know -it for a fact, because I have at times not been able to sleep at night -with the mere thought of what new confusions I should live to see, -through the agency of my sweetheart and my humble zeal to please her. -Indeed, no one who gambles in a lottery will meet with more remarkable -combinations than he who has a passion for this game. For this is sure, -that every woman without exception possesses the same qualifications -for being resolved and transfigured in nonsense with a gracefulness, a -nonchalance, an assurance such as befits the weaker sex. - -Being a right-minded lover one naturally discovers every possible -charm in one's beloved. Now, when discovering genius in the above -sense, one ought not to let it remain a mere possibility but ought, -rather, to develop it into virtuosity. I do not need to be more specific, -and more cannot be said in a general way, yet every one will understand -me. Just as one may find entertainment in balancing a cane on one's -nose, in swinging a tumbler in a circle without spilling a drop, in -dancing between eggs, and in other games as amusing and profitable, -likewise, and not otherwise, in living with his beloved the lover will -have a source of incomparable entertainment and food for most -interesting study. In matters pertaining to love let one have absolute -belief, not only in her protestations of fidelity--one soon tires -of that game--but in all those explosions of inviolable Romanticism -by which she would probably perish if one did not contrive a safety-valve -through which the sighs and the smoke, and "the aria of Romanticism[31]" -may escape and make her worshipper happy. Let one compare her admiringly -to Juliet, the difference being only that no person ever as much as -thought of touching a hair on her Romeo's head. With regard to -intellectual matters, let one hold her capable of all and, if one has -been lucky enough to find the right woman, in a trice one will have -a cantankerous authoress, whilst wonderingly shading one's eyes with -one's hand and duly admiring what the little black hen may yield -besides.[32] It is altogether incomprehensible why Socrates -did not choose this course of action instead of bickering with -Xanthippe--oh, well! to be sure he wished to acquire practice, -like the riding master who, even though he has the best trained -horse, yet knows how to tease him in such fashion that there is -good reason for breaking him in again.[33] - -Let me be a little more concrete, in order to illustrate a particular -and highly interesting phenomenon. A great deal has been said about -feminine fidelity, but rarely with any discretion.[34] From a purely -æsthetic point of view this fidelity is to be regarded as a piece of -poetic fiction which steps on the stage to find her lover--a fiction -which sits by the spinning wheel and waits for her lover to come; -but when she has found him, or he has come, why, then æsthetics is -at a loss. Her infidelity, on the other hand, as contrasted with -her previous fidelity, is to be judged chiefly with regard to its -ethical import, when jealousy will appear as a tragic passion. -There are three possibilities, so the case is favorable for woman; -for there are two cases of fidelity, as against one of infidelity. -Inconceivably great is her fidelity when she is not altogether sure -of her cavalier; and ever so inconceivably great is it when he repels -her fidelity. The third case would be her infidelity. Now granted one -has sufficient intellect and objectivity to make reflections, one will -find sufficient justification, in what has been said, for my category -of "the joke." Our young friend whose beginning in a manner deceived -me seemed to be on the point of entering into this matter, but backed -out again, dismayed at the difficulty. And yet the explanation -is not difficult, providing one really sets about it seriously, -to make unrequited love and death correspond to one another, and -providing one is serious enough to stick to his thought--and -so much seriousness one ought to have--for the sake of the joke. - -Of course this phrase of unrequited love being death originated -either with a woman or a womanish male. Its origin is easily made out, -seeing that it is one of those categorical outbursts which, spoken with -great bravado, on the spur of the moment, may count on a great and -immediate applause; for although this business is said to be a -matter of life and death, yet the phrase is meant for immediate -consumption--like cream-puffs. Although referring to daily experience -it is by no means binding on him who is to die, but only obliges -the listener to rush post-haste to the assistance of the dying -lover. If a man should take to using such phrases it would not be -amusing at all, for he would be too despicable to laugh at. Woman, -however, possesses genius, is lovable in the measure she possesses it, -and is amusing at all times. Well, then, the languishing lady dies of -love--why certainly, for did she not say so herself? In this matter -she is pathetic, for woman has enough courage to say what no man would -have the courage to do--so then she dies! In saying so I have -measured her by ethical standards. Do ye likewise, dear fellow-banqueters, -and understand your Aristotle aright, now! He observes very correctly -that woman cannot be used in tragedy.[35] And very certainly, her -proper sphere is the pathetic and serious divertissement, the -half-hour face, not the five-act drama. So then she dies. But should -she for that reason not be able to love again? Why not?--that is, -if it be possible to restore her to life. Now, having been restored -to life, she is of course a new being--another person, that is, and -begins afresh and falls in love for the first time: nothing remarkable -in that! Ah, death, great is thy power; not the most violent emetic -and not the most powerful laxative could ever have the same purging -effect! - -The resulting confusion is capital, if one but is attentive and -does not forget. A dead man is one of the most amusing characters -to be met with in life. Strange that more use is not made of -him on the stage, for in life he is seen, now and then. When you come -to think of it, even one who has only been seemingly dead is a comical -figure; but one who was really dead certainly contributes to our -entertainment all one can reasonably expect of a man. All depends -on whether one is attentive. I myself had my attention called to it, -one day, as I was walking with one of my acquaintances. A couple -passed us. I judged from the expression on his face that he knew them -and asked whether that was the case. "Why, yes," he answered, "I know -them very well, and especially the lady, for she is my departed -one."--"What departed one?" I asked.--"Why, my departed first -love," he answered. "Indeed, this is a strange affair. She said: -I shall die. And that very same moment she departed, naturally enough, -by death--else one might have insured her beforehand in the -widow's insurance. Too late! Dead she was and dead she remained; -and now I wander about, as says the poet, vainly seeking the grave of -my lady-love that I may shed my tears thereon." Thus this broken-hearted -man who remained alone in the world, though it consoled him to find -her pretty far along with some other man. - -It is a good thing for the girls, thought I, that they don't have to -be buried, every time they die; for if parents have hitherto considered -a boy-child to be the more expensive, the girls might become even -more so! - -A simple case of infidelity is not as amusing, by far. I mean, if a -girl should fall in love with some one else and should say to her lover: -"I cannot help it, save me from myself!" But to die from sorrow because -she cannot endure being separated from her lover by his journey to the -West Indies, to have put up with his departure, however,--and -then, at his return, be not only not dead, but attached to some one -else for all time--that certainly is a strange fate for a lover to -undergo. No wonder, then, that the heart-broken man at times consoled -himself with the burthen of an old song which runs: "Hurrah for you and -me, I say, we never shall forget that day!" - -Now forgive me, dear fellow-banqueters, if I have spoken at too -great length; and empty a glass to love and to woman. Beautiful she -is and lovely, if she be considered æsthetically. That is undeniable. -But, as has often been said, and as I shall say also: one ought not to -remain standing here, but should go on.[36] Consider her, then, -ethically and you will hardly have begun to do so before the humor -of it will become apparent. Even Plato and Aristotle assume that -woman is an imperfect form, an irrational quantity, that is, one -which might some time, in a better world, be transformed into a -man. In this life one must take her as she is. And what this is becomes -apparent very soon; for she will not be content with the æsthetic -sphere, but goes on, she wants to become emancipated, and she has the -courage to say so. Let her wish be fulfilled and the amusement will be -simply incomparable. - - -When Constantin had finished speaking he forthwith ruled Victor -Eremita to begin. He spoke as follows: - - -(Victor Eremita's Speech) - - -As will be remembered, Plato offers thanks to the gods for four -things. In the fourth place he is grateful for having been permitted -to be a contemporary of Socrates. For the three other boons mentioned -by him,[37] an earlier Greek philosopher[38] had already thanked -the gods, and so I conclude that they are worthy our gratitude. But -alas!--even if I wanted to express my gratitude like these Greeks I -would not be able to do so for what was denied me. Let me then -collect my soul in gratitude for the one good which was conferred -on me also--that I was made a man and not a woman. - -To be a woman is something so curious, so heterogeneous and -composite that no predicate will fully express these qualities; -and if I should use many predicates they would contradict one -another in such fashion that only a woman would be able to tolerate -the result and, what is worse, feel happy about it. The fact that -she really signifies less than man--that is not her misfortune, -and still less so if she got to know it, for it might be borne -with fortitude. No, her misfortune consists in her life's having -become devoid of fixed meaning through a romantic conception of -things, by virtue of which, now she signifies all, and now, nothing at -all; without ever finding out what she really does signify--and -even that is not her misfortune but, rather, the fact that, being -a woman, she never will be able to find out. As for myself, if I -were a woman, I should prefer to be one in the Orient and as a -slave; for to be a slave, neither more nor less, is at any rate -something, in comparison with being, now heyday, now nothing. - -Even if a woman's life did not contain such contrasts, the distinction -she enjoys, and which is rightly assumed to be hers as a woman--a -distinction she does not share with man--would by itself point to -the meaninglessness of her life. The distinction I refer to is -that of gallantry. To be gallant to woman is becoming in men. Now -gallantry consists very simply in conceiving in fantastic categories -that person to whom one is gallant. To be gallant to a man is, -therefore, an insult, for he begs to be excused from the application -of fantastic categories to him. For the fair sex, however, gallantry -signifies a tribute, a distinction, which is essentially its -privilege. Ah me, if only a single cavalier were gallant to them -the case would not be so serious. But far from it! At bottom every -man is gallant, he is unconsciously so. This signifies, therefore, -that it is life itself which has bestowed this perquisite on the -fair sex. Woman on her part unconsciously accepts it. Here we have -the same trouble again; for if only a single woman did so, another -explanation would be necessary. This is life's characteristic irony. - -Now if gallantry contained the truth it ought to be reciprocal, -i.e., gallantry would be the accepted quotation for the stated -difference between beauty on the one hand, and power, astuteness, -and strength, on the other. But this is not the case, gallantry -is essentially woman's due; and the fact that she unconsciously -accepts it may be explained through the solicitude of nature -for the weak and those treated in a step-motherly fashion by her, -who feel more than recompensed by an illusion. But precisely this -illusion is her misfortune. It is not seldom the case that nature -comes to the assistance of an afflicted creature by consoling him -with the notion that he is the most beautiful. If that is so, why, -then we may say that nature made good the deficiency since now -the creature is endowed with even more than could be reasonably -demanded. But to be beautiful only in one's imagination, and not -to be overcome, indeed, by sadness, but to be fooled into an -illusion--why, that is still worse mockery. Now, as to being -afflicted, woman certainly is far from having been treated in a -step-motherly fashion by nature; still she is so in another sense -inasmuch as she never can free herself from the illusion with which -life has consoled her. - -Gathering together one's impressions of a woman's existence, -in order to point out its essential features, one is struck by -the fact that every woman's life gives one an entirely fantastic -impression. In a far more decisive sense than man she may be said -to have turning points in her career; for her turning points -turn everything upside down. In one of Tieck's[39] Romantic dramas -there occurs a person who, having once been king of Mesopotamia, -now is a green-grocer in Copenhagen. Exactly as fantastic is -every feminine existence. If the girl's name is Juliana, her life -is as follows: erstwhile empress in the wide domains of love, -and titular queen of all the exaggerations of tomfoolery; now, -Mrs. Peterson, corner Bath Street. - -When a child, a girl is less highly esteemed than a boy. When a -little older, one does not know exactly what to make of her. At -last she enters that decisive period in which she holds absolute -sway. Worshipfully man approaches her as a suitor. Worshipfully, -for so does every suitor, it is not the scheme of a crafty deceiver. -Even the executioner, when laying down his _fasces_ to go a-wooing, -even he bends his knee, although he is willing to offer himself up, -within a short time, to domestic executions which he finds so natural -that he is far from seeking any excuse for them in the fact that -public executions have grown so few. The cultured person behaves in -the very same manner. He kneels, he worships, he conceives his -lady-love in the most fantastic categories; and then he very quickly -forgets his kneeling position--in fact, he knew, full well the while -he knelt that it was fantastic to do so. - -If I were a woman I would prefer to be sold by my father to the -highest bidder, as is the custom in the Orient; for there is at -least some sense in such a deal. What misfortune to have been born -a woman! Yet her misfortune really consists in her not being able -to comprehend it, being a woman. If she does complain, she complains -rather about her Oriental, than her Occidental, status. But if I -were a woman I would first of all refuse to be wooed, and resign -myself to belong to the weaker sex, if such is the case, and -be careful--which is most important if one is proud--of not going -beyond the truth. However, that is of but little concern to her. -Juliana is in the seventh heaven, and Mrs. Peterson submits to -her fate. - -Let me, then, thank the gods that I was born a man and not a woman. -And still, how much do I forego! For is not all poetry, from the -drinking song to the tragedy, a deification of woman? All the worse -for her and for him who admires her; for if he does not look out -he will, all of a sudden, have to pull a long face. The beautiful, -the excellent, all of man's achievement, owes its origin to woman, -for she inspires him. Woman is, indeed, the inspiring element in life. -How many a love-lorn shepherd has played on this theme, and how many -a shepherdess has listened to it! Verily, my soul is without envy -and feels only gratitude to the gods; for I would rather be a man, -though in humble station, but really so, than be a woman and an -indeterminate quantity, rendered happy by a delusion--I would rather -be a concrete thing, with a small but definite meaning, than an -abstraction which is to mean all. - -As I have said, it is through woman that ideality is born into -the world and--what were man without her! There is many a man who -has become a genius through a woman, many a one a hero, many a one -a poet, many a one even a saint; but he did not become a genius -through the woman he married, for through her he only became a -privy councillor; he did not become a hero through the woman he -married, for through her he only became a general; he did not -become a poet through the woman he married, for through her he -only became a father; he did not become a saint through the woman -he married, for he did not marry, and would have married but -one--the one whom he did not marry; just as the others became -a genius, became a hero, became a poet through the help of the -woman they did not marry. If woman's ideality were in itself -inspiring, why, then the inspiring woman would be the one to -whom a man is united for life. But life tells a different story. -It is only by a negative relation to her that man is rendered -productive in his ideal endeavors. In this sense she is inspiring; -but to say that she is inspiring, without qualifying one's statement, -is to be guilty of a paralogism[40] which one must be a woman to -overlook. Or has any one ever heard of any man having become a -poet through his wife? So long as man does not possess her she -inspires him. It is this truth which gives rise to the illusions -entertained in poetry and by women. The fact that he does not possess -her signifies, either, that he is still fighting for her--thus -has woman inspired many a one and rendered him a knight; but has -any one ever heard of any man having been rendered a knight valiant -through his wife? Or, the fact that he does not possess her signifies -that he cannot obtain her by any manner of means--thus has woman -inspired many a one and roused his ideality; that is, if there is -anything in him worth while. But a wife, who has things ever so -much worth while for her husband, will hardly arouse any ideal -strivings in him. Or, again, the fact that he does not possess -her signifies that he is pursuing an ideal. Perchance he loves -many, but loving many is also a kind of unrequited love; and yet -the ideality of his soul is to be seen in this striving and yearning, -and not in the small bits of lovableness which make up the sum -total of the contributions of all those he loves. - -The highest ideality a woman can arouse in a man consists, in fact, -in the awakening within him of the consciousness of immortality. -The point of this proof lies in what one might call the necessity -of a reply. Just as one may remark about some play that it cannot -end without this or that person getting in his say, likewise -(says ideality) our existence cannot be all over with death: I -demand a reply! This proof is frequently furnished, in a positive -fashion, in the public advertiser. I hold that to be entirely proper, -for if proof is to be made in the public advertiser it must be made -in a positive fashion. Thus: Mrs. Petersen, we learn, has lived a -number of years, until in the night of the 24th it pleased Providence, -etc. . This produces in Mr. Petersen an attack of reminiscences from -his courting days or, to express it quite plainly, nothing but seeing -her again will ever console him. For this blissful meeting he -prepares himself, in the meanwhile, by taking unto himself another -wife; for, to be sure, this marriage is by no means as poetic as the -first--still it is a good imitation. This is the proof positive. Mr. -Petersen is not satisfied with demanding a reply, no, he wants a -meeting again in the hereafter. - -As is well known, a base metal will often show the gleam of precious -metal. This is the brief silver-gleam. With respect to the base -metal this is a tragic moment, for it must once for all resign itself -to being a base metal. Not so with Mr. Petersen. The possession of -ideality is by rights inherent in every person--and now, if I laugh -at Mr. Petersen it is not because he, being in reality of base metal, -had but a single silver-gleam; but, rather, because just this -silver-gleam betrays his having become a base metal. Thus does the -philistine look most ridiculous when, arrayed in ideality, he affords -fitting occasion to say, with Holberg: "What! does that cow wear a -fine dress, too?[41]" - -The case is this: whenever a woman arouses ideality in man, and -thereby the consciousness of immortality, she always does so -negatively. He who really became a genius, a hero, a poet, a saint -through woman, he has by that very fact seized on the essence of -immortality. Now if the inspiring element were positively present -in woman, why, then a man's wife, and only his wife, ought to -awaken in him the consciousness of immortality. But the reverse -holds true. That is, if she is really to awaken ideality in -her husband she must die. Mr. Petersen, to be sure, is not affected, -for all that. But if woman, by her death, does awaken man's ideality, -then is she indeed the cause of all the great things poetry -attributes to her; but note well: that which she did in a positive -fashion for him in no wise roused his ideality. In fact, her -significance in this regard becomes the more doubtful the longer -she lives, because she will at length really begin to wish to -signify something positive. However, the more positive the proof -the less it proves; for then Mr. Petersen's longing will be for -some past common experiences whose content was, to all intents -and purposes, exhausted when they were had. Most positive of all -the proof becomes if the object of his longing concerns their -marital spooning--that time when they visited the Deer Park -together! In the same way one might suddenly feel a longing for -the old pair of slippers one used to be so comfortable in; but -that proof is not exactly a proof for the immortality of the soul. -On the other hand, the more negative the proof, the better it is; -for the negative is higher than the positive, inasmuch as it -concerns our immortality, and is thus the only positive value. - -Woman's main significance lies in her negative contribution, -whereas her positive contributions are as nothing in comparison -but, on the contrary, pernicious. It is this truth which life keeps -from her, consoling her with an illusion which surpasses all that -might arise in any man's brain, and with parental care ordering -life in such fashion that both language and everything else confirm -her in her illusion. For even if she be conceived as the very opposite -of inspiring, and rather as the well-spring of all corruption; -whether now we imagine that with her, sin came into the world, or -that it is her infidelity which ruined all--our conception of her -is always gallant. That is, when hearing such opinions one might -readily assume that woman were really able to become infinitely -more culpable than man, which would, indeed, amount to an immense -acknowledgment of her powers. Alas, alas! the case is entirely -different. There is a secret reading of this text which woman -cannot comprehend; for, the very next moment, all life owns to the -same conception as the state, which makes man responsible for his -wife. One condemns her as man never is condemned (for only a real -sentence is passed on him, and there the matter ends), not with -her receiving a milder sentence; for in that case not all of her -life would be an illusion, but with the case against her being -dismissed and the public, i.e., life, having to defray the costs. -One moment, woman is supposed to be possessed of all possible -wiles, the next moment, one laughs at him whom she deceived, which -surely is a contradiction. Even such a case as that of Potiphar's -wife does not preclude the possibility of her having really been -seduced. Thus has woman an enormous possibility, such as no man -has--an enormous possibility; but her reality is in proportion. -And most terrible of all is the magic of illusion in which she -feels herself happy. - -Let Plato then thank the gods for having been born a contemporary -of Socrates: I envy him; let him offer thanks for being a Greek: -I envy him; but when he is grateful for having been born a man -and not a woman I join him with all my heart. If I had been born -a woman and could under stand what now I can understand--it were -terrible! But if I had been born a woman and therefore could not -understand it--that were still more terrible! - -But if the case is as I stated it, then it follows that one had -better refrain from any positive relation with woman. Wherever she -is concerned one has to reckon with that inevitable hiatus which -renders her happy as she does not detect the illusion, but which -would be a man's undoing if he detected it. - -I thank the gods, then, that I was born a man and not a woman; -and I thank them, furthermore, that no woman by some life-long -attachment holds me in duty bound to be constantly reflecting -that it ought not to have been. - -Indeed, what a passing strange device is marriage! And what makes -it all the stranger is the suggestion that it is to be a step -taken without thought. And yet no step is more decisive, for nothing -in life is as inexorable and masterful as the marriage tie. And now -so important a step as marriage ought, so we are told, to be taken -without reflection! Yet marriage is not something simple but something -immensely complex and indeterminate. Just as the meat of the turtle -smacks of all kinds of meat, so likewise does marriage have a taste -of all manner of things; and just as the turtle is a sluggish animal, -likewise is marriage a sluggish thing. Falling in love is, at least, -a simple thing, but marriage--! Is it something heathen or something -Christian, something spiritual or something profane, or something -civil, or something of all things? Is it an expression of an -inexplicable love, the elective affinity of souls in delicate accord -with one another; or is it a duty, or a partnership, or a mere -convenience, or the custom of certain countries--or is it a duty, -or a partnership, or a mere convenience, or the custom of certain -countries--or is it a little of all these? Is one to order the -music for it from the town musician or the organist, or is one to -have a little from both? Is it the minister or the police sergeant -who is to make the speech and enroll the names in the book of -life--or in the town register? Does marriage blow a tune on a -comb, or does it listen to the whisperings "like to those of the -fairies from the grottoes of a summer night"?[42] - -And now every Darby imagines he performed such a potpourri, such -incomparably complex music, in getting married--and imagines that -he is still performing it while living a married life! My dear -fellow-banqueters, ought we not, in default of a wedding present -and congratulations, give each of the conjugal partners a demerit -for repeated inattentiveness? It is taxing enough to express a -single idea in one's life; but to think something so complicated -as marriage and, consequently, bring it under one head; to think -something so complicated and yet to do justice to each and every -element in it, and have everything present at the same time--verily, -he is a great man who can accomplish all this! And still every -Benedict accomplishes it--so he does, no doubt; for does he not -say that he does it unconsciously? But if this is to be done -unconsciously it must be through some higher form of unconsciousness -permeating all one's reflective powers. But not a word is said -about this! And to ask any married man about it means just wasting -one's time. - -He who has once committed a piece of folly will constantly be -pursued by its consequences. In the case of marriage the folly -consists in one's having gotten into a mess, and the punishment, -in recognizing, when it is too late, what one has done. So you will -find that the married man, now, becomes chesty, with a bit of -pathos, thinking he has done something remarkable in having entered -wedlock; now, puts his tail between his legs in dejection; then -again, praises marriage in sheer self-defense. But as to a thought-unit -which might serve to hold together the _disjecta membra_[43] -of the most heterogeneous conceptions of life contained in marriage--for -that we shall wait in vain. - -Therefore, to be a mere Benedict is humbug, and to be a seducer is -humbug, and to wish to experiment with woman for the sake of "the -joke" is also humbug. In fact, the two last mentioned methods will -be seen to involve concessions to woman on the part of man quite -as large as those found in marriage. The seducer wishes to rise -in his own estimation by deceiving her; but this very fact that -he deceives and wishes to deceive--that he cares to deceive, is -also a demonstration of his dependence on woman. And the same -holds true of him who wishes to experiment with her. - -If I were to imagine any possible relation with woman it would -be one so saturated with reflection that it would, for that very -reason, no longer be any relation with her at all. To be an excellent -husband and yet on the sly seduce every girl; to seem a seducer and -yet harbor within one all the ardor of romanticism--there would be -something to that, for the concession in the first instance were -then annihilated in the second. Certain it is that man finds his -true ideality only in such a reduplication. All merely unconscious -existence must be obliterated, and its obliteration ever cunningly -guarded by some sham expression. Such a reduplication is incomprehensible -to woman, for it removes from her the possibility of expressing man's -true nature in one term. If it were, possible for woman to exist in -such a reduplication, no erotic relation with her were thinkable. But, -her nature being such as we all know it to be, any disturbance of the -erotic relation is brought about by man's true nature which ever -consists precisely in the annihilation of that in which she has -her being. - -Am I then preaching the monastic life and rightly called Eremita? By -no means. You may as well eliminate the cloister, for after all it -is only a direct expression of spirituality and as such but a vain -endeavor to express it in direct terms. It makes small difference -whether you use gold, or silver, or paper money; but he who does not -spend a farthing but is counterfeit, he will comprehend me. He -to whom every direct expression is but a fraud, he and he only, -is safeguarded better than if he lived in a cloister-cell--he -will be a hermit even if he travelled in an omnibus day and night. - -Scarcely had Victor finished when the Dressmaker jumped to his feet -and threw over a bottle of wine standing before him; then he spoke -as follows: - - -(The Dressmaker's Speech) - - -Well spoken, dear fellow-banqueters, well spoken! The longer I hear -you speak the more I grow convinced that you are fellow-conspirators--I -greet you as such, I understand you as such; for fellow-conspirators -one can make out from afar. And yet, what know you? What does your -bit of theory to which you wish to give the appearance of experience, -your bit of experience which you make over into a theory--what does -it amount to? For every now and then you believe her a moment -and--are caught in a moment! No, I know woman--from her weak side, -that is to say, I know her. I shrink from no means to make sure about -what I have learned; for I am a madman, and a madman one must be to -understand her, and if one has not been one before, one will become -a madman, once one understands her. The robber has his hiding place -by the noisy high-road, and the ant-lion his funnel in the loose -sand, and the pirate his haunts by the roaring sea: likewise have -I may fashion-shop in the very midst of the teeming streets, seductive, -irresistible to woman as is the Venusberg to men. There, in a -fashion-shop, one learns to know woman, in a practical way and -without any theoretical ado. - -Now, if fashion meant nothing than that woman in the heat of her -desire threw off all her clothing--why, then it would stand for -something. But this is not the case, fashion is not plain sensuality, -not tolerated debauchery, but an illicit trade in indecency authorized -as proper. And, just as in heathen Prussia the marriageable girl -wore a bell whose ringing served as a signal to the men, likewise -is a woman's existence in fashion a continual bell-ringing, not -for debauchees but for lickerish voluptuaries. People hold Fortune -to be a woman--ah, yes it is, to be sure, fickle; still, it is fickle -in something, as it may also give much; and insofar it is not a -woman. No; but fashion is a woman, for fashion is fickleness in -nonsense, and is consistent only in its becoming ever more crazy. - -One hour in my shop is worth more than days and years without, if -it really be one's desire to learn to know woman; in my shop, for -it is the only one in the capital, there is no thought of competition. -Who, forsooth, would dare to enter into competition with one who -has entirely devoted himself, and is still devoting himself, as -high-priest in this idol worship? No, there is not a distinguished -assemblage which does not mention my name first and last; and -there is not a middle-class gathering where my name, whenever -mentioned, does not inspire sacred awe, like that of the king; -and there is no dress so idiotic but is accompanied by whispers -of admiration when its owner proceeds down the hall--provided -it bears my name; and there is not the lady of gentle birth who -dares pass my shop by, nor the girl of humble origin but passes -it sighing and thinking: if only I could afford it! Well, neither -was she deceived. I deceive no one; I furnish the finest goods -and the most costly, and at the lowest price, indeed, I sell -below cost. The fact is, I do not wish to make a profit. On the -contrary, every year I sacrifice large sums. And yet do I mean -to win, I mean to, I shall spend my last farthing in order to -corrupt, in order to bribe, the tools of fashion so that I may -win the game. To me it is a delight beyond compare to unroll -the most precious stuffs, to cut them out, to clip pieces from -genuine Brussels-lace, in order to make a fool's costume--I sell -to the lowest prices, genuine goods and in style. - -You believe, perhaps, that woman wants to be dressed fashionably -only at certain times? No such thing, she wants to be so all the -time and that is her only thought. For a woman does have a mind, -only it is employed about as well as is the Prodigal Son's substance; -and woman does possess the power of reflection in an incredibly high -degree, for there is nothing so holy but she will in no time -discover it to be reconcilable with her finery--and the chiefest -expression of finery is fashion. What wonder if she does discover -it to be reconcilable; for is not fashion holy to her? And there -is nothing so insignificant but she certainly will know how to -make it count in her finery--and the most fatuous expression of -finery is fashion. And there is nothing, nothing in all her attire, -not the least ribbon, of whose relation to fashion she has not a -definite conception and concerning which she is not immediately -aware whether the lady who just passed by noticed it; because, -for whose benefit does she dress, if not for other ladies! - -Even in my shop where she comes to be fitted out _à la mode_, -even there she is in fashion. Just as there is a special bathing -costume and a special riding habit, likewise there is a particular -kind of dress which it is the fashion to wear to the dressmaker's -shop. That costume is not _insouciant_ in the same sense as is -the negligée a lady is pleased to be surprised in, earlier in the -forenoon, where the point is her belonging to the fair sex and -the coquetry lies in her letting herself be surprised. The dressmaker -costume, on the other hand, is calculated to be nonchalant and a -bit careless without her being embarrassed thereby; because a -dressmaker stands in a different relation to her from a cavalier. -The coquetry here consists in thus showing herself to a man who, -by reason of his station, does not presume to ask for the lady's -womanly recognition, but must be content with the perquisites -which fall abundantly to his share, without her ever thinking -of it; or without it even so much as entering her mind to play -the lady before a dressmaker. The point is, therefore, that her -being of the opposite sex is, in a certain sense, left out of -consideration, and her coquetry invalidated, by the superciliousness -of the noble lady who would smile if any one alluded to any -relation existing between her and her dressmaker. When visited -in her negligée she conceals herself, thus displaying her charms -by this very concealment. In my shop she exposes her charms with -the utmost nonchalance, for he is only a dressmaker--and she is -a woman. Now, her shawl slips down and bares some part of her -body, and if I did not know what that means, and what she expects, -my reputation would be gone to the winds. Now, she draws herself -up, _a priori_ fashion, now she gesticulates _a posteriori_; -now, she sways to and fro in her hips; now, she looks at herself -in the mirror and sees my admiring phiz behind her in the glass; -now, she minces her words; now, she trips along with short steps; -now, she hovers; now, she draws her foot after her in a slovenly -fashion; now, she lets herself sink softly into an arm-chair, -whilst I with humble demeanor offer her a flask of smelling salts -and with my adoration assuage her agitation; now, she strikes -after me playfully; now, she drops her handkerchief and, without -as much as a single motion, lets her relaxed arm remain in its -pendent position, whilst I bend down low to pick it up and return -it to her, receiving a little patronizing nod as a reward. These -are the ways of a lady of fashion when in my shop. Whether Diogenes[44] -made any impression on the woman who was praying in a somewhat -unbecoming posture, when he asked her whether she did not believe -the gods could see her from behind--that I do not know; but -this I do know, that if I should say to her ladyship kneeling -down in church: "The folds of your gown do not fall according -to fashion," she would be more alarmed than if she had given -offense to the gods. Woe to the outcast, the male Cinderella, -who has not comprehended this! _Pro dii immortales_,[45] what, -pray, is a woman who is not in fashion; _per deos obsecro_,[46] -and what when she is in fashion! - -Whether all this is true? Well, make trial of it: let the swain, -when his beloved one sinks rapturously on his breast, whispering -unintelligibly: "thine forever," and hides her head on his bosom--let -him but say to, her: "My sweet Kitty, your coiffure is not at -all in fashion."--Possibly, men don't give thought to this; but he -who knows it, and has the reputation of knowing it, he is the most -dangerous man in the kingdom. What blissful hours the lover passes -with his sweetheart before marriage I do not know; but of the -blissful hours she spends in my shop he hasn't the slightest -inkling, either. Without my special license and sanction a marriage -is null and void, anyway--or else an entirely plebeian affair. Let -it be the very moment when they are to meet before the altar, let -her step forward with the very best conscience in the world that -everything was bought in my shop and tried on there--and now, if -I were to rush up and exclaim: "But mercy! gracious lady, your -myrtle wreath is all awry"--why, the whole ceremony might be -postponed, for aught I know. But men do not suspect these things, -one must be a dressmaker to know. - -So immense is the power of reflection needed to fathom a woman's -thought that only a man who dedicates himself wholly to the task -will succeed, and even then only if gifted to start with. Happy -therefore the man who does not associate with any woman, for she -is not his, anyway, even if she be no other man's; for she is -possessed by that phantom born of the unnatural intercourse of -woman's reflection with itself, fashion. Do you see, for this -reason should woman always swear by fashion--then were there -some force in her oath; for after all, fashion is the thing she -is always thinking of, the only thing she can think together with, -and into, everything. For instance, the glad message has gone -forth from my shop to all fashionable ladies that fashion decrees -the use of a particular kind of head-dress to be worn in church, -and that this head-dress, again, must be somewhat different for -High Mass and for the afternoon service. Now when the bells are -ringing the carriage stops in front of my door. Her ladyship -descends (for also this has been decreed, that no one can adjust -that head-dress save I, the fashion-dealer), I rush out, making -low bows, and lead her into my cabinet. And whilst she languishingly -reposes I put everything in order. Now she is ready and has looked -at herself in the mirror; quick as any messenger of the gods I -hasten in advance, open the door of my cabinet with a bow, then -hasten to the door of my shop and lay my arm on my breast, like -some oriental slave; but, encouraged by a gracious courtesy, I -even dare to throw her an adoring and admiring kiss--now she -is seated in her carriage--oh dear! she left her hymn book behind. -I hasten out again and hand it to her through the carriage window, -I permit myself once more to remind her to hold her head a trifle -more to the right, and herself to arrange things, should her -head-dress become a bit disordered when descending. She drives -away and is edified. - -You believe, perhaps, that it is only great ladies who worship -fashion, but far from it! Look at my sempstresses for whose dress -I spare no expense, so that the dogmas of fashion may be proclaimed -most emphatically from my shop. They form a chorus of half-witted -creatures, and I myself lead them on as high-priest, as a shining -example, squandering all, solely in order to make all womankind -ridiculous. For when a seducer makes the boast that every woman's -virtue has its price, I do not believe him; but I do believe that -every woman at an early time will be crazed by the maddening and -defiling introspection taught her by fashion, which will corrupt -her more thoroughly than being seduced. I have made trial more -than once. If not able to corrupt her myself I set on her a few -of fashion's slaves of her own station; for just as one may train -rats to bite rats, likewise is the crazed woman's sting like that -of the tarantula. And most especially dangerous is it when some -man lends his help. - -Whether I serve the Devil or God I do not know; but I am right, I -shall be right, I will be, so long as I possess a single farthing, -I will be until the blood spurts out of my fingers. The physiologist -pictures the shape of woman to show the dreadful effects of wearing -a corset, and beside it he draws a picture of her normal figure. -That is all entirely correct, but only one of the drawings has the -validity of truth: they all wear corsets. Describe, therefore, -the miserable, stunted perversity of the fashion-mad woman, -describe the insidious introspection devouring her, and then -describe the womanly modesty which least of all knows about -itself--do so and you have judged woman, have in very truth -passed terrible sentence on her. If ever I discover such a girl -who is contented and demure and not yet corrupted by indecent -intercourse with women--she shall fall nevertheless. I shall -catch her in my toils, already she stands at the sacrificial -altar, that is to say, in my shop. With the most scornful glance -a haughty nonchalance can assume I measure her appearance, she -perishes with fright; a peal of laughter from the adjoining room -where sit my trained accomplices annihilates her. And afterwards, -when I have gotten her rigged up _à la mode_ and she looks crazier -than a lunatic, as crazy as one who would not be accepted even -in a lunatic asylum, then she leaves me in a state of bliss--no -man, not even a god, were able to inspire fear in her; for is -she not dressed in fashion? - -Do you comprehend me now, do you comprehend why I call you -fellow-conspirators, even though in a distant way? Do you now -comprehend my conception of woman? Everything in life is a matter -of fashion, the fear of God is a matter of fashion, and so are -love, and crinolines, and a ring through the nose. To the utmost -of my ability will I therefore come to the support of the exalted -genius who wishes to laugh at the most ridiculous of all animals. -If woman has reduced everything to a matter of fashion, then will -I, with the help of fashion, prostitute her, as she deserves to -be; I have no peace, I the dressmaker, my soul rages when I think -of my task--she will yet be made to wear a ring through her nose. -Seek therefore no sweetheart, abandon love as you would the most -dangerous neighborhood; for the one whom you love would also be -made to go with a ring through her nose. - -Thereupon John, called the Seducer, spoke as follows: - - -(The Speech of John the Seducer) - - -My dear boon companions, is Satan plaguing you? For, indeed, you -speak like so many hired mourners, your eyes are red with tears -and not with wine. You almost move me to tears also, for an -unhappy lover does have a miserable time of it in life. _Hinc illae -lacrimae._[47] I, however, am a happy lover, and my only wish -is to remain so. Very possibly, that is one of the concessions -to woman which Victor is so afraid of. Why not? Let it be a -concession! Loosening the lead foil of this bottle of champagne -also is a concession; letting its foaming contents flow into my -glass also is a concession; and so is raising it to my lips--now -I drain it--_concedo._[48] Now, however, it is empty, hence I -need no more concessions. Just the same with girls. If some -unhappy lover has bought his kiss too dearly, this proves to -me only that he does not know, either how to take what is coming -to him or how to do it. I never pay too much for this sort of -thing--that is a matter for the girls to decide. What this signifies? -To me it signifies the most beautiful, the most delicious, and -well-nigh the most persuasive, _argumentum ad hominem_; but since -every woman, at least once in her life, possesses this argumentative -freshness I do not see any reason why I should not let myself be -persuaded. Our young friend wishes to make this experience in -his thought. Why not buy a cream puff and be content with looking -at it? I mean to enjoy. No mere talk for me! Just as an old song -has it about a kiss: _es ist kaum zu sehn, es ist nur für Lippen, -die genau sich verstehn_[49]--understand each other so exactly -that any reflection about the matter is but an impertinence and -a folly. He who is twenty and does not grasp the existence of the -categorical imperative "enjoy thyself"--he is a fool; and he who -does not seize the opportunity is and remains a Christianfelder.[50] - -However, you all are unhappy lovers, and that is why you are not -satisfied with woman as she is. The gods forbid! As she is she -pleases me, just as she is. Even Constantin's category of "the joke" -seems to contain a secret desire. I, on the other hand, I am gallant. -And why not? Gallantry costs nothing and gives one all and is the -condition for all erotic pleasure. Gallantly is the Masonic language -of the senses and of voluptuousness, between man and woman. It is a -natural language, as love's language in general is. It consists not -of sounds but of desires disguised and of ever changing wishes. That -an unhappy lover may be ungallant enough to wish to convert his -deficit into a draught payable in immortality--that I understand -well enough. That is to say, I for my part do not understand it; -for to me a woman has sufficient intrinsic value. I assure every -woman of this, it is the truth; and at the same time it is certain -that I am the only one who is not deceived by this truth. As to -whether a despoiled woman is worth less than man--about that I -find no information in my price list. I do not pick flowers already -broken, I leave them to the married men to use for Shrove-tide -decoration. Whether e. g. Edward wishes to consider the matter -again, and again fall in love with Cordelia,[51] or simply repeat -the affair in his reflection--that is his own business. Why -should I concern myself with other peoples' affairs! I explained -to her at an earlier time what I thought of her; and, in truth, -she convinced me, convinced me to my absolute satisfaction, that -my gallantry was well applied. - -_Concedo. Concessi._[52] If I should meet with another Cordelia, -why then I shall enact a comedy "Ring number 2.[53]" But you -are unhappy lovers and have conspired together, and are worse -deceived than the girls, notwithstanding that you are richly -endowed by nature. But decision--the decision of desire, is the -most essential thing in life. Our young friend will always remain -an onlooker. Victor is an unpractical enthusiast. Constantin has -acquired his good sense at too great a cost; and the fashion -dealer is a madman. Stuff and nonsense! With all four of you busy -about one girl, nothing would come of it. - -Let one have enthusiasm enough to idealize, taste enough to join -in the clinking of glasses at the festive board of enjoyment, sense -enough to break off--to break off absolutely, as does Death, madness -enough to wish to enjoy all over again--if you have all that you -will be the favorite of gods and girls. - -But of what avail to speak here? I do not intend to make proselytes. -Neither is this the place for that. To be sure I love wine, to be -sure I love the abundance of a banquet--all that is good; but let -a girl be my company, and then I shall be eloquent. Let then -Constantin have my thanks for the banquet, and the wine, and the -excellent appointments--the speeches, however, were but indifferent. -But in order that things shall have a better ending I shall -now pronounce a eulogy on woman. - -Just as he who is to speak in praise of the divinity must be -inspired by the divinity to speak worthily, and must therefore -be taught by the divinity as to what he shall say, likewise he -who would speak of women. For woman, even less than the divinity, -is a mere figment of man's brain, a day-dream, or a notion that -occurs to one and which one may argue about pro et contra. Nay, -one learns from woman alone what to say of her. And the more -teachers one has had, the better. The first time one is a disciple, -the next time one is already over the chief difficulties, just -as one learns in formal and learned disputations how to use -the last opponent's compliments against a new opponent. Nevertheless -nothing is lost. For as little as a kiss is a mere sample of good -things, and as little as an embrace is an exertion, just as little -is this experience exhaustive. In fact it is essentially different -from the mathematical proof of a theorem, which remains ever the -same, even though other letters be substituted. This method is -one befitting mathematics and ghosts, but not love and women, -because each is a new proof, corroborating the truth of the -theorem in a different manner. It is my joy that, far from being -less perfect than man, the female sex is, on the contrary, the -more perfect. I shall, however, clothe my speech in a myth; and I -shall exult, on woman's account whom you have so unjustly maligned, -if my speech pronounce judgment on your souls, if the enjoyment -of her beckon you only to flee you, as did the fruits from Tantalus; -because you have fled, and thereby insulted, woman. Only thus, -forsooth, may she be insulted, even though she scorn it, and though -punishment instantly falls on him who had the audacity. I, however, -insult no one. That is but the notion of married men, and a slander; -whereas, in reality, I respect her more highly than does the man -she is married to. - -Originally there was but one sex, so the Greeks relate, and that -was man's. Splendidly endowed he was, so he did honor to the -gods--so splendidly endowed that the same happened to them as -sometimes happens to a poet who has expended all his energy on -a poetic invention: they grew jealous of man. Ay, what is worse, -they feared that he would not willingly bow under their yoke; -they feared, though with small reason, that he might cause their -very heaven to totter. Thus they had raised up a power they -scarcely held themselves able to curb. Then there was anxiety -and alarm in the council of the gods. Much had they lavished in -their generosity on the creation of man; but all must be risked -now, for reason of bitter necessity; for all was at stake--so -the gods believed--and recalled he could not be, as a poet may -recall his invention. And by force he could not be subdued, or -else the gods themselves could have done so; but precisely of -that they despaired. He would have to be caught and subdued, then, -by a power weaker than his own and yet stronger--one strong -enough to compel him. What a marvelous power this would have to -be! However, necessity teaches even the gods to surpass themselves -in inventiveness. They sought and they found. That power was woman, -the marvel of creation, even in the eyes of the gods a greater -marvel than man--a discovery which the gods in their naïveté could -not help but applaud themselves for. What more can be said in her -praise than that she was able to accomplish what even the gods -did not believe themselves able to do; and what more can be said in -her praise than that she did accomplish it! But how marvelous -a creation must be hers to have accomplished it. - -It was a ruse of the gods. Cunningly the enchantress was fashioned, -for no sooner had she bewitched man than she changed and caught him -in all the circumstantialities of existence. It was that the gods -had desired. But what, pray, can be more delicious, or more entrancing -and bewitching, than what the gods themselves contrived, when battling -for their supremacy, as the only means of luring man? And most -assuredly it is so, for woman is the only, and the most seductive, -power in heaven and on earth. When compared with her in this sense -man will indeed be found to be exceedingly imperfect. - -And the stratagem of the gods was crowned with success; but not -always. There have existed at all times some men--a few--who -have detected the deception. They perceive well enough woman's -loveliness--more keenly, indeed than the others--but they also -suspect the real state of affairs. I call them erotic natures and -count myself among them. Men call them seducers, woman has no name -for them--such persons are to her unnameable. These erotic natures -are the truly fortunate ones. They live more luxuriously than do -the very gods, for they regale themselves with food more delectable -than ambrosia, and they drink what is more delicious than nectar; -they eat the most seductive invention of the gods' most ingenious -thought, they are ever eating dainties set for a bait--ah, incomparable -delight, ah, blissful fare--they are ever eating but the dainties -set for a bait; and they are never caught. All other men greedily -seize and devour it, like bumpkins eating their cabbage, and are -caught. Only the erotic nature fully appreciates the dainties set -out for bait--he prizes them infinitely. Woman divines this, and -for that reason there is a secret understanding between him and her. -But he knows also that she is a bait, and that secret he keeps -to himself. - -That nothing more marvelous, nothing more delicious, nothing more -seductive, than woman can be devised, for that vouch the gods and -their pressing need which heightened their powers of invention; -for that vouches also the fact that they risked all, and in shaping -her moved heaven and earth. - -I now forsake the myth. The conception "man" corresponds to his -"idea." I can therefore, if necessary, think of an individual man -as existing. The idea of woman, on the other hand, is so general -that no one single woman is able to express it completely. She is -not contemporaneous with man (and hence of less noble origin), but -a later creation, though more perfect than he. Whether now the gods -took some part from him whilst he slept, from fear of waking him by -taking too much; or whether they bisected him and made woman out -of the one half--at any rate it was man who was partitioned. Hence -she is the equal of man only after this partition. She is a -delusion and a snarer, but is so only afterwards, and for him who -is deluded. She is finiteness incarnate; but in her first stage -she is finiteness raised to the highest degree in the deceptive -infinitude of all divine and human illusions. Now, the deception -does not exist--one instant longer, and one is deceived. - -She is finiteness, and as such she is a collective: one woman -represents all women. Only the erotic nature comprehends this and -therefore knows how to love many without ever being deceived, sipping -the while all the delights the cunning gods were able to prepare. -For this reason, as I said, woman cannot be fully expressed by one -formula, but is, rather, an infinitude of finalities. He who wishes -to think her "idea" will have the same experience as he who gazes -on a sea of nebulous shapes which ever form anew, or as he who is -dazed by looking over the waves whose foamy crests ever mock one's -vision; for her "idea" is but the workshop of possibilities. And to -the erotic nature these possibilities are the everlasting reason -for his worship. - -So the gods created her delicate and ethereal as if out of -the mists of the summer night, yet goodly like ripe fruit; -light like a bird, though the repository of what attracts all -the world--light because the play of the forces is harmoniously -balanced in the invisible center of a negative relation;[54] -slender in growth, with definite lines, yet her body sinuous -with beautiful curves; perfect, yet ever appearing as if completed -but now; cool, delicious, and refreshing like new-fallen snow, -yet blushing in coy transparency; happy like some pleasantry -which makes one forget all one's sorrow; soothing as being the -end of desire, and satisfying in herself being the stimulus of -desire. And the gods had calculated that man, when first beholding -her, would be amazed, as one who sees himself, though familiar with -that sight--would stand in amaze as one who sees himself in the -splendor of perfection--would stand in amaze as one who beholds -what he did never dream he would, yet beholds what, it would seem, -ought to have occurred to him before--sees what is essential to -life and yet gazes on it as being the very mystery of existence. -It is precisely tins contradiction in his admiration which nurses -desire to life, while this same admiration urges him ever nearer, -so that he cannot desist from gazing, cannot desist from believing -himself familiar with the sight, without really daring to approach, -even though he cannot desist from desiring. - -When the gods had thus planned her form they were seized with -fear lest they might not have the wherewithal to give it existence; -but what they feared even more was herself. For they dared not -let her know how beautiful she was, apprehensive of having some -one in the secret who might spoil their ruse. Then was the crowning -touch given to their wondrous creation: they made her faultless; -but they concealed all this from her in the nescience of her -innocence, and concealed it doubly from her in the impenetrable -mystery of her modesty. Now she was perfect, and victory certain. -Inviting she had been before, but now doubly so through her shyness, -and beseeching through her shrinking, and irresistible through -herself offering resistance. The gods were jubilant. And no -allurement has ever been devised in the world so great as is woman, -and no allurement is as compelling as is innocence, and no temptation -is as ensnaring as is modesty, and no deception is as matchless as -is woman. She knows of nothing, still her modesty is instinctive -divination. She is distinct from man, and the separating wall of -modesty parting them is more decisive than Aladdin's sword separating -him from Gulnare;[55] and yet, when like Pyramis he puts his head -to this dividing wall of modesty, the erotic nature will perceive -all pleasures of desire divined within as from afar. - -Thus does woman tempt. Men are wont to set forth the most precious -things they possess as a delectation for the gods, nothing less -will do. Thus is woman a show-bread, the gods knew of naught -comparable to her. She exists, she is present, she is with us, -close by; and yet she is removed from us to an infinite distance -when concealed in her modesty--until she herself betrays her -hiding place, she knows not how: it is not she herself, it is -life which informs on her. Roguish she is like a child who in -playing peeps forth from his hiding place, yet her roguishness -is inexplicable, for she does not know of it herself, she is -ever mysterious--mysterious when she casts down her eyes, mysterious -when she sends forth the messengers of her glance which no thought, -let alone any word, is able to follow. And yet is the eye the -"interpreter" of the soul! What, then, is the explanation of this -mystery if the interpreter too is unintelligible? Calm she is like -the hushed stillness of eventide, when not a leaf stirs; calm -like a consciousness as yet unaware of aught. Her heart-beats -are as regular as if life were not present; and yet the erotic -nature, listening with his stethoscopically practiced ear, detects -the dithyrambic pulsing of desire sounding along unbeknown. -Careless she is like the blowing of the wind, content like the -profound ocean, and yet full of longing like a thing biding -its explanation. My friends! My mind is softened, indescribably -softened. I comprehend that also my life expresses an idea, even -if you do not comprehend me. I too have discovered the secret -of existence; I too serve a divine idea--and, assuredly, I do -not serve it for nothing. If woman is a ruse of the gods, this -means that she is to be seduced; and if woman is not an "idea," -the true inference is that the erotic nature wishes to love as -many of them as possible. - -What luxury it is to relish the ruse without being duped, only -the erotic nature comprehends. And how blissful it is to be -seduced, woman alone knows. I know that from woman, even though -I never yet allowed any one of them time to explain it to me, -but re-asserted my independence, serving the idea by a break -as sudden as that caused by death; for a bride and a break are -to one another like female and male.[56] Only woman is aware -of this, and she is aware of it together with her seducer. No -married man will ever grasp this. Nor does she ever speak with -him about it. She resigns herself to her fate, she knows that -it must be so and that she can be seduced only once. For this -reason she never really bears malice against the man who seduced -her. That is to say, if he really did seduce her and thus expressed -the idea. Broken marriage vows and that kind of thing is, of -course, nonsense and no seduction. Indeed, it is by no means so -great a misfortune for a woman to be seduced. In fact, it is -a piece of good fortune for her. An excellently seduced girl -may make an excellent wife. If I myself were not fit to be a -seducer--however deeply I feel my inferior qualifications in -this respect--if I chose to be a married man, I should always -choose a girl already seduced, so that I would not have to begin -my marriage by seducing my wife. Marriage, to be sure, also -expresses an idea; but in relation to the idea of marriage that -quality is altogether immaterial which is the absolutely essential -condition for my idea. Therefore, a marriage ought never to be -planned to begin as though it were the beginning of a story of -seduction. So much is sure: there is a seducer for every woman. -Happy is she whose good fortune it is to meet just him. - -Through marriage, on the other hand, the gods win their victory. -In it the once seduced maiden walks through life by the side of -her husband, looking back at times, full of longing, resigned -to her fate, until she reaches the goal of life. She dies; but -not in the same sense as man dies. She is volatilized and resolved -into that mysterious primal element of which the gods formed her--she -disappears like a dream, like an impermanent shape whose hour -is past. For what is woman but a dream, and the highest reality -withal! Thus does the erotic nature comprehend her, leading her, -and being led by her in the moment of seduction, beyond time--where -she has her true existence, being an illusion. Through her husband, -on the other hand, she becomes a creature of this world, and he -through her. - -Marvelous nature! If I did not admire thee, a woman would teach -me; for truly she is the _venerabile_ of life. Splendidly didst -thou fashion her, but more splendidly still in that thou never -didst fashion one woman like another. In man, the essential is the -essential, and insofar always alike; but in woman the adventitious -is the essential, and is thus an inexhaustible source of differences. -Brief is her splendor; but quickly the pain is forgotten, too, when -the same splendor is proffered me anew. It is true, I too am aware -of the unbeautiful which may appear in her thereafter; but she is -not thus with her seducer. - - -They rose from the table. It needed but a hint from Constantin, -for the participants understood each other with military precision -whenever there was a question of face or turn about. With his -invisible baton of command, elastic like a divining rod in his hand, -Constantin once more touched them in order to call forth in them a -fleeting reminiscence of the banquet and the spirit of enjoyment -which had prevailed before but was now, in some measure, submerged -through the intellectual effort of the speeches--in order that the -note of glad festivity which had disappeared might, by way of -resonance, return once more among the guests in a brief moment of -recollection. He saluted with his full glass as a signal of parting, -emptying it, and then flinging it against the door in the rear wall. -The others followed his example, consummating this symbolic -action with all the solemnity of adepts. Justice was thus done -the pleasure of stopping short--that royal pleasure which, though -briefer, yet is more liberating than any other pleasure. With a -libation this pleasure ought to be entered upon, with the libation -of flinging one's glass into destruction and oblivion, and tearing -one's self passionately away from every memory, as if it were a -danger to one's life: this libation is to the gods of the nether -world. One breaks off, and strength is needed to do that, greater -strength than to sever a knot by a sword-blow; for the difficulty -of the knot tends to arouse one's passion, but the passion required -for breaking off must be of one's own making. In a superficial -sense the result is, of course, the same; but from an artistic -point of view there is a world of difference between something -ceasing or simply coming to an end, and it being broken off by -one's own free will--whether it is a mere occurrence or a passionate -decision; whether it is all over, like a school song, because -there is no more to it, or whether it is terminated by the Cæsarian -operation of one's own pleasure; whether it is a triviality every -one has experienced, or the secret which escapes most. - -Constantin's flinging his beaker against the door was intended -merely as a symbolic rite; nevertheless, his so doing was, in -a way, a decisive act; for when the last glass was shattered the -door opened, and just as he who presumptuously knocked at Death's -door and, on its opening, beheld the powers of annihilation, so -the banqueters beheld the corps of destruction ready to demolish -everything--a memento which in an instant put them to flight -from that place, while at the very same moment the entire surroundings -had been reduced to the semblance of ruin. - -A carriage stood ready at the door. At Constantin's invitation -they seated themselves in it and drove away in good spirits; -for that tableau of destruction which they left behind had given -their souls fresh elasticity. After having covered a distance of -several miles a halt was made. Here Constantin took his leave as -host, informing them that five carriages were at their disposal--each -one was free to suit his own pleasure and drive wherever he wanted, -whether alone or in company with whomsoever he pleased. Thus a -rocket, propelled by the force of the powder, ascends at a single -shot, remains collected for an instant, in order then to spread out -to all the winds. - -While the horses were being hitched to the carriages the nocturnal -banqueters strolled a little way down the road. The fresh air of -the morning purified their hot blood with its coolness, and they -gave themselves up to it entirely. Their forms, and the groups in -which they ranged themselves, made a fantastic impression on me. -For when the morning sun shines on field and meadow, and on every -creature which in the night found rest and strength to rise up -jubilating with the sun--in this there is only a pleasing, mutual -understanding; but a nightly company, viewed by the morning light -and in smiling surroundings, makes a downright uncanny impression. -It makes one think of spooks which have been surprised by daylight, -of subterranean spirits which are unable to regain the crevice -through which they may vanish, because it is visible only in the -dark; of unhappy creatures in whom the difference between day and -night has become obliterated through the monotony of their sufferings. - -A foot path led them through a small patch of field toward a garden -surrounded by a hedge, from behind whose concealment a modest -summer-cottage peeped forth. At the end of the garden, toward the -field, there was an arbor formed by trees. Becoming aware of people -being in the arbor, they all grew curious, and with the spying -glances of men bent on observation, the besiegers closed in about -that pleasant place of concealment, hiding themselves, and as eager -as emissaries of the police about to take some one by surprise. -Like emissaries of the police--well, to be sure, their appearance -made the misunderstanding possible that it was they whom the minions -of the law might be looking for. Each one had occupied a point of -vantage for peeping in, when Victor drew back a step and said to -his neighbor, "Why, dear me, if that is not Judge William and his -wife!" - -They were surprised--not the two whom the foliage concealed -and who were all too deeply concerned with their domestic enjoyment -to be observers. They felt themselves too secure to believe -themselves an object of any one's observation excepting the -morning sun's which took pleasure in looking in to them, whilst -a gentle zephyr moved the boughs above them, and the repose-fulness -of the countryside, as well as all things around them girded the -little arbor about with peace. The happy married couple was not -surprised and noticed nothing. That they were a married couple was -clear enough; one could perceive that at a glance--alas! if one is -something of an observer one's self. Even if nothing in the wide -world, nothing, whether overtly or covertly, if nothing, I say, -threatens to interfere with the happiness of lovers, yet they -are not thus secure when sitting together. They are in a state -of bliss; and yet it is as if there were some power bent on -separating them, so firmly they clasp one another; and yet it -is as if there were some enemy present against whom they must -defend themselves; and yet it is as if they could never become -sufficiently reassured. Not thus married people, and not thus -that married couple in the arbor. How long they had been married, -however, that was not to be determined with certainty. To be -sure, the wife's activity at the tea-table revealed a sureness -of hand born of practice, but at the same time such almost childlike -interest in her occupation as if she were a newly married woman -and in that middle condition when she is not, as yet, sure whether -marriage is fun or earnest, whether being a housewife is a calling, -or a game, or a pastime. Perhaps she had been married for some -longer time but did not generally preside at the tea-table, or -perhaps did so only out here in the country, or did it perhaps -only that morning which, possibly, had a special significance -for them. Who could tell? All calculation is frustrated to a -certain degree by the fact that every personality exhibits some -originality which keeps time from leaving its marks. When the -sun shines in all his summer glory one thinks straightway that -there must be some festal occasion at hand--that it cannot be -so for every-day use, or that it is the first time, or at least -one of the first times; for surely, one thinks, it cannot be -repeated for any length of time. Thus would think he who saw -it but once, or saw it for the first time; and I saw the wife -of the justice for the first time. He who sees the object in -question every day may think differently; provided he sees the -same thing. But let the judge decide about that! - -As I remarked, our amiable housewife was occupied. She poured -boiling water into the cups, probably to warm them, emptied them -again, set a cup on a platter, poured the tea and served it with -sugar and cream--now all was ready; was it fun or earnest? In -case a person did not relish tea at other times--he should have -sat in the judge's place; for just then that drink seemed most -inviting to me, only the inviting air of the lovely woman herself -seemed to me more inviting. - -It appeared that she had not had time to speak until then. Now -she broke the silence and said, while serving him his tea: "Quick, -now, dear, and drink while it is hot, the morning air is quite -cool, anyway; and surely the least I can do for you is to be a -little careful of you. The least?" the judge answered laconically. -"Yes, or the most, or the only thing." The judge looked at her -inquiringly, and whilst he was helping himself she continued: "You -interrupted me yesterday when I wished to broach the subject, but -I have thought about it again; many times I have thought about -it, and now particularly, you know yourself in reference to -whom: it is certainly true that if you hadn't married, you would -have been far more successful in your career." With his cup still -on the platter the judge sipped a first mouthful with visible -enjoyment, thoroughly refreshed; or was it perchance the joy -over his lovely wife; I for my part believe it was the latter. -She, however, seemed only to be glad that it tasted so good to -him. Then he put down his cup on the table at his side, took out -a cigar, and said: "May I light it at your chafing-dish"? "Certainly," -she said, and handed him a live coal on a tea-spoon. He lit his -cigar and put his arm about her waist whilst she leaned against -his shoulder. He turned his head the other way to blow out the -smoke, and then he let his eyes rest on her with a devotion such -as only a glance can reveal; yet he smiled, but this glad smile -had in it a dash of sad irony. Finally he said: "Do you really -believe so, my girl? What do you mean?" she answered. He was -silent again, his smile gained the upper hand, but his voice -remained quite serious, nevertheless. "Then I pardon you your -previous folly, seeing that you yourself have forgotten it so -quickly; thou speakest as one of the foolish women speaketh[57]--what -great career should I have had?" His wife seemed embarrassed -for a moment by this return, but collected her wits quickly and -now explained her meaning with womanly eloquence. The judge -looked down before him, without interrupting her; but as she -continued he began to drum on the table with the fingers of his -right hand, at the same time humming a tune. The words of the -song were audible for a moment, just as the pattern of a texture -now becomes visible, now disappears again; and then again they -were heard no longer as he hummed the tune of the song: "The -goodman he went to the forest, to cut the wands so white." After -this melodramatic performance, consisting in the justice's wife -explaining herself whilst he hummed his tune, the dialogue set -in again. "I am thinking," he remarked, "I am thinking you are -ignorant of the fact that the Danish Law permits a man to castigate -his wife[58]--a pity only that the law does not indicate on -which occasions it is permitted." His wife smiled at his threat -and continued: "Now why can I never get you to be serious when -I touch on this matter? You do not understand me: believe me, I -mean it sincerely, it seems to me a very beautiful thought. Of -course, if you weren't my husband I would not dare to entertain -it; but now I have done so, for your sake and for my sake; and -now be nice and serious, for my sake, and answer me frankly." -"No, you can't get me to be serious, and a serious answer you -won't get; I must either laugh at you, or make you forget it, as -before, or beat you; or else you must stop talking about it, or I -shall have to make you keep silent about it some other way. You -see, it is a joke, and that is why there are so many ways out." -He arose, pressed a kiss on her brow, laid her arm in his, and -then disappeared in a leafy walk which led from the arbor. - - -The arbor was empty; there was nothing else to do, so the hostile -corps of occupation withdrew without making any gains. Still, the -others were content with uttering some malicious remarks. The -company returned but missed Victor. He had rounded the corner -and, in walking along the garden, had come up to the country -home. The doors of a garden-room facing the lawn were open, and -likewise a window. Very probably he had seen something which -attracted his attention. He leapt into the window, and leapt -out again just as the party were approaching, for they had been -looking for him. Triumphantly he held up some papers in his hand -and exclaimed: "One of the judge's manuscripts![59] Seeing -that I edited his other works it is no more than my duty that -I should edit this one too." He put it into his pocket; or, -rather, he was about to do so; for as he was bending his arm -and already had his hand with the manuscript half-way down in -his pocket I managed to steal it from him. - -But who, then, am I? Let no one ask! If it hasn't occurred to you -before to ask about it I am over the difficulty; for now the worst -is behind me. For that matter, I am not worth asking about, for -I am the least of all things, people would put me in utter confusion -by asking about me. I am pure existence, and therefore smaller, -almost, than nothing. I am "pure existence" which is present -everywhere but still is never noticed; for I am ever vanishing. -I am like the line above which stands the summa summarum--who -cares about the line? By my own strength I can accomplish nothing, -for even the idea to steal the manuscript from Victor was not my -own idea; for this very idea which, as a thief would say, induced -me to "borrow" the manuscript, was borrowed from him. And now, -when editing this manuscript, I am, again, nothing at all; for -it rightly belongs to the judge. And as editor, I am in my nothingness -only a kind of nemesis on Victor, who imagined that he had the -prescriptive right to do so. - - -[Footnote 1: _Cf._ Luke XIV, 19-20.] - -[Footnote 2: Words used in the banns.] - -[Footnote 3: Which in Latin means both "from the temple" and "at once."] - -[Footnote 4: The omission of the negative particle in the original is -no doubt unintentional.] - -[Footnote 5: Pious wish.] - -[Footnote 6: Kings 20, 1; Isaiah 38, 1.] - -[Footnote 7: An allusion to the plight of Aristophanes in Plato's -_Symposion._] - -[Footnote 8: Haggai 1, 6 (inexact).] - -[Footnote 9: May it be fortunate and favorable.] - -[Footnote 10: _Symposion_, ch. 9.] - -[Footnote 11: This ironic sally refers, not to Descartes' principle -of skepsis, but to the numerous Danish followers of Hegel and his -"method"; _cf._ Fear and Trembling.] - -[Footnote 12: _Symposion_, ch. 24.] - -[Footnote 13: _Ibid._, ch. 15-16.] - -[Footnote 14: _Cf._ Matthew 13, 31 etc.] - -[Footnote 15: A quotation from Musæus, _Volksmärchen der Deutschen_, -III, 219.] - -[Footnote 16: The reference is to a situation in Richard Cumberland's -(1732-1811) play of "The Jew," known to Copenhagen playgoers in an -adaptation.] - -[Footnote 17: I relate what I have been told.] - -[Footnote 18: A character in the Danish playwright Overskou's vaudeville -of "Capriciosa" (Comedies III, 184).] - -[Footnote 19: The glutton in Oehlenschlœger's vaudeville of -"Sovedrikken."] - -[Footnote 20: Supplied by the translator to complete the sense.] - -[Footnote 21: Dejection. _Cf._ the maxim: _omne animal post coïtun -triste._] - -[Footnote 22: This statement is to be found, rather, in Aristotle's -Ethics II, 6.] - -[Footnote 23: There is a pun here in the original.] - -[Footnote 24: In Holberg's comedy of "Erasmus Montanus," III, 6.] - -[Footnote 25: _Cf._ "The Banquet."] - -[Footnote 26: "Eccles, 3, 7."] - -[Footnote 27: "Comical power."] - -[Footnote 28: "In uncertain battle."] - -[Footnote 29: According to the development of these terms in Kierkegaard's -previous works, the "absolute" belongs to the ethic, the "relative" -to the æsthetic sphere.] - -[Footnote 30: Heroine of Mozart's "Don Juan."] - -[Footnote 31: Quotation from Wessel's famous comedy of "Love without -Stockings," III, 3.] - -[Footnote 32: Viz besides the eggs she duly furnishes; Holberg, "The -Busy-body," II, 1.] - -[Footnote 33: This figure is said by Diogenes Lærtios II, 37 to have -been used by Socrates himself about his relation to Xanthippe.] - -[Footnote 34: The following sentences are not as clear in meaning as -is otherwise the case in Kierkegaard.] - -[Footnote 35: Poetics, chap. 15.] - -[Footnote 36: _Cf._ "The Banquet"] - -[Footnote 37: They are, that he had been created a man and not an -animal, a man and not a woman, a Greek and not a Barbarian (Lactantius, -Instit. III, 19, 17).] - -[Footnote 38: Thales of Miletos (Diogenes Lærtios I, 33).] - -[Footnote 39: German poet of the Romantic School (1773-1853).] - -[Footnote 40: Reasoning against the rules of logic.] - -[Footnote 41: "The Lying-in Room," II, 2.] - -[Footnote 42: A quotation from Oehlenschläager's "Aladdin."] - -[Footnote 43: Scattered members.] - -[Footnote 44: See Diogenes Lærtios, VI, 37.] - -[Footnote 45: By the immortal gods.] - -[Footnote 46: I adjure you by the gods.] - -[Footnote 47: Therefore those tears.] - -[Footnote 48: I concede.] - -[Footnote 49: It can hardly be seen, it is but for lips which -understand each other exactly.] - -[Footnote 50: Christiansfeld, a town in South Jutland, was the -seat of a colony of Herrhutian Pietists.] - -[Footnote 51: The reference is to the "Diary of the Seducer" -(in "Either-Or," part I). Edward is the scorned lover of Cordelia -who is seduced by John.] - -[Footnote 52: I concede. I have conceded.] - -[Footnote 53: Reference to a comedy by Farquhar, which enjoyed a -moderate popularity in Copenhagen.] - -[Footnote 54: i.e., evidently, she docs not exist because of herself; -hence she is in a "negative" relation to herself. The center of this -relation is "what attracts all the world."] - -[Footnote 55: In Oehlenschläger's "Aladdin."] - -[Footnote 56: In the Danish, a pun on the homonyms _en brud_ and _et -brud._] - -[Footnote 57: Job 2, 10.] - -[Footnote 58: According to the Jutland Laws (A. D. 1241) a man is -permitted to punish his wife, when she has misbehaved, with stick and -with rod, but not with weapon. In the Danish Law (1683) this right is -restricted to children and servants. S. V.] - -[Footnote 59: Containing the second part of "Stages on Life's Road," -entitled "Reflections on Marriage in Refutation of Objections."] - - - - -FEAR AND TREMBLING - - - - -INTRODUCTION II - - -Not only in the world of commerce but also in the world of ideas -our age has arranged a regular clearance-sale. Everything may be -had at such absurdly low prices that very soon the question will -arise whether any one cares to bid. Every waiter with a speculative -turn who carefully marks the significant progress of modern -philosophy, every lecturer in philosophy, every tutor, student, -every sticker-and-quitter of philosophy--they are not content with -doubting everything, but "go right on." It might, possibly, be -ill-timed and inopportune to ask them whither they are bound; but -it is no doubt polite and modest to take it for granted that they -have doubted everything--else it were a curious statement for them -to make, that they were proceeding onward. So they have, all of -them, completed that preliminary operation and, it would seem, with -such ease that they do not think it necessary to waste a word about -how they did it. The fact is, not even he who looked anxiously and -with a troubled spirit for some little point of information, ever -found one, nor any instruction, nor even any little dietetic -prescription, as to how one is to accomplish this enormous task. -"But did not Descartes proceed in this fashion?" Descartes, indeed! -that venerable, humble, honest thinker whose writings surely no -one can read without deep emotion--Descartes did what he said, -and said what he did. Alas, alas! that is a mighty rare thing -in our times! But Descartes, as he says frequently enough, never -uttered doubts concerning his faith.... - -In our times, as was remarked, no one is content with faith, -but "goes right on." The question as to whither they are proceeding -may be a silly question; whereas it is a sign of urbanity and -culture to assume that every one has faith, to begin with, for -else it were a curious statement for them to make, that they are -proceeding further. In the olden days it was different. Then, -faith was a task for a whole life-time because it was held that -proficiency in faith was not to be won within a few days or weeks. -Hence, when the tried patriarch felt his end approaching, after -having fought his battles and preserved his faith, he was still -young enough at heart not to have forgotten the fear and trembling -which disciplined his youth and which the mature man has under -control, but which no one entirely outgrows--except insofar as -he succeeds in "going on" as early as possible. The goal which -those venerable men reached at last--at that spot every one -starts, in our times, in order to "proceed further."... - - - - -PREPARATION - - -There lived a man who, when a child, had heard the beautiful Bible -story of how God tempted Abraham and how he stood the test, how -he maintained his faith and, against his expectations, received -his son back again. As this man grew older he read this same story -with ever greater admiration; for now life had separated what had -been united in the reverent simplicity of the child. And the older -he grew, the more frequently his thoughts reverted to that story. -His enthusiasm waxed stronger and stronger, and yet the story grew -less and less clear to him. Finally he forgot everything else in -thinking about it, and his soul contained but one wish, which was, -to behold Abraham: and but one longing, which was, to have been -witness to that event. His desire was, not to see the beautiful -lands of the Orient, and not the splendor of the Promised Land, -and not the reverent couple whose old age the Lord had blessed -with children, and not the venerable figure of the aged patriarch, -and not the god-given vigorous youth of Isaac--it would have been -the same to him if the event had come to pass on some barren -heath. But his wish was, to have been with Abraham on the three -days' journey, when he rode with sorrow before him and with Isaac -at his side. His wish was, to have been present at the moment when -Abraham lifted up his eyes and saw Mount Moriah afar off; to have -been present at the moment when he left his asses behind and wended -his way up to the mountain alone with Isaac. For the mind of this -man was busy, not with the delicate conceits of the imagination, -but rather with his shuddering thought. - -The man we speak of was no thinker, he felt no desire to go beyond -his faith: it seemed to him the most glorious fate to be remembered -as the Father of Faith, and a most enviable lot to be possessed of -that faith, even if no one knew it. - -The man we speak of was no learned exegetist, he did not even -understand Hebrew--who knows but a knowledge of Hebrew might have -helped him to understand readily both the story and Abraham. - - - - -I - - -And God tempted Abraham and said unto him: take Isaac, thine -only son, whom thou lovest and go to the land Moriah and sacrifice -him there on a mountain which I shall show thee.[1] - -It was in the early morning, Abraham arose betimes and had his -asses saddled. He departed from his tent, and Isaac with him; -but Sarah looked out of the window after them until they were -out of sight. Silently they rode for three days; but on the fourth -morning Abraham said not a word but lifted up his eyes and beheld -Mount Moriah in the distance. He left his servants behind and, -leading Isaac by the hand, he approached the mountain. But Abraham -said to himself: "I shall surely conceal from Isaac whither he is -going." He stood still, he laid his hand on Isaac's head to bless -him, and Isaac bowed down to receive his blessing. And Abraham's -aspect was fatherly, his glance was mild, his speech admonishing. -But Isaac understood him not, his soul would not rise to him; he -embraced Abraham's knees, he besought him at his feet, he begged -for his young life, for his beautiful hopes, he recalled the joy -in Abraham's house when he was born, he reminded him of the sorrow -and the loneliness that would be after him. Then did Abraham raise -up the youth and lead him by his hand, and his words were full of -consolation and admonishment. But Isaac understood him not. He -ascended Mount Moriah, but Isaac understood him not. Then Abraham -averted his face for a moment; but when Isaac looked again, his -father's countenance was changed, his glance wild, his aspect -terrible, he seized Isaac and threw him to the ground and said: -"Thou foolish lad, believest thou I am thy father? An idol-worshipper -am I. Believest thou it is God's command? Nay, but my pleasure." -Then Isaac trembled and cried out in his fear: "God in heaven, -have pity on me, God of Abraham, show mercy to me, I have no -father on earth, be thou then my father!" But Abraham said softly -to himself: "Father in heaven, I thank thee. Better is it that -he believes me inhuman than that he should lose his faith in thee." - - -When the child is to be weaned, his mother blackens her breast; -for it were a pity if her breast should look sweet to him when he -is not to have it. Then the child believes that her breast has -changed; but his mother is ever the same, her glance is full of love -and as tender as ever. Happy he who needed not worse means to wean -his child! - - - - -II - - -It was in the early morning. Abraham arose betimes and embraced -Sarah, the bride of his old age. And Sarah kissed Isaac who had -taken the shame from her--Isaac, her pride, her hope for all -coming generations. Then the twain rode silently along their way, -and Abraham's glance was fastened on the ground before him; until -on the fourth day, when he lifted up his eyes and beheld Mount -Moriah in the distance; but then his eyes again sought the ground. -Without a word he put the fagots in order and bound Isaac, and -without a word he unsheathed his knife. Then he beheld the ram God -had chosen, and sacrificed him, and wended his way home.... From -that day on Abraham, grew old. He could not forget that God had -required this of him. Isaac flourished as before; but Abraham's -eye was darkened, he saw happiness no more. - - -When the child has grown and is to be weaned, his mother will in -maidenly fashion conceal her breast. Then the child has a mother -no longer. Happy the child who lost not his mother in any other sense! - - - - -III - - -It was in the early morning. Abraham arose betimes; he kissed Sarah, -the young mother, and Sarah kissed Isaac, her joy, her delight for -all times. And Abraham rode on his way, lost in thought--he was -thinking of Hagar and her son whom he had driven out into the -wilderness. He ascended Mount Moriah and he drew the knife. - -It was a calm evening when Abraham rode out alone, and he rode to -Mount Moriah. There he cast himself down on his face and prayed to -God to forgive him his sin in that he had been about to sacrifice -his son Isaac, and in that the father had forgotten his duty toward -his son. And yet oftener he rode on his lonely way, but he found -no rest. He could not grasp that it was a sin that he had wanted to -sacrifice to God his most precious possession, him for whom he would -most gladly have died many times. But, if it was a sin, if he had -not loved Isaac thus, then could he not grasp the possibility that -he could be forgiven: for what sin more terrible? - - -When the child is to be weaned, the mother is not without sorrow -that she and her child are to be separated more and more, that the -child who had first lain under her heart, and afterwards at any -rate rested at her breast, is to be so near to her no more. So -they sorrow together for that brief while. Happy he who kept his -child so near to him and needed not to sorrow more! - - - - -IV - - -It was in the early morning. All was ready for the journey in -the house of Abraham. He bade farewell to Sarah; and Eliezer, -his faithful servant, accompanied him along the way for a little -while. They rode together in peace, Abraham and Isaac, until -they came to Mount Moriah. And Abraham prepared everything for -the sacrifice, calmly and mildly; but when his father turned -aside in order to unsheathe his knife, Isaac saw that Abraham's -left hand was knit in despair and that a trembling shook his -frame--but Abraham drew forth the knife. - -Then they returned home again, and Sarah hastened to meet them; -but Isaac had lost his faith. No one in all the world ever said -a word about this, nor did Isaac speak to any man concerning -what he had seen, and Abraham suspected not that any one had seen it. - - -When the child is to be weaned, his mother has the stronger food -ready lest the child perish. Happy he who has in readiness this -stronger food! - - -Thus, and in many similar ways, thought the man whom I have mentioned -about this event. And every time he returned, after a pilgrimage to -Mount Moriah, he sank down in weariness, folding his hands and saying: -"No one, in truth, was great as was Abraham, and who can understand -him?" - - - - -A PANEGYRIC ON ABRAHAM - - -If a consciousness of the eternal were not implanted in man; if -the basis of all that exists were but a confusedly fermenting -element which, convulsed by obscure passions, produced all, both -the great and the insignificant; if under everything there lay -a bottomless void never to be filled--what else were life but -despair? If it were thus, and if there were no sacred bonds -between man and man; if one generation arose after another, as -in the forest the leaves of one season succeed the leaves of -another, or like the songs of birds which are taken up one after -another; if the generations of man passed through the world like -a ship passing through the sea and the wind over the desert--a -fruitless and a vain thing; if eternal oblivion were ever greedily -watching for its prey and there existed no power strong enough to -wrest it from its clutches--how empty were life then, and how -dismal! And therefore it is not thus; but, just as God created -man and woman, he likewise called into being the hero and the -poet or orator. The latter cannot perform the deeds of the hero--he -can only admire and love him and rejoice in him. And yet he -also is happy and not less so; for the hero is, as it were, his -better self with which he has fallen in love, and he is glad he -is not himself the hero, so that his love can express itself in -admiration. - -The poet is the genius of memory, and does nothing but recall -what has been done, can do nothing but admire what has been -done. He adds nothing of his own, but he is jealous of what -has been entrusted to him. He obeys the choice of his own heart; -but once he has found what he has been seeking, he visits every -man's door with his song and with his speech, so that all may -admire the hero as he does, and be proud of the hero as he is. -This is his achievement, his humble work, this is his faithful -service in the house of the hero. If thus, faithful to his love, -he battles day and night against the guile of oblivion which -wishes to lure the hero from him, then has he accomplished his -task, then is he gathered to his hero who loves him as faithfully; -for the poet is at it were the hero's better self, unsubstantial, -to be sure, like a mere memory, but also transfigured as is a -memory. Therefore shall no one be forgotten who has done great -deeds; and even if there be delay, even if the cloud of misunderstanding -obscure the hero from our vision, still his lover will come some -time; and the more time has passed, the more faithfully will he -cleave to him. - -No, no one shall be forgotten who was great in this world. But -each hero was great in his own way, and each one was eminent in -proportion to the great things he loved. For he who loved himself -became great through himself, and he who loved others became great -through his devotion, but he who loved God became greater than -all of these. Everyone of them shall be remembered, but each one -became great in proportion to his trust. One became great by hoping -for the possible; another, by hoping for the eternal; but he who -hoped for the impossible, he became greater than all of these. -Every one shall be remembered; but each one was great in proportion -to the power with which he strove. For he who strove with the -world became great by overcoming himself; but he who strove with -God, he became the greatest of them all. Thus there have been -struggles in the world, man against man, one against a thousand; -but he who struggled with God, he became greatest of them all. -Thus there was fighting on this earth, and there was he who conquered -everything by his strength, and there was he who conquered God by -his weakness. There was he who, trusting in himself, gained all; -and there was he who, trusting in his strength sacrificed everything; -but he who believed in God was greater than all of these. There was -he who was great through his strength, and he who was great through -his wisdom, and he who was great through his hopes, and he who was -great through his love; but Abraham was greater than all of -these--great through the strength whose power is weakness, great -through the wisdom whose secret is folly, great through the hope -whose expression is madness, great through the love which is hatred -of one's self. - -Through the urging of his faith Abraham left the land of his -forefathers and became a stranger in the land of promise. Ke left -one thing behind and took one thing along: he left his worldly -wisdom behind and took with him faith. For else he would not have -left the land of his fathers, but would have thought it an unreasonable -demand. Through his faith he came to be a stranger in the land of -promise, where there was nothing to remind him of all that had been -dear to him, but where everything by its newness tempted his soul -to longing. And yet was he God's chosen, he in whom the Lord was -well pleased! Indeed, had he been one cast off, one thrust out of -God's mercy, then might he have comprehended it; but now it seemed -like a mockery of him and of his faith. There have been others who -lived in exile from the fatherland which they loved. They are not -forgotten, nor is the song of lament forgotten in which they -mournfully sought and found what they had lost. Of Abraham there -exists no song of lamentation. It is human to complain, it is -human to weep with the weeping; but it is greater to believe, and -more blessed to consider him who has faith. - -Through his faith Abraham received the promise that in his seed -were to be blessed all races of mankind. Time passed, there was -still the possibility of it, and Abraham had faith. Another man -there was who also lived in hopes. Time passed, the evening of -his life was approaching; neither was he paltry enough to have -forgotten his hopes: neither shall he be forgotten by us! Then -he sorrowed, and his sorrow did not deceive him, as life had -done, but gave him all it could; for in the sweetness of sorrow -he became possessed of his disappointed hopes. It is human to -sorrow, it is human to sorrow with the sorrowing; but it is -greater to have faith, and more blessed to consider him who -has faith. - -No song of lamentation has come down to us from Abraham. He did -not sadly count the days as time passed; he did not look at -Sarah with suspicious eyes, whether she was becoming old; he -did not stop the sun's course lest Sarah should grow old and -his hope with her; he did not lull her with his songs of lamentation. -Abraham grew old, and Sarah became a laughing-stock to the people; -and yet was he God's chosen, and heir to the promise that in his -seed were to be blessed all races of mankind. Were it, then, -not better if he had not been God's chosen? For what is it to -be God's chosen? Is it to have denied to one in one's youth all -the wishes of youth in order to have them fulfilled after great -labor in old age? - -But Abraham had faith and steadfastly lived in hope. Had Abraham -been less firm in his trust, then would he have given up that hope. -He would have said to God: "So it is, perchance, not Thy will, -after all, that this shall come to pass. I shall surrender my -hope. It was my only one, it was my bliss. I am sincere, I conceal -no secret grudge for that Thou didst deny it to me." He would not -have remained forgotten, his example would have saved many a one; -but he would not have become the Father of Faith. For it is great -to surrender one's hope, but greater still to abide by it steadfastly -after having surrendered it; for it is great to seize hold of the -eternal hope, but greater still to abide steadfastly by one's worldly -hopes after having surrendered them. - -Then came the fulness of time. If Abraham had not had faith, then -Sarah would probably have died of sorrow, and Abraham, dulled by -his grief, would not have understood the fulfillment, but would -have smiled about it as a dream of his youth. But Abraham had -faith, and therefore he remained young; for he who always hopes -for the best, him life will deceive, and he will grow old; and -he who is always prepared for the worst, he will soon age; but -he who has faith, he will preserve eternal youth. Praise, therefore, -be to this story! For Sarah, though advanced in age, was young -enough to wish for the pleasures of a mother, and Abraham, though -grey of hair, was young enough to wish to become a father. In a -superficial sense it may be considered miraculous that what they -wished for came to pass, but in a deeper sense the miracle of -faith is to be seen in Abraham's and Sarah's being young enough -to wish, and their faith having preserved their wish and therewith -their youth. The promise he had received was fulfilled, and he -accepted it in faith, and it came to pass according to the promise -and his faith; whereas Moses smote the rock with his staff but -believed not. - -There was joy in Abraham's house when Sarah celebrated the day -of her Golden Wedding. - -But it was not to remain thus; for once more was Abraham to be -tempted. He had struggled with that cunning power to which nothing -is impossible, with that ever watchful enemy who never sleeps, -with that old man who outlives all--he had struggled with Time -and had preserved his faith. And now all the terror of that fight -was concentrated in one moment. "And God tempted Abraham, saying to -him: take now thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get -thee into the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt -offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee off.[2]" - -All was lost, then, and more terribly than if a son had never -been given him! The Lord had only mocked Abraham, then! Miraculously -he had realized the unreasonable hopes of Abraham; and now he wished -to take away what he had given. A foolish hope it had been, but -Abraham had not laughed when the promise had been made him. Now -all was lost--the trusting hope of seventy years, the brief joy -at the fulfillment of his hopes. Who, then, is he that snatches -away the old man's staff, who that demands that he himself shall -break it in two? Who is he that renders disconsolate the grey hair -of old age, who is he that demands that he himself shall do it? -Is there no pity for the venerable old man, and none for the -innocent child? And yet was Abraham God's chosen one, and yet -was it the Lord that tempted him. And now all was to be lost! -The glorious remembrance of him by a whole race, the promise of -Abraham's seed--all that was but a whim, a passing fancy of the -Lord, which Abraham was now to destroy forever! That glorious -treasure, as old as the faith in Abraham's heart, and many, many -years older than Isaac, the fruit of Abraham's life, sanctified -by prayers, matured in struggles--the blessing on the lips of -Abraham: this fruit was now to be plucked before the appointed -time, and to remain without significance; for of what significance -were it if Isaac was to be sacrificed? That sad and yet blessed -hour when Abraham was to take leave from all that was dear to him, -the hour when he would once more lift up his venerable head, -when his face would shine like the countenance of the Lord, the -hour when he would collect his whole soul for a blessing strong -enough to render Isaac blessed all the days of his life--that -hour was not to come! He was to say farewell to Isaac, to be -sure, but in such wise that he himself was to remain behind; -death was to part them, but in such wise that Isaac was to die. -The old man was not in happiness to lay his hand on Isaac's head -when the hour of death came, but, tired of life, to lay violent -hands on Isaac. And it was God who tempted him. Woe, woe to the -messenger who would have come before Abraham with such a command! -Who would have dared to be the messenger of such dread tidings? -But it was God that tempted Abraham. - -But Abraham had faith, and had faith for this life. Indeed, had -his faith been but concerning the life to come, then might he more -easily have cast away all, in order to hasten out of this world -which was not his.... - -But Abraham had faith and doubted not, but trusted that the -improbable would come to pass. If Abraham had doubted, then would -he have undertaken something else, something great and noble; for -what could Abraham have undertaken but was great and noble! He -would have proceeded to Mount Moriah, he would have cloven the -wood, and fired it, and unsheathed his knife--he would have cried -out to God: "Despise not this sacrifice; it is not, indeed, the -best I have; for what is an old man against a child foretold of -God; but it is the best I can give thee. Let Isaac never know -that he must find consolation in his youth." He would have plunged -the steel in his own breast. And he would have been admired -throughout the world, and his name would not have been forgotten; -but it is one thing to be admired and another, to be a lode-star -which guides one troubled in mind. - -But Abraham had faith. He prayed not for mercy and that he might -prevail upon the Lord: it was only when just retribution was to -be visited upon Sodom and Gomorrha that Abraham ventured to beseech -Him for mercy. - -We read in Scripture: "And God did tempt Abraham, and said unto -him, Abraham: and he said, Behold here I am.[3]" You, whom I -am now addressing did you do likewise? When you saw the dire -dispensations of Providence approach threateningly, did you not -then say to the mountains, Fall on me; and to the hills, Cover -me?[4] Or, if you were stronger in faith, did not your step -linger along the way, longing for the old accustomed paths, as -it were? And when the voice called you, did you answer, then, or -not at all, and if you did, perchance in a low voice, or whispering? -Not thus Abraham, but gladly and cheerfully and trustingly, and with -a resonant voice he made answer: "Here am I." And we read further: -"And Abraham rose up early in the morning.[5]" He made haste as -though for some joyous occasion, and early in the morning he was -in the appointed place, on Mount Moriah. He said nothing to Sarah, -nothing to Eliezer, his steward; for who would have understood him? -Did not his temptation by its very nature demand of him the vow of -silence? "He laid the wood in order, and bound Isaac his son, and -laid him on the altar upon the wood. And Abraham stretched forth -his hand, and took the knife to slay his son.[6]" My listener! -Many a father there has been who thought that with his child he -lost the dearest of all there was in the world for him; yet -assuredly no child ever was in that sense a pledge of God as -was Isaac to Abraham. Many a father there has been who lost his -child; but then it was God, the unchangeable and inscrutable -will of the Almighty and His hand which took it. Not thus with -Abraham. For him was reserved a more severe trial, and Isaac's -fate was put into Abraham's hand together with the knife. And -there he stood, the old man, with his only hope! Yet did he not -doubt, nor look anxiously to the left or right, nor challenge -Heaven with his prayers. He knew it was God the Almighty who -now put him to the test; he knew it was the greatest sacrifice -which could be demanded of him; but he knew also that no sacrifice -was too great which God demanded--and he drew forth his knife. - -Who strengthened Abraham's arm, who supported his right arm that -it drooped not powerless? For he who contemplates this scene is -unnerved. Who strengthened Abraham's soul so that his eyes grew -not too dim to see either Isaac or the ram? For he who contemplates -this scene will be struck with blindness. And yet, it is rare enough -that one is unnerved or is struck with blindness, and still more -rare that one narrates worthily what there did take place between -father and son. To be sure, we know well enough--it was but -a trial! - -If Abraham had doubted, when standing on Mount Moriah; if he -had looked about him in perplexity; if he had accidentally discovered -the ram before drawing his knife; if God had permitted him to -sacrifice it instead of Isaac--then would he have returned home, -and all would have been as before, he would have had Sarah and -would have kept Isaac; and yet how different all would have been! -For then had his return been a flight, his salvation an accident, -his reward disgrace; his future, perchance, perdition. Then -would he have borne witness neither to his faith nor to God's -mercy, but would have witnessed only to the terror of going to -Mount Moriah. Then Abraham would not have been forgotten, nor -either Mount Moriah. It would be mentioned, then, not as is Mount -Ararat on which the Ark landed, but as a sign of terror, because -it was there Abraham doubted. - -Venerable patriarch Abraham! When you returned home from Mount -Moriah you required no encomiums to console you for what you had -lost; for, indeed, you did win all and still kept Isaac, as we -all know. And the Lord did no more take him from your side, but -you sate gladly at table with him in your tent as in the life to -come you will, for all times. Venerable patriarch Abraham! Thousands -of years have passed since those times, but still you need no -late-born lover to snatch your memory from the power of oblivion, -for every language remembers you--and yet do you reward your lover -more gloriously than any one, rendering him blessed in your -bosom, and taking heart and eyes captive by the marvel of your -deed. Venerable patriarch Abraham! Second father of the race! You -who first perceived and bore witness to that unbounded passion -which has but scorn for the terrible fight with the raging elements -and the strength of brute creation, in order to struggle with God; -you who first felt that sublimest of all passions, you who found -the holy, pure, humble expression for the divine madness which was -a marvel to the heathen--forgive him who would speak in your praise, -in case he did it not fittingly. He spoke humbly, as if it concerned -the desire of his heart; he spoke briefly, as is seemly; but he will -never forget that you required a hundred years to obtain a son of -your old age, against all expections; that you had to draw the knife -before being permitted to keep Isaac; he will never forget that in -a hundred and thirty years you never got farther than to faith. - - - - -PRELIMINARY EXPECTORATION - - -An old saying, derived from the world of experience, has it that -"he who will not work shall not eat.[7]" But, strange to say, this -does not hold true in the world where it is thought applicable; for -in the world of matter the law of imperfection prevails, and we see, -again and again, that he also who will not work has bread to -eat--indeed, that he who sleeps has a greater abundance of it than -he who works. In the world of matter everything belongs to whosoever -happens to possess it; it is thrall to the law of indifference, and -he who happens to possess the Ring also has the Spirit of the Ring -at his beck and call, whether now he be Noureddin or Aladdin,[8] and -he who controls the treasures of this world, controls them, howsoever -he managed to do so. It is different in the world of spirit. There, -an eternal and divine order obtains, there the rain does not fall -on the just and the unjust alike, nor does the sun shine on the good -and the evil alike;[9] but there the saying does hold true that he -who will not work shall not eat, and only he who was troubled shall -find rest, and only he who descends into the nether world shall -rescue his beloved, and only he who unsheathes his knife shall be -given Isaac again. There, he who will not work shall not eat, but -shall be deceived, as the gods deceived Orpheus with an immaterial -figure instead of his beloved Euridice,[10] deceived him because -he was love-sick and not courageous, deceived him because he was -a player on the cithara rather than a man. There, it avails not -to have an Abraham for one's father,[11] or to have seventeen -ancestors. But in that world the saying about Israel's maidens -will hold true of him who will not work: he shall bring forth -wind;[12] but he who will work shall give birth to his own father. - -There is a kind of learning which would presumptuously introduce -into the world of spirit the same law of indifference under which -the world of matter groans. It is thought that to know about great -men and great deeds is quite sufficient, and that other exertion -is not necessary. And therefore this learning shall not eat, but -shall perish of hunger while seeing all things transformed into -gold by its touch. And what, forsooth, does this learning really -know? There were many thousands of contemporaries, and countless -men in after times, who knew all about the triumphs of Miltiades; -but there was only one whom they rendered sleepless.[13] There -have existed countless generations that knew by heart, word for -word, the story of Abraham; but how many has it rendered sleepless? - -Now the story of Abraham has the remarkable property of always -being glorious, in however limited a sense it is understood; still, -here also the point is whether one means to labor and exert one's -half. Now people do not care to labor and exert themselves, but -wish nevertheless to understand the story. They extol Abraham, -but how? By expressing the matter in the most general terms and -saying: "the great thing about him was that he loved God so ardently -that he was willing to sacrifice to Him his most precious possession." -That is very true; but "the most precious possession" is an indefinite -expression. As one's thoughts, and one's mouth, run on one assumes, -in a very easy fashion, the identity of Isaac and "the most precious -possession"--and meanwhile he who is meditating may smoke his -pipe, and his audience comfortably stretch out their legs. If -the rich youth whom Christ met on his way[14] had sold all his -possessions and given all to the poor, we would extol him as we -extol all which is great--aye, would not understand even him -without labor; and yet would he never have become an Abraham, -notwithstanding his sacrificing the most precious possessions he -had. That which people generally forget in the story of Abraham -is his fear and anxiety; for as regards money, one is not ethically -responsible for it, whereas for his son a father has the highest -and most sacred responsibility. However, fear is a dreadful thing -for timorous spirits, so they omit it. And yet they wish to speak -of Abraham. - -So they keep on speaking, and in the course of their speech the -two terms Isaac and "the most precious thing" are used alternately, -and everything is in the best order. But now suppose that among -the audience there was a man who suffered with sleeplessness--and -then the most terrible and profound, the most tragic, and at the -same time the most comic, misunderstanding is within the range of -possibility. That is, suppose this man goes home and wishes to do -as did Abraham; for his son is his most precious possession. If a -certain preacher learned of this he would, perhaps, go to him, he -would gather up all his spiritual dignity and exclaim: "Thou -abominable creature, thou scum of humanity, what devil possessed -thee to wish to murder thy son?" And this preacher, who had not -felt any particular warmth, nor perspired while speaking about -Abraham, this preacher would be astonished himself at the earnest -wrath with which he poured forth his thunders against that poor -wretch; indeed, he would rejoice over himself, for never had he -spoken with such power and unction, and he would have said to -his wife: "I am an orator, the only thing I have lacked so far -was the occasion. Last Sunday, when speaking about Abraham, I -did not feel thrilled in the least." - -Now, if this same orator had just a bit of sense to spare, I -believe he would lose it if the sinner would reply, in a quiet -and dignified manner: "Why, it was on this very same matter -you preached, last Sunday!" But however could the preacher have -entertained such thoughts? Still, such was the case, and the -preacher's mistake was merely not knowing what he was talking -about. Ah, would that some poet might see his way clear to prefer -such a situation to the stuff and nonsense of which novels and -comedies are full! For the comic and the tragic here run parallel -to infinity. The sermon probably was ridiculous enough in itself, -but it became infinitely ridiculous through the very natural -consequence it had. Or, suppose now the sinner was converted -by this lecture without daring to raise any objection, and this -zealous divine now went home elated, glad in the consciousness -of being effective, not only in the pulpit, but chiefly, and -with irresistible power, as a spiritual guide, inspiring his -congregation on Sunday, whilst on Monday he would place himself -like a cherub with flaming sword before the man who by his actions -tried to give the lie to the old saying that "the course of the -world follows not the priest's word." - -If, on the other hand, the sinner were not convinced of his error -his position would become tragic. He would probably be executed, -or else sent to the lunatic asylum--at any rate, he would become -a sufferer in this world; but in another sense I should think -that Abraham rendered him happy; for he who labors, he shall not -perish. - -Now how shall we explain the contradiction contained in that -sermon? Is it due to Abraham's having the reputation of being -a great man--so that whatever he does is great, but if another -should undertake to do the same it is a sin, a heinous sin? If -this be the case I prefer not to participate in such thoughtless -laudations. If faith cannot make it a sacred thing to wish to -sacrifice one's son, then let the same judgment be visited on -Abraham as on any other man. And if we perchance lack the courage -to drive our thoughts to the logical conclusion and to say that -Abraham was a murderer, then it were better to acquire that -courage, rather than to waste one's time on undeserved encomiums. -The fact is, the ethical expression for what Abraham did is -that he wanted to murder Isaac; the religious, that he wanted -to sacrifice him. But precisely in this contradiction is contained -the fear which may well rob one of one's sleep. And yet Abraham -were not Abraham without this fear. Or, again, supposing Abraham -did not do what is attributed to him, if his action was an entirely -different one, based on conditions of those times, then let us -forget him; for what is the use of calling to mind that past which -can no longer become a present reality?--Or, the speaker had -perhaps forgotten the essential fact that Isaac was the son. For -if faith is eliminated, having been reduced to a mere nothing, -then only the brutal fact remains that Abraham wanted to murder -Isaac--which is easy for everybody to imitate who has not the -faith--the faith, that is, which renders it most difficult for -him.... - - -Love has its priests in the poets, and one hears at times a poet's -voice which worthily extols it. But not a word does one hear of -faith. Who is there to speak in honor of that passion? Philosophy -"goes right on." Theology sits at the window with a painted visage -and sues for philosophy's favor, offering it her charms. It is -said to be difficult to understand the philosophy of Hegel; but -to understand Abraham, why, that is an easy matter! To proceed -further than Hegel is a wonderful feat, but to proceed further than -Abraham, why, nothing is easier! Personally, I have devoted a -considerable amount of time to a study of Hegelian philosophy -and believe I understand it fairly well; in fact, I am rash enough -to say that when, notwithstanding an effort, I am not able to -understand him in some passages, it is because he is not entirely -clear about the matter himself. All this intellectual effort I -perform easily and naturally, and it does not cause my head to -ache. On the other hand, whenever I attempt to think about Abraham -I am, as it were, overwhelmed. At every moment I am aware of -the enormous paradox which forms the content of Abraham's life, -at every moment I am repulsed, and my thought, notwithstanding -its passionate attempts, cannot penetrate into it, cannot forge -on the breadth of a hair. I strain every muscle in order to -envisage the problem--and become a paralytic in the same moment. - -I am by no means unacquainted with what has been admired as great -and noble, my soul feels kinship with it, being satisfied, in -all humility, that it was also my cause the hero espoused; and -when contemplating his deed I say to myself: "_jam tua causa -agitur._[15]" I am able to identify myself with the hero; but I -cannot do so with Abraham, for whenever I have reached his height -I fall down again, since he confronts me as the paradox. It is -by no means my intention to maintain that faith is something -inferior, but, on the contrary, that it is the highest of all -things; also that it is dishonest in philosophy to offer something -else instead, and to pour scorn on faith; but it ought to understand -its own nature in order to know what it can offer. It should take -away nothing; least of all, fool people out of something as if -it were of no value. I am not unacquainted with the sufferings -and dangers of life, but I do not fear them, and cheerfully go -forth to meet them.... But my courage is not, for all that, the -courage of faith, and is as nothing compared with it. I cannot -carry out the movement of faith: I cannot close my eyes and -confidently plunge into the absurd--it is impossible for me; but -neither do I boast of it.... - -Now I wonder if every one of my contemporaries is really able -to perform the movements of faith. Unless I am much mistaken -they are, rather, inclined to be proud of making what they perhaps -think me unable to do, viz., the imperfect movement. It is repugnant -to my soul to do what is so often done, to speak inhumanly about -great deeds, as if a few thousands of years were an immense space -of time. I prefer to speak about them in a human way and as though -they had been done but yesterday, to let the great deed itself -be the distance which either inspires or condemns me. Now if I, -in the capacity of tragic hero--for a higher flight I am unable -to take--if I had been summoned to such an extraordinary royal -progress as was the one to Mount Moriah, I know very well what I -would have done. I would not have been craven enough to remain -at home; neither would I have dawdled on the way; nor would I -have forgot my knife--just to draw out the end a bit. But I -am rather sure that I would have been promptly on the spot, -with every thing in order--in fact, would probably have been -there before the appointed time, so as to have the business -soon over with. But I know also what I would have done besides. -In the moment I mounted my horse I would have said to myself: -"Now all is lost, God demands Isaac, I shall sacrifice him, and -with him all my joy--but for all that, God is love and will -remain so for me; for in this world God and I cannot speak together, -we have no language in common." - -Possibly, one or the other of my contemporaries will be stupid -enough, and jealous enough of great deeds, to wish to persuade -himself and me that if I had acted thus I should have done something -even greater than what Abraham did; for my sublime resignation -was (he thinks) by far more ideal and poetic than Abraham's -literal-minded action. And yet this is absolutely not so, for my -sublime resignation was only a substitute for faith. I could not -have made more than the infinite movement (of resignation) to -find myself and again repose in myself. Nor would I have loved -Isaac as Abraham loved him. The fact that I was resolute enough -to resign is sufficient to prove my courage in a human sense, -and the fact that I loved him with my whole heart is the very -presupposition without which my action would be a crime; but -still I did not love as did Abraham, for else I would have hesitated -even in the last minute, without, for that matter, arriving too -late on Mount Moriah. Also, I would have spoiled the whole business -by my behavior; for if I had had Isaac restored to me I would -have been embarrassed. That which was an easy matter for Abraham -would have been difficult for me, I mean, to rejoice again in -Isaac; for he who with all the energy of his soul _proprio motu -et propriis auspiciis_[16] has made the infinite movement of -resignation and can do no more, he will retain possession of -Isaac only in his sorrow. - -But what did Abraham? He arrived neither too early nor too late. -He mounted his ass and rode slowly on his way. And all the while -he had faith, believing that God would not demand Isaac of him, -though ready all the while to sacrifice him, should it be demanded -of him. He believed this on the strength of the absurd; for there -was no question of human calculation any longer. And the absurdity -consisted in God's, who yet made this demand of him, recalling his -demand the very next moment. Abraham ascended the mountain and whilst -the knife already gleamed in his hand he believed--that God would -not demand Isaac of him. He was, to be sure, surprised at the -outcome; but by a double movement he had returned at his first -state of mind and therefore received Isaac back more gladly than -the first time.... - -On this height, then, stands Abraham. The last stage he loses -sight of is that of infinite resignation. He does really proceed -further, he arrives at faith. For all these caricatures of faith, -wretched lukewarm sloth, which thinks: "Oh, there is no hurry, it -is not necessary to worry before the time comes"; and miserable -hopefulness, which says: "One cannot know what will happen, there -might perhaps--," all these caricatures belong to the sordid view -of life and have already fallen under the infinite scorn of infinite -resignation. - -Abraham, I am not able to understand; and in a certain sense I -can learn nothing from him without being struck with wonder. They -who flatter themselves that by merely considering the outcome of -Abraham's story they will necessarily arrive at faith, only deceive -themselves and wish to cheat God out of the first movement of -faith--it were tantamount to deriving worldly wisdom from the -paradox. But who knows, one or the other of them may succeed in -doing this; for our times are not satisfied with faith, and not -even with the miracle of changing water into wine--they "go -right on" changing wine into water. - -Is it not preferable to remain satisfied with faith, and is it -not outrageous that every one wishes to "go right on"? If people -in our times decline to be satisfied with love, as is proclaimed -from various sides, where will we finally land? In worldly shrewdness, -in mean calculation, in paltriness and baseness, in all that -which renders man's divine origin doubtful. Were it not better -to stand fast in the faith, and better that he that standeth -take heed lest he fall;[17] for the movement of faith must ever -be made by virtue of the absurd, but, note well, in such wise -that one does not lose the things of this world but wholly and -entirely regains them. - -As far as I am concerned, I am able to describe most excellently -the movements of faith; but I cannot make them myself. When a -person wishes to learn how to swim he has himself suspended in -a swimming-belt and then goes through the motions; but that does -not mean that he can swim. In the same fashion I too can go -through the motions of faith; but when I am thrown into the -water I swim; to be sure (for I am not a wader in the shallows), -but I go through a different set of movements, to-wit, those -of infinity; whereas faith does the opposite, to-wit, makes -the movements to regain the finite after having made those of -infinite resignation. Blessed is he who can make these movements, -for he performs a marvelous feat, and I shall never weary of -admiring him, whether now it be Abraham himself or the slave -in Abraham's house, whether it be a professor of philosophy or -a poor servant-girl: it is all the same to me, for I have regard -only to the movements. But these movements I watch closely, and -I will not be deceived, whether by myself or by any one else. -The knights of infinite resignation are easily recognized, for -their gait is dancing and bold. But they who possess the jewel -of faith frequently deceive one because their bearing is curiously -like that of a class of people heartily despised by infinite -resignation as well as by faith--the philistines. - -Let me admit frankly that I have not in my experience encountered -any certain specimen of this type; but I do not refuse to admit -that as far as I know, every other person may be such a specimen. -At the same time I will say that I have searched vainly for years. -It is the custom of scientists to travel around the globe to see -rivers and mountains, new stars, gay-colored birds, misshapen -fish, ridiculous races of men. They abandon themselves to a -bovine stupor which gapes at existence and believe they have -seen something worth while. All this does not interest me; but -if I knew where there lived such a knight of faith I would journey -to him on foot, for that marvel occupies my thoughts exclusively. -Not a moment would I leave him out of sight, but would watch -how he makes the movements, and I would consider myself provided -for life, and would divide my time between watching him and -myself practicing the movements, and would thus use all my time -in admiring him. - -As I said, I have not met with such a one; but I can easily -imagine him. Here he is. I make his acquaintance and am introduced -to him. The first moment I lay my eyes on him I push him back, -leaping back myself, I hold up my hands in amazement and say -to myself: "Good Lord! that person? Is it really he--why, he -looks like a parish-beadle!" But it is really he. I become more -closely acquainted with him, watching his every movement to see -whether some trifling incongruous movement of his has escaped me, -some trace, perchance, of a signaling from the infinite, a glance, -a look, a gesture, a melancholy air, or a smile, which might -betray the presence of infinite resignation contrasting with -the finite. - -But no! I examine his figure from top to toe to discover whether -there be anywhere a chink through which the infinite might be -seen to peer forth. But no! he is of a piece, all through. And -how about his footing? Vigorous, altogether that of finiteness, -no citizen dressed in his very best, prepared to spend his Sunday -afternoon in the park, treads the ground more firmly. He belongs -altogether to this world, no philistine more so. There is no -trace of the somewhat exclusive and haughty demeanor which marks -off the knight of infinite resignation. He takes pleasure in all -things, is interested in everything, and perseveres in whatever -he does with the zest characteristic of persons wholly given to -worldly things. He attends to his business, and when one sees -him one might think he was a clerk who had lost his soul in -doing double bookkeeping, he is so exact. He takes a day off -on Sundays. He goes to church. But no hint of anything supernatural -or any other sign of the incommensurable betrays him, and if one -did not know him it would be impossible to distinguish him in -the congregation, for his brisk and manly singing proves only -that he has a pair of good lungs. - -In the afternoon he walks out to the forest. He takes delight -in all he sees, in the crowds of men and women, the new omnibuses, -the Sound--if one met him on the promenade one might think he -was some shopkeeper who was having a good time, so simple is -his joy; for he is not a poet, and in vain have I tried to lure -him into betraying some sign of the poet's detachment. Toward -evening he walks home again, with a gait as steady as that of -a mail-carrier. On his way he happens to wonder whether his -wife will have some little special warm dish ready for him, -when he comes home--as she surely has--as, for instance, a roasted -lamb's head garnished with greens. And if he met one minded -like him he is very likely to continue talking about this dish -with him till they reach the East Gate, and to talk about it -with a zest befitting a chef. As it happens, he has not four -shillings to spare, and yet he firmly believes that his wife -surely has that dish ready for him. If she has, it would be -an enviable sight for distinguished people, and an inspiring -one for common folks, to see him eat, for he has an appetite -greater than Esau's. His wife has not prepared it--strange, -he remains altogether the same. - -Again, on his way he passes a building lot and there meets another -man. They fall to talking, and in a trice he erects a building, -freely disposing of everything necessary. And the stranger will -leave him with the impression that he has been talking with a -capitalist--the fact being that the knight of my admiration is -busy with the thought that if it really came to the point he -would unquestionably have the means wherewithal at his disposal. - -Now he is lying on his elbows in the window and looking over -the square on which he lives. All that happens there, if it be -only a rat creeping into a gutter-hole, or children playing -together--everything engages his attention, and yet his mind -is at rest as though it were the mind of a girl of sixteen. He -smokes his pipe in the evening, and to look at him you would -swear it was the green-grocer from across the street who is -lounging at the window in the evening twilight. Thus he shows -as much unconcern as any worthless happy-go-lucky fellow; and -yet, every moment he lives he purchases his leisure at the highest -price, for he makes not the least movement except by virtue of -the absurd; and yet, yet--indeed, I might become furious with -anger, if for no other reason than that of envy--and yet, this -man has performed, and is performing every moment, the movement -of infinity... He has resigned everything absolutely, and then -again seized hold of it all on the strength of the absurd... - -But this miracle may so easily deceive one that it will be best -if I describe the movements in a given case which may illustrate -their aspect in contact with reality; and that is the important -point. Suppose, then, a young swain falls in love with a princess, -and all his life is bound up in this love. But circumstances are -such that it is out of the question to think of marrying her, an -impossibility to translate his dreams into reality. The slaves of -paltriness, the frogs in the sloughs of life, they will shout, of -course: "Such a love is folly, the rich brewer's widow is quite -as good and solid a match." Let them but croak. The knight of -infinite resignation does not follow their advice, he does not -surrender his love, not for all the riches in the world. He is -no fool, he first makes sure that this love really is the contents -of his life, for his soul is too sound and too proud to waste -itself on a mere intoxication. He is no coward, he is not afraid -to let his love insinuate itself into his most secret and most -remote thoughts, to let it wind itself in innumerable coils about -every fiber of his consciousness--if he is disappointed in his -love he will never be able to extricate himself again. He feels -a delicious pleasure in letting love thrill his every nerve, and -yet his soul is solemn as is that of him who has drained a cup -of poison and who now feels the virus mingle with every drop of -his blood, poised in that moment between life and death. - -Having thus imbibed love, and being wholly absorbed in it, he -does not lack the courage to try and dare all. He surveys the -whole situation, he calls together his swift thoughts which like -tame pigeons obey his every beck, he gives the signal, and they -dart in all directions. But when they return, every one bearing -a message of sorrow, and explain to him that it is impossible, -then he becomes silent, he dismisses them, he remains alone; -and then he makes the movement. Now if what I say here is to -have any significance, it is of prime importance that the movement -be made in a normal fashion. The knight of resignation is supposed -to have sufficient energy to concentrate the entire contents -of his life and the realization of existing conditions into -one single wish. But if one lacks this concentration, this devotion -to a single thought; if his soul from the very beginning is -scattered on a number of objects, he will never be able to make -the movement--he will be as worldly-wise in the conduct of his -life as the financier who invests his capital in a number of -securities to win on the one if he should lose on the other; -that is, he is no knight. Furthermore, the knight is supposed -to possess sufficient energy to concentrate all his thought into -a single act of consciousness. If he lacks this concentration he -will only run errands in life and will never be able to assume -the attitude of infinite resignation; for the very minute he -approaches it he will suddenly discover that he forgot something -so that he must remain behind. The next minute, thinks he, it -will be attainable again, and so it is; but such inhibitions -will never allow him to make the movement but will, rather, -tend to let him sink ever deeper into the mire. - -Our knight, then, performs the movement--which movement? Is he -intent on forgetting the whole affair, which, too, would presuppose -much concentration? No, for the knight does not contradict himself, -and it is a contradiction to forget the main contents of one's -life and still remain the same person. And he has no desire to -become another person; neither does he consider such a desire to -smack of greatness. Only lower natures forget themselves and become -something different. Thus the butterfly has forgotten that it -once was a caterpillar--who knows but it may forget altogether -that it once was a butterfly, and turn into a fish! Deeper natures -never forget themselves and never change their essential qualities. -So the knight remembers all; but precisely this remembrance is -painful. Nevertheless, in his infinite resignation he has become -reconciled with existence. His love for the princess has become -for him the expression of an eternal love, has assumed a religious -character, has been transfigured into a love for the eternal being -which, to be sure, denied him the fulfillment of his love, yet -reconciled him again by presenting him with the abiding consciousness -of his love's being preserved in an everlasting form of which no -reality can rob him.... - -Now, he is no longer interested in what the princess may do, and -precisely this proves that he has made the movement of infinite -resignation correctly. In fact, this is a good criterion for -detecting whether a person's movement is sincere or just make-believe. -Take a person who believes that he too has resigned, but lo! -time passed, the princess did something on her part, for example, -married a prince, and then his soul lost the elasticity of its -resignation. This ought to show him that he did not make the -movement correctly, for he who has resigned absolutely is sufficient -unto himself. The knight does not cancel his resignation, but -preserves his love as fresh and young as it was at the first -moment, he never lets go of it just because his resignation is -absolute. Whatever the princess does, cannot disturb him, for it -is only the lower natures who have the law for their actions in -some other person, i.e. have the premises of their actions outside -of themselves.... - -Infinite resignation is the last stage which goes before faith, -so that every one who has not made the movement of infinite -resignation cannot have faith; for only through absolute resignation -do I become conscious of my eternal worth, and only then can -there arise the problem of again grasping hold of this world by -virtue of faith. - -We will now suppose the knight of faith in the same case. He -does precisely as the other knight, he absolutely resigns the -love which is the contents of his life, he is reconciled to the -pain; but then the miraculous happens, he makes one more movement, -strange beyond comparison, saying: "And still I believe that I -shall marry her--marry her by virtue of the absurd, by virtue of -the act that to God nothing is impossible." Now the absurd is not -one of the categories which belong to the understanding proper. -It is not identical with the improbable, the unforeseen, the -unexpected. The very moment our knight resigned himself he made -sure of the absolute impossibility, in any human sense, of his -love. This was the result reached by his reflections, and he had -sufficient energy to make them. In a transcendent sense, however, -by his very resignation, the attainment of his end is not impossible; -but this very act of again taking possession of his love is at -the same time a relinquishment of it. Nevertheless this kind of -possession is by no means an absurdity to the intellect; for the -intellect all the while continues to be right, as it is aware -that in the world of finalities, in which reason rules, his -love was and is, an impossibility. The knight of faith realizes -this fully as well. Hence the only thing which can save him is -recourse to the absurd, and this recourse he has through his -faith. That is, he clearly recognizes the impossibility, and -in the same moment he believes the absurd; for if he imagined he -had faith, without at the same time recognizing, with all the -passion his soul is capable of, that his love is impossible, -he would be merely deceiving himself, and his testimony would -be of no value, since he had not arrived even at the stage of -absolute resignation.... - -This last movement, the paradoxical movement of faith, I cannot -make, whether or no it be my duty, although I desire nothing -more ardently than to be able to make it. It must be left to -a person's discretion whether he cares to make this confession; -and at any rate, it is a matter between him and the Eternal Being, -who is the object of his faith, whether an amicable adjustment -can be affected. But what every person can do is to make the -movement of absolute resignation, and I for my part would not -hesitate to declare him a coward who imagines he cannot perform -it. It is a different matter with faith. But what no person has -a right to, is to delude others into the belief that faith is -something of no great significance, or that it is an easy matter, -whereas it is the greatest and most difficult of all things. - -But the story of Abraham is generally interpreted in a different -way. God's mercy is praised which restored Isaac to him--it -was but a trial! A trial. This word may mean much or little, -and yet the whole of it passes off as quickly as the story is -told: one mounts a winged horse, in the same instant one arrives -on Mount Moriah, and _presto_ one sees the ram. It is not remembered -that Abraham only rode on an ass which travels but slowly, that -it was a three days' journey for him, and that he required some -additional time to collect the firewood, to bind Isaac, and to -whet his knife. - -And yet one extols Abraham. He who is to preach the sermon may -sleep comfortably until a quarter of an hour before he is to -preach it, and the listener may comfortably sleep during the -sermon, for everything is made easy enough, without much exertion -either to preacher or listener. But now suppose a man was present -who suffered with sleeplessness and who went home and sat in a -corner and reflected as follows: "The whole lasted but a minute, -you need only wait a little while, and then the ram will be shown -and the trial will be over." Now if the preacher should find -him in this frame of mind, I believe he would confront him -in all his dignity and say to him: "Wretch that thou art, to -let thy soul lapse into such folly; miracles do not happen, all -life is a trial." And as he proceeded he would grow more and -more passionate, and would become ever more satisfied with himself; -and whereas he had not noticed any congestion in his head whilst -preaching about Abraham, he now feels the veins on his forehead -swell. Yet who knows but he would stand aghast if the sinner -should answer him in a quiet and dignified manner that it was -precisely this about which he preached the Sunday before. - -Let us then either waive the whole story of Abraham, or else -learn to stand in awe of the enormous paradox which constitutes -his significance for us, so that we may learn to understand that -our age, like every age, may rejoice if it has faith. If the -story of Abraham is not a mere nothing, an illusion, or if it -is just used for show and as a pastime, the mistake cannot by -any means be in the sinner's wishing to do likewise; but it is -necessary to find out how great was the deed which Abraham performed, -in order that the man may judge for himself whether he has the -courage and the mission to do likewise. The comical contradiction -in the procedure of the preacher was his reduction of the story of -Abraham to insignificance whereas he rebuked the other man for -doing the very same thing. - -But should we then cease to speak about Abraham? I certainly -think not. But if I were to speak about him I would first of -all describe the terrors of his trial. To that end leech-like -I would suck all the suffering and distress out of the anguish -of a father, in order to be able to describe what Abraham suffered -whilst yet preserving his faith. I would remind the hearer that -the journey lasted three days and a goodly part of the fourth--in -fact, these three and a half days ought to become infinitely -longer than the few thousand years which separate me from Abraham. -I would remind him, as I think right, that every person is still -permitted to turn about-before trying his strength on this formidable -task; in fact, that he may return every instant in repentance. -Provided this is done, I fear for nothing. Nor do I fear to -awaken great desire among people to attempt to emulate Abraham. -But to get out a cheap edition of Abraham and yet forbid every -one to do as he did, that I call ridiculous.[18] - - -[Footnote 1: Freely after Genesis 22.] - -[Footnote 2: Genesis 20, 11 f.] - -[Footnote 3: Genesis 22, 1.] - -[Footnote 4: Luke 23, 30.] - -[Footnote 5: Genesis 22, 3.] - -[Footnote 6: Genesis 22, 9.] - -[Footnote 7: _Cf._ Thessalonians 3, 10.] - -[Footnote 8: In _Aladdin_, Oehlenschläger's famous dramatic poem, -Aladdin, "the cheerful son of nature," is contrasted with Noureddin, -representing the gloom of doubt and night.] - -[Footnote 9: Matthew 5, 45.] - -[Footnote 10: _Cf._ not the legend but Plato's _Symposion._] - -[Footnote 11: Matthew 3, 9.] - -[Footnote 12: Isaiah 26, 18.] - -[Footnote 13: Themistocles, that is; see Plutarch, Lives.] - -[Footnote 14: Matthew 19, 16f.] - -[Footnote 15: Your cause, too, is at stake.] - -[Footnote 16: By his own impulse and on his own responsibility.] - -[Footnote 17: _Cf._ I Cor. 10, 12.] - -[Footnote 18: The above, with the omissions indicated, constitutes -about one-third of "Fear and Trembling."] - - - - -PREPARATION FOR A CHRISTIAN LIFE - - - - -I[1] - - -"COME HITHER UNTO ME, ALL YE THAT LABOR AND ARE -HEAVY LADEN, AND I WILL GIVE YOU REST." -(MATTHEW 11, 28.) - - - - -THE INVITATION - - -"Come hither!"--It is not at all strange if he who is in danger -and needs help--speedy, immediate help, perhaps--it is not strange -if he cries out: "come hither"! Nor it is strange that a quack -cries his wares: "come hither, I cure all maladies"; alas, for -in the case of the quack it is only too true that it is the -physician who has need of the sick. "Come hither all ye who -at extortionate prices can pay for the cure--or at any rate -for the medicine; here is physic for everybody--who can pay; -come hither!" - -In all other cases, however, it is generally true that he who -can help must be sought; and, when found, may be difficult of -access; and, if access is had, his help may have to be implored -a long time; and when his help has been implored a long time, -he may be moved only with difficulty, that is, he sets a high -price on his services; and sometimes, precisely when he refuses -payment or generously asks for none, it is only an expression -of how infinitely high he values his services. On the other hand, -he[2] who sacrificed himself, he sacrifices himself, here too; -it is indeed he who seeks those in need of help, is himself the -one who goes about and calls, almost imploringly: "come hither!" -He, the only one who can help, and help with what alone is indispensable, -and can save from the one truly mortal disease, he does not -wait for people to come to him, but comes himself, without having -been called; for it is he who calls out to them, it is he who -holds out help--and what help! Indeed, that simple sage of antiquity[3] -was as infinitely right as the majority who do the opposite are -wrong, in setting no great price, whether on himself or his -instruction; even if he thus in a certain sense proudly expressed -the utter difference in kind between payment and his services. -But he was not so solicitous as to beg any one to come to him, -notwithstanding--or shall I say because?--he was not altogether -sure what his help signified; for the more sure one is that his -help is the only one obtainable, the more reason has he, in a -human sense, to ask a great price for it; and the less sure one -is, the more reason has he to offer freely the possible help -he has, in order to do at least something for others. But he -who calls himself the Savior, and knows that he is, he calls -out solicitously: "come hither unto me!" - - -"Come hither all ye!"--Strange! For if he who, when it comes -to the point, perhaps cannot help a single one--if such a one -should boastfully invite everybody, that would not seem so -very strange, man's nature being such as it is. But if a man -is absolutely sure of being able to help, and at the same time -willing to help, willing to devote his all in doing so, and with -all sacrifices, then he generally makes at least one reservation; -which is, to make a choice among those he means to help. That -is, however willing one may be, still it is not everybody one -cares to help; one does not care to sacrifice one's self to -that extent. But he, the only one who can really help, and really -help everybody--the only one, therefore, who really can invite -everybody--he makes no conditions whatever; but utters the invitation -which, from the beginning of the world, seems to have been reserved -for him: "Come hither all ye!" Ah, human self-sacrifice, even when -thou art most beautiful and noble, when we admire thee most: this -is a sacrifice still greater, which is, to sacrifice every provision -for one's own self, so that in one's willingness to help there is -not even the least partiality. Ah, the love that sets no price on -one's self, that makes one forget altogether that he is the -helper, and makes one altogether blind as to who it is one helps, -but infinitely careful only that he be a sufferer, whatever else he -may be; and thus willing unconditionally to help everybody--different, -alas! in this from everybody! - -"Come hither unto me!" Strange! For human compassion also, and -willingly, does something for them that labor and are heavy laden; -one feeds the hungry, clothes the naked, makes charitable gifts, -builds charitable institutions, and if the compassion be heartfelt, -perhaps even visits those that labor and are heavy laden. But to -invite them to come to one, that will never do, because then all -one's household and manner of living would have to be changed. -For a man cannot himself live in abundance, or at any rate in -well-being and happiness, and at the same time dwell in one and -the same house together with, and in daily intercourse with, the -poor and miserable, with them that labor and are heavy laden! In -order to be able to invite them in such wise, a man must himself -live altogether in the same way, as poor as the poorest, as lowly -as the lowliest, familiar with the sorrows and sufferings of life, -and altogether belonging to the same station as they whom he invites, -that is, they who labor and are heavy laden. If he wishes to -invite a sufferer, he must either change his own condition to be -like that of the sufferer, or else change that of the sufferer to -be like his own; for if this is not done the difference will -stand out only the more by contrast. And if you wish to invite -all those who suffer--for you may make an exception with one of -them and change his condition--it can be done only in one way, -which is, to change your condition so as to live as they do; -provided your life be not already lived thus, as was the case -with Him who said: "Come hither unto me, all ye that labor and -are heavy laden!" Thus said he; and they who lived with him -saw him, and behold! there was not even the least thing in his -manner of life to contradict it. With the silent and truthful -eloquence of actual performance his life expresses--even though -he had never in his life said these words--his life expresses: -"Come hither, unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden"! -He abides by his word, or he himself is the word; he is what he -says, and also in this sense he is the Word.[4] - - -"All ye that labor and are heavy laden." Strange! His only concern -is lest there be a single one who labors and is heavy laden who -does not hear this invitation. Neither does he fear that too many -will come. Ah, heart-room makes house-room; but where wilt thou -find heart-room, if not in his heart? He leaves it to each one how -to understand his invitation: he has a clear conscience about -it, for he has invited all those that labor and are heavy laden. - -But what means it, then, to labor and be heavy laden? Why does -he not offer a clearer explanation so that one may know exactly -whom he means, and why is he so chary of his words? Ah, thou -narrow-minded one, he is so chary of his words, lest he be narrow-minded; -and thou narrow-hearted one, he is so chary of his words lest -he be narrow-hearted. For such is his love--and love has regard -to all--as to prevent any one from troubling and searching his -heart whether he too be among those invited. And he who would -insist on a more definite explanation, is he not likely to be -some self-loving person who is calculating whether this explanation -does not particularly fit himself; one who does not consider that -the more of such exact explanations are offered, the more certainly -some few would be left in doubt as to whether they were invited? -Ah man, why does thine eye see only thyself, why is it evil because -he is good?[5] The invitation to all men opens the arms of him -who invites, and thus he stands of aspect everlasting; but no -sooner is a closer explanation attempted which might help one -or the other to another kind of certainty, than his aspect would -be transformed and, as it were, a shadow of change would pass -over his countenance. - -"I will give you rest." Strange! For then the words "come hither -unto me" must be understood to mean: stay with me, I am rest; -or, it is rest to remain with me. It is not, then, as in other -cases where he who helps and says "come hither" must afterwards -say: "now depart again," explaining to each one where the help -he needs is to be found, where the healing herb grows which will -cure him, or where the quiet spot is found where he may rest -from labor, or where the happier continent exists where one is -not heavy laden. But no, he who opens his arms, inviting every -one--ah, if all, all they that labor and are heavy laden came -to him, he would fold them all to his heart, saying: "stay with -me now; for to stay with me is rest." The helper himself is the -help. Ah, strange, he who invites everybody and wishes to help -everybody, his manner of treating the sick is as if calculated -for every sick man, and as if every sick man who comes to him -were his only patient. For otherwise a physician divides his -time among many patients who, however great their number, still -are far, far from being all mankind. He will prescribe the medicine, -he will say what is to be done, and how it is to be used, and -then he will go--to some other patient; or, in case the patient -should visit him, he will let him depart. The physician cannot -remain sitting all day with one patient, and still less can he -have all his patients about him in his home, and yet sit all -day with one patient without neglecting the others. For this -reason the helper and his help are not one and the same thing. -The help which the physician prescribes is kept with him by the -patient all day so that he may constantly use it, whilst the -physician visits him now and again; or he visits the physician -now and again. But if the helper is also the help, why, then -he will stay with the sick man all day, or the sick man with -him--ah, strange that it is just this helper who invites all men! - - - - -II - - -COME HITHER ALL YE THAT LABOR AND ARE HEAVY LADEN, -AND I WILL GIVE YOU REST. - - -What enormous multiplicity, what an almost boundless diversity, -of people invited; for a man, a lowly man, may, indeed, try to -enumerate only a few of these diversities--but he who invites -must invite all men, even if every one specially and individually. - - -The invitation goes forth, then--along the highways and the -byways, and along the loneliest paths; aye, goes forth where -there is a path so lonely that one man only, and no one else, -knows of it, and goes forth where there is but one track, the -track of the wretched one who fled along that path with his -misery, that and no other track; goes forth even where there is -no path to show how one may return: even there the invitation -penetrates and by itself easily and surely finds its way back--most -easily, indeed, when it brings the fugitive along to him that -issued the invitation. Come hither, come hither all ye, also -thou, and thou, and thou, too, thou loneliest of all fugitives! - -Thus the invitation goes forth and remains standing, wheresoever -there is a parting of the ways, in order to call out. Ah, just -as the trumpet call of the soldiers is directed to the four -quarters of the globe, likewise does this invitation sound wherever -there is a meeting of roads; with no uncertain sound--for who -would then come?--but with the certitude of eternity. - -It stands by the parting of the ways where worldly and earthly -sufferings have set down their crosses, and calls out: Come -hither, all ye poor and wretched ones, ye who in poverty must -slave in order to assure yourselves, not of a care-free, but of -a toilsome, future; ah, bitter contradiction, to have to slave -for--assuring one's self of that under which one groans, of that -which one flees! Ye despised and overlooked ones, about whose -existence no one, aye, no one is concerned, not so much even as -about some domestic animal which is of greater value! Ye sick, -and halt, and blind, and deaf, and crippled, come hither!--Ye -bed-ridden, aye, come hither, ye too; for the invitation makes -bold to invite even the bed-ridden--to come! Ye lepers; for the -invitation breaks down all differences in order to unite all, -it wishes to make good the hardship caused by the difference -in men, the difference which seats one as a ruler over millions, -in possession of all gifts of fortune, and drives another one -out into the wilderness--and why? (ah, the cruelty of it!) because -(ah, the cruel human inference!) because he is wretched, indescribably -wretched. Why then? Because he stands in need of help, or at -any rate, of compassion. And why, then? Because human compassion -is a wretched thing which is cruel when there is the greatest -need of being compassionate, and compassionate only when, at -bottom, it is not true compassion! Ye sick of heart, ye who only -through your anguish learned to know that a man's heart and an -animal's heart are two different things, and what it means to be -sick at heart--what it means when the physician may be right in -declaring one sound of heart and yet heart-sick; ye whom faithlessness -deceived and whom human sympathy--for the sympathy of man is -rarely late in coming--whom human sympathy made a target for -mockery; all ye wronged and aggrieved and ill-used; all ye noble -ones who, as any and everybody will be able to tell you, deservedly -reap the reward of ingratitude (for why were ye simple enough -to be noble, why foolish enough to be kindly, and disinterested, -and faithful)--all ye victims of cunning, of deceit, of backbiting, -of envy, whom baseness chose as its victim and cowardice left -in the lurch, whether now ye be sacrificed in remote and lonely -places, after having crept away in order to die, or whether ye -be trampled underfoot in the thronging crowds where no one asks -what rights ye have, and no one, what wrongs ye suffer, and no -one, where ye smart or how ye smart, whilst the crowd with brute -force tramples you into the dust--come ye hither! - -The invitation stands at the parting of the ways, where death -parts death and life. Come hither all ye that sorrow and ye that -vainly labor! For indeed there is rest in the grave; but to sit -by a grave, or to stand by a grave, or to visit a grave, all that -is far from lying in the grave; and to read to one's self again -and again one's own words which one knows by heart, the epitaph -which one devised one's self and understands best, namely, who -it is that lies buried here, all that is not the same as to lie -buried one's self. In the grave there Is rest, but by the grave -there is no rest; for it is said: so far and no farther, and so -you may as well go home again. But however often, whether in your -thoughts or in fact, you return to that grave--you will never get -any farther, you will not get away from the spot, and this is -very trying and is by no means rest. Come ye hither, therefore: -here is the way by which one may go farther, here is rest by -the grave, rest from the sorrow over loss, or rest in the sorrow -of loss--through him who everlastingly re-unites those that are -parted, and more firmly than nature unites parents with their -children, and children with their parents--for, alas! they were -parted; and more closely than the minister unites husband and -wife--for, alas! their separation did come to pass; and more -indissolubly than the bond of friendship unites friend with -friend--for, alas! it was broken. Separation penetrated everywhere -and brought with it sorrow and unrest; but here is rest!--Come -hither also ye who had your abodes assigned to you among the -graves, ye who are considered dead to human society, but neither -missed nor mourned--not buried and yet dead; that is, belonging -neither to life nor to death; ye, alas! to whom human society -cruelly closed its doors and for whom no grave has as yet opened -itself in pity--come hither, ye also, here is rest, and here is -life! - -The invitation stands at the parting of the ways, where the road -of sin turns away from the inclosure of innocence--ah, come hither, -ye are so close to him; but a single step in the opposite direction, -and ye are infinitely far from him. Very possibly ye do not yet -stand in need of rest, nor grasp fully what that means; but still -follow the invitation, so that he who invites may save you from -a predicament out of which it is so difficult and dangerous to -be saved; and so that, being saved, ye may stay with him who is -the Savior of all, likewise of innocence. For even if it were -possible that innocence be found somewhere, and altogether pure: -why should not innocence also need a savior to keep it safe from -evil?--The invitation stands at the parting of the ways, where -the road of sin turns away to enter more deeply into sin. Come -hither all ye who have strayed and have been lost, whatever may -have been your error and sin: whether one more pardonable in the -sight of man and nevertheless perhaps more frightful, or one -more terrible in the sight of man and yet, perchance, more pardonable; -whether it be one which became known here on earth or one which, -though hidden, yet is known in heaven--and even if ye found -pardon here on earth without finding rest in your souls, or -found no pardon because ye did not seek it, or because ye sought -it in vain: ah, return and come hither, here is rest! - -The invitation stands at the parting of the ways, where the -road of sin turns away for the last time and to the eye is lost -in perdition. Ah, return, return, and come hither! Do not shrink -from the difficulties of the retreat, however great; do not fear -the irksome way of conversion, however laboriously it may lead -to salvation; whereas sin with winged speed and growing pace -leads forward or--downward, so easily, so indescribably easy--as -easily, in fact, as when a horse, altogether freed from having -to pull, cannot even with all his might stop the vehicle which -pushes him into the abyss. Do not despair over each relapse which -the God of patience has patience enough to pardon, and which a -sinner should surely have patience enough to humble himself under. -Nay, fear nothing and despair not: he that sayeth "come hither," -he is with you on the way, from him come help and pardon on that -way of conversion which leads to him; and with him is rest. - -Come hither all, all ye--with him is rest; and he will raise no -difficulties, he does but one thing: he opens his arms. He will -not first ask you, you sufferer--as righteous men, alas, are -accustomed to, even when willing to help--"Are you not perhaps -yourself the cause of your misfortune, have you nothing with -which to reproach yourself?" It is so easy to fall into this -very human error, and from appearances to judge a man's success -or failure: for instance, if a man is a cripple, or deformed, -or has an unprepossessing appearance, to infer that therefore -he is a bad man; or, when a man is unfortunate enough to suffer -reverses so as to be ruined or so as to go down in the world, -to infer that therefore he is a vicious man. Ah, and this is -such an exquisitely cruel pleasure, this being conscious of -one's own righteousness as against the sufferer--explaining his -afflictions as God's punishment, so that one does not even--dare -to help him; or asking him that question which condemns him -and flatters our own righteousness, before helping him. But -he will not ask you thus, will not in such cruel fashion be -your benefactor. And if you are yourself conscious of your sin -he will not ask about it, will not break still further the bent -reed, but raise you up, if you will but join him. He will not -point you out by way of contrast, and place you outside of himself, -so that your sin will stand out as still more terrible, but he -will grant you a hiding place within him; and hidden within him -your sins will be hidden. For he is the friend of sinners. Let -him but behold a sinner, and he not only stands still, opening -his arms and saying "come hither," nay, but he stands--and waits, -as did the father of the prodigal son; or he does not merely -remain standing and waiting, but goes out to search, as the -shepherd went forth to search for the strayed sheep, or as the -woman went to search for the lost piece of silver. He goes--nay, -he has gone, but an infinitely longer way than any shepherd or -any woman, for did he not go the infinitely long way from being -God to becoming man, which he did to seek sinners? - - - - -III - - - - -COME HITHER UNTO ME ALL YE THAT LABOR AND ARE HEAVY -LADEN, AND I WILL GIVE YOU REST. - - -"Come hither!" For he supposes that they that labor and are -heavy laden feel their burden and their labor, and that they -stand there now, perplexed and sighing--one casting about with -his eyes to discover whether there is help in sight anywhere; -another with his eyes fixed on the ground, because he can see -no consolation; and a third with his eyes staring heavenward, -as though help was bound to come from heaven--but all seeking. -Therefore he sayeth: "come hither!" But he invites not him who -has ceased to seek and to sorrow.--"Come hither!" For he who -invites knows that it is a mark of true suffering, if one walks -alone and broods in silent disconsolateness, without courage to -confide in any one, and with even less self-confidence to dare -to hope for help. Alas, not only he whom we read about was possessed -of a dumb devil.[6] No suffering which does not first of all -render the sufferer dumb is of much significance, no more than -the love which does not render one silent; for those sufferers -who run on about their afflictions neither labor nor are heavy -laden. Behold, therefore the inviter will not wait till they -that labor and are heavy laden come to him, but calls them lovingly; -for all his willingness to help might, perhaps, be of no avail -if he did not say these words and thereby take the first step; -for in the call of these words: "come hither unto me!" he comes -himself to them. Ah, human compassion--sometimes, perhaps, it is -indeed praiseworthy self-restraint, sometimes, perhaps, even true -compassion, which may cause you to refrain from questioning him -whom you suppose to be brooding over a hidden affliction; but -also, how often indeed is this compassion but worldly wisdom which -does not care to know too much! Ah, human'compassion--how often -was it not pure curiosity, and not compassion, which prompted -you to venture into the secret of one afflicted; and how burdensome -it was--almost like a punishment of your curiosity--when he -accepted your invitation and came to you! But he who sayeth -these redeeming words "Come hither!" he is not deceiving himself -in saying these words, nor will he deceive you when you come to -him in order to find rest by throwing your burden on him. He -follows the promptings of his heart in saying these words, and -his heart follows his words; if you then follow these words, -they will follow you back again to his heart. This follows as -a matter of course--ah, will you not follow the invitation?--"Come -hither!" For he supposes that they that labor and are heavy -laden are so worn out and overtaxed, and so near swooning that -they have forgotten, as though in a stupor, that there is such -a thing as consolation. Alas, or he knows for sure that there -is no consolation and no help unless it is sought from him; and -therefore must he call out to them "Come hither!" - - -"Come hither!" For is it not so that every society has some -symbol or token which is worn by those who belong to it? When -a young girl is adorned in a certain manner one knows that she -is going to the dance: Come hither all ye that labor and are -heavy laden--come hither! You need not carry an external and -visible badge; come but with your head anointed and your face -washed, if only you labor in your heart and are heavy laden. - - -"Come hither!" Ah, do not stand still and consider; nay, consider, -consider that with every moment you stand still after having -heard the invitation you will hear the call more faintly and thus -withdraw from it, even though you are standing still.--"Come -hither!" Ah, however weary and faint you be from work, or from -the long, long and yet hitherto fruitless search for help and -salvation, and even though you may feel as if you could not -take one more step, and not wait one more moment, without dropping -to the ground: ah, but this one step and here is rest!--"Come -hither!" But if, alas, there be one who is so wretched that -he cannot come?--Ah, a sigh is sufficient; your mere sighing -or him is also to come hither. - - - - -THE PAUSE - - -COME HITHER UNTO ME ALL YE THAT LABOR AND ARE HEAVY -LADEN, AND I SHALL GIVE YOU REST. - - -Pause now! But what is there to give pause? That which in the -same instant makes all undergo an absolute change--so that, -instead of seeing an immense throng ofthem that labor and are -heavy laden following the invitation, you will in the end behold -the very opposite, that is, an immense throng of men who flee -back shudderingly, scrambling to get away, trampling all down -before them; so that, if one were to infer the sense of what -had been said from the result it produced, one would have to -infer that the words had been "_procul o procul este profani_," -rather than "come hither"--that gives pause which is infinitely -more important and infinitely more decisive: THE PERSON OF HIM -WHO INVITES. Not in the sense that he is not the man to do what -he has said, or not God, to keep what he has promised; no, in -a very different sense. - - -Pause is given by the fact that he who invites is, and insists -on being, the definite historic person he was 1800 years ago, -and that he as this definite person, and living under the conditions -then obtaining, spoke these words of invitation.--He is not, and -does not wish to be, one about whom one may simply know something -from history (i.e. world history, history proper, as against -Sacred History); for from history one cannot "learn" anything -about him, the simple reason being that nothing can be "known" -about him.--He does not wish to be judged in a human way, from -the results of his life; that is, he is and wishes to be, a -rock of offense and the object of faith. To judge him after -the consequences of his life is a blasphemy, for being God, his -life, and the very fact that he was then living and really did -live, is infinitely more important than all the consequences of -it in history. - - - - -_A_ Who spoke these words of invitation? - - -He that invites. Who is he? Jesus Christ. Which Jesus Christ? -He that sits in glory on the right side of his Father? No. From -his seat of glory he spoke not a single word. Therefore it is -Jesus Christ in his lowliness, and in the condition of lowliness, -who spoke these words. - -Is then Jesus Christ not the same? Yes, verily, he is today, and -was yesterday, and 1800 years ago, the same who abased himself, -assuming the form of a servant--the Jesus Christ who spake these -words of invitation. It is also he who hath said that he would -return again in glory. In his return in glory he is, again, the -same Jesus Christ; but this has not yet come to pass. - -Is he then not in glory now? Assuredly, that the Christian believes. -But it was in his lowly condition that he spoke these words; he -did not speak them from his glory. And about his return in glory -nothing can be known, for this can in the strictest sense be a -matter of belief only. But a believer one cannot become except -by having gone to him in his lowly condition--to him, the rock -of offense and the object of faith. In other shape he does not -exist, for only thus did he exist. That he will return in glory -is indeed expected, but can be expected and believed only by him -who believes, and has believed, in him as he was here on earth. - -Jesus Christ is, then, the same; yet lived he 1800 years ago in -debasement, and is transfigured only at his return. As yet he -has not returned; therefore he is still the one in lowly guise -about whom we believe that he will return in glory. Whatever he -said and taught, every word he spoke, becomes _eo ipso_ untrue -if we give it the appearance of having been spoken by Christ in -his glory. Nay, he is silent. It is the lowly Christ who speaks. -The space of time between (i.e. between his debasement and his -return in glory) which is at present about 1800 years, and will -possibly become many times 1800--this space of time, or else -what this space of time tries to make of Christ, the worldly -information about him furnished by world history or church history, -as to who Christ was, as to who it was who really spoke these -words--all this does not concern us, is neither here nor there, -but only serves to corrupt our conception of him, arid thereby -renders untrue these words of invitation. - -It is untruthful of me to impute to a person words which he -never used. But it is likewise untruthful, and the words he used -likewise become untruthful, or it becomes untrue that he used -them, if I assign to him a nature essentially unlike the one -he had when he did use them. Essentially unlike; for an untruth -concerning this or the other trifling circumstance will not make -it untrue that "he" said them. And therefore, if it please God -to walk on earth in such strict incognito as only one all-powerful -can assume, in guise impenetrable to all men; if it please him--and -why he does it, for what purpose, that he knows best himself; -but whatever the reason and the purpose, it is certain that -the incognito is of essential significance--I say, if it please -God to walk on earth in the guise of a servant and, to judge -from his appearance, exactly like any other man; if it please -him to teach men in this guise--if, now, any one repeats his -very words, but gives the saying the appearance that it was -God that spoke these words: then it is untruthful; for it is -untrue that h e said these words. - - - - -_B_ Can one from history[7] learn to know anything about Christ? - - -No. And why not? Because one cannot "know" anything at all about -"Christ"; for he is the paradox, the object of faith, and exists -only for faith. But all historic information is communication of -"knowledge." Therefore one cannot learn anything about Christ -from history. For whether now one learn little or much about him, -it will not represent what he was in reality. Hence one learns -something else about him than what is strictly true, and therefore -learns nothing about him, or gets to know something wrong about -him; that is, one is deceived. History makes Christ look different -from what he looked in truth, and thus one learns much from history -about--Christ? No, not about Christ; because about him nothing -can be "known," he can only be believed. - - - - -_C_ Can one prove from history that Christ was God? - - -Let me first ask another question: is any more absurd contradiction -thinkable than wishing to prove (no matter, for the present, -whether one wishes to do so from history, or from whatever else -in the wide world one wishes to prove it) that a certain person -is God? To maintain that a certain person is God--that is, professes -to be God--is indeed a stumbling block in the purest sense. But -what is the nature of a stumbling block? It is an assertion -which is at variance with all (human) reason. Now think of proving -that! But to prove something is to render it reasonable and real. -Is it possible, then, to render reasonable and real what is at -variance with all reason? Scarcely; unless one wishes to contradict -one's self. One can prove only that it is at variance with all -reason. The proofs for the divinity of Christ given in Scripture, -such as the miracles and his resurrection from the grave exist, -too, only for faith; that is, they are no "proofs," for they are -not meant to prove that all this agrees with reason but, on the -contrary, are meant to prove that it is at variance with reason -and therefore a matter of faith. - -First, then, let us take up the proofs from history. "Is it not -1800 years ago now that Christ lived, is not his name proclaimed -and reverenced throughout the world, has not his teaching (Christianity) -changed the aspect of the world, having victoriously affected -all affairs: has then history not sufficiently, or more than -sufficiently, made good its claim as to who he was, and that -he was--God?" No, indeed, history has by no means sufficiently, -or more than sufficiently, made good its claim, and in fact -history cannot accomplish this in all eternity. However, as -to the first part of the statement, it is true enough that his -name is proclaimed throughout the world--as to whether it is -reverenced, that I do not presume to decide. Also, it is true -enough that Christianity has transformed the aspect of the world, -having victoriously affected all affairs, so victoriously indeed, -that everybody now claims to be a Christian. - -But what does this prove? It proves, at most, that Jesus Christ -was a great man, the greatest, perhaps, who ever lived. But that -he was God--stop now, that conclusion shall with God's help fall -to the ground. - -Now, if one intends to introduce this conclusion by assuming that -Jesus Christ was a man, and then considers the 1800 years of -history (i.e. the consequences of his life), one may indeed -conclude with a constantly rising superlative: he was great, -greater, the greatest, extraordinarily and astonishingly the -greatest man who ever lived. If one begins, on the other hand, -with the assumption (of faith) that he was God, one has by so -doing stricken out and car celled the 1800 years as not making -the slightest difference, one way or the other, because the -certainty of faith is on an infinitely higher plane. And one -course or the other one must take; but we shall arrive at sensible -conclusions only if we take the latter. - -If one takes the former course one will find it impossible--unless -by committing the logical error of passing over into a different -category--one will find it impossible in the conclusion suddenly -to arrive at the new category "God"; that is, one cannot make -the consequence, or consequences, of--a man's life suddenly -prove at a certain point in the argument that this man was God. -If such a procedure were correct one ought to be able to answer -satisfactorily a question like this: what must the consequence -be, how great the effects, how many centuries must elapse, in -order to infer from the consequences of a man's life--for such -was the assumption--that he was God; or whether it is really -the case that in the year 300 Christ had not yet been entirely -proved to be God, though certainly the most extraordinarily, -astonishingly, greatest man who had ever lived, but that a few -more centuries would be necessary to prove that he was God. In -that case we would be obliged to infer that people in the fourth -century did not look upon Christ as God, and still less they -who lived in the first century; whereas the certainty that he -was God would grow with every century. Also, that in our century -this certainty would be greater than it had ever been, a certainty -in comparison with which the first centuries hardly so much as -glimpsed his divinity. You may answer this question or not, it -does not matter. - -In general, is it at all possible by the consideration of the -gradually unfolding consequences of something to arrive at a -conclusion different in quality from what we started with? Is -it not sheer insanity (providing man is sane) to let one's judgment -become so altogether confused as to land in the wrong category? -And if one begins with such a mistake, then how will one be able, -at any subsequent point, to infer from the consequences of something, -that one has to deal with an altogether different, in fact, -infinitely different, category? A foot-print certainly is the -consequence of some creature having made it. Now I may mistake -the track for that of, let us say, a bird; whereas by nearer -inspection, and by following it for some distance, I may make -sure that it was made by some other animal. Very good; but there -was no infinite difference in quality between my first assumption -and my later conclusion. But can I, on further consideration -and following the track still further, arrive at the conclusion: -therefore it was a spirit--a spirit that leaves no tracks? Precisely -the same holds true of the argument that from the consequences -of a human life--for that was the assumption--we may infer that -therefore it was God. - -Is God then so like man, is there so little difference between -the two that, while in possession of my right senses, I may -begin with the assumption that Christ was human? And, for that -matter, has not Christ himself affirmed that he was God? On the -other hand, if God and man resemble each other so closely, and -are related to each other to such a degree--that is, essentially -belong to the same category of beings, then the conclusion "therefore -he was God" is nevertheless just humbug, because if that is all -there is to being God, then God does not exist at all. But if -God does exist and, therefore, belongs to a category infinitely -different from man, why, then neither I nor any one else can -start with the assumption that Christ was human and end with -the conclusion that therefore he was God. Any one with a bit -of logical sense will easily recognize that the whole question -about the consequences of Christ's life on earth is incommensurable -with the decision that he is God. In fact, this decision is to -be made on an altogether different plane: man must decide for -himself whether he will believe Christ to be what he himself -affirmed he was, that is, God, or whether he will not believe so. - -What has been said--mind you, providing one will take the time -to understand it--is sufficient to make a logical mind stop -drawing any inferences from the consequences of Christ's life: -that therefore he was God. But faith in its own right protests -against every attempt to approach Jesus Christ by the help of -historical information about the consequences of his life. Faith -contends that this whole attempt is--blasphemous. Faith contends -that the only proof left unimpaired by unbelief when it did -away with all the other proofs of the truth of Christianity, -the proof which--indeed, this is complicated business--I say, -which unbelief invented in order to prove the truth of Christianity--the -proof about which so excessively much ado has been made in Christendom, -the proof of 1800 years: as to this, faith contends that it -is--blasphemy. - -With regard to a man it is true that the consequences of his -life are more important than his life. If one, then, in order to -find out who Christ was, and in order to find out by some inference, -considers the consequences of his life: why, then one changes -him into a man by this very act--a man who, like other men, is -to pass his examination in history, and history is in this case -as mediocre an examiner as any half-baked teacher in Latin. - -But strange! By the help of history, that is, by considering -the consequences of his life, one wishes to arrive at the conclusion -that therefore, therefore he was God; and faith makes the exactly -opposite contention that he who even begins with this syllogism -is guilty of blasphemy. Nor does the blasphemy consist in assuming -hypothetically that Christ was a man. No, the blasphemy consists -in the thought which lies at the bottom of the whole business, -the thought without which one would never start it, and of whose -validity one is fully and firmly assured that it will hold also -with regard to Christ--the thought that the consequences of his -life are more important than his life; in other words, that he -is a man. The hypothesis is: let us assume that Christ was a -man; but at the bottom of this hypothesis, which is not blasphemy -as yet, there lies the assumption that, the consequences of a -man's life being more important than his life, this will hold -true also of Christ. Unless this is assumed one must admit that -one's whole argument is absurd, must admit it before beginning--so -why begin at all? But once it is assumed, and the argument is -started, we have the blasphemy. And the more one becomes absorbed -in the consequences of Christ's life, with the aim of being able -to make sure whether or no he was God, the more blasphemous is -one's conduct; and it remains blasphemous so long as this consideration -is persisted in. - -Curious coincidence: one tries to make it appear that, providing -one but thoroughly considers the consequences of Christ's life, -this "therefore" will surely be arrived at--and faith condemns -the very beginning of this attempt as blasphemy, and hence the -continuance in it as a worse blasphemy. - -"History," says faith, "has nothing to do with Christ." With -regard to him we have only Sacred History (which is different -in kind from general history), Sacred History which tells of -his life and career when in debasement, and tells also that he -affirmed himself to be God. He is the paradox which history never -will be able to digest or convert into a general syllogism. He -is in his debasement the same as he is in his exaltation--but -the 1800 years, or let it be 18,000 years, have nothing whatsoever -to do with this. The brilliant consequences in the history of -the world which are sufficient, almost, to convince even a professor -of history that he was God, these brilliant consequences surely -do not represent his return in glory! Forsooth, in that case it -were imagined rather meanly! The same thing over again: Christ -is thought to be a man whose return in glory can be, and can become, -nothing else than the consequences of his life in history--whereas -Christ's return in glory is something absolutely different and a -matter of faith. He abased himself and was swathed in rags--he -will return in glory; but the brilliant consequences in history, -especially when examined a little more closely, are too shabby -a glory--at any rate a glory of an altogether incongruous nature, -of which faith therefore never speaks, when speaking about his -glory. History is a very respectable science indeed, only it must -not become so conceited as to take upon itself what the Father -will do, and clothe Christ in his glory, dressing him up with -the brilliant garments of the consequences of his life, as if -that constituted his return. That he was God in his debasement -and that he will return in glory, all this is far beyond the -comprehension of history; nor can all this be got from history, -excepting by an incomparable lack of logic, and however incomparable -one's view of history may be otherwise. - -How strange, then, that one ever wished to use history -in order to prove Christ divine. - - - - -_D_ Are the consequences of Christ's life more important than -his life? - - -No, by no means, but rather the opposite; for else Christ were -but a man. - -There is really nothing remarkable in a man having lived. There -have certainly lived millions upon millions of men. If the fact -is remarkable, there must have been something remarkable in a -man's life. In other words, there is nothing remarkable in his -having lived, but his life was remarkable for this or that. The -remarkable thing may, among other matters, also be what he accomplished; -that is, the consequences of his life. - -But that God lived here on earth in human form, that is infinitely -remarkable. No matter if his life had had no consequences at all--it -remains equally remarkable, infinitely remarkable, infinitely more -remarkable than all possible consequences. Just try to introduce -that which is remarkable as something secondary and you will -straightway see the absurdity of doing so: now, if you please, -whatever remarkable is there in God's life having had remarkable -consequences? To speak in this fashion is merely twaddling. - -No, that God lived here on earth, that is what is infinitely -remarkable, that which is remarkable in itself. Assuming that -Christ's life had had no consequences whatsoever--if any one -then undertook to say that therefore his life was not remarkable -it would be blasphemy. For it would be remarkable all the same; -and if a secondary remarkable characteristic had to be introduced -it would consist in the remarkable fact that his life had no -consequences. But if one should say that Christ's life was remarkable -because of its consequences, then this again were a blasphemy; for -it is his life which in itself is the remarkable thing. - -There is nothing very remarkable in a man's having lived, but it -is infinitely remarkable that God has lived. God alone can lay -so much emphasis on himself that the fact of his having lived -becomes infinitely more important than all the consequences -which may flow therefrom and which then become a matter of history. - - - - -_E_ A comparison between Christ and a man who in his life endured -the same treatment by his times as Christ endured. - - -Let us imagine a man, one of the exalted spirits, one who was -wronged by his times, but whom history later reinstated in his -rights by proving by the consequences of his life who he was. I -do not deny, by the way, that all this business of proving from -the consequences is a course well suited to "a world which ever -wishes to be deceived." For he who was contemporary with him and -did not understand who he was, he really only imagines that he -understands when he has got to know it by help of the consequences -of the noble one's life. Still, I do not wish to insist on this -point, for with regard to a man it certainly holds true that -the consequences of his life are more important than the fact -of his having lived. - -Let us imagine one of these exalted spirits. He lives among -his contemporaries without being understood, his significance -is not recognized--he is misunderstood, and then mocked, persecuted, -and finally put to death like a common evil-doer. But the consequences -of his life make it plain who he was; history which keeps a record -of these consequences re-instates him in his rightful position, -and now he is named in one century after another as the great and -the noble spirit, and the circumstances of his debasement are -almost completely forgotten. It was blindness on the part of his -contemporaries which prevented them from comprehending his true -nature, and wickedness which made them mock him and deride him, -and finally put him to death. But be no more concerned about this; -for only after his death did he really become what he was, through -the consequences of his life which, after all, are by far more -important than his life. - -Now is it not possible that the same holds true with regard -to Christ? It was blindness and wickedness on the part of those -times[8]--but be no more concerned about this, history has now -re-instated him, from history we know now who Jesus Christ was, -and thus justice is done him. - -Ah, wicked thoughtlessness which thus interprets Sacred History -like profane history, which makes Christ a man! But can one, then, -learn anything from history about Jesus? (_cf. b_) No, nothing. -Jesus Christ is the object of faith--one either believes in him -or is offended by him; for "to know" means precisely that such -knowledge does not pertain to him. History can therefore, to be -sure, give one knowledge in abundance; but "knowledge" annihilates -Jesus Christ. - -Again--ah, the impious thoughtlessness!--for one to presume -to say about Christ's abasement: "Let us be concerned no more -about his abasement." Surely, Christ's abasement was not something -which merely happened to him--even if it was the sin of that -generation to crucify him; was surely not something that simply -happened to him and, perhaps, would not have happened to him in -better times. Christ himself wished to be abased and lowly. His -abasement (that is, his walking on earth in humble guise, though -being God) is therefore a condition of his own making, something -he wished to be knotted together, a dialectic knot which no one -shall presume to untie, and which no one will untie, for that -matter, until he himself shall untie it when returning in his glory. - -His case is, therefore, not the same as that of a man who, through -the injustice inflicted on him by his times, was not allowed -to be himself or to be valued at his worth, while history revealed -who he was; for Christ himself wished to be abased--it is precisely -this condition which he desired. Therefore, let history not trouble -itself to do him justice, and let us not in impious thoughtlessness -presumptuously imagine that we as a matter of course know who he -was. For that no one knows; and he who believes it must become -contemporaneous with him in his abasement. When God chooses to let -himself be born in lowliness, when he who holds all possibilities -in his hand assumes the form of a humble servant, when he fares -about defenseless, letting people do with him what they list: he -surely knows what he does and why he does it; for it is at all -events he who has power over men, and not men who have power -over him--so let not history be so impertinent as to wish to -reveal who he was. - -Lastly--ah the blasphemy!--if one should presume to say that -the percussion which Christ suffered expresses something accidental! -If a man is persecuted by his generation it does not follow -that he has the right to say that this would happen to him in -every age. Insofar there is reason in what posterity says about -letting bygones be bygones. But it is different with Christ! -It is not he who by letting himself be born, and by appearing -in Palestine, is being examined by history; but it is he who -examines, his life is the examination, not only of that generation, -but of mankind. Woe unto the generation that would presumptuously -dare to say: "let bygones be bygones, and forget what he suffered, -for history has now revealed who he was and has done justice by him." - -If one assumes that history is really able to do this, then -the abasement of Christ bears an accidental relation to him; -that is to say, he thereby is made a man, an extraordinary man -to whom this happened through the wickedness of that generation--a -fate which he was far from wishing to suffer, for he would gladly -(as is human) have become a great man; whereas Christ voluntarily -chose to be the lowly one and, although it was his purpose to -save the world, wished also to give expression to what the "truth" -suffered then, and must suffer in every generation. But if this -is his strongest desire, and if he will show himself in his -glory only at his return, and if he has not returned as yet; -and if no generation may be without repentance, but on the contrary -every generation must consider itself a partner in the guilt of -that generation: then woe to him who presumes to deprive him of -his lowliness, or to cause what he suffered to be forgotten, and -to clothe him in the fabled human glory of the historic consequences -of his life, which is neither here nor there. - - - - -_F_ The Misfortune of Christendom - - -But precisely this is the misfortune, and has been the misfortune, -in Christendom that Christ is neither the one nor the other--neither -the one he was when living on earth, nor he who will return in -glory, but rather one about whom we have learned to know something -in an inadmissible way from history--that he was somebody or other -of great account. In an inadmissible and unlawful way we have -learned to know him; whereas to believe in him is the only permissible -mode of approach. Men have mutually confirmed one another in the -opinion that the sum total of information about him is available -if they but consider the result of his life and the following -1800 years, i.e. the consequences. Gradually, as this became -accepted as the truth, all pith and strength was distilled out -of Christianity; the paradox was relaxed, one became a Christian -without noticing it, without noticing in the least the possibility -of being offended by him. One took over Christ's teachings, turned -them inside out and smoothed them down--he himself guaranteeing -them, of course, the man whose life had had such immense consequences -in history! All became plain as day--very naturally, since Christianity -in this fashion became heathendom. - -There is in Christendom an incessant twaddling on Sundays about -the glorious and invaluable truths of Christianity, its mild -consolation. But it is indeed evident that Christ lived 1800 -years ago; for the rock of offense and object of faith has become -a most charming fairy-story character, a kind of divine good -old man.[9] People have not the remotest idea of what it means -to be offended by him, and still less, what it means to worship. -The qualities for which Christ is magnified are precisely those -which would have most enraged one, if one had been contemporaneous -with him; whereas now one feels altogether secure, placing implicit -confidence in the result and, relying altogether on the verdict -of history that he was the great man, concludes therefore that -it is correct to do so. That is to say, it is the correct, arid -the noble, and the exalted, and the true, thing--if it is he who -does it; which is to say, again, that one does not in any deeper -sense take the pains to understand what it is he does, and that -one tries even less, to the best of one's ability and with the -help of God, to be like him in acting rightly and nobly, and in -an exalted manner, and truthfully. For, not really fathoming it -in any deeper sense, one may, in the exigency of a contemporaneous -situation, judge him in exactly the opposite way. One is satisfied -with admiring and extolling and is, perhaps, as was said of a -translator who rendered his original word for word and therefore -without making sense, "too conscientious,"--one is, perhaps, also -too cowardly and too weak to wish to understand his real meaning. - -Christendom has done away with Christianity, without being aware -of it. Therefore, if anything is to be done about it, the attempt -must be made to re-introduce Christianity. - - - - -II - - -He who invites is, then, Jesus Christ in his abasement, it is he -who spoke these words of invitation. It is not from his glory -that they are spoken. If that were the case, then Christianity -were heathendom and the name of Christ taken in vain, and for -this reason it cannot be so. But if it were the case that he who -is enthroned in glory had said these words: Come hither--as though -it were so altogether easy a matter to be clasped in the arms of -glory--well, what wonder, then, if crowds of men ran to him! But -they who thus throng to him merely go on a wild goose chase, -imagining they know who Christ is. But that no one knows; and -in order to believe in him one has to begin with his abasement. - -He who invites and speaks these words, that is, he whose words -they are--whereas the same words if spoken by some one else are, -as we have seen, an historic falsification--he is the same lowly -Jesus Christ, the humble man, born of a despised maiden, whose -father is a carpenter, related to other simple folk of the very -lowest class, the lowly man who at the same time (which, to be -sure, is like oil poured on the fire) affirms himself to be God. - -It is the lowly Jesus Christ who spoke these words. And no word -of Christ, not a single one, have you permission to appropriate -to yourself, you have not the least share in him, are not in any -way of his company, if you have not become his contemporary in -lowliness in such fashion that you have become aware, precisely -like his contemporaries, of his warning: "Blessed is he whosoever -shall not be offended in me.[10]" You have no right to accept -Christ's words, and then lie him away; you have no right to accept -Christ's words, and then in a fantastic manner, and with the aid -of history, utterly change the nature of Christ; for the chatter -of history about him is literally not worth a fig. - -It is Jesus Christ in his lowliness who is the speaker. It -is historically true that h e said these words; but so soon as -one makes a change in his historic status, it is false to say -that these words were spoken by him. - -This poor and lowly man, then, with twelve poor fellows as his -disciples, all from the lowest class of society, for some time -an object of curiosity, but later on in company only with sinners, -publicans, lepers, and madmen; for one risked honor, life, and -property, or at any rate (and that we know for sure) exclusion -from the synagogue, by even letting one's self be helped by -him--come hither now, all ye that labor and are heavy laden! -Ah, my friend, even if you were deaf and blind and lame and -leprous, if you, which has never been seen or heard before, -united all human miseries in your misery--and if he wished to -help you by a miracle: it is possible that (as is human) you -would fear more than all your sufferings the punishment which -was set on accepting aid from him, the punishment of being cast -out from the society of other men, of being ridiculed and mocked, -day after day, and perhaps of losing your life. It is human -(and it is characteristic of being human) were you to think -as follows: "no, thank you, in that case I prefer to remain deaf -and blind and lame and leprous, rather than accept aid under -such conditions." - -"Come hither, come hither, all, ye that labor and are heavy -laden, ah, come hither," lo! he invites you and opens his arms. -Ah, when a gentlemanly man clad in a silken gown says this in -a pleasant, harmonious voice so that the words pleasantly resound -in the handsome vaulted church, a man in silk who radiates honor -and respect on all who listen to him; ah, when a king in purple -and velvet says this, with the Christmas tree in the background -on which are hanging all the splendid gifts he intends to distribute, -why, then of course there is some meaning in these words! But -whatever meaning you may attach to them, so much is sure that -it is not Christianity, but the exact opposite, something as -diametrically opposed to Christianity as may well be; for remember -who it is that invites! - -And now judge for yourself--for that you have a right to do; -whereas men really do not have a right to do what is so often -done, viz. to deceive themselves. That a man of such appearance, -a man whose company every one shuns who has the least bit of sense -in his head, or the least bit to lose in the world, that he--well, -this is the absurdest and maddest thing of all, one hardly knows -whether to laugh or to weep about it--that he--indeed, that is -the very last word one would expect to issue from his mouth; for -if he had said: "Come hither and help me," or: "Leave me alone," -or: "Spare me," or proudly: "I despise you all," we could understand -that perfectly--but that such a man says: "Come hither to me!" why, -I declare, that looks inviting indeed! And still further: "All -ye that labor and are heavy laden"--as though such folk were -not burdened enough with troubles, as though they now, to cap -all, should be exposed to the consequences of associating with -him. And then, finally: "I shall give you rest." What's that?--he -help them? Ah, I am sure even the most good-natured joker who -was contemporary with him would have to say: "Surely, that was -the thing he should have undertaken last of all--to wish to -help others, being in that condition himself! Why, it is about -the same as if a beggar were to inform the police that he had -been robbed. For it is a contradiction that one who has nothing, -and has had nothing, informs us that he has been robbed; and -likewise, to wish to help others when one's self needs help -most." Indeed it is, humanly speaking, the most harebrained -contradiction, that he who literally "hath not where to lay -his head," that he about whom it was spoken truly, in a human -sense, "Behold the man!"--that he should say: "Come hither unto -me all ye that suffer--I shall help!" - -Now examine yourself--for that you have a right to do. You have -a right to examine yourself, but you really do not have a right -to let yourself without self-examination be deluded by "the -others" into the belief, or to delude yourself into the belief, -that you are a Christian--therefore examine yourself: supposing -you were contemporary with him! True enough he--alas! he affirmed -himself to be God! But many another madman has made that claim--and -his times gave it as their opinion that he uttered blasphemy. -Why, was not that precisely the reason why a punishment was -threatened for allowing one's self to be aided by him? It was -the godly care for their souls entertained by the existing order -and by public opinion, lest any one should be led astray: it was -this godly care that led them to persecute him in this fashion. -Therefore, before any one resolves to be helped by him, let him -consider that he must not only expect the antagonism of men, -but--consider it well!--even if you could bear the consequences -of that step--but consider well, that the punishment meted out -by men is supposed to be God's punishment of him, "the blasphemer"--of -him who invites! - -Come hither now all ye that labor and are heavy laden! - -How now? Surely this is nothing to run after--some little pause -is given, which is most fittingly used to go around about by way -of another street. And even if you should not thus sneak out in -some way--always providing you feel yourself to be contemporary -with him--or sneak into being some kind of Christian by belonging -to Christendom: yet there will be a tremendous pause given, the -pause which is the very condition that faith may arise: you are -given pause by the possibility of being offended in him. - -But in order to make it entirely clear, and bring it home to our -minds, that the pause is given by him who invites, that it is he -who gives us pause and renders it by no means an easy, but a -peculiarly difficult, matter to follow his invitation, because -one has no right to accept it without accepting also him who -invites--in order to make this entirely clear I shall briefly -review his life under two aspects which, to be sure, show some -difference though both essentially pertain to his abasement. -For it is always an abasement for God to become man, even if -he were to be an emperor of emperors; and therefore he is not -essentially more abased because he is a poor, lowly man, mocked, -and as Scripture adds,[11] spat upon. - - - - -THE FIRST PHASE OF HIS LIFE - - -And now let us speak about him in a homely fashion, just as -his contemporaries spoke about him, and as one speaks about -some contemporary--let him be a man of the same kind as we are, -whom one meets on the street in passing, of whom one knows where -he lives and in what story, what his business is, who his parents -are, his family, how he looks and how he dresses, with whom he -associates, "and there is nothing extraordinary about him, he -looks as men generally look"; in short, let us speak of him as -one speaks of some contemporary about whom one does not make a -great ado; for in living life together with these thousands upon -thousands of real people there is no room for a fine distinction -like this: "Possibly, this man will be remembered in centuries to -come," and "at the same time he is really only a clerk in some -shop who is no whit better than his fellows." Therefore, let us -speak about him as contemporaries speak about some contemporary. -I know very well what I am doing; and I want you to believe that -the canting and indolent world-historic habit we have of always -reverently speaking about Christ (since one has learned all about -it from history, and has heard so much about his having been -something very extraordinary, indeed, or something of that kind)--that -reverent habit, I assure you, is not worth a row of pins but -is, rather, sheer thoughtlessness, hypocrisy, and as such blasphemy; -for it is blasphemy to reverence thoughtlessly him whom one is -either to believe in or to be offended in. - -It is the lowly Jesus Christ, a humble man, born of a maiden -of low degree, whose father is a carpenter. To be sure, his -appearance is made under conditions which are bound to attract -attention to him. The small nation among whom he appears, God's -Chosen People as they call themselves, live in anticipation of -a Messiah who is to bring a golden period to land and people. -You must grant that the form in which he appears is as different -as possible from what most people would have expected. On the -other hand, his appearance corresponds more to the ancient prophecies -with which the people are thought to have been familiar. Thus -he presents himself. A predecessor has called attention to him, -and he himself fastens attention very decidedly on himself by -signs and wonders which are noised abroad in all the land--and -he is the hero of the hour, surrounded by unnumbered multitudes -of people wheresoever he fares. The sensation aroused by him -is enormous, every one's eyes are fastened on him, every one -who can go about, aye even those who can only crawl, must see -the wonder--and every one must have some opinion about him, -so that the purveyors of ready-made opinions are put to it because -the demand is so furious and the contradictions so confusing. -And yet he, the worker of miracles, ever remains the humble man -who literally hath not where to lay his head. - -And let us not forget: signs and wonders as contemporary events -have a markedly greater elasticity in repelling or attracting -than the tame stories generally re-hashed by the priests, or the -still tamer stories about signs and wonders that happened--1800 -years ago! Signs and wonders as contemporary events are something -plaguy and importunate, something which in a highly embarrassing -manner almost compels one to have an opinion, something which, -if one does not happen to be disposed to believe, may exasperate -one excessively by thus forcing one to be contemporaneous with it. -Indeed, it renders existence too complicated, and the more so, the -more thoughtful, developed, and cultured one is. It is a peculiarly -ticklish matter, this having to assume that a man who is contemporaneous -with one really performs signs and wonders; but when he is at some -distance from one, when the consequences of his life stimulate -the imagination a bit, then it is not so hard to imagine, in a -fashion, that one believes it. - -As I said, then, the people are carried away with him; they follow -him jubilantly, and see signs and wonders, both those which he -performs and those which he does not perform, and they are glad -in their hope that the golden age will begin, once he is king. -But the crowd rarely have a clear reason for their opinions, they -think one thing today and another tomorrow. Therefore the wise -and the critical will not at once participate. Let us see now -what the wise and the critical must think, so soon as the first -impression of astonishment and surprise has subsided. - -The shrewd and critical man would probably say: "Even assuming -that this person is what he claims to be, that is, something -extraordinary--for as to his affirming himself to be God I can, -of course, not consider that as anything but an exaggeration for -which I willingly make allowances, and pardon him, if I really -considered him to be something extraordinary; for I am not a -pedant--assuming then, which I hesitate to do, for it is a matter -on which I shall at any rate suspend my judgment--assuming then -that he is really performing miracles: is it not an inexplicable -mystery that this person can be so foolish, so weak-minded, so -altogether devoid of worldly wisdom, so feeble, or so good-naturedly -vain, or whatever else you please to call it--that he behaves -in this fashion and almost forces his benefactions on men? Instead -of proudly and commandingly keeping people away from himself at -a distance marked by their profoundest submission, whenever he -does allow himself to be seen, at rare occasions: instead of -doing so, think of his being accessible to every one, or rather -himself going to every one, of having intercourse with everybody, -almost as if being the extraordinary person consisted in his -being everybody's servant,[12] as if the extraordinary person -he claims to be were marked by his being concerned only lest -men should fail to be benefited by him--in short as if being -an extraordinary person consisted in being the most solicitous -of all persons. The whole business is inexplicable to me--what -he wants, what his purpose is, what end he has in mind, what he -expects to accomplish; in a word, what the meaning of it all -is. He who by so many a wise saying reveals so profound an insight -into the human heart, he must certainly know what I, using but -half of my wits, can predict for him, viz. that in such fashion -one gets nowhere in the world--unless, indeed, despising prudence, -one consistently, aims to make a fool of one's self or, perchance, -goes so far in sincerity as to prefer being put to death; but -anyone, one desiring that must certainly be crazy. Having such -profound knowledge of the human heart he certainly ought to know -that the thing to do is to deceive people and then to give one's -deception the appearance of being a benefaction conferred on -the whole race. By doing so one reaps all advantages, even the -one whose enjoyment is the sweetest of all, which is, to be called -by one's contemporaries a benefactor of the human race--for, once -in your grave, you may snap your fingers at what posterity may -have to say about you. But to surrender one's self altogether, -as he does, and not to think the least of one's self--in fact, -almost to beg people to accept these benefactions: no, I would -not dream of joining his company. And, of course, neither does he -invite me; for, indeed, he invites only them that labor and -are heavy laden." - -Or he would reason as follows: "His life is simply a fantastic -dream. In fact, that is the mildest expression one can use about -it; for, when judging him in this fashion, one is good-natured -enough to forget altogether the evidence of sheer madness in his -claim to be God. This is wildly fantastical. One may possibly -live a few years of one's youth in such fashion. But he is now -past thirty years. And he is literally nothing. Still further, -in a very short time he will necessarily lose all the respect -and reputation he has gained among the people, the only thing, -you may say, he has gained for himself. One who wishes to keep -in the good graces of the people--the riskiest chance imaginable, -I will admit--he must act differently. Not many months will -pass before the crowd will grow tired of one who is so altogether -at their service. He will be regarded as a ruined person, a kind -of outcast, who ought to be glad to end his days in a corner, -the world forgetting, by the world forgot; providing he does -not, by continuing his previous behavior, prefer to maintain -his present attitude and be fantastic enough to wish to be put -to death, which is the unavoidable consequence of persevering -in that course. What has he done for his future? Nothing. Has -he any assured position? No. What expectations has he? None. -Even this trifling matter: what will he do to pass the time -when he grows older, the long winter nights, what will he do -to make them pass--why, he cannot even play cards! He is now -enjoying a bit of popular favor--in truth, of all movable property -the most movable--which in a trice may turn into an enormous -popular hatred of him.--Join his company? No, thank you, I am -still, thank God, in my right mind." - -Or he may reason as follows: "That there is something extraordinary -about this person--even if one reserves the right, both one's own -and that of common sense, to refrain from venturing any opinion -as to his claim of being God--about that there is really little -doubt. Rather, one might be indignant at Providence's having -entrusted such a person with these powers--a person who does -the very opposite of what he himself bids us do: that we shall -not cast our pearls before the swine; for which reason he will, -as he himself predicts, come to grief by their turning about and -trampling him under their feet. One may always expect this of -swine; but, on the other hand, one would not expect that he who -had himself called attention to this likelihood, himself would -do precisely[13] what he knows one should not do. If only there -were some means of cleverly stealing his wisdom--for I shall -gladly leave him in undisputed possession of that very peculiar -thought of his that he is God--if one could but rob his wisdom -without, at the same time, becoming his disciple! If one could -only steal up to him at night and lure it from him; for I am -more than equal to editing and publishing it, and better than -he, if you please. I undertake to astonish the whole world by -getting something altogether different out of it; for I clearly -see there is something wondrously profound in what he says, and -the misfortune is only that he is the man he is. But perhaps, -who knows, perhaps it is feasible, anyway, to fool him out of -it. Perhaps in that respect too he is good-natured and simple -enough to communicate it quite freely to me. It is not impossible; -for it seems to me that the wisdom he unquestionably possesses, -evidently has been entrusted to a fool, seeing there is so much -contradiction in his life.--But as to joining his company and -becoming his disciple--no, indeed, that would be the same as -becoming'a fool oneself." Or he might reason as follows: "If -this person does indeed mean to further what is good and true -(I do not venture to decide this), he is helpful at least, in -this respect, to youths and inexperienced people. For they will -be benefited, in this serious life of ours, by learning, the -sooner the better, and very thoroughly--he opens the eyes even -of the blindest to this--that all this pretense of wishing to -live only for goodness and truth contains a considerable admixture -of the ridiculous. He proves how right the poets of our times -are when they let truth and goodness be represented by some -half-witted fellow, one who is so stupid that you can knock -down a wall with him. The idea of exerting one's self, as this -man does, of renouncing everything but pains and trouble, to be -at beck and call all day long, more eager than the busiest family -physician--and pray why? Because he makes a living by it? No, not -in the very least; it has never occurred to him, as far as I -can see, to want something in return. Does he earn any money by -it? No, not a red cent--he has not a red cent to his name, and -if he did he would forthwith give it away. Does he, then, aspire -to a position of honor and dignity in the state? On the contrary, -he loathes all worldly honor. And he who, as I said, condemns -all worldly honor, and practices the art of living on nothing; -he who, if any one, seems best fitted to pass his life in a most -comfortable _dolce far niente_--which is not such a bad thing--: -he lives under a greater strain than any government official who -is rewarded by honor and dignity, lives under a greater strain -than any business man who earns money like sand. Why does he -exert himself thus, or (why this question about a matter not -open to question?) why should any one exert himself thus--in -order to attain to the happiness of being ridiculed, mocked, -and so forth? To be sure, a peculiar kind of pleasure! That one -should push one's way through a crowd to reach the spot where -money, honor, and glory are distributed--why, that is perfectly -understandable; but to push forward to be whipped: how exalted, -how Christian, how stupid!" - -Or he will reason as follows: "One hears so many rash opinions -about this person from people who understand nothing--and worship -him; and so many severe condemnations of him by those who, perhaps, -misunderstand him after all. As for me, I am not going to allow -myself to be accused of venturing a hasty opinion. I shall keep -entirely cool and calm; in fact, which counts for still more, I -am conscious of being as reasonable and moderate with him as is -possible. Grant now--which, to be sure. I do only to a certain -extent--grant even that one's reason is impressed by this person. -What, then, is my opinion about him? My opinion is, that for the -present, I can form no opinion about him. I do not mean about his -claim of being God; for about that I can never in all eternity -have an opinion. No, I mean about him as a man. Only by the -consequences of his life shall we be able to decide whether -he was an extraordinary person or whether, deceived by his imagination, -he applied too high a standard, not only to himself, but also to -humanity in general. More I cannot do for him, try as I may--if -he were my only friend, my own child, I could not judge him more -leniently, nor differently, either. It follows from this, to be -sure, that in all probability, and for good reasons, I shall -not ever be able to have any opinion about him. For in order to -be able to form an opinion I must first see the consequences of -his life, including his very last moments; that is, he must be -dead. Then, and perhaps not even then, may I form an opinion of -him. And even granting this, it is not really an opinion about -him, for he is then no more. No more is needed to say why it is -impossible for me to join him while he is living. The authority -he is said to show in his teaching can have no decisive influence -in my case; for it is surely easy to see that his thought moves -in a circle. He quotes as authority that which he is to prove, -which in its turn can be proved only by the consequences of his -life; provided, of course, it is not connected with that fixed -idea of his about being God, because if it is therefore he has -this authority (because he is God) the answer must be: yes--if! -So much, however, I may admit, that if I could imagine myself -self living in some later age, and if the consequences of his -life as shown in history had made it plain that he was the extraordinary -person he in a former age claimed to be, then it might very well -be--in fact, I might come very near, becoming his disciple." - -An ecclesiastic would reason as follows: "For an impostor and -demagogue he has, to say the truth, a remarkable air of honesty -about him; for which reason he cannot be so absolutely dangerous, -either, even though the situation looks dangerous enough while -the squall is at its height, and even though the situation looks -dangerous enough with his enormous popularity--until the squall -has passed over and the people--yes, precisely the people--overthrow -him again. The honest thing about him is his claim to be the -Messiah when he resembles him so little as he does. That is honest, -just as if some one in preparing bogus paper-money made the bills -so poorly that every one who knows the least about it cannot fail -to detect the fraud.--True enough, we all look forward to a -Messiah, but surely no one with any sense expects God himself -to come, and every religious person shudders at the blasphemous -attitude of this person. We look forward to a Messiah, we are all -agreed on that. But the governance of the world does not go forward -tumultuously, by leaps and bounds; the development of the world, -as is indicated by the very fact that it is a development, proceeds -by evolution, not by revolution. The true Messiah will therefore -look quite different, and will arrive as the most glorious flower, -and the highest development, of that which already exists. Thus -will the true Messiah come, and he will proceed in an entirely -different fashion: he will recognize the existing order as the -basis of things, he will summon all the clergy to council and -present to them the results accomplished by him, as well as his -credentials--and then, if he obtain the majority of the votes -when the ballot is cast, he will be received and saluted as the -extraordinary person, as the one he is: the Messiah.[14] - -"However, there is a duplicity in this man's behavior; he assumes -too much the role of judge. It seems as if he wished to be, at -one and the same time, both the judge who passes sentence on the -existing order of things, and the Messiah. If he does not wish -to play the role of the judge, then why his absolute isolation, -his keeping at a distance from all which has to do with the -existing order of things? And if he does not wish to be the -judge, then why his fantastic flight from reality to join the -ignorant crowd, then why with the haughtiness of a revolutionary -does he despise all the intelligence and efficiency to be found -in the existing order of things? And why does he begin afresh -altogether, and absolutely from the bottom up, by the help of--fishermen -and artisans? May not the fact that he is an illegitimate child -fitly characterize his entire relation to the existing order -of things? On the other hand, if he wishes to be only the Messiah, -why then his warning about putting a piece of new cloth unto an -old garment.[15] For these words are precisely the watchwords -of every revolution since they are expressive of a person's -discontent with the existing order and of his wish to destroy -it. That is, these words reveal his desire to remove existing -conditions, rather than to build on them and better them, if -one is a reformer, or to develop them to their highest possibility, -if one is indeed the Messiah. This is duplicity. In fact, it is -not feasible to be both judge and Messiah. Such duplicity will -surely result in his downfall.[16] The climax in the life of a -judge is his death by violence, and so the poet pictures it -correctly; but the climax in the life of the Messiah cannot -possibly be his death. Or else, by that very fact, he would -not be the Messiah, that is, he whom the existing order expects -in order to deify him. This duplicity has not as yet been recognized -by the people, who see in him their Messiah; but the existing -order of things cannot by any manner of means recognize him as -such. The people, the idle and loafing crowd, can do so only -because they represent nothing less than the existing order -of things. But as soon as the duplicity becomes evident to them, -his doom is sealed. Why, in this respect his predecessor was -a far more definitely marked personality, for he was but one -thing, the judge. But what confusion and thoughtlessness, to wish -to be both, and what still worse confusion, to acknowledge his -predecessor as the judge--that is, in other words, precisely to -make the existing order of things receptive and ripe for the -Messiah who is to come after the judge, and yet not wish to -associate himself with the existing order of things!" - -And the philosopher would reason as follows: "Such dreadful -or, rather, insane vanity, that a single individual claims to -be God, is a thing hitherto unheard of. Never before have we -been witness to such an excess of pure subjectivity and sheer -negation. He has no doctrines, no system of philosophy, he knows -really nothing, he simply keeps on repeating, and making variations -on, some unconnected aphoristic sentences, some few maxims, and -a couple of parables by which he dazzles the crowd for whom he -also performs signs and wonders; so that they, instead of learning -something, or being improved, come to believe in one who in a -most brazen way constantly forces his subjective views on us. -There is nothing objective or positive whatever in him and in -what he says. Indeed, from a philosophical point of view, he -does not need to fear destruction for he has perished already, -since it is inherent in the nature of subjectivity to perish. -One may in all fairness admit that his subjectivity is remarkable -and that, be it as it may with the other miracles, he constantly -repeats his miracle with the five small loaves,[17] viz., by -means of a few lyric utterances and some aphorisms he rouses -the whole country. But even if one were inclined to overlook -his insane notion of affirming himself to be God, it is an -incomprehensible mistake, which, to be sure, demonstrates a -lack of philosophic training, to believe that God could reveal -himself in the form of an individual. The race, the universal, -the total, is God; but the race surely is not an individual! -Generally speaking, that is the impudent assumption of subjectivity, -which claims that the individual is something extraordinary. -But sheer insanity is shown in the claim of an individual to -be God. Because if the insane thing were possible, viz. that -an individual might be God, why, then this individual would -have to be worshipped, and a more beastly philosophic stupidity -is not conceivable." - -The astute statesman would reason as follows: "That at present -this person wields great power is undeniable--entirely disregarding, -of course, this notion of his that he is God. Foibles like these, -being idiosyncrasies, do not count against a man and concern no -one, least of all a statesman. A statesman is concerned only -with what power a man wields; and that he does wield great power -cannot, as I have remarked, be denied. But what he intends to do, -what his aim is, I cannot make out at all. If this be calculation -it must be of an entirely new and peculiar order, not so altogether -unlike what is otherwise called madness. He possesses points of -considerable strength; but he seems to defeat, rather than to -use, it; he expends it without himself getting any returns. I -consider him a phenomenon with which--as ought to be one's rule -with all phenomena--a wise man should not have anything to do, -since it is impossible to calculate him or the catastrophe threatening -his life. It is possible that he will be made king. It is possible, -I say; but it is not impossible, or rather, it is just as possible, -that he may end on the gallows. He lacks earnestness in all his -endeavors. With all his enormous stretch of wings he only hovers -and gets nowhere. He does not seem to have any definite plan of -procedure, but just hovers. Is it for his nationality he is fighting, -or does he aim at a communistic revolution? Does he wish to establish -a republic or a kingdom? With which party does he affiliate -himself to combat which party, or does he wish to fight all -parties? - -"I have anything to do with him?--No, that would be the very -last thing to enter my mind. In fact, I take all possible precautions -to avoid him. I keep quiet, undertake nothing, act as if I did -not exist; for one cannot even calculate how he might interfere -with one's undertakings, be they ever so unimportant, or at any -rate, how one might become involved in the vortex of his activities. -Dangerous, in a certain sense enormously dangerous, is this -man. But I calculate that I may ensnare him precisely by doing -nothing. For overthrown he must be. And this is done most; safely -by letting him do it himself, by letting him stumble over himself. -I have, at least at this moment, not sufficient power to bring -about his fall; in fact, I know no one who has. To undertake the -least thing against him now, means to be crushed one's self. No, -my plan is constantly to exert only negative resistance to him, -that is, to do nothing, and he will probably involve himself -in the enormous consequences he draws after him, till in the -end he will tread on his own train, as it were, and thus fall." - -And the steady citizen would reason as follows (which would -then become the opinion of his family): "Now, let us be human, -everything is good when done in moderation, too little and too -much spoil everything, and as a French saying has it which I -once heard a traveling salesman use: every power which exceeds -itself comes to a fall--and as to this person, his fall is certainly -sure enough. I have earnestly spoken to my son and warned and -admonished him not to drift into evil ways and join that person. -And why? Because all people are running after him. That is to -say, what sort of people? Idlers and loafers, street-walkers and -tramps, who run after everything. But mightily few of the men -who have house and property, and nobody who is wise and respected, -none after whom I set my clock, neither councillor Johnson, nor -senator Anderson, nor the wealthy broker Nelson--oh no! they -know what's what. And as to the ministry who ought to know most -about such matters--ah, they will have none of him. What was it -pastor Green said in the club the other evening? 'That man will -yet come to a terrible end,' he said. And Green, he can do more -than preach, you oughtn't to hear him Sundays in church so much -as Mondays in the club--I just wished I had half his knowledge -of affairs! He said quite correctly, and as if spoken out of -my own heart: 'Only idlers and loafers are running after that -man.' And why do they run after him? Because he performs some -miracles. But who is sure they are miracles, or that he can -confer the same power on his disciples? And, in any case, a -miracle is something mightily uncertain, whereas the certain -is the certain. Every serious father who has grown-up children -must be truly alarmed lest his sons be seduced and join that -man together with the desperate characters who follow him--desperate -characters who have nothing to lose. And even these, how does -he help them? Why, one must be mad to wish to be helped in this -fashion. Even the poorest beggar is brought to a worse estate -than his former one, is brought to a pass he could have escaped -by remaining what he was, that is, a beggar and no more." - -And the mocker, not the one hated on account of his malice, but -the one who is admired for his wit and liked for his good nature, -he would reason as follows: "It is, after all, a rich idea which -is going to prove useful to all of us, that an individual who -is in no wise different from us claims to be God. If that is -not being a benefactor of the race then I don't know what charity -and beneficence are. If we assume that the characteristic of -being God--well, who in all the world would have hit on that -idea? How true that such an idea could not have entered into -the heart of man[18]--but if we assume that it consists in looking -in no wise different from the rest of us, and in nothing else: -why, then we are all gods. Q. E. D. Three cheers for him, the -inventor of a discovery so extraordinarily important for mankind! -Tomorrow I, the undersigned, shall proclaim that I am God, and -the discoverer at least will not be able to contradict me without -contradicting himself. At night all cats are gray; and if to -be God consists in looking like the rest of us, absolutely and -altogether like the rest of mankind: why, then it is night and -we all are..., or what is it I wanted to say: we all are God, -every one of us, and no one has a right to say he isn't as well -off as his neighbor. This is the most ridiculous situation imaginable, -the contradiction here being the greatest imaginable, and a -contradiction always making for a comical effect. But this is -in no wise my discovery, but solely that of the discoverer: -this idea that a man of exactly the same appearance as the rest -of us, only not half so well dressed as the average man, that -is, a poorly dressed person who, rather than being God, seems -to invite the attention of the society for the relief of the -poor--that he is God! I am only sorry for the director of the -charitable society that he will not get a raise from this general -advancement of the human race but that he will, rather, lose -his job on account of this, etc." - -Ah, my friend, I know well what I am doing, I know my responsibility, -and my soul is altogether assured of the correctness of my procedure. -Now then, imagine yourself a contemporary of him who invites. -Imagine yourself to be a sufferer, but consider well to what you -expose yourself in becoming his disciple and following him. You -expose yourself to losing practically everything in the eyes of -all wise and sensible and respected men. He who invites demands -of you that you surrender all, give up everything; but the common -sense of your own times and of your contemporaries will not give -you up, but will judge that to join him is madness. And mockery -will descend cruelly upon you; for while it will almost spare him, -out of compassion, you will be thought madder than a march-hare -for becoming his disciple. People will say: "That h e is a wrong-headed -enthusiast, that can't be helped. Well and good; but to become--in -all seriousness--his disciple, that is the greatest piece of -madness imaginable. There surely is but one possibility of being -madder than a madman, which is the higher madness of joining -a madman in all seriousness and regarding him as a sage." - -Do not say that the whole presentation above is exaggerated. -Ah, you know (but, possibly, have not fully realized it) that -among all the respectable men, among all the enlightened and -sensible men, there was but one--though it is easily possible -that one or the other of them, impelled by curiosity, entered -into conversation with him--that there was but one among them -who sought him in all seriousness.[19] And he came to him--in -the night! And as you know, in the night one walks on forbidden -paths, one chooses the night to go to places of which one does -not like to be known as a frequenter. Consider the opinion of -the inviter implied in this--it was a disgrace to visit him, -something no man of honor could afford to do, as little as to -pay a nightly visit to--but no, I do not care to say in so many -words what would follow this "as little as." - -Come hither to me now all ye that labor and are heavy laden, -and I will give you rest. - - - - -THE SECOND PHASE OF HIS LIFE - - -His end was what all the wise and the sensible, the statesmen and -the citizens and the mockers, etc., predicted it would be. And as -was later spoken to him, in a moment when, it would seem, the -most hardened ought to have been moved to sympathy, and the very -stones to tears: "He saved others; let him save himself,[20]" -and as it has been repeated thousands upon thousands of times, -by thousands upon thousands: "What was it he spoke of before, -saying his hour was not yet come[21]--is it come now, perchance?"--It -has been repeated, alas, the while the single individual, the -believer, shudders whenever considering--while yet unable to -refrain from gazing into the depth of what to men is a meaningless -absurdity--shudders when considering that God in human guise, -that his divine teaching, that these signs and wonders which -might have made a very Sodom and Gomorrha reform its ways, in -reality produced the exact opposite, and caused the teacher -to be shunned, hated, despised. - -Who he is, one can recognize more easily now when the powerful -ones and the respected ones, and all the precautionary measures -of those upholding the existing order, have corrected any wrong -conception one might have entertained about him at first--now -when the people have lost their patience to wait for a Messiah, -seeing that his life, instead of rising in dignity, lapsed into -ever greater degradation. Who, pray, does not recognize that a -man is judged according to the society in which he moves--and -now, think of his society! Indeed, his society one might well -designate as equivalent to being expelled from "human society"; -for his society are the lowest classes of the people, with sinners -and publicans among them, people whom everybody with the slightest -self-respect shuns for the sake of his good name and reputation--and -a good name and reputation surely are about the least one can -wish to preserve. In his company there are, furthermore, lepers -whom every one flees, madmen who can only inspire terror, invalids -and wretches--squalor and misery. Who, then, is this person -that, though followed by such a company, still is the object -of the persecution of the mighty ones? He is one despised as -a seducer of men, an impostor, a blasphemer! And if any one -enjoying a good reputation refrains from expressing contempt -of him, it is really only a kind of compassion; for to fear -him is, to be sure, something different. - -Such, then, is his appearance; for take care not to be influenced -by anything that you may have learned after the event--as, how -his exalted spirit, with an almost divine majesty, never was -so markedly manifest as just them. Ah, my friend, if you were -the contemporary of one who is not only himself "excluded from -the synagogue" but, as you will remember, whose very help meant -being "excluded from the synagogue"--I say, if you were the -contemporary of an outcast, who in every respect answers to -that term, (for everything has two sides): then you will scarcely -be the man to explain all this in terms directly contrary to -appearances;[22] or, which is the same thing, you will not be -the "single individual" which, as you well know, no one wants -to be, and to be which is regarded as a ridiculous oddity, perhaps -even as a crime. - -And now--for they are his society chiefly--as to his apostles! -What absurdity; though not--what new absurdity, for it is quite -in keeping with the rest--his apostles are some fishermen, ignorant -people who but the other day followed their trade. And tomorrow, -to pile one absurdity on the other, they are to go out into the -wide world and transform its aspect. And it is he who claims to -be God, and these are his duly appointed apostles! Now, is he to -make his apostles respected, or are perhaps the apostles to make -him respected? Is he, the inviter, is he an absurd dreamer? -Indeed, his procession would make it seem so; no poet could -have hit on a better idea. A teacher, a sage, or whatever you -please to call him, a kind of stranded genius, who affirms himself -to be God--surrounded by a jubilant mob, himself accompanied by -some publicans, criminals, and lepers; nearest to him a chosen -few, his apostles. And these judges so excellently competent as -to what truth is, these fishermen, tailors, and shoe-makers, -they do not only admire him, their teacher and master, whose -every word is wisdom and truth: they do not only see what no -one else can see, his exaltedness and holiness, nay, but they -see God in him and worship him. Certainly, no poet could invent -a better situation, and it is doubtful if the poet would not -forget the additional item that this same person is feared by -the mighty ones and that they are scheming to destroy him. His -death alone can reassure and satisfy them. They have set an -ignominious punishment on joining his company, on merely accepting -aid from him; and yet they do not feel secure, and cannot feel -altogether reassured that the whole thing is mere wrong-headed -enthusiasm and absurdity. Thus the mighty ones. The populace -who had Idolized him, the populace have pretty nearly given -him up, only in moments does their old conception of him blaze -forth again. In all his existence there is not a shred the most -envious of the envious might envy him to have. Nor do the mighty -ones envy his life. They demand his death for safety's sake, so -that they may have peace again, when all has returned to the -accustomed ways, peace having been made still more secure by -the warning example of his death. - - -These are the two phases of his life. It began with the people's -idolizing him, whereas all who were identified with the existing -order of things, all who had power and influence, vengefully, -but in a cowardly and hidden manner, laid their snares for him--in -which he was caught, then? Yes, but he perceived it well. Finally -the people discover that they had been deceived in him, that -the fulfillment he would bring them answered least of all to -their expectations of wonders and mountains of gold. So the -people deserted him and the mighty ones drew the snare about -him--in which he was caught, then? Yes, but he perceived it -well. The mighty ones drew the snare together about him--and -thereupon the people, who then saw themselves completely deceived, -turned against him in hatred and rage. - -And--to include that too--compassion would say; or, among the -compassionate ones--for compassion is sociable, and likes to -assemble together, and you will find spitefulness and envy keeping -company with whining soft-headedness: since, as a heathen philosopher -observed long ago, no one is so ready to sympathize as an envious -person--among the compassionate ones the verdict would be: it is -really too bad that this good-hearted fellow is to come to such -an end. For he was really a good sort of fellow. Granting it was -an exaggeration to claim to be God, he really was good to the -poor and the needy, even if in an odd manner, by becoming one of -them and going about in the company of beggars. But there is -something touching in it all, and one can't help but feel sorry -for the poor fellow who is to suffer such a miserable death. -For you may say what you will, and condemn him as strongly as -you will, I cannot help feeling pity for him. I am not so heard-hearted -as not to feel compassion. - -We have arrived at the last phase, not of Sacred History, as -handed down by the apostles and disciples who believed in Christ, -but of profane history, its counterpart. - -Come hither now, all ye that labor and are heavy laden; that is, -if you feel the need, even if you are of all sufferers the most -miserable--if you feel the need of being helped in this fashion, -that is, to fall into still greater suffering, then come hither, -he will help you. - - - - -III - - - - -THE INVITATION AND THE INVITER - - -Let us forget for a little while what, in the strictest sense, -constitutes the "offense"; which is, that the inviter claims -to be God. Let us assume that he did not claim to be more than -a man, and let us then consider the inviter and his invitation. - - -The invitation is surely inviting enough. How, then, shall one -explain the bad relation which did exist, this terribly wrong -relation, that no one, or practically no one, accepted the invitation; -that, on the contrary, all, or practically all--alas! and was -it not precisely all who were invited?--that practically all -were at one in offering resistance to the inviter, in wishing -to put him to death, and in setting a punishment on accepting -aid from him? Should one not expect that after an invitation -such as he issued all, all who suffered, would come crowding -to him, and that all they who were not suffering would crowd -to him, touched by the thought of such compassion and mercy, -and that thus the whole race would be at one in admiring and -extolling the inviter? How is the opposite to be explained? -For that this was the outcome is certain enough; and the fact -that it all happened in those remote times is surely no proof -that the generation then living was worse than other generations! -How could any one be so thoughtless as to believe that? For -whoever gives any thought to the matter will easily see that -it happened in that generation only because they chanced to -be contemporaneous with him. How then explain that it happened--that -all came to that terribly wrong end, so opposite to what ought -to have been expected? - -Well, in the first place, if the inviter had looked the figure -which purely human compassion would have him be; and, in the -second place, if he had entertained the purely human conception -of what constitutes man's misery--why, then it would probably -not have happened. - -In the first place: According to this human conception of him -he should have been a most generous and sympathetic person, and -at the same time possessed of all qualifications requisite for -being able to help in all troubles of this world, ennobling the -help thus extended by a profound and heartfelt human compassion. -Withal (so they would imagine him) he should also have been a -man of some distinction and not without a certain amount of -human self-assertion--the consequence of which would be, however, -that he would neither have been able, in his compassion, to -reach down to all sufferers, nor yet to have comprehended fully -what constitutes the misery of man and of mankind. - -But divine compassion, the infinite unconcern which takes thought -only of those that suffer, and not in the least of one's self, -and which with absolute unconcern takes thought of all that suffer: -that will always seem to men only a kind of madness, and they will -ever be puzzled whether to laugh or to weep about it. Even if -nothing else had militated against the inviter, this alone would -have been sufficient to make his lot hard in the world. - -Let a man but try a little while to practice divine compassion, -that is, to be somewhat unconcerned in his compassion, and you -will at once perceive what the opinion of mankind would be. -For example: let one who could occupy some higher rank in society, -let him not (preserving all the while the distinction of his -position) lavishly give to the poor, and philanthropically (i.e. -in a superior fashion) visit the poor and the sick and the wretched--no, -let him give up altogether the distinction of his position and -in all earnest choose the company of the poor and the lowly, -let him live altogether with the people, with workmen, hodmen, -mortar-mixers, and the like! Ah, in a quiet moment, when not -actually beholding him, most of us will be moved to tears by -the mere thought of it; but no sooner would they see him in -this company--him who might have attained to honor and dignity -in the world--see him walking along in such goodly company, -with a bricklayer's apprentice on his right side and a cobbler's -boy on his left, but--well, what then? First they would devise -a thousand explanations to explain that it is because of queer -notions, or obstinacy, or pride, or vanity that he chooses this -mode of life. And even if they would refrain from attributing -to him these evil motives they will never be reconciled with -the sight of him--in this company. The noblest person in the -world will be tempted to laugh, the moment he sees it. - -And if all the clergymen in the world, whether in velvet or -in silk or in broadcloth or in satin, contradicted me I would -say: "You lie, you only deceive people with your Sunday sermons. -Because it will always be possible for a contemporary to say -about one so compassionate (who, it is to be kept in mind, is -our contemporary): I believe he is actuated by vanity, and -that is why I laugh and mock at him; but if he were truly compassionate, -or had I been contemporary with him, the noble one--why then!" -And now, as to those exalted ones "who were not understood by -men"--to speak in the fashion of the usual run of sermons--why, -sure enough, they are dead. In this fashion these people succeed -in playing hide and seek. You simply assume that every contemporary -who ventures out so far is actuated only by vanity; and as to -the departed, you assume that they are dead and that they, therefore, -were among the glorious ones. - -It must be remembered, to be sure, that every person wishes -to maintain his own level in life, and this fixed point, this -steady endeavor, is one of the causes which limit human compassion -to a certain sphere. The cheese-monger will think that to live -like the inmate of a poorhouse is going too far in expressing -one's sympathy; for the sympathy of the cheese-monger is biased -in one regard which is, his regard of the opinion of other cheese-mongers -and of the saloon-keepers. His compassion is therefore not without -its limitations. And thus with every class--and the journalists, -living as they do on the pennies of the poor, under the pretense -of asserting and defending their rights, they would be the first -to heap ridicule on this unlimited compassion. - -To identify one's self wholly and literally with him who is -most miserable (and this, only this, is divine compassion), -that is to men the "too much" by which one is moved to tears, -in a quiet Sunday hour, and about which one unconsciously bursts -into laughter when one sees it in reality. The fact is, it is -too exalted a sight for daily use; one must have it at some -distance to be able to support it. Men are not so familiar with -exalted virtue to believe it at once. The contradiction seen -here is, therefore, that this exalted virtue manifests itself -in--reality, in daily life, quite literally the daily life. -When the poet or the orator illustrates this exalted virtue, -that is, pictures it in a poetical distance from real life, -men are moved; but to see this exalted virtue in reality, the -reality of daily life, here in Copenhagen, on the Market Square, -in the midst of busy every-day life--! And when the poet or -the orator does touch people it is only for a short time, and -just so long are men able to believe, almost, in this exalted -virtue. But to see it in real life every day--! To be sure, -there is an enormous contradiction in the statement that the -most exalted of all has become the most every-day occurrence! - -Insofar, then, it was certain in advance what would be the inviter's -fate, even if nothing else had contributed to his doom. The -absolute,[23] or all which makes for an absolute standard, becomes -by that very fact the victim. For men are willing enough to -practice sympathy and self-denial, are willing enough to strive -for wisdom, etc.; but they wish themselves to determine the -standard and to have that read: "to a certain degree." They do -not wish to do away with all these splendid virtues. On the -contrary, they want--at a bargain and in all comfort--to have -the appearance and the name of practicing them. Truly divine -compassion is therefore necessarily the victim so soon as it -shows itself in this world. It descends on earth out of compassion -for mankind, and yet it is mankind who trample upon it. And -whilst it is wandering about among them, scarcely even the sufferer -dares to flee to it, for fear of mankind. The fact is, it is -most important for the world to keep up the appearance of being -compassionate; but this it made out by divine compassion to -be a falsehood--and therefore: away with divine compassion! - -But now the inviter represented precisely this divine compassion--and -therefore he was sacrificed, and therefore even those that suffered -fled from him; for they comprehended (and, humanly speaking, very -exactly), what is true of most human infirmities, that one is better -off to remain what one is than to be helped by him. - -In the second place: the inviter likewise had an other, and -altogether different, conception than the purely human one as -to what constitutes man's misery. And in this sense only he -was intent on helping; for he had with him neither money, nor -medicine, nor anything else of this kind. - -Indeed, the inviter's appearance is so altogether different -from what human compassion wold imagine it that he is a downright -offense to men. In a purely human sense there is something positively -cruel--something outrageous, something so exasperating as to make -one wish to kill that person--in the fact of his inviting to -him the poor and the sick and the suffering, and then not being -able to do anything for them, except to promise them remission -of their sins. "Let us be human, man is no spirit. And when a -person is about to die of starvation and you say to him: I promise -you the gracious remission of your sins--that is revolting cruelty. -In fact it is ridiculous, though too serious a matter to laugh about." - -Well (for in quoting these sentiments I wish merely to let offended -man discover the contradiction and exaggerate it--it is not I who -wish to exaggerate), well then, the real intention of the inviter -was to point out that sin is the destruction of mankind. Behold -now, that makes room, as the invitation also made room, almost -as if he had said _procul, o procul este profani_, or as if, -even though he had not said it, a voice had been heard which -thus interpreted the "come hither" of the invitation. There -surely are not many sufferers who will follow the invitation. -And even if there were one who, although aware that from this -inviter no actual wordily help was to be expected, nevertheless -had sought refuge with him, touched by his compassion: now even -he will flee from him. For is it not almost a bit of sharp practice -to profess to be here out of compassion, and then to speak about sin? - -Indeed, it is a piece of cunning, unless you are altogether -certain that you are a sinner. If it is tooth-ache which bothers -you, or if your house is burned to the ground, but if it has -escaped you that you are a sinner--why, then it was cunning on -his part. It is a bit of sharp practice of him to assert: "I -heal all manner of disease," in order to say, when one approaches -him: "the fact is, I recognize only one disease, which is sin--of -that I shall cure all them 'that labor and are heavy laden,' all -them that labor to work themselves free of the power of sin, that -labor to resist the evil, and to vanquish their weakness, but -succeed only in being laden." Of this malady he cures "all" -persons; even if there were but a single one who turned to him -because of this malady: he heals all persons. But to come to -him on account of any other disease, and only because of that, -is about as useful as to look up an eye-doctor when you have -fractured your leg. - - - - -CHRISTIANITY AS THE ABSOLUTE; CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS WITH CHRIST - - -With its invitation to all "that labor and are heavy laden" Christianity -has entered the world, not--as the clergy whimperingly and falsely -introduce it--as a shining paragon of mild grounds of consolation; -but as the absolute. God wills it so because of His love, but it -is God who wills it, and He wills it as He wills it. He does not -choose to have His nature changed by man and become a nice, that -is to say, humane, God; but He chooses to change the nature -of man because of His love for them. Neither does He care to -hear any human impertinence concerning the why and wherefore -of Christianity, and why it entered the world: it is, and is -to be, the absolute. Therefore all the relative explanations -which may have been ventured as to its why and wherefore are -entirely beside the point. Possibly, these explanations were -suggested by a kind of human compassion which believes it necessary -to haggle a bit--God very likely does not know the nature of -man very well, His demands are a bit exorbitant, and therefore -the clergymen must haggle and beat Him down a bit.[24] Maybe -the clergy hit upon that idea in order to stand well with men -and reap some advantage from preaching the gospel; for if its -demands are reduced to the purely human, to the demands which -arise in man's heart, why, then men will of course think well -of it, and of course also of the amiable preacher who knows -how to make Christianity so mild--if the Apostles had been able -to do that the world would have esteemed them highly also in -their time. However, all this is the absolute. But what is it -good for, then--is it not a downright torment? Why, yes, you -may say so: from the standpoint of the relative, the absolute -is the greatest torment. In his dull, languid, sluggish moments, -when man is dominated by his sensual nature, Christianity is -an absurdity to him since it is not commensurable with any definite -"wherefore?" But of what use is it, then? Answer: peace! it is -the absolute. And thus it must be represented; that is, in a -fashion which makes it appear as an absurdity to the sensual -nature of man. And therefore is it, ah, so true and, in still -another sense, so true when the worldly-wise man who is contemporaneous -with Christ condemns him with the words: "he is literally nothing"--quite -true, for he is the absolute. And, being absolute, Christianity -has come in the world, not as a consolation in the human sense: -in fact, quite on the contrary, it is ever reminding one how -the Christian must suffer in order to become, or to remain, a -Christian--sufferings which he may, if you please, escape by -not electing to be a Christian. - -There is, indeed, an unbridgeable gulf fixed between God and -man. It therefore became plain to those contemporary with Christ -that the process of becoming a Christian (that is, being changed -into the likeness of God) is, in a human sense, a greater torment -and wretchedness and pain than the greatest conceivable human -suffering, and moreover a crime in the eyes of one's contemporaries. -And thus will it always be; that is, if becoming a Christian in -reality means becoming contemporaneous with Christ. And if becoming -a Christian does not have that meaning, then all your chatter -about becoming a Christian is a vanity, a delusion and a snare, -and likewise a blasphemy and a sin against the Holy Ghost. - -For with regard to the absolute there is but one time, viz. the -present. He who is not contemporaneous with the absolute, for -him it does not exist at all. And since Christ is the absolute, -it is evident that in respect of him there is but one situation: -contemporaneousness. The three, or seven, or fifteen, or seventeen, -or eighteen hundred years which have elapsed since his death do -not make the least difference, one way or the other. They neither -change him nor reveal, either, who he was; for his real nature -is revealed only to faith. - -Christ, let me say so with the utmost seriousness, is not an -actor; neither is he a merely historical personage since, being -the paradox, he is an extremely unhistorical personage. But -precisely this is the difference between poetry and reality: -contemporaneousness.[25] The difference between poetry and history -is no doubt this, that history is what has really happened, and -poetry, what is possible, the action which is supposed to have -taken place, the life which has taken form in the poet's imagination. -But that which really happened (the past) is not necessarily -reality, except in a certain sense, viz., in contrast with poetry. -There is still lacking in it the criterion of truth (as inwardness) -and of all religion, there is still lacking the criterion: the -truth FOR YOU. That which is past is not a reality--for me, -but only my time is. That which you are contemporaneous with, -that is reality--for you. Thus every person has the choice to -be contemporaneous with the age in which he is living--and also -with one other period, with that of Christ's life here on earth; -for Christ's life on earth, or Sacred History, stands by itself, -outside of history. - -History you may read and hear about as a matter of the past. -Within its realm you can, if you so care, judge actions by their -results. But in Christ's life here on earth there is nothing -past. It did not wait for the assistance of any subsequent results -in its own time, 1800 years ago; neither does it now. Historic -Christianity is sheer moonshine and un-Christian muddle-headedness. -For those true Christians who in every generation live a life -contemporaneous with that of Christ have nothing whatsoever to -do with Christians of the preceding generation, but all the -more with their contemporary, Christ. His life here on earth -attends every generation, and every generation severally, as -Sacred History; his life on earth is eternal contemporaneousness. -For this reason all learned lecturing about Christianity, which -has its haunt and hiding-place in the assumption that Christianity -is something which belongs to the past and to the 1800 years of -history, this lecturing is the most un-Christian of heresies, -as every one would readily recognize if he but tried to imagine -the generation contemporaneous with Christ as--lecturing! No, -we must ever keep in mind that every generation (of the faithful) -is contemporaneous with him. - -If you cannot master yourself so as to make yourself contemporaneous -with him and thus become a Christian; or if he cannot, as your -contemporary, draw you to himself, then you will never be a -Christian. You may, if you please, honor, praise, thank, and -with all worldly goods reward, him who deludes you into thinking -that you are a Christian; nevertheless--he deceives you. You -may count yourself happy that you were not contemporaneous with -one who dared to assert this; or you may be exasperated to madness -by the torment, like that of the "gadfly,[26]" of being contemporaneous -with one who says this to your face: in the first case you are -deceived, whereas in the second you have at least had a chance -to hear the truth. - -If you cannot bear this contemporaneousness, and not bear to see -this sight in reality--if you cannot prevail upon yourself to go -out into the street--and behold! it is God in that loathsome -procession; and if you cannot bear to think that this will be -your condition also if you kneel and worship him: then you are -not essentially a Christian. In that case, what you will have -to do is to admit the fact unconditionally to yourself, so that -you may, above all, preserve humility, and fear and trembling, -when contemplating what it means really to be a Christian. For -that way you must proceed, in order to learn and to practice -how to flee to grace, so that you will not seek it in vain; but -do not, for God's sake, go to any one to be "consoled." For to -be sure it is written: "blessed are the eyes which see the things -that ye see,[27]" which word the priests have on the tips of -their tongues--curiously enough; at times, perhaps, even to -defend a worldly finery which, if contemporary with Christ, -would be rather incongruous--as if these words had not been -said solely about those contemporaries of his who believed. -If his exaltation had been evident to the eyes so that every -one without any trouble could have beheld it, why then it would -be incorrect to say that Christ abased himself and assumed the -guise of a servant, and it would be superfluous to warn against -being offended in him; for why in the world should one take -offense in an exalted one arrayed in glory? And how in the world -will you explain it that Christ fared so ill and that everybody -failed to rush up admiringly to behold what was so plain? Ah no, -"he hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, -there is no beauty that we should desire him" (Isaiah 53, 2[28]); -and there was to all appearances nothing remarkable about him -who in lowly guise, and by performing signs and wonders, constantly -presented the possibility of offense, who claimed to be God--in -lowly guise; which therefore expresses: in the first place, -what God means by compassion, and by one's self needing to be -humble and poor if one wishes to be compassionate; and in the -second place, what God means by the misery of mankind. Which, -again, in both instances is extremely different from what men -mean by these things and which every generation, to the end -of time, has to learn over again from the beginning, and beginning -in every respect at the same point where those who were contemporary -with Christ had to start; that is, to practice these things -as contemporaries of Christ. Human impatience and unruliness -is, of course, of no avail whatsoever. No man will be able to -tell you in how far you may succeed in becoming essentially -a Christian. But neither will anxiety and fear and despair help -one. Sincerity toward God is the first and the last condition, -sincerity in confessing to one's self just where one stands, -sincerity before God in ever aiming at one's task. However slowly -one may proceed, and if it be but crawling--one is, at any rate, -in the right position and is not misled and deceived by the -trick of changing the nature of Christ who, instead of being -God, is thereby made to represent that sentimental compassion -which is man's own invention; by which men instead of being -lifted up to heaven by Christianity, are delayed on their way -and remain human and no more. - - - - -THE MORAL - - -"And what, then, does all this signify?" It signifies that every -one, in silent inwardness before God, is to feel humility before -what it means to be in the strictest sense a Christian; is to -confess sincerely before God what his position is, so that he -may worthily partake of the grace which is offered to every one -who is not perfect, that is, to every one. And it means no more -than that. For the rest let him attend to his work and find joy -in it, let him love his wife, rejoicing in her, let him raise his -children to be a joy to him, and let him love his fellow-men and -enjoy life. God will surely let him know if more is demanded of -him, and will also help him to accomplish it; for in the terrifying -language of the law this sounds so terrible because it would -seem as if man by his own strength were to hold fast to Christ, -whereas in the language of love it is Christ that holds fast -to him. As was said, then, God will surely let him know if more -is demanded of him. But what is demanded of every one is that he -humble himself in the presence of God under the demands of ideality. -And therefore these demands should be heard, and heard again and -again in all their absoluteness. To be a Christian has become -a matter of no importance whatever--a mummery, something one -is anyway, or something one acquires more readily than a trick. -In very truth, it is high time that the demands of ideality were -heard. - -"But if being a Christian is something so terrifying and awesome, -how in all the world can a man get it into his head to wish to -accept Christianity?" Very simply and, if you so wish, quite -according to Luther: only the consciousness of sin, if I may -express myself so, can force one--from the other side, grace -exerts the attraction--can force one into this terror. And in -the same instant the Christian ideal is transformed, and is -sheer mildness, grace, love, and pity. Looking at it any other -way, however, Christianity is, and shall ever be, the greatest -absurdity, or else the greatest terror. Approach is had only -through the consciousness of sin, and to desire to enter by -any other way amounts to a crime of lèse-majesté against Christianity. - -But sin, or the fact that you and I, individually, are sinners, -has at present either been done away with, or else the demands -have been lowered in an unjustifiable manner, both in life--the -domestic, the civic, as well as the ecclesiastic--and in science -which has invented the new doctrine of sin in general. As an -equivalent, one has hit upon the device of helping men into -Christianity, and keeping them in it, by the aid of a knowledge -of world-historic events, of that mild teaching, the exalted -and profound spirit of it, about Christ as a friend, etc., etc.--all -of which Luther would have called stuff and nonsense and which -is really blasphemy, aiming as it does at fraternizing impudently -with God and with Christ. - -Only the consciousness of being a sinner can inspire one with -absolute respect for Christianity. And just because Christianity -demands absolute respect it must and shall, to any other way of -looking at it, seem absurdity or terror; just because only thereby -can the qualitative and absolute emphasis fall on the fact that -it is only the consciousness of being a sinner which will procure -entrance into it, and at the same time give the vision which, -being absolute respect, enables one to see the mildness and love -and compassion of Christianity. - -The poor in spirit who acknowledge themselves to be sinners, -they do not need to know the least thing about the difficulties -which appear when one is neither simple nor humble-minded. But -when this humble consciousness of one's self, i. e., the individual's, -being a sinner is lacking--aye, even though one possessed all -human ingenuity and wisdom, and had all accomplishments possible -to man: it will profit him little. Christianity will in the same -degree rise terrifying before him and transform itself into -absurdity or terror; until he learns, either to renounce it, -or else, by the help of what is nothing less than scientific -propædeutics, apologetics, etc., that is, through the torments -of a contrite heart, to enter into Christianity by the narrow -path, through the consciousness of sin. - - -[Footnote 1: First Part; comprising about one-fourth of the whole book.] - -[Footnote 2: I. e. Christ; _cf._ Introduction for the use of small -letters.] - -[Footnote 3: Socrates.] - -[Footnote 4: John I, 1.] - -[Footnote 5: Matthew 20, 15.] - -[Footnote 6: Luke 11, 14.] - -[Footnote 7: Kierkegaard's note: by history we mean here profane history, -world history, history as such, as against Sacred History.] - -[Footnote 8: _Cf._ the claim of the Pharisees, Matth. 23, 30: "If we -had been in the days of our fathers, we would not have been partakers -with them in the blood of the prophets."] - -[Footnote 9: One is here irresistibly reminded of passages in Ibsen's -"Brand," e. g., Brand's conversation with Einar, in Act I. _Cf._ also -"The invitation and the inviter" and Introduction] - -[Footnote 10: Matthew 11, 6.] - -[Footnote 11: Luke 18, 32.] - -[Footnote 12: Matthew 20, 27f.] - -[Footnote 13: The original here does not agree with the sense of the -passage.] - -[Footnote 14: Björnson's play of "Beyond Human Power," Part I, Act 2, -reads like an elaboration of these views.] - -[Footnote 15: Matthew 9, 16.] - -[Footnote 16: The following passage is capable of different -interpretations in the original.] - -[Footnote 17: Matthew 14, 17.] - -[Footnote 18: _Cf._ 1 Cor. 2, 9.] - -[Footnote 19: John 3, 1f.] - -[Footnote 20: Luke 23, 35.] - -[Footnote 21: John 2, 4, etc.] - -[Footnote 22: The passage is not quite clear. Probably, you will not be -the man to explain this phenomenon in the very opposite terms, viz., as -the divinity himself.] - -[Footnote 23: Here, the unreserved identification with human suffering -above referred to.] - -[Footnote 24: _Cf._ Footnote 8, in "The Misfortune of Christendom."] - -[Footnote 25: As my friend, H. M. Jones, points out, the following passage -is essentially Aristotelian: "The true difference is that one (history) -relates what has happened, the other (poetry) what may happen"; -"Poetics," Chap. IX.] - -[Footnote 26: _Cf._ Plato's "Apologia" where Socrates is made to say of -himself that he is inflicted on the Athenians like a gadfly on a horse, -in order to keep them awake.] - -[Footnote 27: Luke 10, 23.] - -[Footnote 28: Kierkegaard's own note.] - - - - -THE PRESENT MOMENT[1] - - -BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION - -(No. I, 1) - - -Plato says somewhere in his "Republic" that things will go well -only when those men shall govern the state who do not desire to -govern. The idea is probably that, assuming the necessary capability, -a man's reluctance to govern affords a good guarantee that he -will govern well and efficiently; whereas a man desirous of -governing may very easily either abuse his power and become -a tyrant, or by his desire to govern be brought into an unforeseen -situation of dependence on the people he is to rule, so that -his government really becomes an illusion. - -This observation applies also to other relations where much -depends on taking things seriously: assuming there is ability -in a man, it is best that he show reluctance to meddle with -them. To be sure, as the proverb has it: "where there is a will -there is a way"; but true seriousness appears only when a man -fully equal to his task is forced, against his will, to undertake -it--against his will, but fully equal to the task. - -In this sense I may say of myself that I bear a correct relation -to the task in hand: to work in the present moment; for God knows -that nothing is more distasteful to me. - -Authorship--well, I confess that I find it pleasant; and I may -as well admit that I have dearly loved to write--in the manner, -to be sure, which suits me. And what I have loved to do is precisely -the opposite of working in the present moment. What I have loved -is precisely remoteness from the present moment--that remoteness -in which, like a lover, I may dwell on my thoughts and, like an -artist in love with his instrument, entertain myself with language -and lure from it the expressions demanded by my thoughts--ah -blissful entertainment! In an eternity I should not weary of -this occupation. - -To contend with men--well, I do like it in a certain sense; for -I have by nature a temperament so polemic that I feel in my -element only when surrounded by men's mediocrity and meanness. -But only on one condition, viz., that I be permitted to scorn -them in silence and to satisfy the master passion of my soul: -scorn--opportunity for which my career as an author has often -enough given me. - -I am therefore a man of whom it may be said truthfully that he -is not in the least desirous to work in the present moment--very -probably I have been called to do so for that very reason. - -Now that I am to work in the present moment I must, alas! say -farewell to thee, beloved remoteness, where there was no necessity -to hurry, but always plenty of time, where I could wait for -hours and days and weeks for the proper expression to occur -to me; whereas now I must break with all such regards of tender -love.[2] And now that I am to work in the present moment I find -that there will be not a few persons whom I must oblige by paying -my respects to all the insignificant things which mediocrity -with great self-importance will lecture about; to all the nonsense -which mediocre people, by interpreting into my words their own -mediocrity, will find in all I shall write; and to all the lies -and calumnies to which a man is exposed against whom those two -great powers in society: envy and stupidity, must of necessity -conspire. - -Why, then, do I wish to work in the present moment? Because I -should forever repent of not having done so, and forever repent -of having been discouraged by the consideration that the generation -now living would find a representation of the essential truths of -Christianity interesting and curious reading, at most; having -accomplished which they will calmly remain where they are; that -is, in the illusion that they are Christians and that the clergy's -toying with Christianity really is Christianity. - - - - -A PANEGYRIC ON THE HUMAN RACE OR PROOF THAT THE NEW TESTAMENT IS -NO LONGER TRUE. - -(No. II, 5) - - -In the New Testament the Savior of the World, our Lord Jesus -Christ, represents the matter in this way: "Strait is the gate, -and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be -that find it.[3]" - ---Now, however, just to confine ourselves to Denmark, the way -is as broad as a road can possibly be; in fact, the broadest in -Denmark, for it is the road we all travel. At the same time it -is in all respects a comfortable way, and the gate as wide as -it is possible for a gate to be; for certainly a gate cannot -be wider than to let all men pass through _en masse_: - -Therefore, the New Testament is no longer true. - -All credit is due to the human race! For thou, oh Savior of -the World, thou didst entertain too low an estimate of the human -race, so that thou didst not foresee the exalted plan which, in -its perfectibility, it may reach by steadily continued endeavor! - -To such an extent, then, is the New Testament no longer true: the -way is the broadest possible, the gate the widest possible, and -we are all Christians. In fact, I may venture still further--I -am enthusiastic about it, for you see I am writing a panegyric -on the human race--I venture to assert that the average Jew -living among us is, to a certain degree, a Christian just as -well as we others: to such an extent are we all Christians, -and to such an extent is the New Testament no longer true. - -And, since the point is to find out all which may be adduced -to extol the human race, one ought--while having a care not -to mention anything which is not true--one ought to watch that -nothing, nothing escape one which in this connection may serve -as a proof or even as a suggestion. So I venture still further--without -wishing to be too positive, as I lack definite information on this -subject and would like, therefore, to refer the matter to specialists -in this line to decide--: whether there are not present among -our domestic animals, or at any rate the nobler ones, such as -the horse, the dog and the cow, indications of a Christian -spirit. It is not improbable. Consider what it means to live -in a Christian state, among a Christian people, where everything -is Christian and everybody is a Christian and where one, turn -where one may, sees nothing but Christians and Christianity, -truth and martyrs for the truth--it is not at all unlikely that -this exerts an influence on the nobler domestic animals and -thereby again--which is ever of the utmost importance, according -to the opinion both of veterinarians and of clergymen--an influence -on their progeny. We have all read of Jacob's ruse, how in order -to obtain spotted lambs he put party-colored twigs into the -watering troughs, so that the ewes saw nothing but mottled things -and then brought forth spotted lambs. Hence it is not improbable--although -I do not wish to be positive, since I do not belong to the profession, -but would rather have this passed on by a committee composed of both -clergymen and veterinarians--I say, it is not improbable that -the result will finally be that the domestic animals living in -a Christian nation will produce a Christian progeny. The thought -almost takes away my breath. To be sure, in that case the New -Testament will to the greatest possible extent have ceased to be true. - -Ah, Thou Savior of the World, when Thou saidst with great concern: -"When the Son of man cometh, shall He find Faith on the earth?[4]"--and -when Thou didst bow Thy head in death, then didst Thou least of -all think that Thy expectations were to be exceeded to such a -degree, and that the human race would in such a pretty and touching -way render the New Testament no longer true, and Thy significance -almost doubtful; for such nice creatures certainly also needed a -Savior![5] - - - - -IF WE ARE REALLY CHRISTIANS--THEN WHAT IS GOD? - -(No. II, 8) - - -If it is not so--that all we mean by being "Christians" is a -delusion--that all this machinery, with a State Church and thousands -of spiritual-worldly councillors of chancery, etc., is a stupendous -delusion which will not be of the least help to us in the life -everlasting but, on the contrary, will be turned into an accusation -against us--if this is not so; for if it is, then let us, for the -sake of life everlasting, get rid of it, the sooner the better-- - -If it is not so, and if what we understand by being a Christian really -is to be a Christian: then what is God in Heaven? - -He is the most ridiculous being that ever existed, His Word is -the most ridiculous book which has ever appeared; for to move -heaven and earth, as He does in his Word, and to threaten with -hell and everlasting damnation--in order to obtain as His result -what we understand by being Christians (and our assumption was -that we are true Christians)--well, now, has anything so ridiculous -ever been seen before? Imagine that a fellow with a loaded pistol -in his hand held up a person and said to him, "I shall shoot you"; -or imagine, what is still more terrible, that he said, "I shall -seize you and torture you to death in the most horrible manner, -if"--now watch, here's the point--"if you do not render your -life here on earth as profitable and as enjoyable as you can": -would not that be utterly ridiculous? For to obtain that effect -it certainly is not necessary to threaten one with a loaded -pistol and the most painful torture; in fact, it is possible -that neither the loaded pistol nor the most painful torture -would be able to deter him from making his life as comfortable -as he can. And the same is true when, by fear of eternal punishment -(terrible threat!), and by hope of eternal salvation, He wishes -to bring about--well, to make us what we are (for what we call -Christian is, as we have seen, really being Christian), to make -us--well, to make us what we are; that is, make men live as -they please; for to abstain from committing crimes is nothing -but common prudence! - -The most terrible blasphemy is the one of which "Christianity" -is guilty, which is, to transform the God of the Spirit into--a -ridiculous piece of nonsense. And the stupidest kind of worship, -more stupid than any idolatry ever was among the heathen, and -more stupid than to worship as a god some stone, or an ox, or -an insect--more stupid than anything, is to adore as god--a fool! - - - - -DIAGNOSIS - -(No. IV, 1) - - -I - - -Every physician will admit that by the correct diagnosis of a -malady more than half the fight against it is won; also, that -if a correct diagnosis has not been made, all skill and all -care and attention will be of little avail. - -The same is true with regard to religion. - -We are agreed to let stand the claim that in "Christendom" we are -Christians, every one of us; and then we have laid and, perhaps, -will lay, emphasis now on this, now on that, side of the teachings -of the Scriptures. - -But the truth is: we are not only not Christians--no, we are not -even the heathen to whom Christianity may be taught without -misgivings, and what is worse, we are prevented through a delusion, -an enormous delusion (viz. "Christendom," the Christian state, -a Christian country, a Christian world) from becoming Christians. - -And then the suggestion is made to one to continue untouched and -unchanged this delusion and, rather, to furnish a new presentation -of the teachings of Christ.[6] - -This has been suggested; and, in a certain sense, it is altogether -fitting. Just because one lives in a delusion (not to speak even -of being interested in keeping up the delusion), one is bound -to desire that which will feed the malady--a common enough observation -this--the sick man desiring precisely those things which feed his -malady. - - - - -II - - -Imagine a hospital. The patients are dying off like so many flies. -The methods are changed, now this way, now that: of no avail! What -may be the cause? The cause lies in the building--the whole -building is tainted. The patients are put down as having died, -the one of this, the other of that, disease, but strictly speaking -this is not true; for they all died from the taint which is in the -building. - -The same is true in religion. That religious conditions are -wretched, and that people in respect of their religion are in -a wretched condition, nothing is more certain. So one ventures -the opinion that if we could but have a new hymn-book; and another, -if we could but have a new service-book; and a third, if we could -but have a musical service, etc., etc.--that then matters would -mend. - -In vain; for the fault lies in the edifice. The whole ramshackle -pile of a State Church which has not been aired, spiritually -speaking, in times out of mind--the air in it has developed -a taint. And therefore religious life has become diseased or -has died out; alas, for precisely that which the worldly mind -regards as health is, in a Christian sense, disease--just as, -vice versa, that which is healthy in a Christian sense, is regarded -as diseased from a worldly point of view. - -Then let the ramshackle pile collapse, get it out of the way, -close all these shops and booths which are the only ones which -are excepted from the strict Sunday regulations, forbid this -official double-dealing, put them out of commission, and provide -for them, for all these quacks:--even though it is true that -the royally attested physician is the acceptable one, and he -who is not so attested is a quack: in Christianity it is just -the reverse; that is, the royally attested teacher is the quack, -is a quack by the very fact that he is royally attested--and -let us worship God again in simplicity, instead of making a -fool of him in splendid edifices; let us be in earnest again -and stop playing; for a Christianity preached by royal officials -who are payed and insured by the state and who use the police -against the others, such a Christianity bears about the same -relation to the Christianity of the New Testament as swimming -with the help of a cork-belt or a bladder does to swimming alone--it -is mere play. - -Yes, let that come about. What Christianity needs is not the -stifling protection of the state--ah no, it needs fresh air, -it needs persecution and--the protection of God. The state does -only mischief in averting persecution and surely is not the -medium through which God's protection can be conducted. Whatever -you do, save Christianity from the state, for with its protection -it overlies Christianity like a fat woman overlying her child -with her carcass, beside teaching Christianity the most abominable -bad habits--as, e.g., to use the police force and to call that -Christianity. - - - - -III - - -A person is growing thinner every day and is wasting away. What -may the trouble be? For surely he is not suffering want! "No, -sure enough," says the doctor, "that is not the trouble. The -trouble is precisely with his eating, with his eating in season -and out of season, with his eating without being hungry, with -his using stimulants to produce an appetite, and in this manner -ruining his digestion, so that he is wasting away as if he suffered -want." - -The same is true in religion. The worst of all is to satisfy -a craving which has not as yet made its appearance, to anticipate -it, or--worse still--by the help of stimulants to produce something -which looks like a craving, which then is promptly satisfied. Ah, -the shame of it! And yet this is exactly what is being done in -religion where people are in very truth fooled out of the real -meaning of life and helped to waste their lives. That is in -very truth, the effect of this whole machinery of a state church -and a thousand royal officials who, under the pretense of being -spiritual guides for the people, trick them out of the highest -thing in life, which is, the solicitude about one's self, and -the need which would surely of itself find a teacher or minister -after its own mind; whereas now the need--and it is just the -growth of this sense, of a need which gives life its highest -significance--whereas now this need does not arise at all, but -on the contrary is forestalled by being satisfied long before -it can arise. And this is the way, they claim, this is the way -to continue the work which the Savior of Mankind did begin--stunting -the human race as they do. And why is this so? Because there -happen to be a thousand and one royal officials who have to -support their families by furnishing what is called--spiritual -guidance for men's souls! - - - - -THE CHRISTIANITY OF THE NEW TESTAMENT; THE CHRISITANITY OF "CHRISTENDOM" - -(No. V, 4) - - -The intention of Christianity was: to change everything. - -The result, the Christianity of "Christendom" is: everything, -literally everything, remained as it had been, with just the -difference that to everything was affixed the attribute "Christian"--and -for the rest (strike up, fiddlers!) we live in Heathendom--so -merrily, so merrily the dance goes around; or, rather, we live -in a Heathendom made more refined by the help of Life Everlasting -and by help of the thought that, after all, it is all Christian! - -Try it, point to what you will, and you shall see that I am right -in my assertion. - -If what Christianity demanded was chastity, then away with brothels! -But the change is that the brothels have remained just as they -did in Heathendom, and the proportion of prostitutes remained -the same, too; to be sure, they became "Christian" brothels! A -brothel-keeper is a "Christian" brothel-keeper, he is a Christian -as well as we others. Exclude him from church membership? "Why, -for goodness sake," the clergyman will say, "what would things -come to if we excluded a single paying member?" The brothel-keeper -dies and gets a funeral oration with a panegyric in proportion -to the amount he pays. And after having earned his money in a -manner which, from a Christian point of view, is as filthy and -base as can be (for, from a Christian point of view it would be -more honorable if he had stolen it) the clergyman returns home. -He is in a hurry, for he is to go to church in order to deliver -an oration or, as Bishop Martensen would say, "bear witness." - -But if Christianity demanded honesty and uprightness, and doing -away with this swindle, the change which really came about was -this: the swindling has remained just as in Heathendom, "every -one (every Christian) is a thief in his own line"; only, the -swindling has taken, on the predicate "Christian." So we now -have "Christian" swindling--and the "clergyman" bestows his -blessing on this Christian community, this Christian state, -in which one cheats just as one did in Heathendom, at the same -time that one pays the "clergyman," that is, the biggest swindler -of them all, and thus cheats one's self into Christianity. - -And if Christianity demanded seriousness in life and doing away -with the praise and approbation of vanity--why, everything has -remained as before, with just this difference that it has assumed -the predicate "Christian." Thus the trumpery business with decorations, -titles, and rank, etc. has become Christian--and the clergyman -(that most indecent of all indecencies, that most ridiculous of -all ridiculous hodgepodges), he is as pleased as Punch to be decorated -himself--with the "cross." The cross? Why, certainly; for in the -Christianity of "Christendom" has not the cross become something -like a child's hobby-horse and tin-trumpet? - -And so with everything. There is implanted in man no stronger -instinct, after that of self-preservation, than the instinct of -reproduction; for which reason Christianity seeks to reduce its -strength, teaching that it is better not to marry; "but if they -cannot contain, let them marry; for it is better to marry than -to burn." But in Christendom the propagation of the race has -become the serious business of life and of Christianity; and -the clergyman--that quint-essence of nonsense done up in long -clothes--the clergyman, the teacher of Christianity, of the -Christianity of the New Testament, has his income adjusted to -the fact that the human race is active in propagating the race, -and gets a little something for each child! - -As I said, look about you and you will find that everything -is as I told you: the change from Heathendom consists in everything -remaining unchanged but having assumed the predicate "Christian." - - - - -MODERN RELIGIOUS GUARANTEES - -(No. V, 8) - - -In times long, long past people looked at matters in this fashion: -it was demanded of him who would be a teacher of Christianity -that his life should be a guarantee for the teachings he proclaimed. - -This idea was abandoned long ago, the world having become wiser -and more serious. It has learned to set little store by these -illiberal and sickly notions of personal responsibility, having -learned to look for purely objective ends. The demand is made -now of the teacher that his life should guarantee that what he -has to say is entertaining and dramatic stuff, amusing, and -purely objective. - -Some examples. Suppose you wanted to speak about Christianity, -that is, the Christianity of the New Testament which expresses -preference for the single state--and suppose you yourself are -unmarried: why, my dear man! you ought not to speak on this -subject, because your congregation might think that you meant -what you said and become disquieted, or it might feel insulted -that you thus, very improperly, mixed in your own affairs. No, -dear sir, it will take a little longer before you are entitled -to speak seriously on this matter so as really to satisfy the -congregation. Wait till you have buried your first wife and -are well along with your second wife: then it will be time for -you to stand before your congregation to preach and "bear witness" -that Christianity prefers the single state--then you will satisfy -them altogether; for your life will furnish the guarantee that -it is all tomfoolery and great fun, or that what you say is--interesting. -Indeed, how interesting! For just as, to make it interesting, -the husband must be unfaithful to his wife and the wife to her -husband, likewise truth becomes interesting, intensely interesting, -only when one lets one's self be carried away by one's feelings, -be fascinated by them--but of course does the precise opposite -and thus in an underhand manner is re-assured in persisting in -one's ways. - -Do you wish to speak about Christianity's teaching contempt -for titles and decorations and all the follies of fame--and -should you happen to be neither a person of rank nor anything -of the kind: Why, my dear sir! You ought not to undertake to -speak on this subject. Why, your congregation might think you -were in earnest, or feel insulted by such a lack of tact in -forcing your personality on their notice. No, indeed, you ought -to wait till you have a lot of decorations, the more the merrier; -you ought to wait till you drag along with a rigmarole of titles, -so many that you hardly know yourself what you are called: then -is your time come to stand before your congregation to preach -and "bear witness"--and you will undoubtedly satisfy them; for -your life will then furnish the guarantee that it is but a dramatic -divertissement, an interesting forenoon entertainment. - -Is it your intention to preach Christianity in poverty, and -insist that only thus it is taught in truth--and you happen -to be very literally a poor devil: Why, my dear sir! You ought -not to venture to speak on this subject. Why, your congregation -might think you were in earnest, they might become afraid and -lose their good humor, and they might be very unpleasantly affected -by thus having poverty-thrust in on them. No indeed, first get -yourself some fat living, and when you have had it so long that -your promotion to one still fatter is to be expected: then is -your time come to stand before your congregation and to preach -and "bear witness"--and you will satisfy them; for your life -then furnishes the guarantee that it is just a joke, such as -serious men like to indulge in, now and then, in theatre or -in church, as a sort of recreation to gather new strength--for -making money. - -And that is the way they honor God in the churches! And then -these silk and velvet orators weep, they sob, their voice is -drowned in tears! Ah, if it be true (and it is, since God Himself -has said so), if it be true that He counts the tears of the -afflicted and puts them into His bottle,[7] then woe to these -orators, if God has counted also their Sunday tears and put -them into His bottle! And woe to us all if God really heeds -these Sunday tears--especially those of the speakers, but also -those of the listeners! For a Sunday preacher would indeed be -right if he said--and, oratorically, this would have a splendid -effect, especially if accompanied by his own tears and suppressed -sobs--he would be right if he said to his audience: I shall -count all the futile tears you have shed in church, and with -them I shall step accusingly before you on the Day of Judgment--indeed, -he is right; only please not to forget that, after all, the -speaker's own dramatic tears are by far more dreadful than the -thoughtless tears of his listeners. - - - - -WHAT SAYS THE FIRE-MARSHAL - -(No. VI, 5) - - -That a man who in some fashion or other has what one calls a -"cause," something he seriously purposes to accomplish--and -there are other persons who make it their business to counteract, -and antagonize, and hurt him--that he must take measures against -these his enemies, this will be evident to every one. But that -there is a well-intentioned kindness by far more dangerous, -perhaps, and one that seems calculated to prevent the serious -accomplishment of his mission, this will not at once be clear -to every one. - -When a person suddenly falls ill, kindly-intentioned folk will -straightway rush to his help, and one will suggest this, another -that--and if all those about him had a chance to have their way -it would certainly result in the sick man's death; seeing that -even one person's well-meaning advice may be dangerous enough. -And even if nothing is done, and the advice of neither the assembled -and well-meaning crowd nor of any one person is taken, yet their -busy and flurried presence may be harmful, nevertheless, inasmuch -as they are in the way of the physician. - -Likewise at a fire. Scarcely has the alarm of fire been sounded -but a great crowd of people will rush to the spot, good and kindly -and sympathetic, helpful people, the one with a bucket, the other -with a basin, still another with a hand-squirt--all of them goodly, -kindly, sympathetic, helpful persons who want to do all they can -to extinguish the fire. - -But what says the fire-marshal? The fire-marshal, he says--well, -at other times the fire-marshal is a very pleasant and refined -man; but at a fire he does use coarse language--he says or, -rather, he roars out: "Oh, go to hell with your buckets and -hand-squirts!" And then, when these well-meaning people feel -insulted, perhaps, and think it highly improper to be treated -in this fashion, and would like at least to be treated respectfully--what -says the fire-marshal then? Well, at other times the fire-marshal -is a very pleasant and refined gentleman who will show every -one the respect due him; but at a fire he is somewhat different--he -says: "Where the devil is the police?" And when the policemen -arrive he says to them: "Rid me of these damn people with their -buckets and hand-squirts; and if they won't clear out, then club -them on their heads, so that we get rid of them and--can get at -the fire!" - -That is to say, in the case of a fire the whole way of looking -at things is a very different one from that of quiet every-day -life. The qualities which in quiet every-day life render one -well-liked, viz., good-nature and kindly well-meaning, all this -is repaid, in the case of a fire, with abusive language and -finally with a crack on the head. - -And this is just as it should be. For a conflagration is a serious -business; and wherever we have to deal with a serious business -this well-intentioned kindness won't do at all. Indeed, any -serious business enforces a very different mode of behavior -which is: either-or. Either you are able really to do something, -and really have something to do here; or else, if that be not -the case, then the serious business demands precisely that you -take yourself away. And if you will not comprehend that, the -fire-marshal proposes to have the police hammer it into your -head; which may do you a great deal of good, as it may help -to render you a little serious, as is befitting so serious a -business as a fire. - -But what is true in the case of a fire holds true also in matters -of the spirit. Wherever a cause is to be promoted, or an enterprise -to be seen through, or an idea to be served--you may be sure that -when he who really is the man to do it, the right man, he who, -in a higher sense has and ought to have command, he who is in -earnest and can make the matter the serious business it really -is--you may be sure that when he arrives at the spot, so to say, -he will find there a nice company of easy-going, addle-pated -twaddlers who pretending to be engaged in serious business, -dabble in wishing to serve this cause, to further that enterprise, -to promote that idea--a company of addle-pated fools who will -of course consider one's unwillingness to make common cause -with them (which unwillingness precisely proves one's seriousness)--will -of course consider that a sure proof of the man's lack of seriousness. -I say, when the right man arrives he will find this; but I might -also look at it in this fashion: the very question as to whether -he is the right man is most properly decided by his attitude to -that crowd of fools. If he thinks they may help him, and that -he will add to his strength by joining them, then he is _eo ipso_ -not the right man. The right man will understand at once, as -did the fire-marshal, that the crowd must be got out of the way; -in fact, that their presence and puttering around is the most -dangerous ally the fire could have. Only, that in matters of -the spirit it is not as in the case of the conflagration, where -the fire-marshal needs but to say to the police: rid me of these -people! - -Thus in matters of the spirit, and likewise in matters of religion. -History has frequently been compared to what the chemists call -a "process." The figure is quite suggestive, providing it is -correctly understood. For instance, in the "process of filtration" -water is run through a filter and by this process loses its -impurities. In a totally different sense history is a process. -The idea is given utterance--and then enters into the process -of history. But unfortunately this process (how ridiculous a -supposition!) consists not in purifying the idea, which never -is purer than at its inception; oh no, it consists in gradually -and increasingly botching, bungling, and making a mess of, the -idea, in using up the idea, in--indeed, is not this the opposite -of filtering?--adding the impurer elements which it originally -lacked: until at last, by the enthusiastic and mutually appreciative -efforts of successive generations, the idea has absolutely disappeared -and the very opposite of the original idea is now called the -idea, which is then asserted to have arisen through a historic -process by which the idea is purified and elevated. - -When finally the right man arrives, he who in the highest sense -is called to the task--for all we know, chosen early and slowly -educated for this business--which is, to throw light on the matter, -to set fire to this jungle which is a refuge for all kinds of -foolish talk and delusions and rascally tricks--when he comes -he will always find a nice company of addle-pated fools and -twaddlers who, surely enough, do think that, perhaps, things -are wrong and that "something must be done about it"; or who -have taken the position, and talk a good deal about it, that -it is preposterous to be self-important and talk about it. Now -if he, the right man, is deceived but a single instant and thinks -that it is this company who are to aid him, then it is clear -he is not the right man. If he is deceived and has dealings -with that company, then providence will at once take its hand -off him, as not fit. But the right man will see at a glance, -as the fire-marshal does, that the crowd who in the kindness -of their hearts mean to help in extinguishing a conflagration -by buckets and hand-squirts--the right man will see that the -same crowd who here, when there is a question, not of extinguishing -a fire, but rather of setting something on fire, will in the -kindness of their hearts wish to help, with a sulphur match -sans fire or a wet spill--he will see that this crowd must be -got rid of, that he must not have the least thing in common -with this crowd, that he will be! obliged to use the coarsest -possible language against them--he who perhaps at other times -is anything but coarse. But the thing of supreme importance -is to be rid of the crowd; for the effect of the crowd is to -hamstring the whole cause by robbing it of its seriousness while -heartfelt sympathy is pretended. Of course the crowd will then -rage against him, against his incredible arrogance and so forth. -This ought not to count with him, whether for or against. In -all truly serious business the law of: either--or, prevails. -Either, I am the man whose serious business this is, I am called -to it, and am willing to take a decisive risk; or, if this be -not the case, then the seriousness of the business demands that -I do not meddle with it at all. Nothing is more detestable and -mean, and nothing discloses and effects a deeper demoralization, -than this lackadaisical wishing to enter "somewhat" into matters -which demand an _aut--aut, aut Cæsar aut nihil_,[8] this taking -just a little part in something, to be so wretchedly lukewarm, -to twaddle about the business, and then by twaddling to usurp -through a lie the attitude of being better than they who wish -not to have anything whatever to do with the whole business--to -usurp through a lie the attitude of being better, and thus to -render doubly difficult the task of him whose business it really -is. - - - - -CONFIRMATION AND WEDDING CEREMONY; CHRISTIAN--COMEDY--OR WORSE STILL - -(No. VII, 6) - - -Pricks of conscience (insofar as they may be assumed in this -connection)--pricks of conscience seem to have convinced "Christendom" -that it was, after all, going too far, and that it would not do--this -beastly farce of becoming a Christian by the simple method of -letting a royal official give the infant a sprinkle of water over -his head, which is the occasion for a family gathering with a -banquet to celebrate the day. - -This won't do, was the opinion of "Christendom," for the opportunity -ought to be given the baptized individual to indorse personally his -baptismal vows. - -For this purpose the rite of confirmation was devised--a splendid -invention, providing we take two things for granted: in the first -place, that the idea of divine worship is to make God ridiculous; -and in the second place, that its purpose is to give occasion -for family celebrations, parties, a jolly evening, a banquet which -is different from other banquets in that it--ah, exquisite--in -that it, "at the same time" has a religious significance. - -"The tender child," thus Christendom, "can of course not assume -the baptismal vow personally, for this requires a real personality." -Consequently there was chosen--is this a stroke of genius or -just ingenious?--there was chosen the age of 14 or 15 year's, -the schoolboy age. This real personality--that is all right, -if you please--he is equal to the task of personally assuming -responsibility for the baptismal vow taken in behalf of the infant. - -A boy of fifteen! Now, if it were a matter of 10 dollars, his -father would probably say: "No, my boy, I can't let you have -all that money, you are still too green for that." But for a -matter touching his eternal salvation where the point is to -assume, with all the seriousness one's personality is capable -of, and as a personality, responsibility for what certainly -could not in any profounder sense be called serious--when a -child is bound by a vow: for that the age of fifteen is excellently -fitting. - -Excellently fitting. Oh yes if, as was remarked above, divine -worship serves a double purpose, viz., to render God ridiculous -in a very adroit manner--if you may call it so--and to furnish -the occasion for graceful family celebrations. In that case it -is indeed excellently fitting, as everything is on that occasion; -as is, likewise, the customary biblical lesson for the day which, -you will remember, begins: "Then the same day at evening, when -the doors were shut[9]"--and this text is particularly suitable -to a Confirmation Sunday. One is truly edified when hearing a -clergyman read it on a Confirmation Sunday. - -As is easily perceived, then, the confirmation ceremony is still -worse nonsense than the baptism of infants, just because confirmation -pretends to supply what was lacking at the baptism, viz., a real -personality capable of making a vow in a matter touching one's -eternal salvation. In another sense this nonsense is, to be -sure, ingenious enough, as serving the self-interest of the -clergy who understand full well that if the decision concerning -a man's religion were reserved until he had reached maturity -(which were the only Christian, as well as the only sensible, -way), many might possess character enough to refuse to become -Christians by an act of hypocrisy. For this reason "the clergyman" -seeks to gain control of men in their infancy and their youth, -so that they would find it difficult, upon reaching a more mature -age, to break a "sacred" vow dating, to be sure, from one's -boyhood, but which would, perhaps, still be a serious enough -matter to many a one. Hence the clergy take hold of the infants, -the youths, and receive sacred promises and the like from them. -And what that man of God, "the clergyman," does, why, that is, -of course, a God-fearing action. Else, analogy might, perhaps, -demand that to the ordinance forbidding the sale of spirituous -liquors to minors there should be added one forbidding the taking -of solemn vows concerning one's eternal salvation from--boys; -which ordinance would look toward preventing the clergy, who -themselves are perjurers, from working--in order to salve their -own consciences--from working toward the greatest conceivable -shipwreck which is, to make all society become perjured; for -letting boys of fifteen bind themselves in a matter touching -their eternal salvation is a measure which is precisely calculated -to have that effect. - -The ceremony of confirmation is, then, in itself a worse piece -of nonsense than the baptism of infants. But in order to miss -nothing which might, in any conceivable manner, contribute to -render confirmation the exact opposite of what it purports to -be, this ceremony has been connected with all manner of worldly -and civil affairs, so that the significance of confirmation lies -chiefly in the--certificate of character which the minister -makes out; without which certificate no boy or girl will be -able to get on at all in life.[10] - -The whole thing is a comedy; and perhaps something might be -done to add greater dramatic illusion to the solemnity; as e.g., -passing an ordinance forbidding any one to be confirmed in a -jacket, as not becoming a real personality; likewise, a regulation -ordering male candidates for confirmation to wear a beard during -the ceremony, which beard might, of course, be taken off for the -family celebration in the evening, or be used in fun and merrymaking. - -I am not now attacking the community--they are led astray; they -cannot be blamed for liking this kind of divine worship, seeing -that they are left to their own devices and deceived by their -clergyman who has sworn an oath on the New Testament. But woe -to these clergymen, woe to them, these sworn liars! I know there -have been mockers at religion, and I know how much they would -have given to be able to do what I do; but they were not able -to, because God was not with them. It is different with me. -Originally as well disposed to the clergy as few have been, -and very ready to help them. I have undergone a change of heart -in the opposite direction, owing to their attitude. And the -Almighty is with me, and He knows how the whip is to be handled -so that the blows take effect, and that laughter must be that -whip, handled with fear and trembling--therefore am I used. - - - - -THE WEDDING CEREMONY - - -True worship of God consists, very simply, in doing God's will. - -But that kind of divine service has never suited man's wishes. -That which occupies man's mind at all times, that which gives -rise to science[11] and makes science spread into many, many -sciences, and into interminable detail; that of which, and for -which, thousands of clergymen and professors live, that which -forms the contents of the history of Christendom, by the study -of which the clergyman or the professor is to be trained--is -to get a different kind of worship arranged, the main point of -which would be: to do what one pleases, but in such fashion that -the name of God and the invocation of God be brought into connection -therewith; by which arrangement man imagines himself safeguarded -against ungodliness--whereas, alas! just this procedure is the -most unqualified ungodliness. - -For example: a man has the intention to make his living by killing -people. To be sure, he knows from the Word of God that this is -not permissible, that God's will is: thou shalt not kill! "All -right," thinks he, "but this way of serving God will not serve -my purposes--at the same time I don't care to be among the ungodly -ones, either." So what does he do but get hold of some priest who -in God's name blesses his dagger. Ah, _c'est bien autre chose!_ - -In the Scriptures the single state is recommended. "But," says -man, "that kind of worship really does not serve my purposes--and -surely, you can't say that I am an ungodly person; and such an -important step as marriage (which _nota bene_ God counsels against, -His opinion being, in fact, that the important thing is not to -take "this important step")--should I take such an important step -without making sure of God's blessing?" Bravo! "That is what we -have the priest for, that man of God, he will bestow the blessing -on this important step (_nota bene_ concerning which the most -important thing was not to take it at all) and so it will be -acceptable to God"--and so I have my own way; and my own way -becomes the way of worshipping God; and the priest has his own -way and gets his ten dollars, which are not earned in such a -simple way as, for example, by brushing people's clothes, or -by serving out beer and brandy--oh no! Was he not active on -behalf of God? To earn ten dollars in this fashion is: serving -God. Bravissimo! - -What depth of nonsense and abomination! If something is not -pleasing to God, does it perhaps become pleasing to Him by having--why, -that is aggravating the mischief!--by having a clergyman along -who--why, that is aggravating the mischief still more!--who gets -ten dollars for declaring it pleasant to God? - -Let us consider the marriage ceremony still further! In His -word God recommends the single state. Now suppose two young -people want to be married. To be sure, they ought certainly -to know, themselves, what Christianity is, seeing that they -call themselves Christians; but never mind that now. The lovers -then apply to--the clergyman; and the clergyman is, we remember, -pledged by his oath on the New Testament (which _nota bene_ -recommends the single state). Now, if he is not a liar and a -perjurer who makes his money in the very shabbiest fashion, -he would be bound to take the following course: at most he could, -with human compassion for this human condition of being in love, -say to them: "Dear children, I am the one to whom you should -turn last of all; to turn to me on this occasion is, indeed, -as strange as if one should turn to the chief of police and -ask him how best to steal. My duty is to employ all means to -restrain you. At most, I can say, with the words of the Apostle -(for they are not the words of Our Lord), I can say to you: -well, if it must be, and you cannot contain, why, then find -some way of getting together; for fit is better to marry than -to burn.'[12] I know very well that you will be likely to shudder -when I speak in this manner about what you think is the most -beautiful thing in life; but I must do my duty. And it is therefore -I said to you that to me you should have applied last of all." - -It is different in "Christendom." The priest--oh dear me!--if -there are but two to clap together, why certainly! Indeed, if -the persons concerned turned to a midwife they would perhaps -not be as sure to be confirmed in their conviction that their -intention is pleasing to God. - -And so they are married; i.e. man has his own way, and this -having his own way strategically serves at the same time as -divine worship, God's name being connected with it. They are -married--by the priest! Ah, for having the clergyman along is -just what reassures one--the man who, to be sure, is pledged -by his oath to preach the New Testament, but who for a consideration -of ten dollars is the pleasantest company one could desire--that -man he guarantees that this act is true worship of God. - -In a Christian sense one ought to say: precisely the fact that -a priest is in it, precisely that is the worst thing about the -whole business. If you want to be married you ought, rather, -be married by a smith; for then--if it were admissible to speak -in this fashion--then it might possibly escape God's attention; -whereas, if there is a priest along it can certainly not escape -His attention. Precisely the fact of the clergyman's being there -makes it as criminal an affair as possible--call to mind what -was said to a man who in a storm at sea invoked the gods: "By -all means do not let the gods notice that you are aboard!" Thus -one might say here also: By all means try to avoid calling in -a priest. The others, the smith and the lovers, have not pledged -themselves by an oath on the New Testament, so matters are not -as bad--if it be admissible to speak in this fashion--as when -the priest assists with his--holy presence. - - - - -AN ETERNITY TO REPENT IN! - -(No. VIII, 3) - - -Let me relate a story. I did not read it in a book of devotion -but in what is generally called light reading. Yet I do not -hesitate to make use of it, and indicate its source only lest -any one be disturbed if he should happen to be acquainted with -it, or find out at some later time where it is from--lest he be -disturbed that I had been silent about this. - -Once upon a time there lived somewhere in the East a poor old -couple. Utterly poor they were, and anxiety about the future -naturally grew when they thought of old age approaching. They -did not, indeed, constantly assail heaven with their prayers, -they were too God-fearing to do that; but still they were ever -praying to God for help. - -Then one morning it happened that the old woman found an exceeding -large jewel on the hearth-stone, which she forthwith showed to -her husband, who recognized its value and easily perceived that -now their poverty was at an end. - -What a bright future for these old people, and what gladness! -But frugal and pious as they were they decided not to sell the -jewel just yet, since they had enough wherewithal to live still -one more day. But on the morrow they would sell it, and then a -new life was to begin for them. - -In the following night the woman dreamed that she was transported -to Paradise. An angel showed her about the splendors which only -an Oriental imagination can devise. He showed her a hall in which -there stood long rows of arm-chairs gemmed all over with precious -stones and pearls. These, so the angel explained, were the seats -of the pious. And last of all he pointed out to her the one -destined for herself. When regarding it more closely she discovered -that a very large jewel was lacking in the back of the chair, and -she asked the angel how that might be. He--ah, watch now, for -here is the point! The angel answered: "That was the jewel which -you found on your hearth-stone. It was given you ahead of time, -and it cannot be put in again." - -In the morning the woman told her husband this dream. And she -was of the opinion that it was better, perhaps, to endure in -poverty the few years still left to them to live, rather than -to be without that jewel in all eternity. And her pious husband -was of the same opinion. - -So in the evening they laid the jewel on the hearth-stone and -prayed to God to take it away again. And next morning it had -disappeared, for certain; and what had become of it the old -folks well knew: it was in its right place again. - -This man was in truth happily married, and his wife a sensible -woman. But even if it were true, as is maintained so often, -that it is men's wives who cause them to lose sight of eternal -values: even if all men remained unmarried, there would still -be in every one of us an impulse, more ingenious and more pressing -and more unremitting than a woman, which will cause him to use -a wrong measure and to think a couple of years, or ten years, -or forty years, so enormous a length of time that even eternity -were quite brief in comparison; instead of these years being -as nothing when compared with the infinite duration of eternity. - -Therefore, heed this well! You may by worldly wisdom escape -perhaps what it has pleased God to unite with the condition of -one's being a Christian, that is, sufferings and tribulations; -you may, and to your own destruction, by cleverly avoiding the -difficulties, perhaps, gain what God has forever made incompatible -with being a Christian, that is, the enjoyment of pleasures -and all earthly goods; you may, fooled by your own worldly wisdom, -perhaps, finally perish altogether, in the illusion that you -are on the right way because you have gained happiness in this -world: and then--you will have an eternity to repent in! An -eternity to repent in; to repent that you did not employ your -time in doing what might be remembered in all eternity; that is, -in truth to love God, with the consequence that you suffer the -persecution of men in this life. - -Therefore, do not deceive yourself, and of all deceivers fear -most yourself! Even if it were possible for one, with regard -to eternity, to take something ahead of time, you would still -deceive yourself just by having something ahead of time--and -then an eternity to repent in! - - - - -A DOSE OF DISGUST WITH LIFE - -(No. IX, 3) - - -Just as man--as is natural--desires that which tends to nourish -and revive his love of life, likewise he who wishes to live with -eternity in mind needs a constant dose of disgust with life -lest he become foolishly enamored of this world and, still more, -in order that he may learn thoroughly to be disgusted and bored -and sickened with the folly and lies of this wretched world. Here -is a dose of it: - -God Incarnate is betrayed, mocked, deserted by absolutely all -men; not a single one, literally not a single one, remains faithful -to him--and then, afterwards, afterwards,--oh yes, afterwards, -there were millions of men who on their knees made pilgrimage -to the places where many hundred years ago His feet, perhaps, -trod the ground; afterwards, afterwards--oh yes, afterwards, -millions worshipped a splinter of the cross on which He was crucified! - -And so it was always when men were contemporary with the great; -but afterwards, afterwards--oh yes, afterwards! - -Must one then not loathe being human? - -And again, must one not loathe being human? For these millions -who on their knees made pilgrimage to His grave, this throng of -people which no power on earth was able to overcome: but one -thing were necessary, Christ's return--and all these millions -would quickly regain their feet to run their way, so that the -whole throng were as if blown away; or would, in a mass, and -erect enough, rush upon Christ in order to kill him. - -That which Christ and the Apostles and every martyr desires, -and desires as the only thing: that we should follow in His -footsteps, just that is the thing which mankind does not like -or does not find pleasure in. - -No, take away the danger--so that it is but play, and then the -battallions of the human race will (ah, disgusting!) will perform -astonishing feats in aping Him; and then instead of an imitation -of Christ we get (ah, disgusting!), we get that sacred buffoonery--under -guidance and command (ah, disgusting!) of sworn clergymen who do -service as sergeants, lieutenants, etc.--ordained men who therefore -have the Holy Spirit's special assistance in this serious business. - -[Footnote 1: Selections.] - -[Footnote 2: The following sentence is not clear in the original.] - -[Footnote 3: Matthew 7, 14.] - -[Footnote 4: Luke 18, 8.] - -[Footnote 5: The last line of this piece of bloody irony is not clear -in the original (S. V. XIII, 128). It will make better sense if one -substitutes "da" for the first "de."] - -[Footnote 6: This suggestion had actually been made to Kierkegaard in the -course of his attacks on Martensen.] - -[Footnote 7: Allusion to Psalm 56, 9; also, to a passage in one of Bishop -Mynster's sermons (S. V.).] - -[Footnote 8: Either-or; either Cæsar or nothing (Cesare Borgia's slogan).] - -[Footnote 9: "John 20, 19--where the disciples were assembled for -fear of the Jews, came Jesus and stood in the midst, and saith unto -them. Peace be unto you."] - -[Footnote 10: This was, until very recently, the universal rule in -Protestant Scandinavia and Germany.] - -[Footnote 11: It is to be borne in mind that Danish _videnskab_, like -German _Wissenschaft_, embraces the humanities and theology as well.] - -[Footnote 12: I Cor. 7, 9.] - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Selections from the Writings of -Kierkegaard, by Søren Kierkegaard - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WRITINGS OF KIERKEGAARD *** - -***** This file should be named 60333-0.txt or 60333-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/3/3/60333/ - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images -generously made available by Internet Archive.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard - -Author: Søren Kierkegaard - -Translator: L. M. Hollander - -Release Date: September 20, 2019 [EBook #60333] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WRITINGS OF KIERKEGAARD *** - - - - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images -generously made available by Internet Archive.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/kierkegaard_cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<h4>University of Texas Bulletin</h4> - -<h4>No. 2326: July 8, 1923</h4> - -<h2>SELECTIONS FROM THE WRITINGS OF KIERKEGAARD</h2> - -<h3>Translated by L. M. HOLLANDER</h3> - -<h4>Adjunct Professor of Germanic Languages</h4> - -<h5>Comparative Literature Series No. 3</h5> - -<h5>Published by The University of Texas, Austin</h5> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 30%;">The benefits of education and of</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 30%;">useful knowledge, generally diffused</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 30%;">through a community, are essential</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 30%;">to the preservation of a free government.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><span style="margin-left: 60%;">Sam Houston</span></p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 30%;">Cultivated mind is the guardian</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 30%;">genius of democracy.... It is the</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 30%;">only dictator that freemen acknowledge</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 30%;">and the only security that free-men</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 30%;">desire.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><span style="margin-left: 60%;">Mirabeau B. Lamar</span></p> - - - - -<p class="center"><i>To my Father-in-Law</i><br /> -<i>The Reverend George Fisher,</i><br /> -<i>A Christian</i><br /> -</p> - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/kierkegaard01.jpg" width="400" alt="" /> -</div> - - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/kierkegaard02.jpg" width="400" alt="" /> -</div> - - - - -<p style="margin-left: 20%; font-size: 0.8em;"> -<a id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS<br /> -<br /> -<a href="#INTRODUCTION_I">INTRODUCTION I</a><br /> -<a href="#DIAPSALMATA">DIAPSALMATA</a><br /> -<a href="#IN_VINO_VERITAS_THE_BANQUET">IN VINO VERITAS (THE BANQUET)</a><br /> -<a href="#FEAR_AND_TREMBLING">FEAR AND TREMBLING</a><br /> -<a href="#PREPARATION_FOR_A_CHRISTIAN_LIFE">PREPARATION FOR A CHRISTIAN LIFE</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_PRESENT_MOMENT">THE PRESENT MOMENT[1]</a></p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - - - - -<h4><a id="INTRODUCTION_I">INTRODUCTION I</a></h4> - - -<p>Creditable as have been the contributions of Scandinavia to -the cultural life of the race in well-nigh all fields of human -endeavor, it has produced but one thinker of the first magnitude, -the Dane, Sören Å. Kierkegaard<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>. The fact that he is virtually -unknown to us is ascribable, on the one hand to the inaccessibility -of his works, both as to language and form; on the other, to the -regrettable insularity of English thought.</p> - -<p>It is the purpose of this book to remedy the defect in a measure, -and by a selection from his most representative works to provide a -stimulus for a more detailed study of his writings; for the present -times, ruled by material considerations, wholly led by socializing, -and misled by national, ideals are precisely the most opportune to -introduce the bitter but wholesome antidote of individual responsibility, -which is his message. In particular, students of Northern literature -cannot afford to know no more than the name of one who exerted a -potent and energizing influence on an important epoch of Scandinavian -thought. To mention only one instance, the greatest ethical poem of our -age, "Brand"—notwithstanding Ibsen's curt statement that he -"had read little of Kierkegaard and understood less"—undeniably -owes its fundamental thought to him, whether directly or indirectly.</p> - - -<p>Of very few authors can it be said with the same literalness -as, of Kierkegaard that their life is their works: as if to furnish -living proof of his untiring insistance on inwardness, his life, like -that of so many other spiritual educators of the race, is notably poor -in incidents; but his life of inward experiences is all the -richer—witness the "literature within a literature" that came to -be within a few years and that gave to Danish letters a score of -immortal works.</p> - -<p>Kierkegaard's physical heredity must be pronounced unfortunate. -Being the child of old parents—his father was fifty-seven, -his mother forty-five years at his birth (May 5, 1813), he had a weak -physique and a feeble constitution. Still worse, he inherited from his -father a burden of melancholy which he took a sad pride in masking -under a show of sprightliness. His father, Michael Pedersen Kierkegaard, -had begun life as a poor cotter's boy in West Jutland, where he was -set to tend the sheep on the wild moorlands. One day, we are told, -oppressed by loneliness and cold, he ascended a hill and in a passionate -rage cursed God who had given him this miserable existence—the -memory of which "sin against the Holy Ghost" he was not able to -shake off to the end of his long life<a name="FNanchor_2_1" id="FNanchor_2_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_1" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>. When seventeen years -old, the gifted lad was sent to his uncle in Copenhagen, who -was a well-to-do dealer in woolens and groceries. Kierkegaard -quickly established himself in the trade and amassed a considerable -fortune. This enabled him to withdraw from active life when only -forty, and to devote himself to philosophic studies, the leisure -for which life had till then denied him. More especially he seems -to have studied the works of the rationalistic philosopher Wolff. -After the early death of his first wife who left him no issue, he -married a former servant in his household, also of Jutish stock, -who bore him seven children. Of these only two survived him, the -oldest son—later bishop—Peder Christian, and the youngest son, -Sören Åbye.</p> - -<p>Nowhere does Kierkegaard speak of his mother, a woman of simple -mind and cheerful disposition; but he speaks all the more often of his -father, for whom he ever expressed the greatest love and admiration and -who, no doubt, devoted himself largely to the education of his sons, -particularly to that of his latest born. Him he was to mould in his own -image. A pietistic, gloomy spirit of religiosity pervaded the household -in which the severe father was undisputed master, and absolute obedience -the watchword. Little Sören, as he himself tells us, heard more of the -Crucified and the martyrs than of the Christ-child and good angels. Like -John Stuart Mill, whose early education bears a remarkable resemblance -to his, he "never had the joy to be a child." Although less -systematically held down to his studies, in which religion was the -be-all and end-all (instead of being banished, as was the case with -Mill), he was granted but a minimum of out-door play and exercise. And, -instead of strengthening the feeble body, his father threw the whole -weight of his melancholy on the boy.</p> - -<p>Nor was his home training, formidably abstract, counterbalanced -by a normal, healthy school-life. Naturally introspective and shy, both -on account of a slight deformity of his body and on account of the -old-fashioned clothes his father made him wear, he had no boy friends; -and when cuffed by his more robust contemporaries, he could defend -himself only with his biting sarcasm. Notwithstanding his early maturity -he does not seem to have impressed either his schoolmates or his -teachers by any gifts much above the ordinary. The school he attended -was one of those semi-public schools which by strict discipline and -consistent methods laid a solid foundation of humanities and mathematics -for those who were to enter upon a professional career. The natural -sciences played noddle whatever.</p> - -<p>Obedient to the wishes of his father, Sören chose the study of -theology, as had his eldest brother; but, once relieved from the grind -of school at the age of seventeen, he rejoiced in the full liberty of -university life, indulging himself to his heart's content in all the -refined intellectual and æsthetic enjoyments the gay capital of -Copenhagen offered. He declares himself in later years to be "one who -is penitent" for having in his youth plunged into all kinds of excesses; -but we feel reasonably sure that he committed no excesses worse than -"high living." He was frequently seen at the opera and the theatre, -spent money freely in restaurants and confectionary shops, bought -many and expensive books, dressed well, and indulged in such -extravagances as driving in a carriage and pair, alone, for days -through the fields and forests of the lovely island of Zealand. In -fact, he contracted considerable debts, so that his disappointed -father decided to put him on an allowance of 500 rixdollars -yearly—rather a handsome sum, a hundred years ago.</p> - -<p>Naturally, little direct progress was made in his studies. But -while to all appearances aimlessly dissipating his energies, he showed -a pronounced love for philosophy and kindred disciplines. He lost no -opportunity then offered at the University of Copenhagen to train his -mind along these lines. He heard the sturdily independent Sibbern's -lectures on æsthetics and enjoyed a "privatissimum" on the main issues -of Schleiermacher's Dogmatics with his later enemy, the theologian -Martensen, author of the celebrated "Christian Dogmatics."</p> - -<p>But there was no steadiness in him. Periods of indifference to these -studies alternated with feverish activity, and doubts of the truth of -Christianity, with bursts of devotion. However, the Hebraically stern -cast of mind of the externally gay student soon wearied of this -rudderless existence. He sighs for an "Archimedean" point of support for -his conduct of life. We find the following entry in his diary, which -prophetically foreshadows some of the fundamental ideas of his later -career: "...what I really need is to arrive at a clear comprehension of -what I am to do, not of what I am to grasp with my understanding, -except insofar as this understanding is necessary for every action. The -point is, to comprehend what I am called to do, to see what the Godhead -really means that I shall do, to find a truth which is truth for me, to -find the idea for which I am willing to live and to die..."</p> - -<p>This Archimedean point was soon to be furnished him. There came a -succession of blows, culminating in the death of his father, whose -silent disapprobation had long been weighing heavily on the conscience -of the wayward son. Even more awful, perhaps, was a revelation made by -the dying father to his sons, very likely touching that very "sin -against the Holy Ghost" which he had committed in his boyhood and the -consequence of which he now was to lay on them as a curse, instead of -his blessing. Kierkegaard calls it "the great earthquake, the terrible -upheaval, which suddenly forced on me a new and infallible interpretation -of all phenomena." He began to suspect that he had been chosen by -Providence for an extraordinary purpose; and with his abiding filial -piety he interprets his father's death; as the last of many sacrifices -he made for him; "for he died, not away from me, but for me, so that -there might yet, perchance, become something of me." Crushed by this -thought, and through the "new interpretation" despairing of happiness -in this life, he clings to the thought of his unusual intellectual -powers as his only consolation and a means by which his salvation -might be accomplished. He quickly absolved his examination for -ordination (ten years after matriculation) and determined on his -magisterial dissertation<a name="FNanchor_3_1" id="FNanchor_3_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_1" class="fnanchor">[3]</a>.</p> - -<p>Already some years before he had made a not very successful debut -in the world of letters with a pamphlet whose queer title "From the -MSS. of One Still Living" reveals Kierkegaard's inborn love of -mystification and innuendo. Like a Puck of philosophy, with somewhat -awkward bounds and a callow manner, he had there teased the worthies of -his times; and, in particular, taken a good fall out of Hans Christian -Andersen, the poet of the Fairy Tales, who had aroused his indignation -by describing in somewhat lachrymose fashion the struggles of genius to -come into its own. Kierkegaard himself was soon to show the truth of -his own dictum that "genius does not whine but like a thunderstorm goes -straight counter to the wind."</p> - -<p>While casting about for a subject worthy of a more sustained -effort—he marks out for study the legends of Faust, of the -Wandering Jew, of Don Juan, as representatives of certain basic views -of life; the Conception of Satire among the Ancients, etc., -etc.,—he at last becomes aware of his affinity with Socrates, -in whom he found that rare harmony between theory and the conduct of -life which he hoped to attain himself.</p> - -<p>Though not by Kierkegaard himself counted among the works bearing on -the "Indirect Communication"—presently to be explained—his -magisterial dissertation, entitled "The Conception of Irony, with -Constant Reference to Socrates," a book of 300 pages, is of crucial -importance. It shows that, helped by the sage who would not directly -help any one, he had found the master key: his own interpretation of -life. Indeed, all the following literary output may be regarded as the -consistent development of the simple directing thoughts of his firstling -work. And we must devote what may seem a disproportionate amount of -space to the explanation of these thoughts if we would enter into -the world of his mind.</p> - -<p>Not only did Kierkegaard feel kinship with Socrates. It did not -escape him that there was an ominous similarity between Socrates' -times and his own—between the period of flourishing Attica, -eminent in the arts and in philosophy, when a little familiarity with -the shallow phrases of the Sophists enabled one to have an opinion -about everything on earth and in heaven, and his own Copenhagen in the -thirties of the last century, when Johan Ludvig Heiberg had popularized -Hegelian philosophy with such astonishing success that the very cobblers -were using the Hegelian terminology, with "Thesis, Antithesis, and -Synthesis," and one could get instructions from one's barber, while -being shaved, how to "harmonize the ideal with reality, and our wishes -with what we have attained." Every difficulty could be "mediated," -according to this recipe. And just as the great questioner of Athens -gave pause to his more naïve contemporaries by his "know thyself," -so Kierkegaard insisted that he must rouse his contemporaries from -their philosophic complacency and unwarranted optimism, and move, -them to realize that the spiritual life has both mountain and valley, -that it is no flat plain easy to travel. He intended to show difficulties -where the road had been supposedly smoothed for them.</p> - -<p>Central, both in the theory and in the practice of Socrates -(according to Kierkegaard), is his irony. The ancient sage would -stop old and young and quizz them skilfully on what they regarded as -common and universally established propositions, until his interlocutor -became confused by some consequence or contradiction arising -unexpectedly, and until he who had been sure of his knowledge was made -to confess his ignorance, or even to become distrustful of the -possibility of knowledge. Destroying supposedly positive values, this -method would seem to lead to a negative result only.</p> - -<p>Kierkegaard makes less (and rather too little) of the positive side -of Socrates' method, his <i>maieutic</i>, or midwifery, by which we -are led inductively from trivial instances to a new definition of a -conception, a method which will fit all cases. Guided by a lofty -personality, this Socratic irony becomes, in Kierkegaard's definition, -merely "the negative liberation of subjectivity"; that is, not the -family, nor society, nor the state, nor any rules superimposed from -outside, but one's innermost self (or subjectivity) is to be the -determining factor in one's life. And understood thus, irony as a -negative element borders on the ethical conception of life.</p> - -<p>Romantic irony, on the other hand, laying main stress on subjective -liberty, represents the æsthetic conduct of life. It was, we remember, -the great demand of the Romantic period that one live poetically. That -is, after having reduced all reality to possibilities, all existence to -fragments, we are to choose <i>ad libitum</i> one such possible existence, -to consider that one's proper sphere, and for the rest to look -ironically on all other reality as philistine. Undeniably, this license, -through the infinitude of possibilities open to him, gives the ironist -an enthusiastic sense of irresponsible freedom in which he "disports -himself as does Leviathan in the deep." Again, the "æsthetical -individual" is ill at ease in the world into which he is born. His -typical ailment is a Byronesque <i>Weltschmerz.</i> He would fain mould -the elements of existence to suit himself; that, is, "compose" not -only himself but also his surroundings. But without fixed task and -purpose, life will soon lose all continuity ("except that of boredom") -and fall apart into disconnected moods and impulses. Hence, while -supposing himself a superman, free, and his own master, the æsthetic -individual is, in reality, a slave to the merest accidents. He is not -self-directed, self-propelled; but—drifts.</p> - -<p>Over against this attitude Kierkegaard now sets the ethical, -Christian life, one with a definite purpose and goal beyond itself. -"It is one thing to compose one's own life, another, to let one's life -be composed. The Christian lets his life be composed; and insofar a -simple Christian lives far more poetically than many a genius." It -would hardly be possible to characterize the contents of Kierkegaard's -first great book, <i>Enten-Eller</i> "Either-Or," more inclusively -and tersely.</p> - -<p>Very well, then, the Christian life, with its clear directive, is -superior to the æsthetic existence. But how is this: are we not all -Christians in Christendom, children of Christians, baptized and -confirmed according to the regulations of the Church? And are we -not all to be saved according to the promise of Our Lord who died for -us? At a very early time Kierkegaard, himself desperately struggling to -maintain his Christian faith against doubts, had his eyes opened to this -enormous delusion of modern times and was preparing to battle against -it. The great idea and task for which he was to live and to die—here -it was: humanity is in apparent possession of the divine truth, but -utterly perverts it and, to cap injury with insult, protects and -intrenches the deception behind state sanction and institutions. More -appalling evil confronted not even the early protagonists of -Christianity against heathendom. How was he, single-handed, -magnificently gifted though he was, to cleanse the temple and restore -its pristine simplicity?</p> - -<p>Clearly, the old mistake must not be repeated, to try to influence -and reform the masses by a vulgar and futile "revival," preaching to -them directly and gaining disciples innumerable. It would only lead -again, to the abomination of a lip service. But a ferment must -be introduced which—he hoped—would gradually restore -Christianity to its former vigor; at least in individuals. So far as the -form of his own works is concerned he was thus bound to use the -"indirect method" of Socrates whom he regards as his teacher. In -conscious opposition to the Sophists who sold their boasted wisdom -for money, Socrates not only made no charges for his instruction but -even warned people of his ignorance, insisting that, like a midwife, -he only helped people to give birth to their own thoughts. And owing -to his irony Socrates' relation to his disciples was not in any positive -sense a personal one. Least of all did he wish to found a new "school" -or erect a philosophic "system."</p> - -<p>Kierkegaard, with Christianity as his goal, adopted the same -tactics. By an attractive æsthetic beginning people were to be "lured" -into envisaging the difficulties to be unfolded presently, to think for -themselves, to form their own conclusions, whether for or against. The -individual was to be appealed to, first and last—the individual, -no matter how humble, who would take the trouble to follow him and -be his reader, "my only reader, the single individual. So the -religious author must make it his first business to put himself in touch -with men. That is to say, he must begin æsthetically. The more brilliant -his performance, the better." And then, when he has got them to follow -him "he must produce the religious categories so that these same men -with all the impetus of their devotion to æsthetic things are suddenly -brought up sharp against the religious aspect." The writer's own -personality was to be entirely eliminated by a system of pseudonyms; -for the effect of his teaching was not to be jeopardized by a -distracting knowledge of his personality. Accordingly, in conscious -imitation of Socrates, Kierkegaard at first kept up a semblance of his -previous student life, posing as a frivolous idler on the streets of -Copenhagen, a witty dog incapable of prolonged serious activity; thus -anxiously guarding the secret of his feverish activity during the lonely -hours of the night.</p> - - -<p>His campaign of the "indirect communication" was thus fully -determined upon; but there was still lacking the impetus of an elemental -passion to start it and give it driving force and conquering persistence. -This also was to be furnished him.</p> - -<p>Shortly before his father's death he had made the acquaintance of -Regine Olson, a beautiful young girl of good family. There followed one -of the saddest imaginable engagements. The melancholy, and essentially -lonely, thinker may not at first have entertained the thought of a -lasting attachment; for had he not, on the one hand, given up all -hope of worldly happiness, and on the other, begun to think of himself -as a chosen tool of heaven not to be bound by the ordinary ties of -human affection? But the natural desire to be as happy as others and to -live man's common lot, for a moment hushed all anxious scruples. And -the love of the brilliant and promising young man with the deep, -sad eyes and the flashing wit was ardently returned by her.</p> - -<p>Difficulties arose very soon. It was not so much the extreme youth -and immaturity of the girl—she was barely sixteen—as against -his tremendous mental development, or even her "total lack of religious -pre-suppositions"; for that might not itself have precluded a happy -union. Vastly more ominous was his own unconquerable and overwhelming -melancholy. She could not break it. And struggle as he might, he -could not banish it. And, he reasoned, even if he were successful -in concealing it from her, the very concealment were a deceit. Neither -would he burden her with his melancholy by revealing it to her. -Besides, some mysterious ailment which, with Paul, he terms the "thorn -in his flesh," tormented him. The fact that he consulted a physician -makes it likely that it was bodily, and perhaps sexual. On the other -hand, the manner of Kierkegaard's multitudinous references to woman -removes the suspicion of any abnormality. The impression remains that -at the bottom of his trouble there lay his melancholy, aggravated -admittedly by an "insane education," and coupled with an exaggerated -sense of a misspent youth. That nothing else prevented the union -is clear from his own repeated later remarks that, with more faith, -he would have married her.</p> - -<p>Though to the end of his life he never ceased to love her, he -feels that they must part. But she clings to him with a rather maudlin -devotion, which, to be sure, only increased his determination. He -finally hit on the desperate device of pretending frivolous indifference -to her affections, and acted this sad comedy with all the dialectic -subtleness of his genius, until she eventually released him. Then, -after braving for a while the philistine indignation of public opinion -and the disapproval of his friends, in order to confirm her in her bad -opinion of him, he fled to Berlin with shattered nerves and a bleeding -heart.</p> - -<p>He had deprived himself of what was dearest to him in life. For -all that, he knew that the foundations of his character remained -unshaken. The voluntary renunciation of a worldly happiness which -was his for the taking intensifies his idea of being one of the "few -in each generation selected to be a sacrifice." Thereafter, "his thought -is all to him," and all his gifts are devoted to the service of God.</p> - - -<p>During the first half of the nineteenth century, more than at any -other time, Denmark was an intellectual dependency of Germany. It -was but natural that Kierkegaard, in search for the ultimate verities, -should resort to Berlin where Schelling was just then beginning his -famous course of lectures. In many respects it may be held deplorable -that, at a still formative stage, Kierkegaard should have remained in -the prosaic capital of Prussia and have been influenced by bloodless -abstractions; instead of journeying to France, or still better, to -England whose empiricism would, no doubt, have been an excellent -corrective of his excessive tendency to speculation. In fact he was -quickly disappointed with Schelling and after four months returned -to his beloved Copenhagen (which he was not to leave thereafter -except for short periods), with his mind still busy on the problems -which were peculiarly his own. The tremendous impulse given by his -unfortunate engagement was sufficient to stimulate his sensitive mind -to a productivity without equal in Danish literature, to create a -"literature within a literature." The fearful inner collision -of motives had lit an inner conflagration which did not die down for -years. "My becoming an author is due chiefly to her, my melancholy, -and my money."</p> - -<p>About a year afterwards (1843) there appeared his first great work, -"Either-Or," which at once established his fame. As in the case of most -of his works it will be impossible to give here more than the barest -outline of its plan and contents. In substance, it is a grand debate -between the æsthetic and the ethic views of life. In his dissertation -Kierkegaard had already characterized the æsthetic point of view. Now, -in a brilliant series of articles, he proceeds' to exemplify it with -exuberant detail.</p> - -<p>The fundamental chord of the first part is struck in the <i>Diapsalmata</i> -aphorisms which, like so many flashes of a lantern, illuminate -the æsthetic life, its pleasures and its despair. The æsthetic -individual—this is brought out in the article entitled "The Art of -Rotation"—wishes to be the exception in human society, shirking its -common, humble duties and claiming special privileges. He has no fixed -principle except that he means not to be bound to anything or anybody. -He has but one desire which is, to enjoy the sweets of life—whether -its purely sensual pleasures or the more refined Epicureanism of the -finer things in life and art, and the ironic enjoyment of one's own -superiority over the rest of humanity; and he has no fear except that -he may succumb to boredom.</p> - -<p>As a comment on this text there follow a number of essays in -"experimental psychology," supposed to be the fruit of the æsthete's -(A's) leisure. In them the æsthetic life is exhibited in its various -manifestations, in "terms of existence," especially as to its "erotic -stages," from the indefinite longings of the Page to the fully conscious -"sensual genius" of Don Juan—the examples are taken from Mozart's -opera of this name, which was Kierkegaard's favorite—until the -whole culminates in the famous "Diary of the Seducer," containing -elements of the author's own engagement, poetically disguised—a -seducer, by the way, of an infinitely reflective kind.</p> - -<p>Following this climax of unrestrained æstheticism we hear in the -second part the stern demands of the ethical life. Its spokesman, Judge -William, rises in defense of the social institutes, and of marriage in -particular, against the slurs cast on them by his young friend A. He -makes it clear that the only possible outcome of the æsthetic life, -with its aimlessness, its superciliousness, its vague possibilities, -is a feeling of vanity and vexation of spirit, and a hatred of life -itself: despair. One floundering in this inevitable slough of despond, -who earnestly wishes to escape from it and to save himself from the -ultimate destruction of his personality, must choose and determine to -rise into the ethical sphere. That is, he must elect a definite calling, -no matter how humdrum, marry, if possible, and thus subject himself -to the "general law." In a word, instead of a world of vague -possibilities, however attractive, he must choose the definite -circumscription of the individual who is a member of society. Only -thus will he obtain a balance in his life between the demands of his -personality on the one hand, and of the demands of society on him. -When thus reconciled to his environment—his "lot"—all the -pleasures of the æsthetic sphere which he resigned will be his again -in rich measure, but in a transfigured sense.</p> - -<p>Though nobly eloquent in places, and instinct with warm feeling, -this panegyric on marriage and the fixed duties of life is somewhat -unconvincing, and its style undeniably tame and unctious—at -least when contrasted with the Satanic verve of most of A's papers. -The fact is that Kierkegaard, when considering the ethical sphere, in -order to carry out his plan of contrasting it with the æsthetic sphere, -was already envisaging the higher sphere of religion, to which the -ethical sphere is but a transition, and which is the only true -alternative to the æsthetic life. At the very end of the book -Kierkegaard, flying his true colors, places a sermon as an "ultimatum," -purporting to have been written by a pastor on the Jutish Heath. Its -text is that "as against God we are always in the wrong," and the tenor -of it, "only that truth which edifies is truth for you." It is not that -you must choose either the æsthetic or the ethical view of life; but -that neither the one nor the other is the full truth—God alone is -the truth which must be grasped with all inwardness. But since we -recognize our imperfections, or sins, the more keenly, as we are developed -more highly, our typical relation to God must be that of repentance; and -by repentance as by a step we may rise into the higher sphere of -religion—as will be seen, a purely Christian thought.</p> - -<p>A work of such powerful originality, imposing by its very size, and -published at the anonymous author's own expense, could not but create -a stir among the small Danish reading public. And notwithstanding -Kierkegaard's consistent efforts to conceal his authorship in the -interest of his "indirect communication," it could not long remain a -secret. The book was much, and perplexedly, discussed, though no one -was able to fathom the author's real aim, most readers being attracted -by piquant subjects such as the "Diary of the Seducer," and regarding -the latter half as a feeble afterthought. As he said himself: "With my -left hand I held out to the world 'Either-Or,' with my right, 'Two -Edifying Discourses'; but they all—or practically all—seized -with their right hands what I held in my left."</p> - -<p>These "Two Edifying Discourses<a name="FNanchor_4_1" id="FNanchor_4_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_1" class="fnanchor">[4]</a>"—for thus he preferred to call -them, rather than sermons, because he claimed no authority to -preach—as well as all the many later ones, were published over -his own name, addressed to Den Enkelte "The Single Individual whom -with joy and gratitude he calls his reader," and were dedicated to the -memory of his father. They belong among the noblest books of -edification, of which the North has not a few.</p> - -<p>During the following three years (1843-5) Kierkegaard, once roused -to productivity, though undoubtedly kept at his task by the exertion of -marvelous will-power, wrote in quick succession some of his most -notable works—so original in form, in thought, in content that -it is a well-nigh hopeless task to analyze them to any satisfaction. -All we can do here is to note the development in them of the one grand -theme which is fundamental to all his literary activity: how to become -a Christian.</p> - -<p>If the second part of "Either-Or" was devoted to an explanation of -the nature of the ethical, as against the æsthetic, conduct of life, -inevitably the next task was, first, to define the nature of the -religious life, as against the merely ethical life; then, to show how -the religious sphere may be attained. This is done in the brilliant twin -books <i>Frygt og Baeven</i> "Fear and Trembling" and <i>Gjentagelsen</i> -"Repetition." Both were published over pseudonyms.</p> - -<p>"Fear and Trembling" bears as its subtitle "Dialectic Lyrics." -Indeed, nowhere perhaps is Kierkegaard's strange union of dialectic -subtlety and intense lyrical power and passion so strikingly in evidence -as in this panegyric on Abraham, the father of faith. To Kierkegaard -he is the shining exemplar of the religious life; and his greatest act -of faith, his obedience to God's command to slay Isaac. Nothing can -surpass the eloquence with which he depicts the agony of the father, -his struggle between the ethical, or general, law which, saith "thou -shalt no kill"! and God's specific command. In the end, Abraham by a -grand resolve transgresses the law; and lo! because he has faith, -against certainty, that he will keep Isaac, and does not merely resign -him, as many a tragic hero would have done, he receives all again, in -a new and higher sphere. In other words, Abraham chooses to be "the -exception" and set aside the general law, as well as does the æsthetic -individual; but, note well: "in fear and trembling," and at the express -command of God! He is a "knight of faith." But because this direct -relation to the divinity necessarily can be certain only to Abraham's -self, his action is altogether incomprehensible to others. Reason -recoils before the absolute paradox of the individual who chooses -to rise superior to the general law.</p> - -<p>The rise into the religious sphere is always likely to be the outcome -of some severe inner conflict engendering infinite passion. In the -splendidly written <i>Gjentagelse</i> "Repetition" we are shown <i>ad -oculos</i> an abortive transition into the religious sphere, with a -corresponding relapse into the æsthetic sphere. Kierkegaard's own -love-story is again drawn upon: the "Young Person" ardently loves the -woman; but discovers to his consternation that she is in reality but a -burden to him since, instead of having an actual, living relation to her, -he merely "remembers" her when she is present. In the ensuing collision of -motives his æsthetically cool friend Constantin Constantius advises him to -act as one unworthy of her—as did Kierkegaard—and to forget -her. But instead of following this advice, and lacking a deeper religious -background, he flees the town and subsequently transmutes his trials -into poetry—that is, relapses into the æsthetic sphere: rather than, -like Job, whom he apostrophises passionately, "receiving all again" -(having all "repeated") in a higher sphere. This idea of the resumption -of a lower stage into a higher one is one of Kierkegaard's most original -and fertile thoughts. It is illustrated here with an amazing wealth of -instances.</p> - -<p>So far, it had been a question of religious feeling in general—how -it may arise, and what its nature is. In the pivotal work <i>Philosophiske -Smuler</i> "Philosophic Trifles"—note the irony—Kierkegaard -throws the searching rays of his penetrating intellect on the grand -problem of revealed religion: can one's eternal salvation be based on -an historical event? This is the great stumbling block to the -understanding.</p> - -<p>Hegel's philosophic optimism maintained that the difficulties of -Christianity had been completely "reconciled" or "mediated" in the -supposedly higher synthesis of philosophy, by which process religion -had been reduced to terms which might be grasped by the intellect. -Kierkegaard, fully voicing the claim both of the intellect and of -religion, erects the barrier of the paradox, impassable except by -the act of faith. As will be seen, this is Tertullian's <i>Credo -quia absurdum.</i><a name="FNanchor_5_1" id="FNanchor_5_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_1" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p> - -<p>In the briefest possible outline his argument is as follows: -Socrates had taught that in reality every one had the truth in him -and needed but to be reminded of it by the teacher who thus is -necessary only in helping the disciple to discover it himself. That is -the indirect communication of the truth. But now suppose that the -truth is not innate in man, suppose he has merely the ability to -grasp it when presented to him. And suppose the teacher to be of -absolute, infinite importance—the Godhead himself, directly -communicating with man, revealing the truth in the shape of man; in -fact, as the lowliest of men, yet insisting on implicit belief in Him! -This, according to Kierkegaard, constitutes the paradox of faith -<i>par excellence.</i> But this paradox, he shows, existed for the -generation contemporaneous with Christ in the same manner as it does -for those living now. To think that faith was an easier matter for -those who saw the Lord and walked in His blessed company is but a -sentimental, and fatal, delusion. On the other hand, to found one's -faith on the glorious results, now evident, of Christ's appearance in -the world is sheer thoughtlessness and blasphemy. With ineluctable -cogency it follows that "there can be no disciple at second hand." -Now, as well as "1800 years ago," whether in Heathendom or in -Christendom, faith is born of the same conditions: the resolute -acceptance by the individual of the absolute paradox.</p> - -<p>In previous works Kierkegaard had already intimated that what -furnished man the impetus to rise into the highest sphere and to -assail passionately and incessantly the barrier of the paradox, or else -caused him to lapse into "demonic despair," was the consciousness of -sin. In the book <i>Begrebet Angest</i> "The Concept of Sin," he now -attempts with an infinite and laborious subtlety to explain the nature -of sin. Its origin is found in the "sympathetic antipathy" of -Dread—that force which at one and the same time attracts and -repels from the suspected danger of a fall and is present even in the -state of innocence, in children. It finally results in a kind of -"dizziness" which is fatal. Yet, so Kierkegaard contends, the "fall" -of man is, in every single instance, due to a definite act of the will, -a "leap"—which seems a patent contradiction.</p> - -<p>To the modern reader, this is the least palatable of Kierkegaard's -works, conceived as it is with a sovereign and almost medieval -disregard of the predisposing undeniable factors of environment and -heredity (which, to be sure, poorly fit his notion of the absolute -responsibility of the individual). Its somberness is redeemed, to a -certain degree, by a series of marvelous observations, drawn from -history and literature, on the various phases and manifestations -of Dread in human life.</p> - -<p>On the same day as the book just discussed there appeared, as a -"counter-irritant," the hilariously exuberant <i>Forord</i> "Forewords," -a collection of some eight playful but vicious attacks, in the form of -prefaces, on various foolish manifestations of Hegelianism in Denmark. -They are aimed chiefly at the high-priest of the "system," the poet -Johan Ludvig Heiberg who, as the <i>arbiter elegantiarum</i> of the -times had presumed to review, with a plentiful lack of insight, -Kierkegaard's activity. But some of the most telling shots are fired at -a number of the individualist Kierkegaard's pet aversions.</p> - -<p>His next great work, <i>Stadier paa Livets Vei</i> "Stages on -Life's Road," forms a sort of resume of the results so far gained. -The three "spheres" are more clearly elaborated.</p> - -<p>The æsthetic sphere is represented existentially by the incomparable -<i>In Vino Veritas</i>, generally called "The Banquet," from a purely -literary point of view the most perfect of Kierkegaard's works, which, -if written in one of the great languages of Europe, would have procured -him world fame. Composed in direct emulation of Plato's immortal -Symposion, it bears comparison with it as well as any modern composition -can.<a name="FNanchor_6_1" id="FNanchor_6_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_1" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> Indeed, it excels Plato's work in subtlety, richness, and -refined humor. To be sure, Kierkegaard has charged his creation with -such romantic super-abundance of delicate observations and rococo -ornament that the whole comes dangerously near being improbable; -whereas the older work stands solidly in reality.</p> - -<p>It is with definite purpose that the theme of the speeches of the -five participants in the banquet is love, i.e., the relation of the two -sexes in love; for it is there the main battle between the æsthetic and -the ethical view of life must be fought out. Accordingly, Judge William, -to whom the last idyllic pages of "The Banquet" again introduce us, in -the second part breaks another shaft in defense of marriage, which in -the ethical view of life is the typical realization of the "general -law." Love exists also for the ethical individual. In fact, love and no -other consideration whatsoever can justify marriage. But whereas to the -æsthetic individual love is merely eroticism, viz., a passing -self-indulgence without any obligation, the ethical individual attaches -to himself the woman of his choice by an act of volition, for better or -for worse, and by his marriage vow incurs an obligation to society. -Marriage is thus a synthesis of love and duty. A pity only that -Kierkegaard's astonishingly low evaluation of woman utterly mars -what would otherwise be a classic defense of marriage.</p> - -<p>The religious sphere is shown forth in the third part, -<i>Skyldig—Ikke-Skyldig</i> "Guilty—Not-Guilty," with the apt -subtitle "A History of Woe." Working over, for the third time, and in the -most intense fashion, his own unsuccessful attempt to "realize the general -law," i.e., by marrying, he here presents in the form of a diary the -essential facts of his own engagement, but in darker colors than in -"Repetition." It is broken because of religious incompatibility -and the lover's unconquerable melancholy; and by his voluntary -renunciation, coupled with acute suffering through his sense of guilt -for his act, he is driven up to an approximation of the religious -sphere. Not unjustly, Kierkegaard himself regarded this as the richest -of his works.</p> - -<p>One may say that "Guilty—Not-Guilty" corresponds to Kierkegaard's -own development at this stage. Christianity is still above him. How -may it be attained? This is the grand theme of the huge book -whimsically named "Final Unscientific Postscript to the Philosophical -Trifles," <i>Afsluttende Uvidenskabelig Efterskrift</i> (1846): "How -shall I become a Christian, I, Johannes Climacus, born in this city, -thirty years of age, and not in any way different from the ordinary -run of men"?</p> - -<p>Following up the results gained in the "Trifles," the subjectivity -of faith is established once for all: it is not to be attained by -swearing to any set of dogmas, not even Scripture; for who will vouch -for its being an absolutely reliable and inspired account of Christ? -Besides, as Lessing had demonstrated conclusively: historic facts never -can become the proof of eternal verities. Nor can the existence of the -Church through the ages furnish any guarantee for faith—straight -counter to the opinion, held by Kierkegaard's famous contemporary -Grundtvig—any more than can mere contemporaneousness establish -a guarantee for those living at the beginning. To sum up: "One who has -an objective Christianity and nothing else, he is <i>eo ipso</i> a -heathen." For the same reason, "philosophic speculation" is not the -proper approach, since it seeks to understand Christianity objectively, -as an historic phenomenon—which rules it out from the start.</p> - -<p>It is only by a decisive "leap," from objective thinking into -subjective faith, with the consciousness of sin as the driving power, -that the individual may realize (we would say, attain) Christianity. Nor -is it gained once for all, but must ever be maintained by passionately -assailing the paradox of faith, which is, that one's eternal salvation -is based on an historic fact. The main thing always is the "how," -not the "what." Kierkegaard goes so far as to say that he who with -fervency and inwardness prays to some false god is to be preferred -to him who worships the true god, but without the passion of devotion.</p> - -<p>In order to prevent any misunderstanding about the manner of -presentation in this remarkable book, it will be well to add -Kierkegaard's own remark after reading a conscientious German review of -his "Trifles": "Although the account given is correct, every one who -reads it will obtain an altogether incorrect impression of the book; -because the account the critic gives is in the <i>ex cathedra style</i> -(docerende), which will produce on the reader the impression -that the book is written in a like manner. But this is in my eyes the -worst misconception possible." And as to its peculiar conversational, -entertaining manner which in the most leisurely, legère fashion and in -an all but dogmatic style treats of the profoundest problems, it is -well to recall the similarly popular manner of Pascal in his -<i>Lettres Provinciales.</i> Like him—and his grand prototype -Socrates—Kierkegaard has the singular faculty of attacking the most -abstruse matters with a chattiness bordering on frivolity, yet without -ever losing dignity.</p> - - -<p>For four and a half years Kierkegaard had now, notwithstanding -his feeble health, toiled feverishly and, as he himself states, -without even a single day's remission. And "the honorarium had been -rather Socratic": all of his books had been brought out at his own -expense, and their sale had been, of course, small. (Of the "Final -Postscript," e.g., which had cost him between 500 and 600 rixdollars, -only 60 copies were sold). Hardly any one had understood what the -purpose of this "literature" was. He himself had done, with the utmost -exertion and to the best of his ability, what he set out to do: to show -his times, which had assumed that being a Christian is an easy enough -matter, how unspeakably difficult a matter it really is and what terribly -severe demands it makes on natural man. He now longed for rest -and seriously entertained the plan of bringing his literary career to -a close and spending the remainder of his days as a pastor of some -quiet country parish, there to convert his philosophy into terms of -practical existence. But this was not to be. An incident which would -seem ridiculously small to a more robust nature sufficed to inflict on -Kierkegaard's sensitive mind the keenest tortures and thus to sting -him into a renewed and more passionate literary activity.</p> - -<p>As it happened, the comic paper <i>Korsaren</i> "The Corsair" was then -at the heyday of its career. The first really democratic periodical -in Denmark, it stood above party lines and through its malicious, -brilliant satire and amusing caricatures of prominent personalities -was hated, feared, and enjoyed by everybody. Its editor, the Jewish -author Meir Goldschmidt, was a warm and outspoken admirer of the -philosopher. Kierkegaard, on the other hand, had long regarded -the Press with suspicion. He loathed it because it gave expression -to, and thus subtly flattered, the multitude, "the public," -"the mob"—as against the individual, and because it worked with -the terrible weapon of anonymity; but held it especially dangerous by -reason of its enormous circulation and daily repetition of mischievous -falsehoods. So it seemed to him who ever doubted the ability of the -"people" to think for themselves. In a word, the Press is to him "the -evil principle in the modern world." Needless to say, the tactics of -"The Corsair," in particular, infuriated him.</p> - -<p>In a Christmas annual (1845) there had appeared a blundering -review, by one of the collaborators on "The Corsair," of his "Stages on -Life's Road." Seizing the opportunity offered, Kierkegaard wrote a -caustic rejoinder, adding the challenge: "Would that I now soon appear -in 'The Corsair.' It is really hard on a poor author to be singled out -in Danish literature by remaining the only one who is not abused in -it." We know now that Goldschmidt did his best in a private interview -to ward off a feud, but when rebuffed he turned the batteries of his -ridicule on the personality of his erstwhile idol. And for the better -part of a year the Copenhagen public was kept laughing and grinning -about the unequal trouser legs, the spindle shanks, the inseparable -umbrella, the dialectic propensities, of "Either-Or," as Kierkegaard -came to be called by the populace; for, owing to his peripatetic -habits—acquired in connection with the Indirect Communication—he -had long been a familiar figure on the streets of the capital. While -trying to maintain an air of indifference, he suffered the tortures -of the damned. In his Journal (several hundred of whose pages are -given over to reflections on this experience) we find exclamations -such as this one: "What is it to be roasted alive at a slow fire, -or to be broken on the wheel or, as they do in warm climates, to -be smeared with honey and put at the mercy of the insects—what -is that in comparison with this torture: to be grinned to death!"</p> - -<p>There could be no thought now of retiring to a peaceful charge in -the country. That would have been fleeing from persecution. Besides, -unbeknown perhaps to himself, his pugnacity was aroused. While under -the influence of the "Corsair Feud" (as it is known in Danish -literature) he completes the booklet "A Literary Review." This was -originally intended as a purely æsthetic evaluation and appreciation -of the (then anonymous) author<a name="FNanchor_7_1" id="FNanchor_7_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_1" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> of the <i>Hverdagshistorier</i> -"Commonplace Stories" that are praised by him for their thoughtful -bodying forth of a consistent view of life which—however different -from his own—yet commanded his respect. He now appended a series -of bitter reflections on the Present Times, paying his respects to the -Press, which he calls incomparably the worst offender in furnishing -people with cheap irony, in forcibly levelling out and reducing to -mediocrity all those who strive to rise above it intellectually—words -applicable, alas! no less to our own times. To him, however, who in a -religious sense has become the captain of his soul, the becoming a -butt of the Press is but a true test. Looking up, Kierkegaard sees in -his own fate the usual reward accorded by mankind to the courageous -souls who dare to fight for the truth, for the ideal—for -Christianity, against the "masses." In a modern way, through ridicule, -he was undergoing the martyrdom which the blood witnesses of old had -undergone for the sake of their faith. Their task it had been to -preach the Gospel among the heathen. His, he reasoned, was in nowise -easier: to make clear to uncomprehending millions of so-called -Christians that they were not Christians at all, that they did not even -know what Christianity is: suffering and persecution, as he now -recognizes, being inseparable from the truly Christian life.</p> - -<p>First, then, the road had to be cleared, emphatically, for the -truth that Christianity and "the public" are opposite terms. The -collection of "Edifying Discourses in Diverse Spirits" is thus a -religious parallel to the polemic in his "Review." The first part -of these meditations has for its text: "The purity of the -heart consists in willing one thing"—and this one thing is -necessarily the good, the ideal; but only he who lives his life as -the individual can possibly will the good—else it is lived in -duplicity, for the world will share his aspirations, he will bid for the -rewards which the bowing before the crowd can give him. In the second -part, entitled "What we may learn from the Lilies of the Field and the -Birds of the Air"—one of Kierkegaard's favorite texts—the -greatest danger to the ethic-religious life is shown to be the -uneasiness about our material welfare which insidiously haunts our -thought-life, and, notwithstanding our best endeavors, renders us -essentially slaves to "the crowd"; whereas it is given to man, created -in the image of God, to be as self-contained, unafraid, hopeful as -are (symbolically) the lily and the bird. The startlingly new -development attained through his recent experiences is most evident -in the third part, "The Gospel of Sufferings," in which absolute stress -is laid on the imitation of Christ in the strictest sense. Only the -"individual" can compass this: the narrow way to salvation must be -traveled alone; and will lead to salvation only if the world is, -literally, overcome in persecution and tribulation. And, on the other -hand, to be happy in this world is equivalent to forfeiting salvation. -Thus briefly outlined, the contents of this book would seem to be sheer -monkish asceticism; but no synopsis, however full, can hope to give -an idea of its lyrical pathos, its wealth of tender reflections, -the great love tempering the stern severity of its teaching.</p> - -<p>With wonderful beauty "The Deeds of Love" (<i>Kjerlighedens -Gjerninger</i>) (1847) are exalted as the Christian's help and -salvation against the tribulations of the world—love, not indeed -of the human kind, but of man through God. "You are not concerned at -all with what others do to you, but only with what you do to others; -and also, with how you react to what others do to you—you are -concerned, essentially, only with yourself, before God."</p> - -<p>In rapid succession there follow "Christian Discourses"; "The Lily -of the Field and the Bird of the Air"; "Sickness Unto Death" -(with the sub-title "A Christian Psychological Exposition"); "Two -Religious Treatises"; "The High Priest, the Publican, the Sinner"; -"Three Discourses on the Occasion of Communion on Friday."</p> - -<p>In the course of these reflections it had become increasingly -clear to Kierkegaard that the self-constituted representative of -Christ—the Church or, to mention only the organization he was -intimately acquainted with, the Danish State Church—had succeeded -in becoming a purely worldly organization whose representatives, far -from striving to follow Christ, had made life quite comfortable for -themselves; retort to which was presently made that by thus stressing -"contemporaneousness" with its aspects of suffering and persecution, -Kierkegaard had both exceeded the accepted teaching of the Church and -staked the attainment of Christianity so high as to drive all existing -forms of it <i>ad absurdum.</i></p> - -<p>In his <i>lndövelse i Christendom</i> "Preparation for a Christian -Life" and the somber <i>Til Selvprövelse</i> "For a Self-Examination" -Kierkegaard returns to the attack with a powerful re-examination of the -whole question as to how far modern Christianity corresponds to that -of the Founder. Simply, but with grandiose power, he works out in -concrete instances the conception of "contemporaneousness" gained -in the "Final Postscript"; at the same time demonstrating to all who -have eyes to see, the axiomatic connection between the doctrine of -Propitiation and Christ's life in debasement; that Christianity consists -in absolutely dying to the world; and that the Christianity which does -not live up to this is but a travesty on Christianity. We may think what -we please about this counsel of perfection, and judge what we may about -the rather arbitrary choice of Scripture passages on which Kierkegaard -builds: no serious reader, no sincere Christian can escape the searching -of heart sure to follow this tremendous arraignment of humanity false -to its divine leader. There is nothing more impressive in all modern -literature than the gallery of "opinions" voiced by those arrayed -against Christ when on earth—and now—as to what constitutes -the "offense."</p> - - -<p>Kierkegaard had hesitated a long time before publishing the -"Preparation for a Christian Life." Authority-loving as he was, he -shrank from antagonizing the Church, as it was bound to do; and more -especially, from giving offense to its primate, the venerable Bishop -Mynster who had been his father's friend and spiritual adviser, to -whom he had himself always looked up with admiring reverence, and -whose sermons he had been in the habit of reading at all times. Also, -to be sure, he was restrained by the thought, that by publishing his -book he would render Christianity well-night unattainable to the weak -and the simple and the afflicted who certainly were in need of the -consolations of Christianity without any additional sufferings -interposed—and surely no reader of his devotional works can be in -doubt that he was the most tender-hearted of men. In earlier, stronger -times, he imagines, he would have been made a martyr for his opinions; -but was he entitled to become a blood-witness—he who realized -more keenly than any one that he himself was not a Christian in the -strictest sense? In his "Two Religious Treatises" he debates the -question: "Is it permissible for a man to let himself be killed for the -truth?"; which is answered in the negative in "About the Difference -between a Genius and an Apostle"—which consists in the Apostle's -speaking with authority. However, should not the truth be the most -important consideration? His journal during that time offers abundant -proof of the absolute earnestness with which he struggled over the -question.</p> - -<p>When Kierkegaard finally published "The Preparation for a Christian -Life," the bishop was, indeed, incensed; but he did nothing. Nor did -any one else venture forth. Still worse affront! Kierkegaard had said -his last word, had stated his ultimatum—and it was received with -indifference, it seemed. Nevertheless he decided to wait and see -what effect his books would have for he hesitated to draw the -last conclusions and mortally wound the old man tottering on the -brink of his grave by thus attacking the Church. There followed a three -years' period of silence on the part of Kierkegaard—again -certainly a proof of his utter sincerity. It must be remembered, in -this connection, that the very last thing Kierkegaard desired was an -external reorganization, a "reform," of the Church—indeed, he -firmly refused to be identified with any movement of secession, -differing in this respect vitally from his contemporaries Vinet and -Grundtvig who otherwise had so much in common with him. His only -wish was to infuse life and inwardness into the existing forms. And far -from being inferior to them in this he was here at one with the Founder -and the Early Church in that he states the aim of the Christian -Life to be, not to transform the existing social order, but to transcend -it. For the very same reason, coupled to be sure with a pronounced -aristocratic individualism, he is utterly and unreasonably indifferent, -and even antagonistic, to the great social movements of his time, to -the political upheavals of 1848, to the revolutionary advances of -science.</p> - -<p>As Kierkegaard now considered his career virtually concluded, -he wrote (1851) a brief account "About my Activity as an Author" -in which he furnishes his readers a key to its unfolding—from -an æsthetic view to the religious view—which he considers his -own education by Providence; and indicates it to be his special task to -call attention, without authority, to the religious, the Christian life. -His "Viewpoint for my Activity as an Author," published by his brother -only long after his death, likewise defines the purpose of the whole -"authorship," besides containing important biographical material.</p> - -<p>At length (January, 1854) Mynster died. Even then Kierkegaard, -though still on his guard, might not have felt called upon to -have recourse to stronger measures if it had not been for an -unfortunate sentence in the funeral sermon preached by the now -famous Martensen—generally pointed out as the successor to the -primacy—with whom Kierkegaard had already broken a lance or two. -Martensen had declared Mynster to have been "one of the holy -chain of witnesses for the truth (<i>sandhedsvidner</i>) which extends -through the centuries down from the time of the Apostles." This is the -provocation for which Kierkegaard had waited. "Bishop Mynster a witness -for the truth"! he bursts out, "You who read this, you know well what -in a Christian sense is a witness for the truth. Still, let me remind -you that to be one, it is absolutely essential to suffer for the -teaching of Christianity"; whereas "the truth is that Mynster -was wordily-wise to a degree—was weak, pleasure-loving, and -great only as a declaimer." But once more—striking proof of his -circumspection and single-mindedness—he kept this harsh letter -in his desk for nine months, lest its publication should interfere in -the least with Martensen's appointment, or seem the outcome of -personal resentment.</p> - -<p>Martensen's reply, which forcefully enough brings out all that could -be said for a milder interpretation of the Christian categories and for -his predecessor, was not as respectful to the sensitive author as it -ought to have been. In a number of newspaper letters of increasing -violence and acerbity Kierkegaard now tried to force his obstinately -silent opponent to his knees; but in vain. Filled with holy wrath at -what he conceived to be a conspiracy by silence, and evasions to bring -to naught the whole infinitely important matter for which he had -striven, Kierkegaard finally turned agitator. He addressed himself -directly to the people with the celebrated pamphlet series Öieblikket -"The Present Moment" in which he opens an absolutely withering -fire of invective on anything and everything connected with "the -existing order" in Christendom—an agitation the like of which for -revolutionary vehemence has rarely, if ever, been seen. All rites of the -Church—marriage, baptism, confirmation, communion, burial—and -most of all the clergy, high and low, draw the fiery bolts of his wrath -and a perfect hail of fierce, cruel invective. The dominant note, though -varied infinitely, is ever the same: "Whoever you may be, and whatever -the life you live, my friend: by omitting to attend the public -divine service—if indeed it be your habit to attend it—by -omitting, to attend public divine service as now constituted -(claiming as it does to represent the Christianity of the New Testament) -you will escape at least one, and a great, sin in not attempting to fool -God by calling that the Christianity of the New Testament which is not -the Christianity of the New Testament." And he does not hesitate -to use strong, even coarse, language; he even courts the reproach -of blasphemy in order to render ridiculous in "Official Christianity" -what to most may seem inherently, though mistakenly, a matter of -highest reverence.</p> - -<p>The swiftness and mercilessness of his attack seem to have left -his contemporaries without a weapon: all they could do was to shrug -their shoulders about the "fanatic," or to duck and wait dumbly until -the storm had passed.</p> - -<p>Nor did it last long. On the second of October, 1855, Kierkegaard -fell unconscious in the street. He was brought to the hospital where he -died on the eleventh of November, aged 42. The immense exertions of -the last months had shattered his frail body. And strange: the last of -his money had been used up. He had said what he thought Providence -had to communicate through him. His strength was gone. His death at -this moment would put the crown on his work. As he said on his -death-bed: "The bomb explodes, and the conflagration will follow."</p> - - -<p>In appraising Kierkegaard's life and works it will be found true, -as Hotfding says, that he can mean much even to those who do not -subscribe to the beliefs so unquestioningly entertained by him. And -however much they may regret that he poured his noble wine into the -old bottles, they cannot fail to recognize the yeoman's service he did, -both for sincere Christians in compelling them to rehearse inwardly -what ever tends to become a matter of form: what it means to be a -Christian; and for others, in deepening their sense of individual -responsibility. In fact, every one who has once come under his -influence and has wrestled with this mighty spirit will bear away -some blessing. In a time when, as in our own, the crowd, society, -the millions, the nation, had depressed the individual to an -insignificant atom—and what is worse, in the individual's own -estimation; when shallow altruistic, socializing effort thought -naively that the millenium was at hand, he drove the truth home -that, on the contrary, the individual is the measure of all things; -that we do not live en masse; that both the terrible responsibility -and the great satisfactions of life inhere in the individual. -Again, more forcibly than any one else in modern times, certainly -more cogently than Pascal, he demonstrated that the possibility -of proof in religion is an illusion; that doubt cannot be combatted -by reason, that it ever will be <i>credo quia impossibile.</i> In -religion, he showed the utter incompatibility of the æsthetic and -the religious life; and in Christianity, he re-stated and re-pointed -the principle of ideal perfection by his unremitting insistence -on contemporaneousness with Christ. It is another matter whether -by so doing Kierkegaard was about to pull the pillars from underneath -the great edifice of Christianity which housed both him and his -enemies: seeing that he himself finally doubted whether it had -ever existed apart from the Founder and, possibly, the Apostles.</p> - - -<p>Kierkegaard is not easy reading. One's first impression of crabbedness, -whimsicality, abstruseness will, however, soon give way to admiration -of the marvelous instrument of precision language has become in his -hands. To be sure, he did not write for people who are in a hurry, -nor for dullards. His closely reasoned paragraphs and, at times -huge, though rhetorically faultless, periods require concentrated -attention, his involutions and repetitions, handled with such -incomparable virtuosity, demand an everlasting readiness of -comprehension on the part of the reader. On the other hand his -philosophic work is delightfully "Socratic," unconventional, and -altogether "un-textbook-like." Kierkegaard himself wished that his -devotional works should be read aloud. And, from a purely æsthetic -point of view, it ought to be a delight for any orator to practice -on the wonderful periods of e. g., "The Preparation," or of, -say, the parable of the coach-horses in "Acts of the Apostles." -They alone would be sufficient to place Kierkegaard in the front rank -of prose writers of the nineteenth century where, both by the power of -his utterance and the originality of his thought, he rightfully -belongs.</p> - -<p>In laying before an English speaking public selections from -Kierkegaard's works, the translator has endeavored to give an -adequate idea of the various aspects of his highly disparate works. -For this purpose he has chosen a few large pieces, rather than given -tidbits. He hopes to be pardoned for not having a slavish regard for -Kierkegaard's very inconsequential paragraphing<a name="FNanchor_8_1" id="FNanchor_8_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_1" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> and for breaking, -with no detriment, he believes, to the thought, some excessively -long paragraphs into smaller units; which will prove more restful -to the eye and more encouraging to the reader. As to occasional -omissions—always indicated by dots—the possessor of the -complete works will readily identify them. In consonance with -Kierkegaard's views on "contemporaneousness," no capitals are -used in "The Preparation" when referring to Christ by pronouns.</p> - - -<p>When Kierkegaard died, his influence, like that of Socrates, was -just beginning to make itself felt. The complete translation into -German of all his works<a name="FNanchor_9_1" id="FNanchor_9_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_1" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> and of many into other languages; the -magnificent new edition of his works<a name="FNanchor_10_1" id="FNanchor_10_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_1" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> and of his extraordinarily -voluminous diaries,<a name="FNanchor_11_1" id="FNanchor_11_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_1" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> now nearing completion; and the steadily -increasing number of books, pamphlets, and articles from the most -diverse quarters testify to his reaching a growing number of -<i>individuals.</i> Below is given a list of the more important books -and articles on Kierkegaard. It does not aim at completeness.</p> - - -<p>Bärthold, A. S. K., <i>Eine Verfassetexistenz eigner Art.</i> -Halberstadt, 1873.</p> - -<p>Same: <i>Noten zu S. K.'s Lebensgeschichte.</i> Halle, 1876.</p> - -<p>Same: <i>Die Bedeutung der aesthetischen Schriften S. K.'s.</i> Halle, -1879.</p> - -<p>Barfod, H. P. (Introduction to the first edition of the Diary.) -Copenhagen, 1869.</p> - -<p>Bohlin, Th. <i>S. K.'s Etiska Åskadning.</i> Uppsala, 1918.</p> - -<p>Brandes, G. <i>S. K., En kritisk Fremstilling i Grundrids.</i> -Copenhagen, 1877.</p> - -<p>Same: German ed. Leipzig, 1879.</p> - -<p>Deleuran, V. <i>Esquisse d'une étude sur S. K.</i> Thèse, University -of Paris, 1897.</p> - -<p>Höffding, H. <i>S. K.</i> Copenhagen, 1892.</p> - -<p>Same: German edition (2nd). Stuttgart, 1902.</p> - -<p>Hoffmann, R. <i>K. und die religiöse Gewissheit.</i> Göttingen, -1910.</p> - -<p>Jensen, Ch. <i>S. K.'s religiöse Udvikling.</i> Aarhus, 1898.</p> - -<p>Monrad, O. P. <i>S. K. Sein Leben und seine Werke.</i> Jena, 1909.</p> - -<p>Münch, Ph. <i>Haupt und Grundgedanken der Philosophie S. K.'s.</i> -Leipzig, 1902.</p> - -<p>Rosenberg, P. A. <i>S. K., hans Liv, hans Personlighed og hans -Forfatterskab.</i> Copenhagen, 1898.</p> - -<p>Rudin, W. S. <i>K.'s Person och Författerskap. Förste Afdelningen.</i> -Stockholm, 1880.</p> - -<p>Schrempf, Ch. <i>S. K.'s Stellung zu Bibel und Dogma.</i> Zeitschrift -für Theologie und Kirche, 1891, p. 179.</p> - -<p>Same: <i>S. K. Ein unfreier Pionier der Freiheit.</i> (With a foreword -by Höffding) Frankfurt, 1909.</p> - -<p>Swenson, D. <i>The Anti-Intellectualism of K.</i> Philosophic Review, -1916, p. 567.</p> - - -<p>To my friends and colleagues, Percy M. Dawson and Howard M. Jones, -I wish also in this place to express my thanks for help and criticism -"in divers spirits."</p> - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>Pronounced <i>Kerkegor.</i></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_1" id="Footnote_2_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_1"><span class="label">[2]</span></a>An interesting parallel is the story of Peter Williams, as told -by George Borrow, <i>Lavengro</i>, chap. 75 ff.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_1" id="Footnote_3_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_1"><span class="label">[3]</span></a>Corresponding, approximately, to our doctoral thesis.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_1" id="Footnote_4_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_1"><span class="label">[4]</span></a>Not "Discourses for Edification," <i>cf.</i> the Foreword to <i>Atten -Opbyggelige Taler</i>, S. V. vol. IV.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_1" id="Footnote_5_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_1"><span class="label">[5]</span></a><i>De Carne Christi</i>, chap. V, as my friend, Professor A. E. Haydon, -kindly points out.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_1" id="Footnote_6_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_1"><span class="label">[6]</span></a><i>Cf.</i> Brandes, S. K. p. 157.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7_1" id="Footnote_7_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_1"><span class="label">[7]</span></a>Mrs. Thomasine Gyllembourg-Ehrensvärd.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8_1" id="Footnote_8_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_1"><span class="label">[8]</span></a>With signal exception of "The Present Moment."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9_1" id="Footnote_9_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_1"><span class="label">[9]</span></a>In process of publication. Jena.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_10_1" id="Footnote_10_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_1"><span class="label">[10]</span></a>Samlede Værker. Copenhagen, 1901-1906 (14 vols). In the -notes abbreviated S. V. Still another edition is preparing.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_11_1" id="Footnote_11_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_1"><span class="label">[11]</span></a>Copenhagen, 1909 ff.</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - -<h4><a id="DIAPSALMATA">DIAPSALMATA</a><a name="FNanchor_1_2" id="FNanchor_1_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_2" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></h4> - - -<p>What is a poet? An unhappy man who conceals profound anguish in his -heart, but whose lips are so fashioned that when sighs and groans pass -over them they sound like beautiful music. His fate resembles that of -the unhappy men who were slowly roasted by a gentle fire in the tyrant -Phalaris' bull—their shrieks could not reach his ear to terrify -him, to him they sounded like sweet music. And people flock about the -poet and say to him: do sing again; which means, would that new -sufferings tormented your soul, and: would that your lips stayed -fashioned as before, for your cries would only terrify us, but your -music is delightful. And the critics join them, saying: well done, thus -must it be according to the laws of æsthetics. Why, to be sure, a critic -resembles a poet as one pea another, the only difference being that he -has no anguish in his heart and no music on his lips. Behold, therefore -would I rather be a swineherd on Amager,<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> and be understood by the -swine than a poet, and misunderstood by men.</p> - - -<p>In addition to my numerous other acquaintances I have still one more -intimate friend—my melancholy. In the midst of pleasure, in the -midst of work, he beckons to me, calls me aside, even though I remain -present bodily. My melancholy is the most faithful sweetheart I have -had—no wonder that I return the love!</p> - -<p>Of all ridiculous things the most ridiculous seems to me, to be -busy—to be a man who is brisk about his food and his work. -Therefore, whenever I see a fly settling, in the decisive moment, on -the nose of such a person of affairs; or if he is spattered with mud -from a carriage which drives past him in still greater haste; or the -drawbridge opens up before him; or a tile falls down and knocks him -dead, then I laugh heartily. And who, indeed, could help laughing? -What, I wonder, do these busy folks get done? Are they not to be -classed with the woman who in her confusion about the house being -on fire carried out the fire-tongs? What things of greater account, do -you suppose, will they rescue from life's great conflagration?</p> - - -<p>Let others complain that the times are wicked. I complain that they -are paltry; for they are without passion. The thoughts of men are thin -and frail like lace, and they themselves are feeble like girl -lace-makers. The thoughts of their hearts are too puny to be sinful. -For a worm it might conceivably be regarded a sin to harbor thoughts -such as theirs, not for a man who is formed in the image of God. Their -lusts are staid and sluggish, their passions sleepy; they do their duty, -these sordid minds, but permit themselves, as did the Jews, to trim the -coins just the least little bit, thinking that if our Lord keep tab of -them ever so carefully one might yet safely venture to fool him a bit. -Fye upon them! It is therefore my soul ever returns to the Old Testament -and to Shakespeare. There at least one feels that one is dealing with -men and women; there one hates and loves, there one murders one's -enemy and curses his issue through all generations—there one -sins.</p> - - -<p>Just as, according to the legend,<a name="FNanchor_3_2" id="FNanchor_3_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_2" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> Parmeniscus in the Trophonian -cave lost his ability to laugh, but recovered it again on the island -of Delos at the sight of a shapeless block which was exhibited as the -image of the goddess Leto: likewise did it happen to me. When I was -very young I forgot in the Trophonian cave how to laugh; but when I -grew older and opened my eyes and contemplated the real world, I had -to laugh, and have not ceased laughing, ever since. I beheld that the -meaning of life was to make a living; its goal, to become Chief Justice; -that the delights of love consisted in marrying a woman with ample -means; that it was the blessedness of friendship to help one another -in financial difficulties; that wisdom was what most people supposed -it to be; that it showed enthusiasm to make a speech, and courage, to -risk being fined 10 dollars; that it was cordiality to say "may it agree -with you" after a repast; that it showed piety to partake of the -communion once a year. I saw that and laughed.</p> - - -<p>A strange thing happened to me in my dream. I was rapt into the -Seventh Heaven. There sat all the gods assembled. As a special -dispensation I was granted the favor to have one wish. "Do you wish -for youth," said Mercury, "or for beauty, or power, or a long life; or -do you wish for the most beautiful woman, or any other of the many fine -things we have in our treasure trove? Choose, but only one thing!" For -a moment I was at a loss. Then I addressed the gods in this wise: "Most -honorable contemporaries, I choose one thing—that I may always -have the laughs on my side." Not one god made answer, but all began -to laugh. From this I concluded that my wish had been granted and -thought that the gods knew how to express themselves with good taste; -for it would surely have been inappropriate to answer gravely: your -wish has been granted.</p> - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_2" id="Footnote_1_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_2"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>Interlude (of aphorisms). Selection.</p></div> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a>A flat island south of the capital, called the "Kitchen Garden of -Copenhagen."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_2" id="Footnote_3_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_2"><span class="label">[3]</span></a>Told by Athenaios.</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - -<h4><a id="IN_VINO_VERITAS_THE_BANQUET">IN VINO VERITAS (THE BANQUET)</a></h4> - - -<p>It was on one of the last days in July, at ten o'clock in the -evening, when the participants in that banquet assembled together. -Date and year I have forgotten; indeed, this would be interesting only -to one's memory of details, and not to one's recollection of the -contents of what experience. The "spirit of the occasion" and whatever -impressions are recorded in one's mind under that heading, concerns -only one's recollections; and just as generous wine gains in flavor by -passing the Equator, because of the evaporation of its watery particles, -likewise does recollection gain by getting rid of the watery particles -of memory; and yet recollection becomes as little a mere figment of the -imagination by this process as does the generous wine.</p> - -<p>The participants were five in number: John, with the epithet of the -Seducer, Victor Eremita, Constantin Constantius, and yet two others -whose names I have not exactly forgotten—which would be a matter -of small importance—but whose names I did not learn. It was as -if these two had no proper names, for they were constantly addressed -by some epithet. The one was called the Young Person. Nor was he more -than twenty and some years, of slender and delicate build, and of a very -dark complexion. His face was thoughtful; but more pleasing even was -its lovable and engaging expression which betokened a purity of soul -harmonizing perfectly with the soft charm, almost feminine, and the -transparency of his whole presence. This external beauty of appearance -was lost sight of, however, in one's next impression of him; or, one -kept it only in mind whilst regarding a youth nurtured or—to use -a still tenderer expression—petted into being, by thought, and -nourished by the contents of his own soul—a youth who as yet -had had nothing to do with the world, had been neither aroused and -fired, nor disquieted and disturbed. Like a sleep-walker he bore the -law of his actions within himself, and the amiable, kindly expression -of his countenance concerned no one, but only mirrored the disposition -of his soul.</p> - -<p>The other person they called the Dressmaker, and that was his -occupation. Of him it was impossible to get a consistent impression. -He was dressed according to the very latest fashion, with his hair -curled and perfumed, fragrant with eau-de-cologne. One moment his -carriage did not lack self-possession, whereas in the next it assumed a -certain dancing, festive air, a certain hovering motion, which, however, -was kept in rather definite bounds by the robustness of his figure. Even -when he was most malicious in his speech his voice ever had a touch of -the smoothtonguedness of the shop, the suaveness of the dealer in -fancy-goods, which evidently was utterly disgusting to himself and only -satisfied his spirit of defiance. As I think of him now I understand him -better, to be sure, than when I first saw him step out of his carriage -and I involuntarily laughed. At the same time there is some -contradiction left still. He had transformed or bewitched himself, had -by the magic of his own will assumed the appearance of one almost -half-witted, but had not thereby entirely satisfied himself; and this is -why his reflectiveness now and then peered forth from beneath his -disguise.</p> - -<p>As I think of it now it seems rather absurd that five such persons -should get a banquet arranged. Nor would anything have come of it, -I suppose, if Constantin had not been one of us. In a retired room of -a confectioner's shop where they met at times, the matter had been -broached once before, but had been dropped immediately when the -question arose as to who was to head the undertaking. The Young -Person was declared unfit for that task, the Dressmaker affirmed -himself to be too busy. Victor Eremita did not beg to be excused -because "he had married a wife or bought a yoke of oxen which he -needed to prove";<a name="FNanchor_1_3" id="FNanchor_1_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_3" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> but, he said, even if he should make an -exception, for once, and come to the banquet, yet he would decline -the courtesy offered him to preside at it, and he therewith "entered -protest at the proper time.<a name="FNanchor_2_3" id="FNanchor_2_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_3" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>" This, John considered a work spoken -in due season; because, as he saw it, there was but one person able -to prepare a banquet, and that was the possessor of the wishing-table -which set itself with delectable things whenever he said to it -"Cover thyself!" He averred that to enjoy the charms of a young girl -in haste was not always the wisest course; but as to a banquet, he -would not wait for it, and generally was tired of it a long while -before it came off. However, if the plan was to be carried into effect -he would make one condition, which was, that the banquet should be so -arranged as to be served in one course. And that all were agreed on. -Also, that the settings for it were to be made altogether new, and -that afterwards they were to be destroyed entirely; ay, before rising -from table one was to hear the preparation for their destruction. -Nothing was to remain; "not even so much," said the Dressmaker, "as -there is left of a dress after it has been made over into a hat." -"Nothing," said John, "because nothing is more unpleasant than a -sentimental scene, and nothing more disgusting than the knowledge -that somewhere or other there is an external setting which in a -direct and impertinent fashion pretends to be a reality."</p> - -<p>When the conversation had thus became animated, Victor Eremita -suddenly arose, struck an attitude on the floor, beckoned with his hand -in the fashion of one commanding and, holding his arm extended as one -lifting a goblet, he said, with the gesture of one waving a welcome: -"With this cup whose fragrance already intoxicates my senses, whose cool -fire already inflames my blood, I greet you, beloved fellow-banqueters, -and bid you welcome; being entirely assured that each one of you is -sufficiently satisfied by our merely speaking about the banquet; for our -Lord satisfied the stomach before satisfying the eye, but the imagination -acts in the reverse fashion." Thereupon he inserted his hand in his -pocket, took from it a cigar-case, struck a match, and began to smoke. -When Constantin Constantius protested against this sovereign free way -of transforming the banquet planned into an illusory fragment of life, -Victor declared that he did not believe for one moment that such -a banquet could be got up and that, in any case, it had been -a mistake to let it become the subject of discussion in advance. -"Whatever is to be good must come at once; for 'at once' is the -divinest of all categories and deserves to be honored as in the language -of the Romans: <i>ex templo</i>,<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> because it is the starting point for -all that is divine in life, and so much so that what is not done at -once is of evil." However, he remarked, he did not care to argue -this point. In case the others wished to speak and act differently -he would not say a word, but if they wished him to explain the sense -of his remarks more fully he must have leave to make a speech, -because he did not consider it all desirable to provoke a discussion -on the subject.</p> - -<p>Permission was given him; and as the others called on him to do so -at once, he spoke as follows: "A banquet is in itself a difficult -matter, because even if it be arranged with ever so much taste and -talent there is something else essential to its success, to wit, good -luck. And by this I mean not such matters as most likely would give -concern to an anxious hostess, but something different, a something -which no one can make absolutely sure of: a fortunate harmonizing -of the spirit and the minutiæ of the banquet, that fine ethereal -vibration of chords, that soul-stirring music which cannot be ordered -in advance from the town-musicians. Look you, therefore is it a -hazardous thing to undertake, because if things do go wrong, perhaps -from the very start, one may suffer such a depression and loss of -spirits that recovery from it might involve a very long time.</p> - -<p>"Sheer habit and thoughtlessness are father and godfather to most -banquets, and it is only due to the lack of critical sense among people -that one fails to notice the utter absence of any idea in them. In the -first place, women ought never to be present at a banquet. Women -may be used to advantage only in the Greek style, as a chorus of -dancers. As it is the main thing at a banquet that there be eating and -drinking, woman ought not to be present; for she cannot do justice to -what is offered; or, if she can, it is most unbeautiful. Whenever a -woman is present the matter of eating and drinking ought to be reduced -to the very slightest proportions. At most, it ought to be no more -than some trifling feminine occupation, to have something to busy -one's hands with. Especially in the country a little repast of this -kind—which, by the way, should be put at other times than the -principal meals—may be extremely delightful; and if so, always -owing to the presence of the other sex. To do like the English, who -let the fair sex retire as soon as the real drinking is to start, -is to fall between two stools, for every plan ought to be a whole, -and the very manner with which I take a seat at the table and seize -hold of knife and fork bears a definite relation to this whole. In -the same sense a political banquet presents an unbeautiful -ambiguity inasmuch as one does not<a name="FNanchor_4_2" id="FNanchor_4_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_2" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> want to cut down to a very -minimum the essentials of a banquet, and yet does not wish to have -the speeches thought of as having been made over the cups.</p> - -<p>"So far, we are agreed, I suppose; and our number—in case -anything should come of the banquet—is correctly chosen, according -to that beautiful rule: neither more than the Muses nor fewer than the -Graces. Now I demand the greatest superabundance of everything -thinkable. That is, even though everything be not actually there, yet -the possibility of having it must be at one's immediate beck and call, -aye, hover temptingly over the table, more seductive even than the -actual sight of it. I beg to be excused, however, from banqueting on -sulphur-matches or on a piece of sugar which all are to suck in turn. -My demands for such a banquet will, on the contrary, be difficult to -satisfy; for the feast itself must be calculated to arouse and incite -that unmentionable longing which each worthy participant is to bring -with him. I require that the earth's fertility be at our service, as -though everything sprouted forth at the very moment the desire for it -was born. I desire a more luxurious abundance of wine than when -Mephistopheles needed but to drill holes into the table to obtain it. -I demand an illumination more splendid than have the gnomes when -they lift up the mountain on pillars and dance in a sea of blazing -light. I demand what most excites the senses, I demand their -gratification by deliciously sweet perfumes, more superb than any -in the Arabian Nights. I demand a coolness which voluptuously provokes -desire and breathes relaxation on desire satisfied. I demand a -fountain's unceasing enlivenment. If Mæcenas could not sleep without -hearing the splashing of a fountain, I cannot eat without it. Do not -misunderstand me, I can eat stockfish without it, but I cannot eat at -a banquet without it; I can drink water without it, but I cannot drink -wine at a banquet without it. I demand a host of servants, chosen and -comely, as if I sate at table with the gods; I demand that there -shall be music at the feast, both strong and subdued; and I demand -that it shall be an accompaniment to my thoughts; and what concerns -you, my friends, my demands regarding you are altogether incredible. -Do you see, by reason of all these demands—which are as many -reasons against it—I hold a banquet to be a <i>pium desideratum</i>,<a name="FNanchor_5_2" id="FNanchor_5_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_2" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> -and am so far from desiring a repetition of it that I presume it is not -feasible even a first time."</p> - - -<p>The only one who had not actually participated in this conversation, -nor in the frustration of the banquet, was Constantin. Without him, -nothing would have been done save the talking. He had come to a -different conclusion and was of the opinion that the idea might well -be realized, if one but carried the matter with a high hand.</p> - -<p>Then some time passed, and both the banquet and the discussion -about it were forgotten, when suddenly, one day, the participants -received a card of invitation from Constantius for a banquet the very -same evening. The motto of the party had been given by him as: <i>In Vino -Veritas</i>, because there was to be speaking, to be sure, and not only -conversation; but the speeches were not to be made except <i>in vino</i>, -and no truth was to be uttered there excepting that which is -<i>in vino</i>—when the wine is a defense of the truth and the -truth a defense of the wine.</p> - -<p>The place had been chosen in the woods, some ten miles distant -from Copenhagen. The hall in which they were to feast had been newly -decorated and in every way made unrecognizable; a smaller room, -separated from the hall by a corridor, was arranged for an orchestra. -Shutters and curtains were let down before all windows, which were left -open. The arrangement that the participants were to drive to the -banquet in the evening hour was to intimate to them—and that was -Constantin's idea—what was to follow. Even if one knows that -one is driving to a banquet, and the imagination therefore indulges for -a moment in thoughts of luxury, yet the impression of the natural -surroundings is too powerful to be resisted. That this might possibly -not be the case was the only contingency he apprehended; for just as -there is no power like the imagination to render beautiful all it -touches, neither is there any power which can to such a degree disturb -all—misfortune conspiring—if confronted with reality. But -driving on a summer evening does not lure the imagination to luxurious -thoughts, but rather to the opposite. Even if one does not see it or -hear it, the imagination will unconsciously create a picture of the -longing for home which one is apt to feel in the evening hours—one -sees the reapers, man and maid, returning from their work in the fields, -one hears the hurried rattling of the hay wagon, one interprets even the -far-away lowing from the meadows as a longing. Thus does a summer -evening suggest idyllic thoughts, soothing even a restless mind with -its assuagement, inducing even the soaring imagination to abide on -earth with an indwelling yearning for home as the place from whence -it came, and thus teaching the insatiable mind to be satisfied with -little, by rendering one content; for in the evening hour time stands -still and eternity lingers.</p> - -<p>Thus they arrived in the evening hour: those invited; for Constantin -had come out somewhat earlier. Victor Eremita who resided in the country -not far away came on horseback, the others in a carriage. And just as -they had discharged it, a light open vehicle rolled in through the -gate carrying a merry company of four journeymen who were entertained -to be ready at the decisive moment to function as a corps of destruction: -just as firemen are stationed in a theatre, for the opposite reason -at once to extinguish a fire.</p> - - -<p>So long as one is a child one possesses sufficient imagination -to maintain one's soul at the very top-notch of expectation—for -a whole hour in the dark room, if need be; but when one has grown -older one's imagination may easily cause one to tire of the Christmas -tree before seeing it.</p> - - -<p>The folding doors were opened. The effect of the radiant illumination, -the coolness wafting toward them, the beguiling fragrance of sweet -perfumes, the excellent taste of the arrangements, for a moment -overwhelmed the feelings of those entering; and when, at the same -time, strains from the ballet of "Don Juan" sounded from the orchestra, -their persons seemed transfigured and, as if out of reverence for an -unseen spirit about them, they stopped short for a moment like men -who have been roused by admiration and who have risen to admire.</p> - - -<p>Whoever knows that happy moment, whoever has appreciated its -delight, and has not also felt the apprehension lest suddenly something -might happen, some trifle perhaps, which yet might be sufficient to -disturb all! Whoever has held the lamp of Aladdin in his hand and has -not also felt the swooning of pleasure, because one needs but to wish? -Whoever has held what is inviting in his hand and has not also learned -to keep his wrist limber to let go at once, if need be?</p> - -<p>Thus they stood side by side. Only Victor stood alone, absorbed in -thought; a shudder seemed to pass through his soul, he almost trembled; -he collected himself and saluted the omen with these words: "Ye -mysterious, festive, and seductive strains which drew me out of the -cloistered seclusion of a quiet youth and beguiled me with a longing as -mighty as a recollection, and terrible, as though Elvira had -not even been seduced but had only desired to be! Immortal Mozart, -thou to whom I owe all; but no! as yet I do not owe thee all. But when -I shall have become an old man—if ever I do become an old man; -or when I shall have become ten years older—if ever I do; or when -I am become old—if ever I shall become old; or when I shall -die—for that, indeed, I know I shall: then shall I say: immortal -Mozart, thou to whom I owe all—and then I shall let my admiration, -which is my soul's first and only admiration, burst forth in all its -might and let it make away with me, as it often has been on the point -of doing. Then have I set my house in order,<a name="FNanchor_6_2" id="FNanchor_6_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_2" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> then have I remembered -my beloved one, then have I confessed my love, then have I fully -established that I owe thee all, then am I occupied no longer with -thee, with the world, but only with the grave thought of death."</p> - -<p>Now there came from the orchestra that invitation in which joy -triumphs most exultantly, and heaven-storming soars aloft above -Elvira's sorrowful thanks; and gracefully apostrophizing, John repeated: -"<i>Viva la liberta</i>"—"<i>et veritas</i>," said the Young Person; -"but above all, <i>in vino</i>," Constantin interrupted them, seating -himself at the table and inviting the others to do likewise.</p> - -<p>How easy to prepare a banquet; yet Constantin declared that he -never would risk preparing another. How easy to admire; yet Victor -declared that he never again would lend words to his admiration; for to -suffer a discomfiture is more dreadful than to become an invalid in -war! How easy to express a desire, if one has the magic lamp; yet that -is at times more terrible than to perish of want!</p> - -<p>They were seated. In the same moment the little company were -launched into the very middle of the infinite sea of enjoyment—as -if with one single bound. Each one had addressed all his thoughts and -all his desires to the banquet, had prepared his soul for the enjoyment -which was offered to overflowing and in which their souls overflowed. -The experienced driver is known by his ability to start the -snorting team with a single bound and to hold them well abreast; the -well-trained steed is known by his lifting himself in one absolutely -decisive leap: even if one or the other of the guests perhaps fell short -in some particular, certainly Constantin was a good host.</p> - -<p>Thus they banqueted. Soon, conversation had woven its beautiful -wreaths about the banqueters, so that they sat garlanded. Now, it was -enamored of the food, now of the wine, and now again of itself; now, -it seemed to develop into significance, and then again it was altogether -slight. Soon, fancy unfolded itself—the splendid one which blows -but once, the tender one which straightway closes its petals; now, there -came an exclamation from one of the banqueters: "These truffles are -superb," and now, an order of the host: "This Chateau Margaux!" Now, -the music was drowned in the noise, now it was heard again. Sometimes -the servants stood still as if <i>in pausa</i>, in that decisive moment -when a new dish was being brought out, or a new wine was ordered and -mentioned by name, sometimes they were all a bustle. Sometimes there -was a silence for a moment, and then the re-animating spirit of the -music went forth over the guests. Now, one with some bold thought would -take the lead in the conversation and the others followed after, almost -forgetting to eat, and the music would sound after them as it sounds -after the jubilant shouts of a host storming on; now, only the clinking -of glasses and the clattering of plates was heard and the feasting -proceeded in silence, accompanied only by the music that joyously -advanced and again stimulated conversation. Thus they banqueted.</p> - - -<p>How poor is language in comparison with that symphony of sounds -unmeaning, yet how significant, whether of a battle or of a banquet, -which even scenic representation cannot imitate and for which language -has but a few words! How rich is language in the expression of the -world of ideas, and how poor, when it is to describe reality!</p> - -<p>Only once did Constantin abandon his omnipresence in which one -actually lost sight of his presence. At the very beginning he got them -to sing one of the old drinking songs, "by way of calling to mind that -jolly time when men and women feasted together," as he said—a -proposal which had the positively burlesque effect he had perhaps -calculated it should have. It almost gained the upper hand when the -Dressmaker wanted them to sing the ditty: "When I shall mount the -bridal bed, hoiho!" After a couple of courses had been served Constantin -proposed that the banquet should conclude with each one's making a -speech, but that precautions should be taken against the speakers' -divagating too much. He was for making two conditions, viz., there -were to be no speeches until after the meal; and no one was to speak -before having drunk sufficiently to feel the power of the wine—else -he was to be in that condition in which one says much which under -other circumstances one would leave unsaid—without necessarily -having the connection of speech and thought constantly interrupted by -hiccoughs.<a name="FNanchor_7_2" id="FNanchor_7_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_2" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> Before speaking, then, each one was to declare -solemnly that he was in that condition. No definite quantity of wine -was to be required, capacities differed so widely. Against this -proposal, John entered protest. He could never become intoxicated, -he averred, and when he had come to a certain point he grew the -soberer the more he drank. Victor Eremita was of the opinion that -any such preparatory premeditations to insure one's becoming drunk -would precisely militate against one's becoming so. If one desired -to become intoxicated the deliberate wish was only a hindrance. Then -there ensued some discussion about the divers influences of wine on -consciousness, and especially about the fact that, in the case of -a reflective temperament, an excess of wine may manifest itself, -not in any particular <i>impetus</i> but, on the contrary, in a noticeably -cool self-possession. As to the contents of the speeches, Constantin -proposed that they should deal with love, that is, the relation -between man and woman. No love stories were to be told though they -might furnish the text of one's remarks.</p> - -<p>The conditions were accepted. All reasonable and just demands a -host may make on his guests were fulfilled: they ate and drank, and -"drank and were filled with drink," as the Bible has it;<a name="FNanchor_8_2" id="FNanchor_8_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_2" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> that is, -they drank stoutly.</p> - -<p>The desert was served. Even if Victor had not, as yet, had his desire -gratified to hear the splashing of a fountain—which, for that -matter, he had luckily forgotten since that former conversation—now -champagne flowed profusely. The clock struck twelve. Thereupon -Constantin commanded silence, saluted the Young Person with a goblet -and the words <i>quod felix sit faustumque</i><a name="FNanchor_9_2" id="FNanchor_9_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_2" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> and bade him to speak -first.</p> - - - - -<h4>(The Young Person's Speech)</h4> - - -<p>The Young Person arose and declared that he felt the power of the -wine, which was indeed apparent to some degree; for the blood pulsed -strongly in his temples, and his appearance was not as beautiful as -before the meal. He spoke as follows:</p> - -<p>If there be truth in the words of the poets, dear fellow-banqueters, -then unrequited love is, indeed, the greatest of sorrows. Should you -require any proof of this you need but listen to the speech of lovers. -They say that it is death, certain death; and the first time they -believe it—for the space of two weeks. The next time they say -that it is death; and finally they will die sometime—as the result -of unrequited love. For that love has killed them, about that there -can obtain no doubt. And as to love's having to take hold three times -to make away with them, that is not different from the dentist's having -to pull three times before he is able to budge that firmly rooted molar. -But, if unrequited love thus means certain death, how happy am I who -have never loved and, I hope, will only achieve dying some time, -and not from unrequited love! But just this may be the greatest -misfortune, for all I know, and how unfortunate must I then be!</p> - -<p>The essence of love probably (for I speak as does a blind man about -colors), probably lies in its bliss; which is, in other words, that the -cessation of love brings death to the lover. This I comprehend very well -as in the nature of a hypothesis correlating life and death. But, if -love is to be merely by way of hypothesis, why, then lovers lay -themselves open to ridicule through their actually falling in love. -If, however, love is something real, why, then reality must bear out -what lovers say about it. But did one in real life ever hear of, or -observe, such things having taken place, even if there is hearsay to -that effect? Here I perceive already one of the contradictions in which -love involves a person; for whether this is different for those -initiated, that I have no means of knowing; but love certainly does -seem to involve people in the most curious contradictions.</p> - -<p>There is no other relation between human beings which makes -such demands on one's ideality as does love, and yet love is never seen -to have it. For this reason alone I would be afraid of love; for I fear -that it might have the power to make me too talk vaguely about a bliss -which I did not feel and a sorrow I did not have. I say this here since -I am bidden to speak on love, though unacquainted with it—I -say this in surroundings which appeal to me like a Greek symposion; for -I should otherwise not care to speak on this subject as I do not wish to -disturb any one's happiness but, rather, am content with my own -thoughts. Who knows but these thoughts are sheer imbecilities and vain -imaginings—perhaps my ignorance is explicable from the fact -that I never have learned, nor have wished to learn, from any one, how -one comes to love; or from the fact that I have never yet challenged a -woman with a glance—which is supposed to be smart—but have -always lowered my eyes, unwilling to yield to an impression before having -fully made sure about the nature of the power into whose sphere -I am venturing.</p> - -<p>At this point he was interrupted by Constantin who expostulated -with him because, by his very confession of never having been in love, -he had debarred himself from speaking. The Young Person declared that -at any other time he would gladly obey an injunction to that effect as -he had often enough experienced how tiresome it was to have to make a -speech; but that in this case he would insist upon his right. Precisely -the fact that one had had no love affair, he said, also constituted an -affair of love; and he who could assert this of himself was entitled to -speak about Eros just because his thoughts were bound to take issue -with the whole sex and not with individuals. He was granted permission -to speak and continued.</p> - - -<p>Inasmuch as my right to speak has been challenged, this may serve -to exempt me from your laughter; for I know well that, just as among -rustics he is not considered a man who does not call a tobacco pipe his -own, likewise among men-folks he is not considered a real man who is -not experienced in love. If any one feels like laughing, let him -laugh—my thought is, and remains, the essential consideration -for me. Or is love, perchance, privileged to be the only event which is -to be considered after, rather than before, it happens? If that be the -case, what then if I, having fallen in love, should later on think that -it was too late to think about it? Look you, this is the reason why I -choose to think about love before it happens. To be sure, lovers also -maintain that they gave the matter thought, but such is not the case. -They assume it to be essential in man to fall in love; but this surely -does not mean thinking about love but, rather, assuming it, in order -to make sure of getting one's self a sweetheart.</p> - -<p>In fact, whenever my reflection endeavors to pin down love, naught -but contradiction seems to remain. At times, it is true, I feel as if -something had escaped me, but I cannot tell what it is, whereas my -reflection is able at once to point out the contradictions in what -does occur. Very well, then, in my opinion love is the greatest -self-contradiction imaginable, and comical at the same time. Indeed, -the one corresponds to the other. The comical is always seen to occur -in the category of contradictions—which truth I cannot take the -time to demonstrate now; but what I shall demonstrate now is that -love is comical. By love I mean the relation between man and woman. -I am not thinking of Eros in the Greek sense which has been extolled so -beautifully by Plato who, by the way, is so far from considering the -love of woman that he mentions it only in passing, holding it to be -inferior to the love of youths.<a name="FNanchor_10_2" id="FNanchor_10_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_2" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> I say, love is comical to a -third person—more I say not. Whether it is for this reason that -lovers always hate a third person I do not know; but I do know that -reflection is always in such a relation the third person, and -for this reason I cannot love without at the same time having a third -person present in the shape of my reflection.</p> - -<p>This surely cannot seem strange to any one, every one having -doubted everything, whereas I am uttering my doubts only with reference -to love. And yet I do think it strange that people have doubted -everything and have again reached certainty, without as much as dropping -a word concerning the difficulties which have held my thought -captive—so much so that I have, now and then, longed to be freed -of them—freed by the aid of one, note well, who was aware -of these difficulties, and not of one who in his sleep had a -notion to doubt, and to have doubted, everything, and again -in his sleep had the notion that he is explaining, and has -explained, all.<a name="FNanchor_11_2" id="FNanchor_11_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_2" class="fnanchor">[11]</a></p> - -<p>Let me then have your attention, dear fellow banqueters, and if you -yourselves be lovers do not therefore interrupt me, nor try to silence -me because you do not wish to hear the explanation. Rather turn away -and listen with averted faces to what I have to say, and what I insist -upon saying, having once begun.</p> - -<p>In the first place I consider it comical that every one loves, and -every one wishes to love, without any one ever being able to tell one -what is the nature of the lovable or that which is the real object of -love. As to the word "to love" I shall not discuss it since it means -nothing definite; but as soon as the matter is broached at all we are -met by the question as to what it is one loves. No other answer is -ever vouchsafed us on that point other than that one loves what is -lovable. For if one should make answer, with Plato,<a name="FNanchor_12_1" id="FNanchor_12_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_1" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> that one is -to love what is good, one has in taking this single step exceeded -the bounds of the erotic.</p> - -<p>The answer may be offered, perhaps, that one is to love what is -beautiful. But if I then should ask whether to love means to love a -beautiful landscape or a beautiful painting it would be immediately -perceived that the erotic is not, as it were, comprised in the more -general term of the love of things beautiful, but is something entirely -of its own kind. Were a lover—just to give an example—to speak -as follows, in order to express adequately how much love there -dwelled in him: "I love beautiful landscapes, and my Lalage, and the -beautiful dancer, and a beautiful horse—in short, I love all that -is beautiful," his Lalage would not be satisfied with his encomium, -however well satisfied she might be with him in all other respects, and -even if she be beautiful; and now suppose Lalage is not beautiful and he -yet loved her!</p> - -<p>Again, if I should refer the erotic element to the bisection -of which Aristophanes tells us<a name="FNanchor_13_1" id="FNanchor_13_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_1" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> when he says that the gods severed -man into two parts as one cuts flounders, and that these parts thus -separated sought one another, then I again encounter a difficulty I -cannot get over, which is, in how far I may base my reasoning on -Aristophanes who in his speech—just because there is no reason for -the thought to stop at this point—goes further in his thought and -thinks that the gods might take it into their heads to divide man -into three parts, for the sake of still better fun. For the sake -of still better fun; for is it not true, as I said, that love -renders a person ridiculous, if not in the eyes of others then -certainly in the eyes of the gods?</p> - -<p>Now, let me assume that the erotic element resides essentially in the -relation between man and woman—what is to be inferred from that? -If the lover should say to his Lalage: I love you because you are a -woman; I might as well love any other woman, as for instance, ugly -Zoë: then beautiful Lalage would feel insulted.</p> - -<p>In what, then, consists the lovable? This is my question; but -unfortunately, no one has been able to tell me. The individual lover -always believes that, as far as he is concerned, he knows. Still he -cannot make himself understood by any other lover; and he who listens -to the speech of a number of lovers will learn that no two of them ever -agree, even though they all talk about the same thing. Disregarding -those altogether silly explanations which leave one as wise as before, -that is, end by asserting that it is really the pretty feet of the -beloved damsel, or the admired mustachios of the swain, which are the -objects of love—disregarding these, one will find mentioned, even -in the declamations of lovers in the higher style, first a number of -details and, finally, the declaration: all her lovable ways; and when -they have reached the climax: that inexplicable something I do not know -how to explain. And this speech is meant to please especially beautiful -Lalage. Me it does not please, for I don't understand a word of it and -find, rather, that it contains a double contradiction—first, that -it ends with the inexplicable, second, that it ends with the -inexplicable; for he who intends to end with the inexplicable had best -begin with the inexplicable and then say no more, lest he lay himself -open to suspicion. If he begin with the inexplicable, saying no more, -then this does not prove his helplessness, for it is, anyway, an -explanation in a negative sense; but if he does begin with something -else and lands in the inexplicable, then this does certainly -prove his helplessness.</p> - -<p>So then we see: to love corresponds to the lovable; and the lovable -is the inexplicable. Well, that is at least something; but comprehensible -it is not, as little as the inexplicable way in which love seizes -on its prey. Who, indeed, would not be alarmed if people about one, -time and again, dropped down dead, all of a sudden, or had convulsions, -without any one being able to account for it? But precisely in this -fashion does love invade life, only with the difference that one is -not alarmed thereby, since the lovers themselves regard it as their -greatest happiness, but that one, on the contrary, is tempted to -laugh; for the comical and the tragical elements ever correspond to -one another. Today, one may converse with a person and can fairly -well make him out—tomorrow, he speaks in tongues and with strange -gestures: he is in love.</p> - -<p>Now, if to love meant to fall in love with the first person that came -along, it would be easy to understand that one could give no special -reasons for it; but since to love means to fall in love with one, one -single person in all the world, it would seem as if such an extraordinary -process of singling out ought to be due to such an extensive chain of -reasoning that one might have to beg to be excused from hearing -it—not so much because it did not explain anything as because it -might be too lengthy to listen to. But no, the lovers are not able to -explain anything at all. He has seen hundreds upon hundreds of -women; he is, perhaps, advanced in years and has all along felt -nothing—and all at once he sees her, her the Only one, Catherine. -Is this not comical? Is it not comical that the relation which is -to explain and beautify all life, love, is not like the mustard -seed from which there grows a great tree,<a name="FNanchor_14_1" id="FNanchor_14_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_1" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> but being still smaller -is, at bottom, nothing at all; for not a single antecedent criterion -can be mentioned, as e.g., that the phenomenon occurred at a certain -age, nor a single reason as to why he should select her, her alone -in all the world—and that by no means in the same sense as when -"Adam chose Eve, because there was none other.<a name="FNanchor_15_1" id="FNanchor_15_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_1" class="fnanchor">[15]</a>"</p> - -<p>Or is not the explanation which the lovers vouchsafe just as comical; -or, does it not, rather, emphasize the comical aspect of love? They say -that love renders one blind, and by this fact they undertake to explain -the phenomenon. Now, if a person who was going into a dark room to -fetch something should answer, on my advising him to take a light -along, that it was only a trifling matter he wanted and so he would -not bother to take a light along—ah! then I would understand him -excellently well. If, on the other hand, this same person should take -me aside and, with an air of mystery, confide to me that the thing -he was about to fetch was of the very greatest importance and that -it was for this reason that he was able to do it in the dark—ah! -then I wonder if my weak mortal brain could follow the soaring flight -of his speech. Even if I should refrain from laughing, in order not -to offend him, I should hardly be able to restrain my mirth as soon -as he had turned his back. But at love nobody laughs; for I am quite -prepared to be embarrassed like the Jew who, after ending his story, -asks: Is there no one who will laugh?<a name="FNanchor_16_1" id="FNanchor_16_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_1" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> And yet I did not miss -the point, as did the Jew, and as to my laughter I am far from wanting -to insult any one. Quite on the contrary, I scorn those fools who -imagine that their love has such good reasons that they can afford -to laugh at other lovers; for since love is altogether inexplicable, -one lover is as ridiculous as the other. Quite as foolish and haughty -I consider it also when a man proudly looks about him in the circle -of girls to find who may be worthy of him, or when a girl proudly -tosses her head to select or reject; because such persons are simply -basing their thoughts on an unexplained assumption. No. What busies -my thought is love as such, and it is love which seems ridiculous -to me; and therefore I fear it, lest I become ridiculous in my own eyes, -or ridiculous in the eyes of the gods who have fashioned man thus. -In other words, if love is ridiculous it is equally ridiculous, whether -now my sweetheart be a princess or a servant girl; for the lovable, as -we have seen, is the inexplicable.</p> - -<p>Look you, therefore do I fear love, and find precisely in -this a new proof of love's being comical; for my fear is so -curiously tragic that it throws light on the comical nature of love. -When people wreck a building a sign is hung up to warn people, and I -shall take care to stand from under; when a bar has been freshly painted -a stone is laid in the road to apprise people of the fact; when a driver -is in danger of running a man over he will shout "look out"; when -there have been cases of cholera in a house a soldier is set as -guard; and so forth. What I mean is that if there is some danger, one -may be warned and will successfully escape it by heeding the warning. -Now, fearing to be rendered ridiculous by love, I certainly regard it as -dangerous; so what shall I do to escape it? In other words, what shall -I do to escape the danger of some woman falling in love with me? -I am far from entertaining the thought of being an Adonis every -girl is bound to fall in love with (<i>relata refero</i>,<a name="FNanchor_17_1" id="FNanchor_17_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_1" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> for what -this means I do not understand)—goodness no! But since I do not -know what the lovable is I cannot, by any manners of means, know how -to escape this danger. Since, for that matter, the very opposite of -beauty may constitute the lovable; and, finally, since the inexplicable -also is the lovable, I am forsooth in the same situation as the man -Jean Paul speaks of somewhere who, standing on one foot, reads a -sign saying, "fox-traps here," and now does not dare, either to lift -his foot or to set it down.</p> - -<p>No, love any one I will not, before I have fathomed what love is; -but this I cannot, but have, rather, come to the conclusion that it is -comical. Hence I will not love—but alas! I have not thereby -avoided the danger, for, since I do not know what the lovable is and -how it seizes me, or how it seizes a woman with reference to me, I -cannot make sure whether I have avoided the danger. This is tragical -and, in a certain sense, even profoundly tragical, even if no one is -concerned about it, or if no one is concerned about the bitter -contradiction for one who thinks—that a something exists which -everywhere exercises its power and yet is not to be definitely -conceived by thought and which, perhaps, may attack from the -rear him who in vain seeks to conceive it. But as to the tragic -side of the matter it has its deep reason in the comic aspects -just pointed out. Possibly, every other person will turn all this -upside down and not find that to be comical which I do, but -rather that which I conceive to be tragical; but this too proves that -I am right to a certain extent. And that for which, if so happens, I -become either a tragic or comic victim is plain enough, viz., my -desire to reflect about all I do, and not imagine I am reflecting -about life by dismissing its every important circumstance with an -"I don't care, either way."</p> - -<p>Man has both a soul and a body. About this the wisest and best of -the race are agreed. Now, in case one assumes the essence of love to lie -in the relation between man and woman, the comic aspect will show again -in the face-about which is seen when the highest spiritual values -express themselves in the most sensual terms. I am now referring -to all those extraordinary and mystic signals of love—in short, to -all the free-masonry which forms a continuation of the above-mentioned -inexplicable something. The contradiction in which love here involves a -person lies in the fact that the symbolic signs mean nothing at all -or—which amounts to the same—that no one is able to explain -what they do signify. Two loving souls vow that they will love each the -other in all eternity; thereupon they embrace, and with a kiss -they seal this eternal pact. Now I ask any thinking person whether he -would have hit upon that! And thus there is constant shifting from the -one to the other extreme in love. The most spiritual is expressed -by its very opposite, and the sensual is to signify the most -spiritual.—Let me assume I am in love. In that case I would -conceive it to be of the utmost importance to me that the one I love -belonged to me for all time. This I comprehend; for I am now, really, -speaking only of Greek eroticism which has to do with loving beautiful -souls. Now when the person I love had vowed to return my love I would -believe her or, in as far as there remained any doubt in me, try to -combat my doubt. But what happens actually? For if I were in love -I would, probably, behave like all the others, that is, seek -to obtain still some other assurance than merely to believe -her I love; which, though, is plainly the only assurance to be had.</p> - -<p>When Cockatoo<a name="FNanchor_18_1" id="FNanchor_18_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_1" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> all at once begins to plume himself like a -duck which is gorged with food, and then emits the word "Marian," -everybody will laugh, and so will I. I suppose the spectator finds it -comical that Cockatoo, who doesn't love Marian at all, should be on -such intimate terms with her. But suppose, now, that Cockatoo does -love Marian. Would that be comical still? To me it would; and the -comical would seem to me to lie in love's having become capable of -being expressed in such fashion. Whether now this has been the custom -since the beginning of the world makes no difference whatsoever, for the -comical has the prescriptive right from all eternity to be present in -contradictions—and here is a contradiction. There is really -nothing comical in the antics of a manikin since we see some one pulling -the strings. But to be a manikin at the beck of something inexplicable -is indeed comical, for the contradiction lies in our not seeing any -sensible reason why one should have to twitch now this leg and now -that. Hence, if I cannot explain what I am doing, I do not care to do -it; and if I cannot understand the power into whose sphere I am -venturing, I do not care to surrender myself to that power. And if love -is so mysterious a law which binds together the extremest contradictions, -then who will guarantee that I might not, one day, become altogether -confused? Still, that does not concern me so much.</p> - -<p>Again, I have heard that some lovers consider the behavior of other -lovers ridiculous. I cannot conceive how this ridicule is justified, -for if this law of love be a natural law, then all lovers are subject -to it; but if it be the law of their own choice, then those laughing -lovers ought to be able to explain all about love; which, however, they -are unable to do. But in this respect I understand this matter better as -it seems a convention for one lover to laugh at the other because -he always finds the other lover ridiculous, but not himself. If it -be ridiculous to kiss an ugly girl, it is also ridiculous to kiss -a pretty one; and the notion that doing this in some particular way -should entitle one to cast ridicule on another who does it differently, -is but presumptuousness and a conspiracy which does not, for all that, -exempt such a snob from laying himself open to the ridicule which -invariably results from the fact that no one is able to explain what -this act of kissing signifies, whereas it is to signify all—to -signify, indeed, that the lovers desire to belong to each other -in all eternity; aye, what is still more amusing, to render them -certain that they will. Now, if a man should suddenly lay his head on -one side, or shake it, or kick out with his leg and, upon my asking -him why he did this, should answer "To be sure I don't know, myself, -I just happened to do so, next time I may do something different, for I -did it unconsciously"—ah, then I would understand him quite -well. But if he said, as the lovers say about their antics, that all -bliss lay therein, how could I help finding it ridiculous—just -as I thought that other man's motions ridiculous, to be sure in a -different sense, until he restrained my laughter by declaring that -they did not signify anything. For by doing so he removed the -contradiction which is the basic cause of the comical. It is not at all -comical that the insignificant is declared to signify nothing, but it -is very much so if it be asserted to signify all.</p> - -<p>As regards involuntary actions, the contradiction arises at the very -outset because involuntary actions are not looked for in a free rational -being. Thus if one supposed that the Pope had a coughing spell the -very moment he was to place the crown on Napoleon's head; or that -bride and groom in the most solemn moment of the wedding ceremony -should fall to sneezing—these would be examples of the comical. -That is, the more a given action accentuates the free rational being, -the more comical are involuntary actions. This holds true also in -respect of the erotic gesticulations, where the comical element appears -a second time, owing to the circumstance that the lovers attempt to -explain away the contradiction by attributing to their gesticulations an -absolute value. As is well known, children have a keen sense -of the ridiculous—witness children's testimony which can always -be relied on in this regard. Now as a rule children will laugh at -lovers, and if one makes them tell what they have seen, surely no one -can help laughing. This is, perhaps, due to the fact that children omit -the point. Very strange! When the Jew omitted the point no one cared to -laugh. Here, on the contrary, every one laughs because the point is -omitted; since, however, no one can explain what the point is—why, -then there is no point at all.</p> - -<p>So the lovers explain nothing; and those who praise love explain -nothing but are merely intent on—as one is bidden in the Royal -Laws of Denmark—on saying anent it all which may be pleasant -and of good report. But a man who thinks, desires to have his logical -categories in good order; and he who thinks about love wishes to be -sure about his categories also in this matter. The fact is, though, that -people do not think about love, and a "pastoral science" is still -lacking; for even if a poet in a pastoral poem makes an attempt to -show how love is born, everything is smuggled in again by help of -another person who teaches the lovers how to love!</p> - -<p>As we saw, the comical element in love arose from the face-about -whereby the highest quality of one sphere does not find expression in -that sphere but in the exactly opposite quality of another sphere. It is -comical that the soaring flight of love—the desire to belong to -each other for all time—lands ever, like Saft,<a name="FNanchor_19_1" id="FNanchor_19_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_1" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> in the pantry; -but still more comical is it that this conclusion is said to -constitute love's highest expression.</p> - -<p>Wherever there is a contradiction, there the comical element is -present also. I am ever following that track. If it be disconcerting to -you, dear fellow banqueters, to follow me in what I shall have to say -now, then follow me with averted countenances. I myself am speaking -as if with veiled eyes; for as I see only the mystery in these matters, -why, I cannot see, or I see nothing.</p> - -<p>What is a consequence? If it cannot, in some way or other, be brought -under the same head as its antecedent—why, then it would be -ridiculous if it posed as a consequence. To illustrate: if a man who -wanted to take a bath jumped into the tank and, coming to the surface -again somewhat confused, groped for the rope to hold on to, but caught the -douche-line by mistake, and a shower now descended on him with -sufficient motivation and for excellent good reason—why, then the -consequence would be entirely in order. The ridiculous here consisted -in his seizing the wrong rope; but there is nothing ridiculous in -the shower descending when one pulls the proper rope. Rather, it would -be ridiculous if it did not come; as for example, just to show the -correctness of my contention about contradictions, if a man nerved -himself with bold resolution in order to withstand the shock and, in -the enthusiasm of his decision, with a stout heart pulled the -line—and the shower did not come.</p> - -<p>Let us see now how it is with regard to love. The lovers wish to -belong to each other for all time, and this they express, curiously, by -embracing each other with all the intensity of the moment; and all the -bliss of love is said to reside therein. But all desire is egotistic. -Now, to be sure, the lover's desire is not egotistic in respect of -the one he loves, but the desire of both in conjunction is absolutely -egotistic in so far as they in their union and love represent a new ego. -And yet they are deceived; for in the same moment the race triumphs -over the individual, the race is victorious, and the individuals are -debased to do its bidding.</p> - -<p>Now this I find more ridiculous than what Aristophanes thought so -ridiculous. The ridiculous aspect of his theory of bi-section lies in -the inherent contradiction (which the ancient author does not -sufficiently emphasize, however). In considering a person one naturally -supposes him to be an entity, and so one does believe till it becomes -apparent that, under the obsession of love, he is but a half which runs -about looking for its complement. There is nothing ridiculous in half -an apple. The comical would appear if a whole apple turned out to be -only half an apple. In the first case there exists no contradiction, -but certainly in the latter. If one actually based one's reasoning -on the figure of speech that woman is but half a person she would -not be ridiculous at all in her love. Man, however, who has been -enjoying civic rights as a whole person, will certainly appear -ridiculous when he takes to running about (and looking for his -other half);<a name="FNanchor_20_1" id="FNanchor_20_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_1" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> for he betrays thereby that he is but half a -person. In fact, the more one thinks about the matter the more -ridiculous it seems; because if man really be a whole, why, then -he will not become a whole in love, but he and woman would make -up one and a half. No wonder, then, that the gods laugh, and -particularly at man.</p> - -<p>But let me return to my consequence. When the lovers have found each -other, one should certainly believe that they formed a whole, and in -this should lie the proof of their assertion that they wished to live -for each other for all time. But lo! instead of living for each other -they begin to live for the race, and this they do not even suspect.</p> - -<p>What is a consequence? If, as I observed, one cannot detect in it -the cause out of which it proceeded, the consequence is merely -ridiculous, and he becomes a laughing stock to whom this happens. -Now, the fact that the separated halves have found each other ought -to be a complete satisfaction and rest for them; and yet the consequence -is a new existence. That having found each other should mean a new -existence for the lovers, is comprehensible enough; but not, that a new -existence for a third being should take its inception from this fact. -And yet the resulting consequence is greater than that of which it is -the consequence, whereas such an end as the lovers' finding each other -ought to be infallible evidence of no other, subsequent, consequence -being thinkable.</p> - -<p>Does the satisfaction of any other desire show an analogy to this -consequence? Quite on the contrary, the satisfaction of desire is in -every other case evinced by a period of rest; and even if a -<i>tristitia</i><a name="FNanchor_21_1" id="FNanchor_21_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_1" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> does supervene—indicating, by the way, that -every satisfaction of an appetite is comical—this <i>tristitia</i> -is a straightforward consequence, though no <i>tristitia</i> so eloquently -attests a preceding comical element as does that following love. -It is quite another matter with an enormous consequence such as -we are dealing with, a consequence of which no one knows whence -it comes, nor whether it will come; whereas, if it does come, it -comes as a consequence.</p> - -<p>Who is able to grasp this? And yet that which for the initiates of -love constitutes the greatest pleasure is also the most important thing -for them—so important that they even adopt new names, derived -from the consequence thereof which thus, curiously enough, assumes -retroactive force. The lover is now called father, his sweetheart, -mother; and these names seem to them the most beautiful. And yet there -is a being to whom these names are even more beautiful; for what is as -beautiful as filial piety? To me it seems the most beautiful of all -sentiments; and fortunately I can appreciate the thought underlying it. -We are taught that it is seeming in a son to love his father. This I -comprehend, I cannot even suspect that there is any contradiction -possible here, and I acknowledge infinite satisfaction in being held -by the loving bonds of filial piety. I believe it is the greatest debt -of all to owe another being one's life. I believe that this debt cannot -ever be wiped out, or even fathomed by any calculation, and for this -reason I agree with Cicero when he asserts that the son is always in the -wrong as against his father; and it is precisely filial piety which -teaches me to believe this, teaches me not even to penetrate the hidden, -but rather to remain hidden in the father. Quite true, I am glad to be -another person's greatest debtor; but as to the opposite, viz., before -deciding to make another person my greatest debtor, I want to arrive -at greater clarity. For to my conception there is a world of difference -between being some person's debtor, and making some person one's -debtor to such an extent that he will never be able to clear himself.</p> - -<p>What filial piety forbids the son to consider, love bids the father -to consider. And here contradiction sets in again. If the son has an -immortal soul like his father, what does it mean, then, to be a father? -For must I not smile at myself when thinking of myself as a -father—whereas the son is most deeply moved when he reflects on -the relation he bears to his father? Very well do I understand Plato -when he says that an animal will give birth to an animal of the same -species, a plant, to a plant of the same species, and thus also man -to man.<a name="FNanchor_22_1" id="FNanchor_22_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_1" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> But this explains nothing, does not satisfy one's thought, -and arouses but a dim feeling; for an immortal soul cannot be -born. Whenever, then, a father considers his son in the light -of his son's immortality—which is, indeed, the essential -consideration<a name="FNanchor_23_1" id="FNanchor_23_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_1" class="fnanchor">[23]</a>—he will probably smile at himself, for he -cannot, by any means, grasp in their entirety all the beautiful and -noble thoughts which his son with filial piety entertains about him. If, -on the other hand, he considers his son from the point of view of his -animal nature he must smile again, because the conception of -fatherhood is too exalted an expression for it.</p> - -<p>Finally, if it were thinkable that a father influenced his son in -such fashion that his own nature was a condition from which the -son's nature could not free itself, then the contradiction would arise -in another direction; for in this case nothing more terrible is -thinkable than being a father. There is no comparison between killing -a person and giving him life—the former decides his fate only in -time, the other for all eternity. So there is a contradiction again, and -one both to laugh and to weep about. Is paternity then an -illusion—even if not in the same sense as is implied in Magdelone's -speech to Jeronymus<a name="FNanchor_24_1" id="FNanchor_24_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_1" class="fnanchor">[24]</a>—or is it the most terrible thought -imaginable? Is it the greatest benefit conferred on one, or is it the -sweetest gratification of one's desire—is it something which -just happens, or is it the greatest task of life?</p> - -<p>Look you, for this reason have I forsworn all love, for my thought -is to me the most essential consideration. So even if love be the most -exquisite joy, I renounce it, without wishing either to offend or to -envy any one; and even if love be the condition for conferring -the greatest benefit imaginable I deny myself the opportunity -therefor—but my thought I have not prostituted. By no means -do I lack an eye for what is beautiful, by no means does my heart remain -unmoved when I read the songs of the poets, by no means is my soul without -sadness when it yields to the beautiful conception of love; but I do not -wish to become unfaithful to my thought. And of what avail were it to be, -for there is no happiness possible for me except my thought have -free sway. If it had not, I would in desperation yearn for my -thought, which I may not desert to cleave to a wife, for it is my -immortal part and, hence, of more importance than a wife. Well do I -comprehend that if any thing is sacred it is love; that if faithlessness -in any relation is base, it is doubly so in love; that if any deceit -is detestable, it is tenfold more detestable in love. But my soul is -innocent of blame. I have never looked at any woman to desire her, -neither have I fluttered about aimlessly before blindly plunging, or -lapsing, into the most decisive of all relations. If I knew what the -lovable were I would know with certainty whether I had offended by -tempting any one; but since I do not know, I am certain only of -never having had the conscious desire to do so.</p> - -<p>Supposing I should yield to love and be made to laugh; or supposing -I should be cast down by terror, since I cannot find the narrow path -which lovers travel as easily as if it were the broad highway, -undisturbed by any doubts, which they surely have bestowed thought on -(seeing our times have, indeed, reflected about all<a name="FNanchor_25_1" id="FNanchor_25_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_1" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> and consequently -will comprehend me when I assert that to act unreflectingly is nonsense, -as one ought to have gone through all possible reflections before -acting)—supposing, I say, I should yield to love! Would I not -insult past redress my beloved one if I laughed; or irrevocably plunge -her into despair if I were overwhelmed by terror? For I understand -well enough that a woman cannot be expected to have thought as -profoundly about these matters; and a woman who found love comical -(as but gods and men can, for which reason woman is a temptation -luring them to become ridiculous) would both betray a suspicious -amount of previous experience and understand me least. But a woman -who comprehended the terror of love would have lost her loveliness -and still fail to understand me—she would be annihilated; which -is in nowise my case, so long as my thought saves me.</p> - -<p>Is there no one ready to laugh? When I began by wanting to speak -about the comical element in love you perhaps expected to be made to -laugh, for it is easy to make you laugh, and I myself am a friend of -laughter; and still you did not laugh, I believe. The effect of my -speech was a different one, and yet precisely this proves that I have -spoken about the comical. If there be no one who laughs at my -speech—well, then laugh a little at me, dear fellow-banqueters, -and I shall not wonder; for I do not understand what I have occasionally -heard you say about love. Very probably, though, you are among the -initiated as I am not.</p> - - -<p>Thereupon the Young Person seated himself. He had become more -beautiful, almost, than before the meal. Now he sat quietly, looking -down before him, unconcerned about the others. John the Seducer -desired at once to urge some objections against the Young Person's -speech but was interrupted by Constantin who warned against discussions -and ruled that on this occasion only speeches were in order. John said -if that was the case, he would stipulate that he should be allowed to be -the last speaker. This again gave rise to a discussion as to the order -in which they were to speak, which Constantin closed by offering to -speak forthwith, against their recognizing his authority to appoint the -speakers in their turn.</p> - - -<h4>(Constantin's Speech)</h4> - - -<p>Constantin spoke as follows:</p> - -<p>There is a time to keep silence, and a time to speak,<a name="FNanchor_26_1" id="FNanchor_26_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_1" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> and -now it seems to be the time to speak briefly, for our young friend -has spoken much and very strangely. His <i>vis comica</i><a name="FNanchor_27_1" id="FNanchor_27_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_1" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> has made -us struggle <i>ancipiti proelio</i><a name="FNanchor_28_1" id="FNanchor_28_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_1" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> because his speech was full of -doubts, as he himself is, sitting there now—a perplexed man who -knows not whether to laugh, or weep, or fall in love. In fact, had -I had foreknowledge of his speech, such as he demands one should -have of love, I should have forbidden him to speak; but now it is -too late. I shall bid you then, dear bellow-banqueters, "gladsome and -merry to be," and even if I cannot enforce this I shall ask you to forget -each speech so soon as it is made and to wash it down with a single -draught.</p> - -<p>And now as to woman, about whom I shall speak. I too have pondered -about her, and I have finally discovered the category to which she -belongs. I too have sought, but I have found, too, and I have made a -matchless discovery which I shall now communicate to you. Woman is -understood correctly only when placed in the category of "the joke."</p> - -<p>It is man's function to be absolute, to act in an absolute fashion, -or to give expression to the absolute. Woman's sphere lies in her -relativity.<a name="FNanchor_29_1" id="FNanchor_29_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_1" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> Between beings so radically different, no true -reciprocal relation can exist. Precisely in this incommensurability -lies the joke. And with woman the joke was born into the world. It -is to be understood, however, that man must know how to stick to -his role of being absolute; for else nothing is seen—that is to -say, something exceedingly common is seen, viz., that man and woman -fit each other, he as a half man and she as a half man.</p> - -<p>The joke is not an æsthetic, but an abortive ethical, category. Its -effect on thought is about the same as the impression we receive if a -man were solemnly to begin making a speech, recite a comma or two -with his pronouncement, then say "hm!"—"dash"—and then stop. -Thus with woman. One tries to cover her with the ethical category, -one thinks of human nature, one opens one's eyes, one fastens one's -glances on the most excellent maiden in question, an effort is -made to redeem the claims of the ethical demand; and then one -grows ill at ease and says to one's self: ah, this is undoubtedly -a joke! The joke lies, indeed, in applying that category to her -and measuring her by it, because it would be idle to expect serious -results from her; but just that is the joke. Because if one could -demand it of her it would not be a joke at all. A mighty poor joke -indeed it would be, to place her under the air-pump and draw the air out -of her—indeed it were a shame; but to blow her up to supernatural -size and let her imagine herself to have attained all the ideality which -a little maiden of sixteen imagines she has, that is the beginning of -the game and, indeed, the beginning of a highly entertaining performance. -No youth has half so much imaginary ideality as a young girl, but: "We -shall soon be even" as says the tailor in the proverb; for her ideality -is but an illusion.</p> - -<p>If one fails to consider woman from this point of view she may cause -irreparable harm; but through my conception of her she becomes harmless -and amusing. For a man there is nothing more shocking than to catch -himself twaddling. It destroys all true ideality; for one may repent of -having been a rascal, and one may feel sorry for not having meant -a word of what one said; but to have talked nonsense, sheer nonsense, -to have meant all one said and behold! it was all nonsense—that -is too disgusting for repentance incarnate to put up with. But this is -not the case with woman. She has a prescriptive right to transfigure -herself—in less than 24 hours—in the most innocent and -pardonable nonsense; for far is it from her ingenuous soul to wish to -deceive one! Indeed, she meant all she said, and now she says the precise -opposite, but with the same amiable frankness, for now she is -willing to stake everything on what she said last. Now in case a man -in all seriousness surrenders to love he may be called fortunate indeed -if he succeeds in obtaining an insurance—if, indeed, he is able to -obtain it anywhere; for so inflammable a material as woman is most -likely to arouse the suspicions of an insurance agent. Just consider -for a moment what he has done in thus identifying himself with her! -If, some fine New Year's night she goes off like some fireworks he -will promptly follow suit; and even if this should not happen he -will have many a close call. And what may he not lose! He may lose -his all; for there is but one absolute antithesis to the absolute, -and that is nonsense. Therefore, let him not seek refuge in some -society for morally tainted individuals, for he is not morally -tainted—far from it; only, he has been reduced <i>in absurdum</i> -and beatified in nonsense; that is, has been made a fool of.</p> - -<p>This will never happen among men. If a man should sputter off in -this fashion I would scorn him. If he should fool me by his cleverness -I need but apply the ethical category to him, and the danger is -trifling. If things go too far I shall put a bullet through his brain; -but to challenge a woman—what is that, if you please? Who does -not see that it is a joke, just as when Xerxes had the sea whipped? -When Othello murders Desdemona, granting she really had been guilty, -he has gained nothing, for he has been duped, and a dupe he remains; -for even by his murdering her he only makes a concession with regard -to a consequence which originally made him ridiculous; whereas -Elvira<a name="FNanchor_30_1" id="FNanchor_30_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_1" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> may be an altogether pathetic figure when arming herself -with a dagger to obtain revenge. The fact that Shakespeare has -conceived Othello as a tragic figure (even disregarding the calamity -that Desdemona is innocent) is to be explained and, indeed, to perfect -satisfaction, by the hero being a colored person. For a colored -person, dear fellow-banqueters, who cannot be assumed to represent -spiritual qualities—a colored person, I say, who therefore becomes -green in his face when his ire is aroused (which is a physiological -fact), a colored man may, indeed, become tragic if he is deceived -by a woman; just as a woman has all the pathos of tragedy on her -side when she is betrayed by a man. A man who flies into a rage -may perhaps become tragic; but a man of whom one may expect a -developed mentality, he will either not become jealous, or he -will become ridiculous if he does; and most of all when he comes -running with a dagger in his hand.</p> - -<p>A pity that Shakespeare has not presented us with a comedy of this -description in which the claim raised by a woman's infidelity is turned -down by irony; for not every one who is able to see the comical element -in this situation is able also to develop the thought and give it -dramatic embodiment. Let one but imagine Socrates surprising Xanthippe -in the act—for it would be un-Socratic even to think of Socrates -being particularly concerned about his wife's fidelity, or still worse, -spying on her—imagine it, and I believe that the fine smile which -transformed the ugliest man in Athens into the handsomest, would for the -first time have turned into a roar of laughter. It is incomprehensible -why Aristophanes, who so frequently made Socrates the butt of his -ridicule, neglected to have him run on the stage shouting: "Where is -she, where is she, so that I may kill her, i.e., my unfaithful -Xanthippe." For really it does not matter greatly whether or no -Socrates was made a cuckold, and all that Xanthippe may do in this -regard is wasted labor, like snapping one's fingers in one's pocket; -for Socrates remains the same intellectual hero, even with a horn on his -forehead. But if he had in fact become jealous and had wanted to kill -Xanthippe—alas! then would Xanthippe have exerted a power over -him such as the entire Greek nation and his sentence of death could -not—to make him ridiculous.</p> - -<p>A cuckold is comical, then, with respect to his wife; but he may be -regarded as becoming tragical with respect to other men. In this fact we -may find an explanation of the Spanish conception of honor. But the -tragic element resides chiefly in his not being able to obtain redress, -and the anguish of his suffering consists really in its being devoid -of meaning—which is terrible enough. To shoot the woman, to -challenge her, to despise her, all this would only serve to render the -poor man still more ridiculous; for woman is the weaker sex. This -consideration enters in everywhere and confuses all. If she performs -a great deed she is admired more than man, because it is more than -was expected of her. If she is betrayed, all the pathos is on her -side; but if a man is deceived one has scant sympathy and little -patience while he is present—and laughs at him when his back is -turned.</p> - -<p>Look you, therefore is it advisable betimes to consider woman as -a joke. The entertainment she affords is simply incomparable. Let one -consider her a fixed quantity, and one's self a relative one; let one by -no means contradict her, for that would simply be helping her; let one -never doubt what she says but, rather, believe her every word; let one -gallivant about her, with eyes rendered unsteady by unspeakable -admiration and blissful intoxication, and with the mincing steps of a -worshipper; let one languishingly fall on one's knees, then lift up one's -eyes up to her languishingly and heave a breath again; let one do all -she bids one, like an obedient slave. And now comes the cream of the -joke. We need no proof that woman can speak, i.e., use words. -Unfortunately, however, she does not possess sufficient reflection for -making sure against her in the long run—which is, at most, eight -days—contradicting herself; unless indeed man, by contradicting -her, exerts a regulative influence. So the consequence is that within a -short time confusion will reign supreme. If one had not done what she -told one to, the confusion would pass unnoticed; for she forgets again -as quickly as she talks. But since her admirer has done all, and has -been at her beck and call in every instance, the confusion is only too -glaring.</p> - -<p>The more gifted the woman, the more amusing the situation. For the -more gifted she is, the more imagination she will possess. Now, the -more imagination she possesses, the greater airs she will give herself -and the greater the confusion which is bound to become evident in the -next instant. In life, such entertainment is rarely had, because this -blind obedience to a woman's whims occurs but seldom. And if it does, -in some languishing swain, most likely he is not qualified to see the -fun. The fact is, the ideality a little maiden assumes in moments when -her imagination is at work is encountered nowhere else, whether in -gods or man; but it is all the more entertaining to believe her and -to add fuel to the fire.</p> - -<p>As I remarked, the fun is simply incomparable—indeed, I know -it for a fact, because I have at times not been able to sleep at night -with the mere thought of what new confusions I should live to see, -through the agency of my sweetheart and my humble zeal to please her. -Indeed, no one who gambles in a lottery will meet with more remarkable -combinations than he who has a passion for this game. For this is sure, -that every woman without exception possesses the same qualifications -for being resolved and transfigured in nonsense with a gracefulness, a -nonchalance, an assurance such as befits the weaker sex.</p> - -<p>Being a right-minded lover one naturally discovers every possible -charm in one's beloved. Now, when discovering genius in the above -sense, one ought not to let it remain a mere possibility but ought, -rather, to develop it into virtuosity. I do not need to be more specific, -and more cannot be said in a general way, yet every one will understand -me. Just as one may find entertainment in balancing a cane on one's -nose, in swinging a tumbler in a circle without spilling a drop, in -dancing between eggs, and in other games as amusing and profitable, -likewise, and not otherwise, in living with his beloved the lover will -have a source of incomparable entertainment and food for most -interesting study. In matters pertaining to love let one have absolute -belief, not only in her protestations of fidelity—one soon tires -of that game—but in all those explosions of inviolable Romanticism -by which she would probably perish if one did not contrive a safety-valve -through which the sighs and the smoke, and "the aria of Romanticism<a name="FNanchor_31_1" id="FNanchor_31_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_1" class="fnanchor">[31]</a>" -may escape and make her worshipper happy. Let one compare her admiringly -to Juliet, the difference being only that no person ever as much as -thought of touching a hair on her Romeo's head. With regard to -intellectual matters, let one hold her capable of all and, if one has -been lucky enough to find the right woman, in a trice one will have -a cantankerous authoress, whilst wonderingly shading one's eyes with -one's hand and duly admiring what the little black hen may yield -besides.<a name="FNanchor_32_1" id="FNanchor_32_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_1" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> It is altogether incomprehensible why Socrates -did not choose this course of action instead of bickering with -Xanthippe—oh, well! to be sure he wished to acquire practice, -like the riding master who, even though he has the best trained -horse, yet knows how to tease him in such fashion that there is -good reason for breaking him in again.<a name="FNanchor_33_1" id="FNanchor_33_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_1" class="fnanchor">[33]</a></p> - -<p>Let me be a little more concrete, in order to illustrate a particular -and highly interesting phenomenon. A great deal has been said about -feminine fidelity, but rarely with any discretion.<a name="FNanchor_34_1" id="FNanchor_34_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_1" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> From a purely -æsthetic point of view this fidelity is to be regarded as a piece of -poetic fiction which steps on the stage to find her lover—a fiction -which sits by the spinning wheel and waits for her lover to come; -but when she has found him, or he has come, why, then æsthetics is -at a loss. Her infidelity, on the other hand, as contrasted with -her previous fidelity, is to be judged chiefly with regard to its -ethical import, when jealousy will appear as a tragic passion. -There are three possibilities, so the case is favorable for woman; -for there are two cases of fidelity, as against one of infidelity. -Inconceivably great is her fidelity when she is not altogether sure -of her cavalier; and ever so inconceivably great is it when he repels -her fidelity. The third case would be her infidelity. Now granted one -has sufficient intellect and objectivity to make reflections, one will -find sufficient justification, in what has been said, for my category -of "the joke." Our young friend whose beginning in a manner deceived -me seemed to be on the point of entering into this matter, but backed -out again, dismayed at the difficulty. And yet the explanation -is not difficult, providing one really sets about it seriously, -to make unrequited love and death correspond to one another, and -providing one is serious enough to stick to his thought—and -so much seriousness one ought to have—for the sake of the joke.</p> - -<p>Of course this phrase of unrequited love being death originated -either with a woman or a womanish male. Its origin is easily made out, -seeing that it is one of those categorical outbursts which, spoken with -great bravado, on the spur of the moment, may count on a great and -immediate applause; for although this business is said to be a -matter of life and death, yet the phrase is meant for immediate -consumption—like cream-puffs. Although referring to daily experience -it is by no means binding on him who is to die, but only obliges -the listener to rush post-haste to the assistance of the dying -lover. If a man should take to using such phrases it would not be -amusing at all, for he would be too despicable to laugh at. Woman, -however, possesses genius, is lovable in the measure she possesses it, -and is amusing at all times. Well, then, the languishing lady dies of -love—why certainly, for did she not say so herself? In this matter -she is pathetic, for woman has enough courage to say what no man would -have the courage to do—so then she dies! In saying so I have -measured her by ethical standards. Do ye likewise, dear fellow-banqueters, -and understand your Aristotle aright, now! He observes very correctly -that woman cannot be used in tragedy.<a name="FNanchor_35_1" id="FNanchor_35_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_1" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> And very certainly, her -proper sphere is the pathetic and serious divertissement, the -half-hour face, not the five-act drama. So then she dies. But should -she for that reason not be able to love again? Why not?—that is, -if it be possible to restore her to life. Now, having been restored -to life, she is of course a new being—another person, that is, and -begins afresh and falls in love for the first time: nothing remarkable -in that! Ah, death, great is thy power; not the most violent emetic -and not the most powerful laxative could ever have the same purging -effect!</p> - -<p>The resulting confusion is capital, if one but is attentive and -does not forget. A dead man is one of the most amusing characters -to be met with in life. Strange that more use is not made of -him on the stage, for in life he is seen, now and then. When you come -to think of it, even one who has only been seemingly dead is a comical -figure; but one who was really dead certainly contributes to our -entertainment all one can reasonably expect of a man. All depends -on whether one is attentive. I myself had my attention called to it, -one day, as I was walking with one of my acquaintances. A couple -passed us. I judged from the expression on his face that he knew them -and asked whether that was the case. "Why, yes," he answered, "I know -them very well, and especially the lady, for she is my departed -one."—"What departed one?" I asked.—"Why, my departed first -love," he answered. "Indeed, this is a strange affair. She said: -I shall die. And that very same moment she departed, naturally enough, -by death—else one might have insured her beforehand in the -widow's insurance. Too late! Dead she was and dead she remained; -and now I wander about, as says the poet, vainly seeking the grave of -my lady-love that I may shed my tears thereon." Thus this broken-hearted -man who remained alone in the world, though it consoled him to find -her pretty far along with some other man.</p> - -<p>It is a good thing for the girls, thought I, that they don't have to -be buried, every time they die; for if parents have hitherto considered -a boy-child to be the more expensive, the girls might become even -more so!</p> - -<p>A simple case of infidelity is not as amusing, by far. I mean, if a -girl should fall in love with some one else and should say to her lover: -"I cannot help it, save me from myself!" But to die from sorrow because -she cannot endure being separated from her lover by his journey to the -West Indies, to have put up with his departure, however,—and -then, at his return, be not only not dead, but attached to some one -else for all time—that certainly is a strange fate for a lover to -undergo. No wonder, then, that the heart-broken man at times consoled -himself with the burthen of an old song which runs: "Hurrah for you and -me, I say, we never shall forget that day!"</p> - -<p>Now forgive me, dear fellow-banqueters, if I have spoken at too -great length; and empty a glass to love and to woman. Beautiful she -is and lovely, if she be considered æsthetically. That is undeniable. -But, as has often been said, and as I shall say also: one ought not to -remain standing here, but should go on.<a name="FNanchor_36_1" id="FNanchor_36_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_1" class="fnanchor">[36]</a> Consider her, then, -ethically and you will hardly have begun to do so before the humor -of it will become apparent. Even Plato and Aristotle assume that -woman is an imperfect form, an irrational quantity, that is, one -which might some time, in a better world, be transformed into a -man. In this life one must take her as she is. And what this is becomes -apparent very soon; for she will not be content with the æsthetic -sphere, but goes on, she wants to become emancipated, and she has the -courage to say so. Let her wish be fulfilled and the amusement will be -simply incomparable.</p> - - -<p>When Constantin had finished speaking he forthwith ruled Victor -Eremita to begin. He spoke as follows:</p> - - -<h4>(Victor Eremita's Speech)</h4> - - -<p>As will be remembered, Plato offers thanks to the gods for four -things. In the fourth place he is grateful for having been permitted -to be a contemporary of Socrates. For the three other boons mentioned -by him,<a name="FNanchor_37_1" id="FNanchor_37_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_37_1" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> an earlier Greek philosopher<a name="FNanchor_38_1" id="FNanchor_38_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_38_1" class="fnanchor">[38]</a> had already thanked -the gods, and so I conclude that they are worthy our gratitude. But -alas!—even if I wanted to express my gratitude like these Greeks I -would not be able to do so for what was denied me. Let me then -collect my soul in gratitude for the one good which was conferred -on me also—that I was made a man and not a woman.</p> - -<p>To be a woman is something so curious, so heterogeneous and -composite that no predicate will fully express these qualities; -and if I should use many predicates they would contradict one -another in such fashion that only a woman would be able to tolerate -the result and, what is worse, feel happy about it. The fact that -she really signifies less than man—that is not her misfortune, -and still less so if she got to know it, for it might be borne -with fortitude. No, her misfortune consists in her life's having -become devoid of fixed meaning through a romantic conception of -things, by virtue of which, now she signifies all, and now, nothing at -all; without ever finding out what she really does signify—and -even that is not her misfortune but, rather, the fact that, being -a woman, she never will be able to find out. As for myself, if I -were a woman, I should prefer to be one in the Orient and as a -slave; for to be a slave, neither more nor less, is at any rate -something, in comparison with being, now heyday, now nothing.</p> - -<p>Even if a woman's life did not contain such contrasts, the distinction -she enjoys, and which is rightly assumed to be hers as a woman—a -distinction she does not share with man—would by itself point to -the meaninglessness of her life. The distinction I refer to is -that of gallantry. To be gallant to woman is becoming in men. Now -gallantry consists very simply in conceiving in fantastic categories -that person to whom one is gallant. To be gallant to a man is, -therefore, an insult, for he begs to be excused from the application -of fantastic categories to him. For the fair sex, however, gallantry -signifies a tribute, a distinction, which is essentially its -privilege. Ah me, if only a single cavalier were gallant to them -the case would not be so serious. But far from it! At bottom every -man is gallant, he is unconsciously so. This signifies, therefore, -that it is life itself which has bestowed this perquisite on the -fair sex. Woman on her part unconsciously accepts it. Here we have -the same trouble again; for if only a single woman did so, another -explanation would be necessary. This is life's characteristic irony.</p> - -<p>Now if gallantry contained the truth it ought to be reciprocal, -i.e., gallantry would be the accepted quotation for the stated -difference between beauty on the one hand, and power, astuteness, -and strength, on the other. But this is not the case, gallantry -is essentially woman's due; and the fact that she unconsciously -accepts it may be explained through the solicitude of nature -for the weak and those treated in a step-motherly fashion by her, -who feel more than recompensed by an illusion. But precisely this -illusion is her misfortune. It is not seldom the case that nature -comes to the assistance of an afflicted creature by consoling him -with the notion that he is the most beautiful. If that is so, why, -then we may say that nature made good the deficiency since now -the creature is endowed with even more than could be reasonably -demanded. But to be beautiful only in one's imagination, and not -to be overcome, indeed, by sadness, but to be fooled into an -illusion—why, that is still worse mockery. Now, as to being -afflicted, woman certainly is far from having been treated in a -step-motherly fashion by nature; still she is so in another sense -inasmuch as she never can free herself from the illusion with which -life has consoled her.</p> - -<p>Gathering together one's impressions of a woman's existence, -in order to point out its essential features, one is struck by -the fact that every woman's life gives one an entirely fantastic -impression. In a far more decisive sense than man she may be said -to have turning points in her career; for her turning points -turn everything upside down. In one of Tieck's<a name="FNanchor_39_1" id="FNanchor_39_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_39_1" class="fnanchor">[39]</a> Romantic dramas -there occurs a person who, having once been king of Mesopotamia, -now is a green-grocer in Copenhagen. Exactly as fantastic is -every feminine existence. If the girl's name is Juliana, her life -is as follows: erstwhile empress in the wide domains of love, -and titular queen of all the exaggerations of tomfoolery; now, -Mrs. Peterson, corner Bath Street.</p> - -<p>When a child, a girl is less highly esteemed than a boy. When a -little older, one does not know exactly what to make of her. At -last she enters that decisive period in which she holds absolute -sway. Worshipfully man approaches her as a suitor. Worshipfully, -for so does every suitor, it is not the scheme of a crafty deceiver. -Even the executioner, when laying down his <i>fasces</i> to go a-wooing, -even he bends his knee, although he is willing to offer himself up, -within a short time, to domestic executions which he finds so natural -that he is far from seeking any excuse for them in the fact that -public executions have grown so few. The cultured person behaves in -the very same manner. He kneels, he worships, he conceives his -lady-love in the most fantastic categories; and then he very quickly -forgets his kneeling position—in fact, he knew, full well the while -he knelt that it was fantastic to do so.</p> - -<p>If I were a woman I would prefer to be sold by my father to the -highest bidder, as is the custom in the Orient; for there is at -least some sense in such a deal. What misfortune to have been born -a woman! Yet her misfortune really consists in her not being able -to comprehend it, being a woman. If she does complain, she complains -rather about her Oriental, than her Occidental, status. But if I -were a woman I would first of all refuse to be wooed, and resign -myself to belong to the weaker sex, if such is the case, and -be careful—which is most important if one is proud—of not -going beyond the truth. However, that is of but little concern to her. -Juliana is in the seventh heaven, and Mrs. Peterson submits to -her fate.</p> - -<p>Let me, then, thank the gods that I was born a man and not a woman. -And still, how much do I forego! For is not all poetry, from the -drinking song to the tragedy, a deification of woman? All the worse -for her and for him who admires her; for if he does not look out -he will, all of a sudden, have to pull a long face. The beautiful, -the excellent, all of man's achievement, owes its origin to woman, -for she inspires him. Woman is, indeed, the inspiring element in life. -How many a love-lorn shepherd has played on this theme, and how many -a shepherdess has listened to it! Verily, my soul is without envy -and feels only gratitude to the gods; for I would rather be a man, -though in humble station, but really so, than be a woman and an -indeterminate quantity, rendered happy by a delusion—I would rather -be a concrete thing, with a small but definite meaning, than an -abstraction which is to mean all.</p> - -<p>As I have said, it is through woman that ideality is born into -the world and—what were man without her! There is many a man who -has become a genius through a woman, many a one a hero, many a one -a poet, many a one even a saint; but he did not become a genius -through the woman he married, for through her he only became a -privy councillor; he did not become a hero through the woman he -married, for through her he only became a general; he did not -become a poet through the woman he married, for through her he -only became a father; he did not become a saint through the woman -he married, for he did not marry, and would have married but -one—the one whom he did not marry; just as the others became -a genius, became a hero, became a poet through the help of the -woman they did not marry. If woman's ideality were in itself -inspiring, why, then the inspiring woman would be the one to -whom a man is united for life. But life tells a different story. -It is only by a negative relation to her that man is rendered -productive in his ideal endeavors. In this sense she is inspiring; -but to say that she is inspiring, without qualifying one's statement, -is to be guilty of a paralogism<a name="FNanchor_40_1" id="FNanchor_40_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_40_1" class="fnanchor">[40]</a> which one must be a woman to -overlook. Or has any one ever heard of any man having become a -poet through his wife? So long as man does not possess her she -inspires him. It is this truth which gives rise to the illusions -entertained in poetry and by women. The fact that he does not possess -her signifies, either, that he is still fighting for her—thus -has woman inspired many a one and rendered him a knight; but has -any one ever heard of any man having been rendered a knight valiant -through his wife? Or, the fact that he does not possess her signifies -that he cannot obtain her by any manner of means—thus has woman -inspired many a one and roused his ideality; that is, if there is -anything in him worth while. But a wife, who has things ever so -much worth while for her husband, will hardly arouse any ideal -strivings in him. Or, again, the fact that he does not possess -her signifies that he is pursuing an ideal. Perchance he loves -many, but loving many is also a kind of unrequited love; and yet -the ideality of his soul is to be seen in this striving and yearning, -and not in the small bits of lovableness which make up the sum -total of the contributions of all those he loves.</p> - -<p>The highest ideality a woman can arouse in a man consists, in fact, -in the awakening within him of the consciousness of immortality. -The point of this proof lies in what one might call the necessity -of a reply. Just as one may remark about some play that it cannot -end without this or that person getting in his say, likewise -(says ideality) our existence cannot be all over with death: I -demand a reply! This proof is frequently furnished, in a positive -fashion, in the public advertiser. I hold that to be entirely proper, -for if proof is to be made in the public advertiser it must be made -in a positive fashion. Thus: Mrs. Petersen, we learn, has lived a -number of years, until in the night of the 24th it pleased Providence, -etc. . This produces in Mr. Petersen an attack of reminiscences from -his courting days or, to express it quite plainly, nothing but seeing -her again will ever console him. For this blissful meeting he -prepares himself, in the meanwhile, by taking unto himself another -wife; for, to be sure, this marriage is by no means as poetic as the -first—still it is a good imitation. This is the proof positive. Mr. -Petersen is not satisfied with demanding a reply, no, he wants a -meeting again in the hereafter.</p> - -<p>As is well known, a base metal will often show the gleam of precious -metal. This is the brief silver-gleam. With respect to the base -metal this is a tragic moment, for it must once for all resign itself -to being a base metal. Not so with Mr. Petersen. The possession of -ideality is by rights inherent in every person—and now, if I laugh -at Mr. Petersen it is not because he, being in reality of base metal, -had but a single silver-gleam; but, rather, because just this -silver-gleam betrays his having become a base metal. Thus does the -philistine look most ridiculous when, arrayed in ideality, he affords -fitting occasion to say, with Holberg: "What! does that cow wear a -fine dress, too?<a name="FNanchor_41_1" id="FNanchor_41_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_41_1" class="fnanchor">[41]</a>"</p> - -<p>The case is this: whenever a woman arouses ideality in man, and -thereby the consciousness of immortality, she always does so -negatively. He who really became a genius, a hero, a poet, a saint -through woman, he has by that very fact seized on the essence of -immortality. Now if the inspiring element were positively present -in woman, why, then a man's wife, and only his wife, ought to -awaken in him the consciousness of immortality. But the reverse -holds true. That is, if she is really to awaken ideality in -her husband she must die. Mr. Petersen, to be sure, is not affected, -for all that. But if woman, by her death, does awaken man's ideality, -then is she indeed the cause of all the great things poetry -attributes to her; but note well: that which she did in a positive -fashion for him in no wise roused his ideality. In fact, her -significance in this regard becomes the more doubtful the longer -she lives, because she will at length really begin to wish to -signify something positive. However, the more positive the proof -the less it proves; for then Mr. Petersen's longing will be for -some past common experiences whose content was, to all intents -and purposes, exhausted when they were had. Most positive of all -the proof becomes if the object of his longing concerns their -marital spooning—that time when they visited the Deer Park -together! In the same way one might suddenly feel a longing for -the old pair of slippers one used to be so comfortable in; but -that proof is not exactly a proof for the immortality of the soul. -On the other hand, the more negative the proof, the better it is; -for the negative is higher than the positive, inasmuch as it -concerns our immortality, and is thus the only positive value.</p> - -<p>Woman's main significance lies in her negative contribution, -whereas her positive contributions are as nothing in comparison -but, on the contrary, pernicious. It is this truth which life keeps -from her, consoling her with an illusion which surpasses all that -might arise in any man's brain, and with parental care ordering -life in such fashion that both language and everything else confirm -her in her illusion. For even if she be conceived as the very opposite -of inspiring, and rather as the well-spring of all corruption; -whether now we imagine that with her, sin came into the world, or -that it is her infidelity which ruined all—our conception of her -is always gallant. That is, when hearing such opinions one might -readily assume that woman were really able to become infinitely -more culpable than man, which would, indeed, amount to an immense -acknowledgment of her powers. Alas, alas! the case is entirely -different. There is a secret reading of this text which woman -cannot comprehend; for, the very next moment, all life owns to the -same conception as the state, which makes man responsible for his -wife. One condemns her as man never is condemned (for only a real -sentence is passed on him, and there the matter ends), not with -her receiving a milder sentence; for in that case not all of her -life would be an illusion, but with the case against her being -dismissed and the public, i.e., life, having to defray the costs. -One moment, woman is supposed to be possessed of all possible -wiles, the next moment, one laughs at him whom she deceived, which -surely is a contradiction. Even such a case as that of Potiphar's -wife does not preclude the possibility of her having really been -seduced. Thus has woman an enormous possibility, such as no man -has—an enormous possibility; but her reality is in proportion. -And most terrible of all is the magic of illusion in which she -feels herself happy.</p> - -<p>Let Plato then thank the gods for having been born a contemporary -of Socrates: I envy him; let him offer thanks for being a Greek: -I envy him; but when he is grateful for having been born a man -and not a woman I join him with all my heart. If I had been born -a woman and could under stand what now I can understand—it were -terrible! But if I had been born a woman and therefore could not -understand it—that were still more terrible!</p> - -<p>But if the case is as I stated it, then it follows that one had -better refrain from any positive relation with woman. Wherever she -is concerned one has to reckon with that inevitable hiatus which -renders her happy as she does not detect the illusion, but which -would be a man's undoing if he detected it.</p> - -<p>I thank the gods, then, that I was born a man and not a woman; -and I thank them, furthermore, that no woman by some life-long -attachment holds me in duty bound to be constantly reflecting -that it ought not to have been.</p> - -<p>Indeed, what a passing strange device is marriage! And what makes -it all the stranger is the suggestion that it is to be a step -taken without thought. And yet no step is more decisive, for nothing -in life is as inexorable and masterful as the marriage tie. And now -so important a step as marriage ought, so we are told, to be taken -without reflection! Yet marriage is not something simple but something -immensely complex and indeterminate. Just as the meat of the turtle -smacks of all kinds of meat, so likewise does marriage have a taste -of all manner of things; and just as the turtle is a sluggish animal, -likewise is marriage a sluggish thing. Falling in love is, at least, -a simple thing, but marriage—! Is it something heathen or something -Christian, something spiritual or something profane, or something -civil, or something of all things? Is it an expression of an -inexplicable love, the elective affinity of souls in delicate accord -with one another; or is it a duty, or a partnership, or a mere -convenience, or the custom of certain countries—or is it a duty, -or a partnership, or a mere convenience, or the custom of certain -countries—or is it a little of all these? Is one to order the -music for it from the town musician or the organist, or is one to -have a little from both? Is it the minister or the police sergeant -who is to make the speech and enroll the names in the book of -life—or in the town register? Does marriage blow a tune on a -comb, or does it listen to the whisperings "like to those of the -fairies from the grottoes of a summer night"?<a name="FNanchor_42_1" id="FNanchor_42_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_42_1" class="fnanchor">[42]</a></p> - -<p>And now every Darby imagines he performed such a potpourri, such -incomparably complex music, in getting married—and imagines that -he is still performing it while living a married life! My dear -fellow-banqueters, ought we not, in default of a wedding present -and congratulations, give each of the conjugal partners a demerit -for repeated inattentiveness? It is taxing enough to express a -single idea in one's life; but to think something so complicated -as marriage and, consequently, bring it under one head; to think -something so complicated and yet to do justice to each and every -element in it, and have everything present at the same time—verily, -he is a great man who can accomplish all this! And still every -Benedict accomplishes it—so he does, no doubt; for does he not -say that he does it unconsciously? But if this is to be done -unconsciously it must be through some higher form of unconsciousness -permeating all one's reflective powers. But not a word is said -about this! And to ask any married man about it means just wasting -one's time.</p> - -<p>He who has once committed a piece of folly will constantly be -pursued by its consequences. In the case of marriage the folly -consists in one's having gotten into a mess, and the punishment, -in recognizing, when it is too late, what one has done. So you will -find that the married man, now, becomes chesty, with a bit of -pathos, thinking he has done something remarkable in having entered -wedlock; now, puts his tail between his legs in dejection; then -again, praises marriage in sheer self-defense. But as to a thought-unit -which might serve to hold together the <i>disjecta membra</i><a name="FNanchor_43_1" id="FNanchor_43_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_43_1" class="fnanchor">[43]</a> -of the most heterogeneous conceptions of life contained in -marriage—for that we shall wait in vain.</p> - -<p>Therefore, to be a mere Benedict is humbug, and to be a seducer is -humbug, and to wish to experiment with woman for the sake of "the -joke" is also humbug. In fact, the two last mentioned methods will -be seen to involve concessions to woman on the part of man quite -as large as those found in marriage. The seducer wishes to rise -in his own estimation by deceiving her; but this very fact that -he deceives and wishes to deceive—that he cares to deceive, is -also a demonstration of his dependence on woman. And the same -holds true of him who wishes to experiment with her.</p> - -<p>If I were to imagine any possible relation with woman it would -be one so saturated with reflection that it would, for that very -reason, no longer be any relation with her at all. To be an excellent -husband and yet on the sly seduce every girl; to seem a seducer and -yet harbor within one all the ardor of romanticism—there would be -something to that, for the concession in the first instance were -then annihilated in the second. Certain it is that man finds his -true ideality only in such a reduplication. All merely unconscious -existence must be obliterated, and its obliteration ever cunningly -guarded by some sham expression. Such a reduplication is incomprehensible -to woman, for it removes from her the possibility of expressing man's -true nature in one term. If it were, possible for woman to exist in -such a reduplication, no erotic relation with her were thinkable. But, -her nature being such as we all know it to be, any disturbance of the -erotic relation is brought about by man's true nature which ever -consists precisely in the annihilation of that in which she has -her being.</p> - -<p>Am I then preaching the monastic life and rightly called Eremita? By -no means. You may as well eliminate the cloister, for after all it -is only a direct expression of spirituality and as such but a vain -endeavor to express it in direct terms. It makes small difference -whether you use gold, or silver, or paper money; but he who does not -spend a farthing but is counterfeit, he will comprehend me. He -to whom every direct expression is but a fraud, he and he only, -is safeguarded better than if he lived in a cloister-cell—he -will be a hermit even if he travelled in an omnibus day and night.</p> - -<p>Scarcely had Victor finished when the Dressmaker jumped to his feet -and threw over a bottle of wine standing before him; then he spoke -as follows:</p> - - -<h4>(The Dressmaker's Speech)</h4> - - -<p>Well spoken, dear fellow-banqueters, well spoken! The longer I hear -you speak the more I grow convinced that you are fellow-conspirators—I -greet you as such, I understand you as such; for fellow-conspirators -one can make out from afar. And yet, what know you? What does your -bit of theory to which you wish to give the appearance of experience, -your bit of experience which you make over into a theory—what does -it amount to? For every now and then you believe her a moment -and—are caught in a moment! No, I know woman—from her weak -side, that is to say, I know her. I shrink from no means to make sure -about what I have learned; for I am a madman, and a madman one must be to -understand her, and if one has not been one before, one will become -a madman, once one understands her. The robber has his hiding place -by the noisy high-road, and the ant-lion his funnel in the loose -sand, and the pirate his haunts by the roaring sea: likewise have -I may fashion-shop in the very midst of the teeming streets, seductive, -irresistible to woman as is the Venusberg to men. There, in a -fashion-shop, one learns to know woman, in a practical way and -without any theoretical ado.</p> - -<p>Now, if fashion meant nothing than that woman in the heat of her -desire threw off all her clothing—why, then it would stand for -something. But this is not the case, fashion is not plain sensuality, -not tolerated debauchery, but an illicit trade in indecency authorized -as proper. And, just as in heathen Prussia the marriageable girl -wore a bell whose ringing served as a signal to the men, likewise -is a woman's existence in fashion a continual bell-ringing, not -for debauchees but for lickerish voluptuaries. People hold Fortune -to be a woman—ah, yes it is, to be sure, fickle; still, it is fickle -in something, as it may also give much; and insofar it is not a -woman. No; but fashion is a woman, for fashion is fickleness in -nonsense, and is consistent only in its becoming ever more crazy.</p> - -<p>One hour in my shop is worth more than days and years without, if -it really be one's desire to learn to know woman; in my shop, for -it is the only one in the capital, there is no thought of competition. -Who, forsooth, would dare to enter into competition with one who -has entirely devoted himself, and is still devoting himself, as -high-priest in this idol worship? No, there is not a distinguished -assemblage which does not mention my name first and last; and -there is not a middle-class gathering where my name, whenever -mentioned, does not inspire sacred awe, like that of the king; -and there is no dress so idiotic but is accompanied by whispers -of admiration when its owner proceeds down the hall—provided -it bears my name; and there is not the lady of gentle birth who -dares pass my shop by, nor the girl of humble origin but passes -it sighing and thinking: if only I could afford it! Well, neither -was she deceived. I deceive no one; I furnish the finest goods -and the most costly, and at the lowest price, indeed, I sell -below cost. The fact is, I do not wish to make a profit. On the -contrary, every year I sacrifice large sums. And yet do I mean -to win, I mean to, I shall spend my last farthing in order to -corrupt, in order to bribe, the tools of fashion so that I may -win the game. To me it is a delight beyond compare to unroll -the most precious stuffs, to cut them out, to clip pieces from -genuine Brussels-lace, in order to make a fool's costume—I sell -to the lowest prices, genuine goods and in style.</p> - -<p>You believe, perhaps, that woman wants to be dressed fashionably -only at certain times? No such thing, she wants to be so all the -time and that is her only thought. For a woman does have a mind, -only it is employed about as well as is the Prodigal Son's substance; -and woman does possess the power of reflection in an incredibly high -degree, for there is nothing so holy but she will in no time -discover it to be reconcilable with her finery—and the chiefest -expression of finery is fashion. What wonder if she does discover -it to be reconcilable; for is not fashion holy to her? And there -is nothing so insignificant but she certainly will know how to -make it count in her finery—and the most fatuous expression of -finery is fashion. And there is nothing, nothing in all her attire, -not the least ribbon, of whose relation to fashion she has not a -definite conception and concerning which she is not immediately -aware whether the lady who just passed by noticed it; because, -for whose benefit does she dress, if not for other ladies!</p> - -<p>Even in my shop where she comes to be fitted out <i>à la mode</i>, -even there she is in fashion. Just as there is a special bathing -costume and a special riding habit, likewise there is a particular -kind of dress which it is the fashion to wear to the dressmaker's -shop. That costume is not <i>insouciant</i> in the same sense as is -the negligée a lady is pleased to be surprised in, earlier in the -forenoon, where the point is her belonging to the fair sex and -the coquetry lies in her letting herself be surprised. The dressmaker -costume, on the other hand, is calculated to be nonchalant and a -bit careless without her being embarrassed thereby; because a -dressmaker stands in a different relation to her from a cavalier. -The coquetry here consists in thus showing herself to a man who, -by reason of his station, does not presume to ask for the lady's -womanly recognition, but must be content with the perquisites -which fall abundantly to his share, without her ever thinking -of it; or without it even so much as entering her mind to play -the lady before a dressmaker. The point is, therefore, that her -being of the opposite sex is, in a certain sense, left out of -consideration, and her coquetry invalidated, by the superciliousness -of the noble lady who would smile if any one alluded to any -relation existing between her and her dressmaker. When visited -in her negligée she conceals herself, thus displaying her charms -by this very concealment. In my shop she exposes her charms with -the utmost nonchalance, for he is only a dressmaker—and she is -a woman. Now, her shawl slips down and bares some part of her -body, and if I did not know what that means, and what she expects, -my reputation would be gone to the winds. Now, she draws herself -up, <i>a priori</i> fashion, now she gesticulates <i>a posteriori</i>; -now, she sways to and fro in her hips; now, she looks at herself -in the mirror and sees my admiring phiz behind her in the glass; -now, she minces her words; now, she trips along with short steps; -now, she hovers; now, she draws her foot after her in a slovenly -fashion; now, she lets herself sink softly into an arm-chair, -whilst I with humble demeanor offer her a flask of smelling salts -and with my adoration assuage her agitation; now, she strikes -after me playfully; now, she drops her handkerchief and, without -as much as a single motion, lets her relaxed arm remain in its -pendent position, whilst I bend down low to pick it up and return -it to her, receiving a little patronizing nod as a reward. These -are the ways of a lady of fashion when in my shop. Whether Diogenes<a name="FNanchor_44_1" id="FNanchor_44_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_44_1" class="fnanchor">[44]</a> -made any impression on the woman who was praying in a somewhat -unbecoming posture, when he asked her whether she did not believe -the gods could see her from behind—that I do not know; but -this I do know, that if I should say to her ladyship kneeling -down in church: "The folds of your gown do not fall according -to fashion," she would be more alarmed than if she had given -offense to the gods. Woe to the outcast, the male Cinderella, -who has not comprehended this! <i>Pro dii immortales</i>,<a name="FNanchor_45_1" id="FNanchor_45_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_45_1" class="fnanchor">[45]</a> what, -pray, is a woman who is not in fashion; <i>per deos obsecro</i>,<a name="FNanchor_46_1" id="FNanchor_46_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_46_1" class="fnanchor">[46]</a> -and what when she is in fashion!</p> - -<p>Whether all this is true? Well, make trial of it: let the swain, -when his beloved one sinks rapturously on his breast, whispering -unintelligibly: "thine forever," and hides her head on his bosom—let -him but say to, her: "My sweet Kitty, your coiffure is not at -all in fashion."—Possibly, men don't give thought to this; but he -who knows it, and has the reputation of knowing it, he is the most -dangerous man in the kingdom. What blissful hours the lover passes -with his sweetheart before marriage I do not know; but of the -blissful hours she spends in my shop he hasn't the slightest -inkling, either. Without my special license and sanction a marriage -is null and void, anyway—or else an entirely plebeian affair. Let -it be the very moment when they are to meet before the altar, let -her step forward with the very best conscience in the world that -everything was bought in my shop and tried on there—and now, if -I were to rush up and exclaim: "But mercy! gracious lady, your -myrtle wreath is all awry"—why, the whole ceremony might be -postponed, for aught I know. But men do not suspect these things, -one must be a dressmaker to know.</p> - -<p>So immense is the power of reflection needed to fathom a woman's -thought that only a man who dedicates himself wholly to the task -will succeed, and even then only if gifted to start with. Happy -therefore the man who does not associate with any woman, for she -is not his, anyway, even if she be no other man's; for she is -possessed by that phantom born of the unnatural intercourse of -woman's reflection with itself, fashion. Do you see, for this -reason should woman always swear by fashion—then were there -some force in her oath; for after all, fashion is the thing she -is always thinking of, the only thing she can think together with, -and into, everything. For instance, the glad message has gone -forth from my shop to all fashionable ladies that fashion decrees -the use of a particular kind of head-dress to be worn in church, -and that this head-dress, again, must be somewhat different for -High Mass and for the afternoon service. Now when the bells are -ringing the carriage stops in front of my door. Her ladyship -descends (for also this has been decreed, that no one can adjust -that head-dress save I, the fashion-dealer), I rush out, making -low bows, and lead her into my cabinet. And whilst she languishingly -reposes I put everything in order. Now she is ready and has looked -at herself in the mirror; quick as any messenger of the gods I -hasten in advance, open the door of my cabinet with a bow, then -hasten to the door of my shop and lay my arm on my breast, like -some oriental slave; but, encouraged by a gracious courtesy, I -even dare to throw her an adoring and admiring kiss—now she -is seated in her carriage—oh dear! she left her hymn book behind. -I hasten out again and hand it to her through the carriage window, -I permit myself once more to remind her to hold her head a trifle -more to the right, and herself to arrange things, should her -head-dress become a bit disordered when descending. She drives -away and is edified.</p> - -<p>You believe, perhaps, that it is only great ladies who worship -fashion, but far from it! Look at my sempstresses for whose dress -I spare no expense, so that the dogmas of fashion may be proclaimed -most emphatically from my shop. They form a chorus of half-witted -creatures, and I myself lead them on as high-priest, as a shining -example, squandering all, solely in order to make all womankind -ridiculous. For when a seducer makes the boast that every woman's -virtue has its price, I do not believe him; but I do believe that -every woman at an early time will be crazed by the maddening and -defiling introspection taught her by fashion, which will corrupt -her more thoroughly than being seduced. I have made trial more -than once. If not able to corrupt her myself I set on her a few -of fashion's slaves of her own station; for just as one may train -rats to bite rats, likewise is the crazed woman's sting like that -of the tarantula. And most especially dangerous is it when some -man lends his help.</p> - -<p>Whether I serve the Devil or God I do not know; but I am right, I -shall be right, I will be, so long as I possess a single farthing, -I will be until the blood spurts out of my fingers. The physiologist -pictures the shape of woman to show the dreadful effects of wearing -a corset, and beside it he draws a picture of her normal figure. -That is all entirely correct, but only one of the drawings has the -validity of truth: they all wear corsets. Describe, therefore, -the miserable, stunted perversity of the fashion-mad woman, -describe the insidious introspection devouring her, and then -describe the womanly modesty which least of all knows about -itself—do so and you have judged woman, have in very truth -passed terrible sentence on her. If ever I discover such a girl -who is contented and demure and not yet corrupted by indecent -intercourse with women—she shall fall nevertheless. I shall -catch her in my toils, already she stands at the sacrificial -altar, that is to say, in my shop. With the most scornful glance -a haughty nonchalance can assume I measure her appearance, she -perishes with fright; a peal of laughter from the adjoining room -where sit my trained accomplices annihilates her. And afterwards, -when I have gotten her rigged up <i>à la mode</i> and she looks crazier -than a lunatic, as crazy as one who would not be accepted even -in a lunatic asylum, then she leaves me in a state of bliss—no -man, not even a god, were able to inspire fear in her; for is -she not dressed in fashion?</p> - -<p>Do you comprehend me now, do you comprehend why I call you -fellow-conspirators, even though in a distant way? Do you now -comprehend my conception of woman? Everything in life is a matter -of fashion, the fear of God is a matter of fashion, and so are -love, and crinolines, and a ring through the nose. To the utmost -of my ability will I therefore come to the support of the exalted -genius who wishes to laugh at the most ridiculous of all animals. -If woman has reduced everything to a matter of fashion, then will -I, with the help of fashion, prostitute her, as she deserves to -be; I have no peace, I the dressmaker, my soul rages when I think -of my task—she will yet be made to wear a ring through her nose. -Seek therefore no sweetheart, abandon love as you would the most -dangerous neighborhood; for the one whom you love would also be -made to go with a ring through her nose.</p> - -<p>Thereupon John, called the Seducer, spoke as follows:</p> - - -<h4>(The Speech of John the Seducer)</h4> - - -<p>My dear boon companions, is Satan plaguing you? For, indeed, you -speak like so many hired mourners, your eyes are red with tears -and not with wine. You almost move me to tears also, for an -unhappy lover does have a miserable time of it in life. <i>Hinc illae -lacrimae.</i><a name="FNanchor_47_1" id="FNanchor_47_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_47_1" class="fnanchor">[47]</a> I, however, am a happy lover, and my only wish -is to remain so. Very possibly, that is one of the concessions -to woman which Victor is so afraid of. Why not? Let it be a -concession! Loosening the lead foil of this bottle of champagne -also is a concession; letting its foaming contents flow into my -glass also is a concession; and so is raising it to my lips—now -I drain it—<i>concedo.</i><a name="FNanchor_48_1" id="FNanchor_48_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_48_1" class="fnanchor">[48]</a> Now, however, it is empty, hence I -need no more concessions. Just the same with girls. If some -unhappy lover has bought his kiss too dearly, this proves to -me only that he does not know, either how to take what is coming -to him or how to do it. I never pay too much for this sort of -thing—that is a matter for the girls to decide. What this signifies? -To me it signifies the most beautiful, the most delicious, and -well-nigh the most persuasive, <i>argumentum ad hominem</i>; but since -every woman, at least once in her life, possesses this argumentative -freshness I do not see any reason why I should not let myself be -persuaded. Our young friend wishes to make this experience in -his thought. Why not buy a cream puff and be content with looking -at it? I mean to enjoy. No mere talk for me! Just as an old song -has it about a kiss: <i>es ist kaum zu sehn, es ist nur für Lippen, -die genau sich verstehn</i><a name="FNanchor_49_1" id="FNanchor_49_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_49_1" class="fnanchor">[49]</a>—understand each other so exactly -that any reflection about the matter is but an impertinence and -a folly. He who is twenty and does not grasp the existence of the -categorical imperative "enjoy thyself"—he is a fool; and he who -does not seize the opportunity is and remains a Christianfelder.<a name="FNanchor_50_1" id="FNanchor_50_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_50_1" class="fnanchor">[50]</a></p> - -<p>However, you all are unhappy lovers, and that is why you are not -satisfied with woman as she is. The gods forbid! As she is she -pleases me, just as she is. Even Constantin's category of "the joke" -seems to contain a secret desire. I, on the other hand, I am gallant. -And why not? Gallantry costs nothing and gives one all and is the -condition for all erotic pleasure. Gallantly is the Masonic language -of the senses and of voluptuousness, between man and woman. It is a -natural language, as love's language in general is. It consists not -of sounds but of desires disguised and of ever changing wishes. That -an unhappy lover may be ungallant enough to wish to convert his -deficit into a draught payable in immortality—that I understand -well enough. That is to say, I for my part do not understand it; -for to me a woman has sufficient intrinsic value. I assure every -woman of this, it is the truth; and at the same time it is certain -that I am the only one who is not deceived by this truth. As to -whether a despoiled woman is worth less than man—about that I -find no information in my price list. I do not pick flowers already -broken, I leave them to the married men to use for Shrove-tide -decoration. Whether e. g. Edward wishes to consider the matter -again, and again fall in love with Cordelia,<a name="FNanchor_51_1" id="FNanchor_51_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_51_1" class="fnanchor">[51]</a> or simply repeat -the affair in his reflection—that is his own business. Why -should I concern myself with other peoples' affairs! I explained -to her at an earlier time what I thought of her; and, in truth, -she convinced me, convinced me to my absolute satisfaction, that -my gallantry was well applied.</p> - -<p><i>Concedo. Concessi.</i><a name="FNanchor_52_1" id="FNanchor_52_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_52_1" class="fnanchor">[52]</a> If I should meet with another Cordelia, -why then I shall enact a comedy "Ring number 2.<a name="FNanchor_53_1" id="FNanchor_53_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_53_1" class="fnanchor">[53]</a>" But you -are unhappy lovers and have conspired together, and are worse -deceived than the girls, notwithstanding that you are richly -endowed by nature. But decision—the decision of desire, is the -most essential thing in life. Our young friend will always remain -an onlooker. Victor is an unpractical enthusiast. Constantin has -acquired his good sense at too great a cost; and the fashion -dealer is a madman. Stuff and nonsense! With all four of you busy -about one girl, nothing would come of it.</p> - -<p>Let one have enthusiasm enough to idealize, taste enough to join -in the clinking of glasses at the festive board of enjoyment, sense -enough to break off—to break off absolutely, as does Death, madness -enough to wish to enjoy all over again—if you have all that you -will be the favorite of gods and girls.</p> - -<p>But of what avail to speak here? I do not intend to make proselytes. -Neither is this the place for that. To be sure I love wine, to be -sure I love the abundance of a banquet—all that is good; but let -a girl be my company, and then I shall be eloquent. Let then -Constantin have my thanks for the banquet, and the wine, and the -excellent appointments—the speeches, however, were but indifferent. -But in order that things shall have a better ending I shall -now pronounce a eulogy on woman.</p> - -<p>Just as he who is to speak in praise of the divinity must be -inspired by the divinity to speak worthily, and must therefore -be taught by the divinity as to what he shall say, likewise he -who would speak of women. For woman, even less than the divinity, -is a mere figment of man's brain, a day-dream, or a notion that -occurs to one and which one may argue about pro et contra. Nay, -one learns from woman alone what to say of her. And the more -teachers one has had, the better. The first time one is a disciple, -the next time one is already over the chief difficulties, just -as one learns in formal and learned disputations how to use -the last opponent's compliments against a new opponent. Nevertheless -nothing is lost. For as little as a kiss is a mere sample of good -things, and as little as an embrace is an exertion, just as little -is this experience exhaustive. In fact it is essentially different -from the mathematical proof of a theorem, which remains ever the -same, even though other letters be substituted. This method is -one befitting mathematics and ghosts, but not love and women, -because each is a new proof, corroborating the truth of the -theorem in a different manner. It is my joy that, far from being -less perfect than man, the female sex is, on the contrary, the -more perfect. I shall, however, clothe my speech in a myth; and I -shall exult, on woman's account whom you have so unjustly maligned, -if my speech pronounce judgment on your souls, if the enjoyment -of her beckon you only to flee you, as did the fruits from Tantalus; -because you have fled, and thereby insulted, woman. Only thus, -forsooth, may she be insulted, even though she scorn it, and though -punishment instantly falls on him who had the audacity. I, however, -insult no one. That is but the notion of married men, and a slander; -whereas, in reality, I respect her more highly than does the man -she is married to.</p> - -<p>Originally there was but one sex, so the Greeks relate, and that -was man's. Splendidly endowed he was, so he did honor to the -gods—so splendidly endowed that the same happened to them as -sometimes happens to a poet who has expended all his energy on -a poetic invention: they grew jealous of man. Ay, what is worse, -they feared that he would not willingly bow under their yoke; -they feared, though with small reason, that he might cause their -very heaven to totter. Thus they had raised up a power they -scarcely held themselves able to curb. Then there was anxiety -and alarm in the council of the gods. Much had they lavished in -their generosity on the creation of man; but all must be risked -now, for reason of bitter necessity; for all was at stake—so -the gods believed—and recalled he could not be, as a poet may -recall his invention. And by force he could not be subdued, or -else the gods themselves could have done so; but precisely of -that they despaired. He would have to be caught and subdued, then, -by a power weaker than his own and yet stronger—one strong -enough to compel him. What a marvelous power this would have to -be! However, necessity teaches even the gods to surpass themselves -in inventiveness. They sought and they found. That power was woman, -the marvel of creation, even in the eyes of the gods a greater -marvel than man—a discovery which the gods in their naïveté could -not help but applaud themselves for. What more can be said in her -praise than that she was able to accomplish what even the gods -did not believe themselves able to do; and what more can be said in -her praise than that she did accomplish it! But how marvelous -a creation must be hers to have accomplished it.</p> - -<p>It was a ruse of the gods. Cunningly the enchantress was fashioned, -for no sooner had she bewitched man than she changed and caught him -in all the circumstantialities of existence. It was that the gods -had desired. But what, pray, can be more delicious, or more entrancing -and bewitching, than what the gods themselves contrived, when battling -for their supremacy, as the only means of luring man? And most -assuredly it is so, for woman is the only, and the most seductive, -power in heaven and on earth. When compared with her in this sense -man will indeed be found to be exceedingly imperfect.</p> - -<p>And the stratagem of the gods was crowned with success; but not -always. There have existed at all times some men—a few—who -have detected the deception. They perceive well enough woman's -loveliness—more keenly, indeed than the others—but they also -suspect the real state of affairs. I call them erotic natures and -count myself among them. Men call them seducers, woman has no name -for them—such persons are to her unnameable. These erotic natures -are the truly fortunate ones. They live more luxuriously than do -the very gods, for they regale themselves with food more delectable -than ambrosia, and they drink what is more delicious than nectar; -they eat the most seductive invention of the gods' most ingenious -thought, they are ever eating dainties set for a bait—ah, -incomparable delight, ah, blissful fare—they are ever eating but the -dainties set for a bait; and they are never caught. All other men greedily -seize and devour it, like bumpkins eating their cabbage, and are -caught. Only the erotic nature fully appreciates the dainties set -out for bait—he prizes them infinitely. Woman divines this, and -for that reason there is a secret understanding between him and her. -But he knows also that she is a bait, and that secret he keeps -to himself.</p> - -<p>That nothing more marvelous, nothing more delicious, nothing more -seductive, than woman can be devised, for that vouch the gods and -their pressing need which heightened their powers of invention; -for that vouches also the fact that they risked all, and in shaping -her moved heaven and earth.</p> - -<p>I now forsake the myth. The conception "man" corresponds to his -"idea." I can therefore, if necessary, think of an individual man -as existing. The idea of woman, on the other hand, is so general -that no one single woman is able to express it completely. She is -not contemporaneous with man (and hence of less noble origin), but -a later creation, though more perfect than he. Whether now the gods -took some part from him whilst he slept, from fear of waking him by -taking too much; or whether they bisected him and made woman out -of the one half—at any rate it was man who was partitioned. Hence -she is the equal of man only after this partition. She is a -delusion and a snarer, but is so only afterwards, and for him who -is deluded. She is finiteness incarnate; but in her first stage -she is finiteness raised to the highest degree in the deceptive -infinitude of all divine and human illusions. Now, the deception -does not exist—one instant longer, and one is deceived.</p> - -<p>She is finiteness, and as such she is a collective: one woman -represents all women. Only the erotic nature comprehends this and -therefore knows how to love many without ever being deceived, sipping -the while all the delights the cunning gods were able to prepare. -For this reason, as I said, woman cannot be fully expressed by one -formula, but is, rather, an infinitude of finalities. He who wishes -to think her "idea" will have the same experience as he who gazes -on a sea of nebulous shapes which ever form anew, or as he who is -dazed by looking over the waves whose foamy crests ever mock one's -vision; for her "idea" is but the workshop of possibilities. And to -the erotic nature these possibilities are the everlasting reason -for his worship.</p> - -<p>So the gods created her delicate and ethereal as if out of -the mists of the summer night, yet goodly like ripe fruit; -light like a bird, though the repository of what attracts all -the world—light because the play of the forces is harmoniously -balanced in the invisible center of a negative relation;<a name="FNanchor_54_1" id="FNanchor_54_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_54_1" class="fnanchor">[54]</a> -slender in growth, with definite lines, yet her body sinuous -with beautiful curves; perfect, yet ever appearing as if completed -but now; cool, delicious, and refreshing like new-fallen snow, -yet blushing in coy transparency; happy like some pleasantry -which makes one forget all one's sorrow; soothing as being the -end of desire, and satisfying in herself being the stimulus of -desire. And the gods had calculated that man, when first beholding -her, would be amazed, as one who sees himself, though familiar with -that sight—would stand in amaze as one who sees himself in the -splendor of perfection—would stand in amaze as one who beholds -what he did never dream he would, yet beholds what, it would seem, -ought to have occurred to him before—sees what is essential to -life and yet gazes on it as being the very mystery of existence. -It is precisely tins contradiction in his admiration which nurses -desire to life, while this same admiration urges him ever nearer, -so that he cannot desist from gazing, cannot desist from believing -himself familiar with the sight, without really daring to approach, -even though he cannot desist from desiring.</p> - -<p>When the gods had thus planned her form they were seized with -fear lest they might not have the wherewithal to give it existence; -but what they feared even more was herself. For they dared not -let her know how beautiful she was, apprehensive of having some -one in the secret who might spoil their ruse. Then was the crowning -touch given to their wondrous creation: they made her faultless; -but they concealed all this from her in the nescience of her -innocence, and concealed it doubly from her in the impenetrable -mystery of her modesty. Now she was perfect, and victory certain. -Inviting she had been before, but now doubly so through her shyness, -and beseeching through her shrinking, and irresistible through -herself offering resistance. The gods were jubilant. And no -allurement has ever been devised in the world so great as is woman, -and no allurement is as compelling as is innocence, and no temptation -is as ensnaring as is modesty, and no deception is as matchless as -is woman. She knows of nothing, still her modesty is instinctive -divination. She is distinct from man, and the separating wall of -modesty parting them is more decisive than Aladdin's sword separating -him from Gulnare;<a name="FNanchor_55_1" id="FNanchor_55_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_55_1" class="fnanchor">[55]</a> and yet, when like Pyramis he puts his head -to this dividing wall of modesty, the erotic nature will perceive -all pleasures of desire divined within as from afar.</p> - -<p>Thus does woman tempt. Men are wont to set forth the most precious -things they possess as a delectation for the gods, nothing less -will do. Thus is woman a show-bread, the gods knew of naught -comparable to her. She exists, she is present, she is with us, -close by; and yet she is removed from us to an infinite distance -when concealed in her modesty—until she herself betrays her -hiding place, she knows not how: it is not she herself, it is -life which informs on her. Roguish she is like a child who in -playing peeps forth from his hiding place, yet her roguishness -is inexplicable, for she does not know of it herself, she is -ever mysterious—mysterious when she casts down her eyes, mysterious -when she sends forth the messengers of her glance which no thought, -let alone any word, is able to follow. And yet is the eye the -"interpreter" of the soul! What, then, is the explanation of this -mystery if the interpreter too is unintelligible? Calm she is like -the hushed stillness of eventide, when not a leaf stirs; calm -like a consciousness as yet unaware of aught. Her heart-beats -are as regular as if life were not present; and yet the erotic -nature, listening with his stethoscopically practiced ear, detects -the dithyrambic pulsing of desire sounding along unbeknown. -Careless she is like the blowing of the wind, content like the -profound ocean, and yet full of longing like a thing biding -its explanation. My friends! My mind is softened, indescribably -softened. I comprehend that also my life expresses an idea, even -if you do not comprehend me. I too have discovered the secret -of existence; I too serve a divine idea—and, assuredly, I do -not serve it for nothing. If woman is a ruse of the gods, this -means that she is to be seduced; and if woman is not an "idea," -the true inference is that the erotic nature wishes to love as -many of them as possible.</p> - -<p>What luxury it is to relish the ruse without being duped, only -the erotic nature comprehends. And how blissful it is to be -seduced, woman alone knows. I know that from woman, even though -I never yet allowed any one of them time to explain it to me, -but re-asserted my independence, serving the idea by a break -as sudden as that caused by death; for a bride and a break are -to one another like female and male.<a name="FNanchor_56_1" id="FNanchor_56_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_56_1" class="fnanchor">[56]</a> Only woman is aware -of this, and she is aware of it together with her seducer. No -married man will ever grasp this. Nor does she ever speak with -him about it. She resigns herself to her fate, she knows that -it must be so and that she can be seduced only once. For this -reason she never really bears malice against the man who seduced -her. That is to say, if he really did seduce her and thus expressed -the idea. Broken marriage vows and that kind of thing is, of -course, nonsense and no seduction. Indeed, it is by no means so -great a misfortune for a woman to be seduced. In fact, it is -a piece of good fortune for her. An excellently seduced girl -may make an excellent wife. If I myself were not fit to be a -seducer—however deeply I feel my inferior qualifications in -this respect—if I chose to be a married man, I should always -choose a girl already seduced, so that I would not have to begin -my marriage by seducing my wife. Marriage, to be sure, also -expresses an idea; but in relation to the idea of marriage that -quality is altogether immaterial which is the absolutely essential -condition for my idea. Therefore, a marriage ought never to be -planned to begin as though it were the beginning of a story of -seduction. So much is sure: there is a seducer for every woman. -Happy is she whose good fortune it is to meet just him.</p> - -<p>Through marriage, on the other hand, the gods win their victory. -In it the once seduced maiden walks through life by the side of -her husband, looking back at times, full of longing, resigned -to her fate, until she reaches the goal of life. She dies; but -not in the same sense as man dies. She is volatilized and resolved -into that mysterious primal element of which the gods formed her—she -disappears like a dream, like an impermanent shape whose hour -is past. For what is woman but a dream, and the highest reality -withal! Thus does the erotic nature comprehend her, leading her, -and being led by her in the moment of seduction, beyond time—where -she has her true existence, being an illusion. Through her husband, -on the other hand, she becomes a creature of this world, and he -through her.</p> - -<p>Marvelous nature! If I did not admire thee, a woman would teach -me; for truly she is the <i>venerabile</i> of life. Splendidly didst -thou fashion her, but more splendidly still in that thou never -didst fashion one woman like another. In man, the essential is the -essential, and insofar always alike; but in woman the adventitious -is the essential, and is thus an inexhaustible source of differences. -Brief is her splendor; but quickly the pain is forgotten, too, when -the same splendor is proffered me anew. It is true, I too am aware -of the unbeautiful which may appear in her thereafter; but she is -not thus with her seducer.</p> - - -<p>They rose from the table. It needed but a hint from Constantin, -for the participants understood each other with military precision -whenever there was a question of face or turn about. With his -invisible baton of command, elastic like a divining rod in his hand, -Constantin once more touched them in order to call forth in them a -fleeting reminiscence of the banquet and the spirit of enjoyment -which had prevailed before but was now, in some measure, submerged -through the intellectual effort of the speeches—in order that the -note of glad festivity which had disappeared might, by way of -resonance, return once more among the guests in a brief moment of -recollection. He saluted with his full glass as a signal of parting, -emptying it, and then flinging it against the door in the rear wall. -The others followed his example, consummating this symbolic -action with all the solemnity of adepts. Justice was thus done -the pleasure of stopping short—that royal pleasure which, though -briefer, yet is more liberating than any other pleasure. With a -libation this pleasure ought to be entered upon, with the libation -of flinging one's glass into destruction and oblivion, and tearing -one's self passionately away from every memory, as if it were a -danger to one's life: this libation is to the gods of the nether -world. One breaks off, and strength is needed to do that, greater -strength than to sever a knot by a sword-blow; for the difficulty -of the knot tends to arouse one's passion, but the passion required -for breaking off must be of one's own making. In a superficial -sense the result is, of course, the same; but from an artistic -point of view there is a world of difference between something -ceasing or simply coming to an end, and it being broken off by -one's own free will—whether it is a mere occurrence or a passionate -decision; whether it is all over, like a school song, because -there is no more to it, or whether it is terminated by the Cæsarian -operation of one's own pleasure; whether it is a triviality every -one has experienced, or the secret which escapes most.</p> - -<p>Constantin's flinging his beaker against the door was intended -merely as a symbolic rite; nevertheless, his so doing was, in -a way, a decisive act; for when the last glass was shattered the -door opened, and just as he who presumptuously knocked at Death's -door and, on its opening, beheld the powers of annihilation, so -the banqueters beheld the corps of destruction ready to demolish -everything—a memento which in an instant put them to flight -from that place, while at the very same moment the entire surroundings -had been reduced to the semblance of ruin.</p> - -<p>A carriage stood ready at the door. At Constantin's invitation -they seated themselves in it and drove away in good spirits; -for that tableau of destruction which they left behind had given -their souls fresh elasticity. After having covered a distance of -several miles a halt was made. Here Constantin took his leave as -host, informing them that five carriages were at their disposal—each -one was free to suit his own pleasure and drive wherever he wanted, -whether alone or in company with whomsoever he pleased. Thus a -rocket, propelled by the force of the powder, ascends at a single -shot, remains collected for an instant, in order then to spread out -to all the winds.</p> - -<p>While the horses were being hitched to the carriages the nocturnal -banqueters strolled a little way down the road. The fresh air of -the morning purified their hot blood with its coolness, and they -gave themselves up to it entirely. Their forms, and the groups in -which they ranged themselves, made a fantastic impression on me. -For when the morning sun shines on field and meadow, and on every -creature which in the night found rest and strength to rise up -jubilating with the sun—in this there is only a pleasing, mutual -understanding; but a nightly company, viewed by the morning light -and in smiling surroundings, makes a downright uncanny impression. -It makes one think of spooks which have been surprised by daylight, -of subterranean spirits which are unable to regain the crevice -through which they may vanish, because it is visible only in the -dark; of unhappy creatures in whom the difference between day and -night has become obliterated through the monotony of their sufferings.</p> - -<p>A foot path led them through a small patch of field toward a garden -surrounded by a hedge, from behind whose concealment a modest -summer-cottage peeped forth. At the end of the garden, toward the -field, there was an arbor formed by trees. Becoming aware of people -being in the arbor, they all grew curious, and with the spying -glances of men bent on observation, the besiegers closed in about -that pleasant place of concealment, hiding themselves, and as eager -as emissaries of the police about to take some one by surprise. -Like emissaries of the police—well, to be sure, their appearance -made the misunderstanding possible that it was they whom the minions -of the law might be looking for. Each one had occupied a point of -vantage for peeping in, when Victor drew back a step and said to -his neighbor, "Why, dear me, if that is not Judge William and his -wife!"</p> - -<p>They were surprised—not the two whom the foliage concealed -and who were all too deeply concerned with their domestic enjoyment -to be observers. They felt themselves too secure to believe -themselves an object of any one's observation excepting the -morning sun's which took pleasure in looking in to them, whilst -a gentle zephyr moved the boughs above them, and the repose-fulness -of the countryside, as well as all things around them girded the -little arbor about with peace. The happy married couple was not -surprised and noticed nothing. That they were a married couple was -clear enough; one could perceive that at a glance—alas! if one is -something of an observer one's self. Even if nothing in the wide -world, nothing, whether overtly or covertly, if nothing, I say, -threatens to interfere with the happiness of lovers, yet they -are not thus secure when sitting together. They are in a state -of bliss; and yet it is as if there were some power bent on -separating them, so firmly they clasp one another; and yet it -is as if there were some enemy present against whom they must -defend themselves; and yet it is as if they could never become -sufficiently reassured. Not thus married people, and not thus -that married couple in the arbor. How long they had been married, -however, that was not to be determined with certainty. To be -sure, the wife's activity at the tea-table revealed a sureness -of hand born of practice, but at the same time such almost childlike -interest in her occupation as if she were a newly married woman -and in that middle condition when she is not, as yet, sure whether -marriage is fun or earnest, whether being a housewife is a calling, -or a game, or a pastime. Perhaps she had been married for some -longer time but did not generally preside at the tea-table, or -perhaps did so only out here in the country, or did it perhaps -only that morning which, possibly, had a special significance -for them. Who could tell? All calculation is frustrated to a -certain degree by the fact that every personality exhibits some -originality which keeps time from leaving its marks. When the -sun shines in all his summer glory one thinks straightway that -there must be some festal occasion at hand—that it cannot be -so for every-day use, or that it is the first time, or at least -one of the first times; for surely, one thinks, it cannot be -repeated for any length of time. Thus would think he who saw -it but once, or saw it for the first time; and I saw the wife -of the justice for the first time. He who sees the object in -question every day may think differently; provided he sees the -same thing. But let the judge decide about that!</p> - -<p>As I remarked, our amiable housewife was occupied. She poured -boiling water into the cups, probably to warm them, emptied them -again, set a cup on a platter, poured the tea and served it with -sugar and cream—now all was ready; was it fun or earnest? In -case a person did not relish tea at other times—he should have -sat in the judge's place; for just then that drink seemed most -inviting to me, only the inviting air of the lovely woman herself -seemed to me more inviting.</p> - -<p>It appeared that she had not had time to speak until then. Now -she broke the silence and said, while serving him his tea: "Quick, -now, dear, and drink while it is hot, the morning air is quite -cool, anyway; and surely the least I can do for you is to be a -little careful of you. The least?" the judge answered laconically. -"Yes, or the most, or the only thing." The judge looked at her -inquiringly, and whilst he was helping himself she continued: "You -interrupted me yesterday when I wished to broach the subject, but -I have thought about it again; many times I have thought about -it, and now particularly, you know yourself in reference to -whom: it is certainly true that if you hadn't married, you would -have been far more successful in your career." With his cup still -on the platter the judge sipped a first mouthful with visible -enjoyment, thoroughly refreshed; or was it perchance the joy -over his lovely wife; I for my part believe it was the latter. -She, however, seemed only to be glad that it tasted so good to -him. Then he put down his cup on the table at his side, took out -a cigar, and said: "May I light it at your chafing-dish"? "Certainly," -she said, and handed him a live coal on a tea-spoon. He lit his -cigar and put his arm about her waist whilst she leaned against -his shoulder. He turned his head the other way to blow out the -smoke, and then he let his eyes rest on her with a devotion such -as only a glance can reveal; yet he smiled, but this glad smile -had in it a dash of sad irony. Finally he said: "Do you really -believe so, my girl? What do you mean?" she answered. He was -silent again, his smile gained the upper hand, but his voice -remained quite serious, nevertheless. "Then I pardon you your -previous folly, seeing that you yourself have forgotten it so -quickly; thou speakest as one of the foolish women speaketh<a name="FNanchor_57_1" id="FNanchor_57_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_57_1" class="fnanchor">[57]</a>—what -great career should I have had?" His wife seemed embarrassed -for a moment by this return, but collected her wits quickly and -now explained her meaning with womanly eloquence. The judge -looked down before him, without interrupting her; but as she -continued he began to drum on the table with the fingers of his -right hand, at the same time humming a tune. The words of the -song were audible for a moment, just as the pattern of a texture -now becomes visible, now disappears again; and then again they -were heard no longer as he hummed the tune of the song: "The -goodman he went to the forest, to cut the wands so white." After -this melodramatic performance, consisting in the justice's wife -explaining herself whilst he hummed his tune, the dialogue set -in again. "I am thinking," he remarked, "I am thinking you are -ignorant of the fact that the Danish Law permits a man to castigate -his wife<a name="FNanchor_58_1" id="FNanchor_58_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_58_1" class="fnanchor">[58]</a>—a pity only that the law does not indicate on -which occasions it is permitted." His wife smiled at his threat -and continued: "Now why can I never get you to be serious when -I touch on this matter? You do not understand me: believe me, I -mean it sincerely, it seems to me a very beautiful thought. Of -course, if you weren't my husband I would not dare to entertain -it; but now I have done so, for your sake and for my sake; and -now be nice and serious, for my sake, and answer me frankly." -"No, you can't get me to be serious, and a serious answer you -won't get; I must either laugh at you, or make you forget it, as -before, or beat you; or else you must stop talking about it, or I -shall have to make you keep silent about it some other way. You -see, it is a joke, and that is why there are so many ways out." -He arose, pressed a kiss on her brow, laid her arm in his, and -then disappeared in a leafy walk which led from the arbor.</p> - - -<p>The arbor was empty; there was nothing else to do, so the hostile -corps of occupation withdrew without making any gains. Still, the -others were content with uttering some malicious remarks. The -company returned but missed Victor. He had rounded the corner -and, in walking along the garden, had come up to the country -home. The doors of a garden-room facing the lawn were open, and -likewise a window. Very probably he had seen something which -attracted his attention. He leapt into the window, and leapt -out again just as the party were approaching, for they had been -looking for him. Triumphantly he held up some papers in his hand -and exclaimed: "One of the judge's manuscripts!<a name="FNanchor_59_1" id="FNanchor_59_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_59_1" class="fnanchor">[59]</a> Seeing -that I edited his other works it is no more than my duty that -I should edit this one too." He put it into his pocket; or, -rather, he was about to do so; for as he was bending his arm -and already had his hand with the manuscript half-way down in -his pocket I managed to steal it from him.</p> - -<p>But who, then, am I? Let no one ask! If it hasn't occurred to you -before to ask about it I am over the difficulty; for now the worst -is behind me. For that matter, I am not worth asking about, for -I am the least of all things, people would put me in utter confusion -by asking about me. I am pure existence, and therefore smaller, -almost, than nothing. I am "pure existence" which is present -everywhere but still is never noticed; for I am ever vanishing. -I am like the line above which stands the summa summarum—who -cares about the line? By my own strength I can accomplish nothing, -for even the idea to steal the manuscript from Victor was not my -own idea; for this very idea which, as a thief would say, induced -me to "borrow" the manuscript, was borrowed from him. And now, -when editing this manuscript, I am, again, nothing at all; for -it rightly belongs to the judge. And as editor, I am in my nothingness -only a kind of nemesis on Victor, who imagined that he had the -prescriptive right to do so.</p> - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_3" id="Footnote_1_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_3"><span class="label">[1]</span></a><i>Cf.</i> Luke XIV, 19-20.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_3" id="Footnote_2_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_3"><span class="label">[2]</span></a>Words used in the banns.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a>Which in Latin means both "from the temple" and "at once."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_2" id="Footnote_4_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_2"><span class="label">[4]</span></a>The omission of the negative particle in the original is no doubt -unintentional.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_2" id="Footnote_5_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_2"><span class="label">[5]</span></a>Pious wish.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_2" id="Footnote_6_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_2"><span class="label">[6]</span></a>Kings 20, 1; Isaiah 38, 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7_2" id="Footnote_7_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_2"><span class="label">[7]</span></a>An allusion to the plight of Aristophanes in Plato's <i>Symposion.</i></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8_2" id="Footnote_8_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_2"><span class="label">[8]</span></a>Haggai 1, 6 (inexact).</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9_2" id="Footnote_9_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_2"><span class="label">[9]</span></a>May it be fortunate and favorable.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_10_2" id="Footnote_10_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_2"><span class="label">[10]</span></a><i>Symposion</i>, ch. 9.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_11_2" id="Footnote_11_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_2"><span class="label">[11]</span></a>This ironic sally refers, not to Descartes' principle of skepsis, but -to the numerous Danish followers of Hegel and his "method"; <i>cf.</i> Fear and Trembling.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_12_1" id="Footnote_12_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_1"><span class="label">[12]</span></a><i>Symposion</i>, ch. 24.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_13_1" id="Footnote_13_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_1"><span class="label">[13]</span></a><i>Ibid.</i>, ch. 15-16.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_14_1" id="Footnote_14_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_1"><span class="label">[14]</span></a><i>Cf.</i> Matthew 13, 31 etc.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_15_1" id="Footnote_15_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_1"><span class="label">[15]</span></a>A quotation from Musæus, <i>Volksmärchen der Deutschen</i>, III, 219.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_16_1" id="Footnote_16_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_1"><span class="label">[16]</span></a>The reference is to a situation in Richard Cumberland's (1732-1811) -play of "The Jew," known to Copenhagen playgoers in an -adaptation.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_17_1" id="Footnote_17_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_1"><span class="label">[17]</span></a>I relate what I have been told.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_18_1" id="Footnote_18_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_1"><span class="label">[18]</span></a>A character in the Danish playwright Overskou's vaudeville of -"Capriciosa" (Comedies III, 184).</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_19_1" id="Footnote_19_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_1"><span class="label">[19]</span></a>The glutton in Oehlenschlœger's vaudeville of "Sovedrikken."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_20_1" id="Footnote_20_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_1"><span class="label">[20]</span></a>Supplied by the translator to complete the sense.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_21_1" id="Footnote_21_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_1"><span class="label">[21]</span></a>Dejection. <i>Cf.</i> the maxim: <i>omne animal post coïtun triste.</i></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_22_1" id="Footnote_22_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_1"><span class="label">[22]</span></a>This statement is to be found, rather, in Aristotle's Ethics II, 6.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_23_1" id="Footnote_23_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_1"><span class="label">[23]</span></a>There is a pun here in the original.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_24_1" id="Footnote_24_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_1"><span class="label">[24]</span></a>In Holberg's comedy of "Erasmus Montanus," III, 6.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_25_1" id="Footnote_25_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_1"><span class="label">[25]</span></a><i>Cf.</i> "The Banquet."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_26_1" id="Footnote_26_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_1"><span class="label">[26]</span></a>Eccles, 3, 7.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_27_1" id="Footnote_27_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_1"><span class="label">[27]</span></a>Comical power.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_28_1" id="Footnote_28_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_1"><span class="label">[28]</span></a>In uncertain battle.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_29_1" id="Footnote_29_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_1"><span class="label">[29]</span></a>According to the development of these terms in Kierkegaard's -previous works, the "absolute" belongs to the ethic, the "relative" -to the æsthetic sphere.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_30_1" id="Footnote_30_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_1"><span class="label">[30]</span></a>Heroine of Mozart's "Don Juan."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_31_1" id="Footnote_31_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_1"><span class="label">[31]</span></a>Quotation from Wessel's famous comedy of "Love without Stockings," III, 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_32_1" id="Footnote_32_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_1"><span class="label">[32]</span></a>Viz besides the eggs she duly furnishes; Holberg, "The Busy-body," II, 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_33_1" id="Footnote_33_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_1"><span class="label">[33]</span></a>This figure is said by Diogenes Lærtios II, 37 to have been used -by Socrates himself about his relation to Xanthippe.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_34_1" id="Footnote_34_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_1"><span class="label">[34]</span></a>The following sentences are not as clear in meaning as is otherwise -the case in Kierkegaard.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_35_1" id="Footnote_35_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35_1"><span class="label">[35]</span></a>Poetics, chap. 15.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_36_1" id="Footnote_36_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36_1"><span class="label">[36]</span></a><i>Cf.</i> "The Banquet"</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_37_1" id="Footnote_37_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37_1"><span class="label">[37]</span></a>They are, that he had been created a man and not an animal, a -man and not a woman, a Greek and not a Barbarian (Lactantius, -Instit. Ill, 19, 17).</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_38_1" id="Footnote_38_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38_1"><span class="label">[38]</span></a>Thales of Miletos (Diogenes Lærtios I, 33).</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_39_1" id="Footnote_39_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39_1"><span class="label">[39]</span></a>German poet of the Romantic School (1773-1853).</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_40_1" id="Footnote_40_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40_1"><span class="label">[40]</span></a>Reasoning against the rules of logic.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_41_1" id="Footnote_41_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_41_1"><span class="label">[41]</span></a>"The Lying-in Room", II, 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_42_1" id="Footnote_42_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_42_1"><span class="label">[42]</span></a>A quotation from Oehlenschläager's "Aladdin."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_43_1" id="Footnote_43_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_43_1"><span class="label">[43]</span></a>Scattered members.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_44_1" id="Footnote_44_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_44_1"><span class="label">[44]</span></a>See Diogenes Lærtios, VI, 37.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_45_1" id="Footnote_45_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_45_1"><span class="label">[45]</span></a>By the immortal gods.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_46_1" id="Footnote_46_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_46_1"><span class="label">[46]</span></a>I adjure you by the gods.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_47_1" id="Footnote_47_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_47_1"><span class="label">[47]</span></a>Therefore those tears.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_48_1" id="Footnote_48_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_48_1"><span class="label">[48]</span></a>I concede.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_49_1" id="Footnote_49_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_49_1"><span class="label">[49]</span></a>It can hardly be seen, it is but for lips which understand each -ether exactly.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_50_1" id="Footnote_50_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_50_1"><span class="label">[50]</span></a>Christiansfeld, a town in South Jutland, was the seat of a colony -of Herrhutian Pietists.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_51_1" id="Footnote_51_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_51_1"><span class="label">[51]</span></a>The reference is to the "Diary of the Seducer" (in "Either-Or," -part I). Edward is the scorned lover of Cordelia who is seduced by -John.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_52_1" id="Footnote_52_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_52_1"><span class="label">[52]</span></a>I concede. I have conceded.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_53_1" id="Footnote_53_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_53_1"><span class="label">[53]</span></a>Reference to a comedy by Farquhar, which enjoyed a moderate -popularity in Copenhagen.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_54_1" id="Footnote_54_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_54_1"><span class="label">[54]</span></a>i.e., evidently, she docs not exist because of herself; hence she -is in a "negative" relation to herself. The center of this relation is -"what attracts all the world."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_55_1" id="Footnote_55_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_55_1"><span class="label">[55]</span></a>In Oehlenschläger's "Aladdin."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_56_1" id="Footnote_56_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_56_1"><span class="label">[56]</span></a>In the Danish, a pun on the homonyms <i>en brud</i> and <i>et brud.</i></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_57_1" id="Footnote_57_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_57_1"><span class="label">[57]</span></a>Job 2, 10.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_58_1" id="Footnote_58_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_58_1"><span class="label">[58]</span></a>According to the Jutland Laws (A. D. 1241) a man is permitted -to punish his wife, when she has misbehaved, with stick and with -rod, but not with weapon. In the Danish Law (1683) this right is -restricted to children and servants. S. V.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_59_1" id="Footnote_59_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_59_1"><span class="label">[59]</span></a>Containing the second part of "Stages on Life's Road," entitled -"Reflections on Marriage in Refutation of Objections."</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - -<h4><a id="FEAR_AND_TREMBLING">FEAR AND TREMBLING</a></h4> - - - - -<h4>INTRODUCTION II</h4> - - -<p>Not only in the world of commerce but also in the world of ideas -our age has arranged a regular clearance-sale. Everything may be -had at such absurdly low prices that very soon the question will -arise whether any one cares to bid. Every waiter with a speculative -turn who carefully marks the significant progress of modern -philosophy, every lecturer in philosophy, every tutor, student, -every sticker-and-quitter of philosophy—they are not content with -doubting everything, but "go right on." It might, possibly, be -ill-timed and inopportune to ask them whither they are bound; but -it is no doubt polite and modest to take it for granted that they -have doubted everything—else it were a curious statement for them -to make, that they were proceeding onward. So they have, all of -them, completed that preliminary operation and, it would seem, with -such ease that they do not think it necessary to waste a word about -how they did it. The fact is, not even he who looked anxiously and -with a troubled spirit for some little point of information, ever -found one, nor any instruction, nor even any little dietetic -prescription, as to how one is to accomplish this enormous task. -"But did not Descartes proceed in this fashion?" Descartes, indeed! -that venerable, humble, honest thinker whose writings surely no -one can read without deep emotion—Descartes did what he said, -and said what he did. Alas, alas! that is a mighty rare thing -in our times! But Descartes, as he says frequently enough, never -uttered doubts concerning his faith....</p> - -<p>In our times, as was remarked, no one is content with faith, -but "goes right on." The question as to whither they are proceeding -may be a silly question; whereas it is a sign of urbanity and -culture to assume that every one has faith, to begin with, for -else it were a curious statement for them to make, that they are -proceeding further. In the olden days it was different. Then, -faith was a task for a whole life-time because it was held that -proficiency in faith was not to be won within a few days or weeks. -Hence, when the tried patriarch felt his end approaching, after -having fought his battles and preserved his faith, he was still -young enough at heart not to have forgotten the fear and trembling -which disciplined his youth and which the mature man has under -control, but which no one entirely outgrows—except insofar as -he succeeds in "going on" as early as possible. The goal which -those venerable men reached at last—at that spot every one -starts, in our times, in order to "proceed further."...</p> - - - - -<h4>PREPARATION</h4> - - -<p>There lived a man who, when a child, had heard the beautiful Bible -story of how God tempted Abraham and how he stood the test, how -he maintained his faith and, against his expectations, received -his son back again. As this man grew older he read this same story -with ever greater admiration; for now life had separated what had -been united in the reverent simplicity of the child. And the older -he grew, the more frequently his thoughts reverted to that story. -His enthusiasm waxed stronger and stronger, and yet the story grew -less and less clear to him. Finally he forgot everything else in -thinking about it, and his soul contained but one wish, which was, -to behold Abraham: and but one longing, which was, to have been -witness to that event. His desire was, not to see the beautiful -lands of the Orient, and not the splendor of the Promised Land, -and not the reverent couple whose old age the Lord had blessed -with children, and not the venerable figure of the aged patriarch, -and not the god-given vigorous youth of Isaac—it would have been -the same to him if the event had come to pass on some barren -heath. But his wish was, to have been with Abraham on the three -days' journey, when he rode with sorrow before him and with Isaac -at his side. His wish was, to have been present at the moment when -Abraham lifted up his eyes and saw Mount Moriah afar off; to have -been present at the moment when he left his asses behind and wended -his way up to the mountain alone with Isaac. For the mind of this -man was busy, not with the delicate conceits of the imagination, -but rather with his shuddering thought.</p> - -<p>The man we speak of was no thinker, he felt no desire to go beyond -his faith: it seemed to him the most glorious fate to be remembered -as the Father of Faith, and a most enviable lot to be possessed of -that faith, even if no one knew it.</p> - -<p>The man we speak of was no learned exegetist, he did not even -understand Hebrew—who knows but a knowledge of Hebrew might have -helped him to understand readily both the story and Abraham.</p> - - - - -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>And God tempted Abraham and said unto him: take Isaac, thine -only son, whom thou lovest and go to the land Moriah and sacrifice -him there on a mountain which I shall show thee.<a name="FNanchor_1_4" id="FNanchor_1_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_4" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p>It was in the early morning, Abraham arose betimes and had his -asses saddled. He departed from his tent, and Isaac with him; -but Sarah looked out of the window after them until they were -out of sight. Silently they rode for three days; but on the fourth -morning Abraham said not a word but lifted up his eyes and beheld -Mount Moriah in the distance. He left his servants behind and, -leading Isaac by the hand, he approached the mountain. But Abraham -said to himself: "I shall surely conceal from Isaac whither he is -going." He stood still, he laid his hand on Isaac's head to bless -him, and Isaac bowed down to receive his blessing. And Abraham's -aspect was fatherly, his glance was mild, his speech admonishing. -But Isaac understood him not, his soul would not rise to him; he -embraced Abraham's knees, he besought him at his feet, he begged -for his young life, for his beautiful hopes, he recalled the joy -in Abraham's house when he was born, he reminded him of the sorrow -and the loneliness that would be after him. Then did Abraham raise -up the youth and lead him by his hand, and his words were full of -consolation and admonishment. But Isaac understood him not. He -ascended Mount Moriah, but Isaac understood him not. Then Abraham -averted his face for a moment; but when Isaac looked again, his -father's countenance was changed, his glance wild, his aspect -terrible, he seized Isaac and threw him to the ground and said: -"Thou foolish lad, believest thou I am thy father? An idol-worshipper -am I. Believest thou it is God's command? Nay, but my pleasure." -Then Isaac trembled and cried out in his fear: "God in heaven, -have pity on me, God of Abraham, show mercy to me, I have no -father on earth, be thou then my father!" But Abraham said softly -to himself: "Father in heaven, I thank thee. Better is it that -he believes me inhuman than that he should lose his faith in thee."</p> - - -<p>When the child is to be weaned, his mother blackens her breast; -for it were a pity if her breast should look sweet to him when he -is not to have it. Then the child believes that her breast has -changed; but his mother is ever the same, her glance is full of love -and as tender as ever. Happy he who needed not worse means to wean -his child!</p> - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>It was in the early morning. Abraham arose betimes and embraced -Sarah, the bride of his old age. And Sarah kissed Isaac who had -taken the shame from her—Isaac, her pride, her hope for all -coming generations. Then the twain rode silently along their way, -and Abraham's glance was fastened on the ground before him; until -on the fourth day, when he lifted up his eyes and beheld Mount -Moriah in the distance; but then his eyes again sought the ground. -Without a word he put the fagots in order and bound Isaac, and -without a word he unsheathed his knife. Then he beheld the ram God -had chosen, and sacrificed him, and wended his way home.... From -that day on Abraham, grew old. He could not forget that God had -required this of him. Isaac flourished as before; but Abraham's -eye was darkened, he saw happiness no more.</p> - - -<p>When the child has grown and is to be weaned, his mother will in -maidenly fashion conceal her breast. Then the child has a mother -no longer. Happy the child who lost not his mother in any other sense!</p> - - - - -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>It was in the early morning. Abraham arose betimes; he kissed Sarah, -the young mother, and Sarah kissed Isaac, her joy, her delight for -all times. And Abraham rode on his way, lost in thought—he was -thinking of Hagar and her son whom he had driven out into the -wilderness. He ascended Mount Moriah and he drew the knife.</p> - -<p>It was a calm evening when Abraham rode out alone, and he rode to -Mount Moriah. There he cast himself down on his face and prayed to -God to forgive him his sin in that he had been about to sacrifice -his son Isaac, and in that the father had forgotten his duty toward -his son. And yet oftener he rode on his lonely way, but he found -no rest. He could not grasp that it was a sin that he had wanted to -sacrifice to God his most precious possession, him for whom he would -most gladly have died many times. But, if it was a sin, if he had -not loved Isaac thus, then could he not grasp the possibility that -he could be forgiven: for what sin more terrible?</p> - - -<p>When the child is to be weaned, the mother is not without sorrow -that she and her child are to be separated more and more, that the -child who had first lain under her heart, and afterwards at any -rate rested at her breast, is to be so near to her no more. So -they sorrow together for that brief while. Happy he who kept his -child so near to him and needed not to sorrow more!</p> - - - - -<h4>IV</h4> - - -<p>It was in the early morning. All was ready for the journey in -the house of Abraham. He bade farewell to Sarah; and Eliezer, -his faithful servant, accompanied him along the way for a little -while. They rode together in peace, Abraham and Isaac, until -they came to Mount Moriah. And Abraham prepared everything for -the sacrifice, calmly and mildly; but when his father turned -aside in order to unsheathe his knife, Isaac saw that Abraham's -left hand was knit in despair and that a trembling shook his -frame—but Abraham drew forth the knife.</p> - -<p>Then they returned home again, and Sarah hastened to meet them; -but Isaac had lost his faith. No one in all the world ever said -a word about this, nor did Isaac speak to any man concerning -what he had seen, and Abraham suspected not that any one had seen it.</p> - - -<p>When the child is to be weaned, his mother has the stronger food -ready lest the child perish. Happy he who has in readiness this -stronger food!</p> - - -<p>Thus, and in many similar ways, thought the man whom I have mentioned -about this event. And every time he returned, after a pilgrimage to -Mount Moriah, he sank down in weariness, folding his hands and saying: -"No one, in truth, was great as was Abraham, and who can understand -him?"</p> - - - - -<h4>A PANEGYRIC ON ABRAHAM</h4> - - -<p>If a consciousness of the eternal were not implanted in man; if -the basis of all that exists were but a confusedly fermenting -element which, convulsed by obscure passions, produced all, both -the great and the insignificant; if under everything there lay -a bottomless void never to be filled—what else were life but -despair? If it were thus, and if there were no sacred bonds -between man and man; if one generation arose after another, as -in the forest the leaves of one season succeed the leaves of -another, or like the songs of birds which are taken up one after -another; if the generations of man passed through the world like -a ship passing through the sea and the wind over the desert—a -fruitless and a vain thing; if eternal oblivion were ever greedily -watching for its prey and there existed no power strong enough to -wrest it from its clutches—how empty were life then, and how -dismal! And therefore it is not thus; but, just as God created -man and woman, he likewise called into being the hero and the -poet or orator. The latter cannot perform the deeds of the hero—he -can only admire and love him and rejoice in him. And yet he -also is happy and not less so; for the hero is, as it were, his -better self with which he has fallen in love, and he is glad he -is not himself the hero, so that his love can express itself in -admiration.</p> - -<p>The poet is the genius of memory, and does nothing but recall -what has been done, can do nothing but admire what has been -done. He adds nothing of his own, but he is jealous of what -has been entrusted to him. He obeys the choice of his own heart; -but once he has found what he has been seeking, he visits every -man's door with his song and with his speech, so that all may -admire the hero as he does, and be proud of the hero as he is. -This is his achievement, his humble work, this is his faithful -service in the house of the hero. If thus, faithful to his love, -he battles day and night against the guile of oblivion which -wishes to lure the hero from him, then has he accomplished his -task, then is he gathered to his hero who loves him as faithfully; -for the poet is at it were the hero's better self, unsubstantial, -to be sure, like a mere memory, but also transfigured as is a -memory. Therefore shall no one be forgotten who has done great -deeds; and even if there be delay, even if the cloud of misunderstanding -obscure the hero from our vision, still his lover will come some -time; and the more time has passed, the more faithfully will he -cleave to him.</p> - -<p>No, no one shall be forgotten who was great in this world. But -each hero was great in his own way, and each one was eminent in -proportion to the great things he loved. For he who loved himself -became great through himself, and he who loved others became great -through his devotion, but he who loved God became greater than -all of these. Everyone of them shall be remembered, but each one -became great in proportion to his trust. One became great by hoping -for the possible; another, by hoping for the eternal; but he who -hoped for the impossible, he became greater than all of these. -Every one shall be remembered; but each one was great in proportion -to the power with which he strove. For he who strove with the -world became great by overcoming himself; but he who strove with -God, he became the greatest of them all. Thus there have been -struggles in the world, man against man, one against a thousand; -but he who struggled with God, he became greatest of them all. -Thus there was fighting on this earth, and there was he who conquered -everything by his strength, and there was he who conquered God by -his weakness. There was he who, trusting in himself, gained all; -and there was he who, trusting in his strength sacrificed everything; -but he who believed in God was greater than all of these. There was -he who was great through his strength, and he who was great through -his wisdom, and he who was great through his hopes, and he who was -great through his love; but Abraham was greater than all of -these—great through the strength whose power is weakness, great -through the wisdom whose secret is folly, great through the hope -whose expression is madness, great through the love which is hatred -of one's self.</p> - -<p>Through the urging of his faith Abraham left the land of his -forefathers and became a stranger in the land of promise. Ke left -one thing behind and took one thing along: he left his worldly -wisdom behind and took with him faith. For else he would not have -left the land of his fathers, but would have thought it an unreasonable -demand. Through his faith he came to be a stranger in the land of -promise, where there was nothing to remind him of all that had been -dear to him, but where everything by its newness tempted his soul -to longing. And yet was he God's chosen, he in whom the Lord was -well pleased! Indeed, had he been one cast off, one thrust out of -God's mercy, then might he have comprehended it; but now it seemed -like a mockery of him and of his faith. There have been others who -lived in exile from the fatherland which they loved. They are not -forgotten, nor is the song of lament forgotten in which they -mournfully sought and found what they had lost. Of Abraham there -exists no song of lamentation. It is human to complain, it is -human to weep with the weeping; but it is greater to believe, and -more blessed to consider him who has faith.</p> - -<p>Through his faith Abraham received the promise that in his seed -were to be blessed all races of mankind. Time passed, there was -still the possibility of it, and Abraham had faith. Another man -there was who also lived in hopes. Time passed, the evening of -his life was approaching; neither was he paltry enough to have -forgotten his hopes: neither shall he be forgotten by us! Then -he sorrowed, and his sorrow did not deceive him, as life had -done, but gave him all it could; for in the sweetness of sorrow -he became possessed of his disappointed hopes. It is human to -sorrow, it is human to sorrow with the sorrowing; but it is -greater to have faith, and more blessed to consider him who -has faith.</p> - -<p>No song of lamentation has come down to us from Abraham. He did -not sadly count the days as time passed; he did not look at -Sarah with suspicious eyes, whether she was becoming old; he -did not stop the sun's course lest Sarah should grow old and -his hope with her; he did not lull her with his songs of lamentation. -Abraham grew old, and Sarah became a laughing-stock to the people; -and yet was he God's chosen, and heir to the promise that in his -seed were to be blessed all races of mankind. Were it, then, -not better if he had not been God's chosen? For what is it to -be God's chosen? Is it to have denied to one in one's youth all -the wishes of youth in order to have them fulfilled after great -labor in old age?</p> - -<p>But Abraham had faith and steadfastly lived in hope. Had Abraham -been less firm in his trust, then would he have given up that hope. -He would have said to God: "So it is, perchance, not Thy will, -after all, that this shall come to pass. I shall surrender my -hope. It was my only one, it was my bliss. I am sincere, I conceal -no secret grudge for that Thou didst deny it to me." He would not -have remained forgotten, his example would have saved many a one; -but he would not have become the Father of Faith. For it is great -to surrender one's hope, but greater still to abide by it steadfastly -after having surrendered it; for it is great to seize hold of the -eternal hope, but greater still to abide steadfastly by one's worldly -hopes after having surrendered them.</p> - -<p>Then came the fulness of time. If Abraham had not had faith, then -Sarah would probably have died of sorrow, and Abraham, dulled by -his grief, would not have understood the fulfillment, but would -have smiled about it as a dream of his youth. But Abraham had -faith, and therefore he remained young; for he who always hopes -for the best, him life will deceive, and he will grow old; and -he who is always prepared for the worst, he will soon age; but -he who has faith, he will preserve eternal youth. Praise, therefore, -be to this story! For Sarah, though advanced in age, was young -enough to wish for the pleasures of a mother, and Abraham, though -grey of hair, was young enough to wish to become a father. In a -superficial sense it may be considered miraculous that what they -wished for came to pass, but in a deeper sense the miracle of -faith is to be seen in Abraham's and Sarah's being young enough -to wish, and their faith having preserved their wish and therewith -their youth. The promise he had received was fulfilled, and he -accepted it in faith, and it came to pass according to the promise -and his faith; whereas Moses smote the rock with his staff but -believed not.</p> - -<p>There was joy in Abraham's house when Sarah celebrated the day -of her Golden Wedding.</p> - -<p>But it was not to remain thus; for once more was Abraham to be -tempted. He had struggled with that cunning power to which nothing -is impossible, with that ever watchful enemy who never sleeps, -with that old man who outlives all—he had struggled with Time -and had preserved his faith. And now all the terror of that fight -was concentrated in one moment. "And God tempted Abraham, saying to -him: take now thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get -thee into the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt -offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee off.<a name="FNanchor_2_4" id="FNanchor_2_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_4" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>"</p> - -<p>All was lost, then, and more terribly than if a son had never -been given him! The Lord had only mocked Abraham, then! Miraculously -he had realized the unreasonable hopes of Abraham; and now he wished -to take away what he had given. A foolish hope it had been, but -Abraham had not laughed when the promise had been made him. Now -all was lost—the trusting hope of seventy years, the brief joy -at the fulfillment of his hopes. Who, then, is he that snatches -away the old man's staff, who that demands that he himself shall -break it in two? Who is he that renders disconsolate the grey hair -of old age, who is he that demands that he himself shall do it? -Is there no pity for the venerable old man, and none for the -innocent child? And yet was Abraham God's chosen one, and yet -was it the Lord that tempted him. And now all was to be lost! -The glorious remembrance of him by a whole race, the promise of -Abraham's seed—all that was but a whim, a passing fancy of the -Lord, which Abraham was now to destroy forever! That glorious -treasure, as old as the faith in Abraham's heart, and many, many -years older than Isaac, the fruit of Abraham's life, sanctified -by prayers, matured in struggles—the blessing on the lips of -Abraham: this fruit was now to be plucked before the appointed -time, and to remain without significance; for of what significance -were it if Isaac was to be sacrificed? That sad and yet blessed -hour when Abraham was to take leave from all that was dear to him, -the hour when he would once more lift up his venerable head, -when his face would shine like the countenance of the Lord, the -hour when he would collect his whole soul for a blessing strong -enough to render Isaac blessed all the days of his life—that -hour was not to come! He was to say farewell to Isaac, to be -sure, but in such wise that he himself was to remain behind; -death was to part them, but in such wise that Isaac was to die. -The old man was not in happiness to lay his hand on Isaac's head -when the hour of death came, but, tired of life, to lay violent -hands on Isaac. And it was God who tempted him. Woe, woe to the -messenger who would have come before Abraham with such a command! -Who would have dared to be the messenger of such dread tidings? -But it was God that tempted Abraham.</p> - -<p>But Abraham had faith, and had faith for this life. Indeed, had -his faith been but concerning the life to come, then might he more -easily have cast away all, in order to hasten out of this world -which was not his....</p> - -<p>But Abraham had faith and doubted not, but trusted that the -improbable would come to pass. If Abraham had doubted, then would -he have undertaken something else, something great and noble; for -what could Abraham have undertaken but was great and noble! He -would have proceeded to Mount Moriah, he would have cloven the -wood, and fired it, and unsheathed his knife—he would have cried -out to God: "Despise not this sacrifice; it is not, indeed, the -best I have; for what is an old man against a child foretold of -God; but it is the best I can give thee. Let Isaac never know -that he must find consolation in his youth." He would have plunged -the steel in his own breast. And he would have been admired -throughout the world, and his name would not have been forgotten; -but it is one thing to be admired and another, to be a lode-star -which guides one troubled in mind.</p> - -<p>But Abraham had faith. He prayed not for mercy and that he might -prevail upon the Lord: it was only when just retribution was to -be visited upon Sodom and Gomorrha that Abraham ventured to beseech -Him for mercy.</p> - -<p>We read in Scripture: "And God did tempt Abraham, and said unto -him, Abraham: and he said, Behold here I am.<a name="FNanchor_3_4" id="FNanchor_3_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_4" class="fnanchor">[3]</a>" You, whom I -am now addressing did you do likewise? When you saw the dire -dispensations of Providence approach threateningly, did you not -then say to the mountains, Fall on me; and to the hills, Cover -me?<a name="FNanchor_4_3" id="FNanchor_4_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_3" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> Or, if you were stronger in faith, did not your step -linger along the way, longing for the old accustomed paths, as -it were? And when the voice called you, did you answer, then, or -not at all, and if you did, perchance in a low voice, or whispering? -Not thus Abraham, but gladly and cheerfully and trustingly, and with -a resonant voice he made answer: "Here am I." And we read further: -"And Abraham rose up early in the morning.<a name="FNanchor_5_3" id="FNanchor_5_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_3" class="fnanchor">[5]</a>" He made haste as -though for some joyous occasion, and early in the morning he was -in the appointed place, on Mount Moriah. He said nothing to Sarah, -nothing to Eliezer, his steward; for who would have understood him? -Did not his temptation by its very nature demand of him the vow of -silence? "He laid the wood in order, and bound Isaac his son, and -laid him on the altar upon the wood. And Abraham stretched forth -his hand, and took the knife to slay his son.<a name="FNanchor_6_3" id="FNanchor_6_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_3" class="fnanchor">[6]</a>" My listener! -Many a father there has been who thought that with his child he -lost the dearest of all there was in the world for him; yet -assuredly no child ever was in that sense a pledge of God as -was Isaac to Abraham. Many a father there has been who lost his -child; but then it was God, the unchangeable and inscrutable -will of the Almighty and His hand which took it. Not thus with -Abraham. For him was reserved a more severe trial, and Isaac's -fate was put into Abraham's hand together with the knife. And -there he stood, the old man, with his only hope! Yet did he not -doubt, nor look anxiously to the left or right, nor challenge -Heaven with his prayers. He knew it was God the Almighty who -now put him to the test; he knew it was the greatest sacrifice -which could be demanded of him; but he knew also that no sacrifice -was too great which God demanded—and he drew forth his knife.</p> - -<p>Who strengthened Abraham's arm, who supported his right arm that -it drooped not powerless? For he who contemplates this scene is -unnerved. Who strengthened Abraham's soul so that his eyes grew -not too dim to see either Isaac or the ram? For he who contemplates -this scene will be struck with blindness. And yet, it is rare enough -that one is unnerved or is struck with blindness, and still more -rare that one narrates worthily what there did take place between -father and son. To be sure, we know well enough—it was but -a trial!</p> - -<p>If Abraham had doubted, when standing on Mount Moriah; if he -had looked about him in perplexity; if he had accidentally discovered -the ram before drawing his knife; if God had permitted him to -sacrifice it instead of Isaac—then would he have returned home, -and all would have been as before, he would have had Sarah and -would have kept Isaac; and yet how different all would have been! -For then had his return been a flight, his salvation an accident, -his reward disgrace; his future, perchance, perdition. Then -would he have borne witness neither to his faith nor to God's -mercy, but would have witnessed only to the terror of going to -Mount Moriah. Then Abraham would not have been forgotten, nor -either Mount Moriah. It would be mentioned, then, not as is Mount -Ararat on which the Ark landed, but as a sign of terror, because -it was there Abraham doubted.</p> - -<p>Venerable patriarch Abraham! When you returned home from Mount -Moriah you required no encomiums to console you for what you had -lost; for, indeed, you did win all and still kept Isaac, as we -all know. And the Lord did no more take him from your side, but -you sate gladly at table with him in your tent as in the life to -come you will, for all times. Venerable patriarch Abraham! Thousands -of years have passed since those times, but still you need no -late-born lover to snatch your memory from the power of oblivion, -for every language remembers you—and yet do you reward your lover -more gloriously than any one, rendering him blessed in your -bosom, and taking heart and eyes captive by the marvel of your -deed. Venerable patriarch Abraham! Second father of the race! You -who first perceived and bore witness to that unbounded passion -which has but scorn for the terrible fight with the raging elements -and the strength of brute creation, in order to struggle with God; -you who first felt that sublimest of all passions, you who found -the holy, pure, humble expression for the divine madness which was -a marvel to the heathen—forgive him who would speak in your praise, -in case he did it not fittingly. He spoke humbly, as if it concerned -the desire of his heart; he spoke briefly, as is seemly; but he will -never forget that you required a hundred years to obtain a son of -your old age, against all expections; that you had to draw the knife -before being permitted to keep Isaac; he will never forget that in -a hundred and thirty years you never got farther than to faith.</p> - - - - -<h4>PRELIMINARY EXPECTORATION</h4> - - -<p>An old saying, derived from the world of experience, has it that -"he who will not work shall not eat.<a name="FNanchor_7_3" id="FNanchor_7_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_3" class="fnanchor">[7]</a>" But, strange to say, this -does not hold true in the world where it is thought applicable; for -in the world of matter the law of imperfection prevails, and we see, -again and again, that he also who will not work has bread to -eat—indeed, that he who sleeps has a greater abundance of it than -he who works. In the world of matter everything belongs to whosoever -happens to possess it; it is thrall to the law of indifference, and -he who happens to possess the Ring also has the Spirit of the Ring -at his beck and call, whether now he be Noureddin or Aladdin,<a name="FNanchor_8_3" id="FNanchor_8_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_3" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> and -he who controls the treasures of this world, controls them, howsoever -he managed to do so. It is different in the world of spirit. There, -an eternal and divine order obtains, there the rain does not fall -on the just and the unjust alike, nor does the sun shine on the good -and the evil alike;<a name="FNanchor_9_3" id="FNanchor_9_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_3" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> but there the saying does hold true that he -who will not work shall not eat, and only he who was troubled shall -find rest, and only he who descends into the nether world shall -rescue his beloved, and only he who unsheathes his knife shall be -given Isaac again. There, he who will not work shall not eat, but -shall be deceived, as the gods deceived Orpheus with an immaterial -figure instead of his beloved Euridice,<a name="FNanchor_10_3" id="FNanchor_10_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_3" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> deceived him because -he was love-sick and not courageous, deceived him because he was -a player on the cithara rather than a man. There, it avails not -to have an Abraham for one's father,<a name="FNanchor_11_3" id="FNanchor_11_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_3" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> or to have seventeen -ancestors. But in that world the saying about Israel's maidens -will hold true of him who will not work: he shall bring forth -wind;<a name="FNanchor_12_2" id="FNanchor_12_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_2" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> but he who will work shall give birth to his own father.</p> - -<p>There is a kind of learning which would presumptuously introduce -into the world of spirit the same law of indifference under which -the world of matter groans. It is thought that to know about great -men and great deeds is quite sufficient, and that other exertion -is not necessary. And therefore this learning shall not eat, but -shall perish of hunger while seeing all things transformed into -gold by its touch. And what, forsooth, does this learning really -know? There were many thousands of contemporaries, and countless -men in after times, who knew all about the triumphs of Miltiades; -but there was only one whom they rendered sleepless.<a name="FNanchor_13_2" id="FNanchor_13_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_2" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> There -have existed countless generations that knew by heart, word for -word, the story of Abraham; but how many has it rendered sleepless?</p> - -<p>Now the story of Abraham has the remarkable property of always -being glorious, in however limited a sense it is understood; still, -here also the point is whether one means to labor and exert one's -half. Now people do not care to labor and exert themselves, but -wish nevertheless to understand the story. They extol Abraham, -but how? By expressing the matter in the most general terms and -saying: "the great thing about him was that he loved God so ardently -that he was willing to sacrifice to Him his most precious possession." -That is very true; but "the most precious possession" is an indefinite -expression. As one's thoughts, and one's mouth, run on one assumes, -in a very easy fashion, the identity of Isaac and "the most precious -possession"—and meanwhile he who is meditating may smoke his -pipe, and his audience comfortably stretch out their legs. If -the rich youth whom Christ met on his way<a name="FNanchor_14_2" id="FNanchor_14_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_2" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> had sold all his -possessions and given all to the poor, we would extol him as we -extol all which is great—aye, would not understand even him -without labor; and yet would he never have become an Abraham, -notwithstanding his sacrificing the most precious possessions he -had. That which people generally forget in the story of Abraham -is his fear and anxiety; for as regards money, one is not ethically -responsible for it, whereas for his son a father has the highest -and most sacred responsibility. However, fear is a dreadful thing -for timorous spirits, so they omit it. And yet they wish to speak -of Abraham.</p> - -<p>So they keep on speaking, and in the course of their speech the -two terms Isaac and "the most precious thing" are used alternately, -and everything is in the best order. But now suppose that among -the audience there was a man who suffered with sleeplessness—and -then the most terrible and profound, the most tragic, and at the -same time the most comic, misunderstanding is within the range of -possibility. That is, suppose this man goes home and wishes to do -as did Abraham; for his son is his most precious possession. If a -certain preacher learned of this he would, perhaps, go to him, he -would gather up all his spiritual dignity and exclaim: "Thou -abominable creature, thou scum of humanity, what devil possessed -thee to wish to murder thy son?" And this preacher, who had not -felt any particular warmth, nor perspired while speaking about -Abraham, this preacher would be astonished himself at the earnest -wrath with which he poured forth his thunders against that poor -wretch; indeed, he would rejoice over himself, for never had he -spoken with such power and unction, and he would have said to -his wife: "I am an orator, the only thing I have lacked so far -was the occasion. Last Sunday, when speaking about Abraham, I -did not feel thrilled in the least."</p> - -<p>Now, if this same orator had just a bit of sense to spare, I -believe he would lose it if the sinner would reply, in a quiet -and dignified manner: "Why, it was on this very same matter -you preached, last Sunday!" But however could the preacher have -entertained such thoughts? Still, such was the case, and the -preacher's mistake was merely not knowing what he was talking -about. Ah, would that some poet might see his way clear to prefer -such a situation to the stuff and nonsense of which novels and -comedies are full! For the comic and the tragic here run parallel -to infinity. The sermon probably was ridiculous enough in itself, -but it became infinitely ridiculous through the very natural -consequence it had. Or, suppose now the sinner was converted -by this lecture without daring to raise any objection, and this -zealous divine now went home elated, glad in the consciousness -of being effective, not only in the pulpit, but chiefly, and -with irresistible power, as a spiritual guide, inspiring his -congregation on Sunday, whilst on Monday he would place himself -like a cherub with flaming sword before the man who by his actions -tried to give the lie to the old saying that "the course of the -world follows not the priest's word."</p> - -<p>If, on the other hand, the sinner were not convinced of his error -his position would become tragic. He would probably be executed, -or else sent to the lunatic asylum—at any rate, he would become -a sufferer in this world; but in another sense I should think -that Abraham rendered him happy; for he who labors, he shall not -perish.</p> - -<p>Now how shall we explain the contradiction contained in that -sermon? Is it due to Abraham's having the reputation of being -a great man—so that whatever he does is great, but if another -should undertake to do the same it is a sin, a heinous sin? If -this be the case I prefer not to participate in such thoughtless -laudations. If faith cannot make it a sacred thing to wish to -sacrifice one's son, then let the same judgment be visited on -Abraham as on any other man. And if we perchance lack the courage -to drive our thoughts to the logical conclusion and to say that -Abraham was a murderer, then it were better to acquire that -courage, rather than to waste one's time on undeserved encomiums. -The fact is, the ethical expression for what Abraham did is -that he wanted to murder Isaac; the religious, that he wanted -to sacrifice him. But precisely in this contradiction is contained -the fear which may well rob one of one's sleep. And yet Abraham -were not Abraham without this fear. Or, again, supposing Abraham -did not do what is attributed to him, if his action was an entirely -different one, based on conditions of those times, then let us -forget him; for what is the use of calling to mind that past which -can no longer become a present reality?—Or, the speaker had -perhaps forgotten the essential fact that Isaac was the son. For -if faith is eliminated, having been reduced to a mere nothing, -then only the brutal fact remains that Abraham wanted to murder -Isaac—which is easy for everybody to imitate who has not the -faith—the faith, that is, which renders it most difficult for -him....</p> - - -<p>Love has its priests in the poets, and one hears at times a poet's -voice which worthily extols it. But not a word does one hear of -faith. Who is there to speak in honor of that passion? Philosophy -"goes right on." Theology sits at the window with a painted visage -and sues for philosophy's favor, offering it her charms. It is -said to be difficult to understand the philosophy of Hegel; but -to understand Abraham, why, that is an easy matter! To proceed -further than Hegel is a wonderful feat, but to proceed further than -Abraham, why, nothing is easier! Personally, I have devoted a -considerable amount of time to a study of Hegelian philosophy -and believe I understand it fairly well; in fact, I am rash enough -to say that when, notwithstanding an effort, I am not able to -understand him in some passages, it is because he is not entirely -clear about the matter himself. All this intellectual effort I -perform easily and naturally, and it does not cause my head to -ache. On the other hand, whenever I attempt to think about Abraham -I am, as it were, overwhelmed. At every moment I am aware of -the enormous paradox which forms the content of Abraham's life, -at every moment I am repulsed, and my thought, notwithstanding -its passionate attempts, cannot penetrate into it, cannot forge -on the breadth of a hair. I strain every muscle in order to -envisage the problem—and become a paralytic in the same moment.</p> - -<p>I am by no means unacquainted with what has been admired as great -and noble, my soul feels kinship with it, being satisfied, in -all humility, that it was also my cause the hero espoused; and -when contemplating his deed I say to myself: "<i>jam tua causa -agitur.</i><a name="FNanchor_15_2" id="FNanchor_15_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_2" class="fnanchor">[15]</a>" I am able to identify myself with the hero; but I -cannot do so with Abraham, for whenever I have reached his height -I fall down again, since he confronts me as the paradox. It is -by no means my intention to maintain that faith is something -inferior, but, on the contrary, that it is the highest of all -things; also that it is dishonest in philosophy to offer something -else instead, and to pour scorn on faith; but it ought to understand -its own nature in order to know what it can offer. It should take -away nothing; least of all, fool people out of something as if -it were of no value. I am not unacquainted with the sufferings -and dangers of life, but I do not fear them, and cheerfully go -forth to meet them.... But my courage is not, for all that, the -courage of faith, and is as nothing compared with it. I cannot -carry out the movement of faith: I cannot close my eyes and -confidently plunge into the absurd—it is impossible for me; but -neither do I boast of it....</p> - -<p>Now I wonder if every one of my contemporaries is really able -to perform the movements of faith. Unless I am much mistaken -they are, rather, inclined to be proud of making what they perhaps -think me unable to do, viz., the imperfect movement. It is repugnant -to my soul to do what is so often done, to speak inhumanly about -great deeds, as if a few thousands of years were an immense space -of time. I prefer to speak about them in a human way and as though -they had been done but yesterday, to let the great deed itself -be the distance which either inspires or condemns me. Now if I, -in the capacity of tragic hero—for a higher flight I am unable -to take—if I had been summoned to such an extraordinary royal -progress as was the one to Mount Moriah, I know very well what I -would have done. I would not have been craven enough to remain -at home; neither would I have dawdled on the way; nor would I -have forgot my knife—just to draw out the end a bit. But I -am rather sure that I would have been promptly on the spot, -with every thing in order—in fact, would probably have been -there before the appointed time, so as to have the business -soon over with. But I know also what I would have done besides. -In the moment I mounted my horse I would have said to myself: -"Now all is lost, God demands Isaac, I shall sacrifice him, and -with him all my joy—but for all that, God is love and will -remain so for me; for in this world God and I cannot speak together, -we have no language in common."</p> - -<p>Possibly, one or the other of my contemporaries will be stupid -enough, and jealous enough of great deeds, to wish to persuade -himself and me that if I had acted thus I should have done something -even greater than what Abraham did; for my sublime resignation -was (he thinks) by far more ideal and poetic than Abraham's -literal-minded action. And yet this is absolutely not so, for my -sublime resignation was only a substitute for faith. I could not -have made more than the infinite movement (of resignation) to -find myself and again repose in myself. Nor would I have loved -Isaac as Abraham loved him. The fact that I was resolute enough -to resign is sufficient to prove my courage in a human sense, -and the fact that I loved him with my whole heart is the very -presupposition without which my action would be a crime; but -still I did not love as did Abraham, for else I would have hesitated -even in the last minute, without, for that matter, arriving too -late on Mount Moriah. Also, I would have spoiled the whole business -by my behavior; for if I had had Isaac restored to me I would -have been embarrassed. That which was an easy matter for Abraham -would have been difficult for me, I mean, to rejoice again in -Isaac; for he who with all the energy of his soul <i>proprio motu -et propriis auspiciis</i><a name="FNanchor_16_2" id="FNanchor_16_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_2" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> has made the infinite movement of -resignation and can do no more, he will retain possession of -Isaac only in his sorrow.</p> - -<p>But what did Abraham? He arrived neither too early nor too late. -He mounted his ass and rode slowly on his way. And all the while -he had faith, believing that God would not demand Isaac of him, -though ready all the while to sacrifice him, should it be demanded -of him. He believed this on the strength of the absurd; for there -was no question of human calculation any longer. And the absurdity -consisted in God's, who yet made this demand of him, recalling his -demand the very next moment. Abraham ascended the mountain and whilst -the knife already gleamed in his hand he believed—that God would -not demand Isaac of him. He was, to be sure, surprised at the -outcome; but by a double movement he had returned at his first -state of mind and therefore received Isaac back more gladly than -the first time....</p> - -<p>On this height, then, stands Abraham. The last stage he loses -sight of is that of infinite resignation. He does really proceed -further, he arrives at faith. For all these caricatures of faith, -wretched lukewarm sloth, which thinks: "Oh, there is no hurry, it -is not necessary to worry before the time comes"; and miserable -hopefulness, which says: "One cannot know what will happen, there -might perhaps—," all these caricatures belong to the sordid view -of life and have already fallen under the infinite scorn of infinite -resignation.</p> - -<p>Abraham, I am not able to understand; and in a certain sense I -can learn nothing from him without being struck with wonder. They -who flatter themselves that by merely considering the outcome of -Abraham's story they will necessarily arrive at faith, only deceive -themselves and wish to cheat God out of the first movement of -faith—it were tantamount to deriving worldly wisdom from the -paradox. But who knows, one or the other of them may succeed in -doing this; for our times are not satisfied with faith, and not -even with the miracle of changing water into wine—they "go -right on" changing wine into water.</p> - -<p>Is it not preferable to remain satisfied with faith, and is it -not outrageous that every one wishes to "go right on"? If people -in our times decline to be satisfied with love, as is proclaimed -from various sides, where will we finally land? In worldly shrewdness, -in mean calculation, in paltriness and baseness, in all that -which renders man's divine origin doubtful. Were it not better -to stand fast in the faith, and better that he that standeth -take heed lest he fall;<a name="FNanchor_17_2" id="FNanchor_17_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_2" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> for the movement of faith must ever -be made by virtue of the absurd, but, note well, in such wise -that one does not lose the things of this world but wholly and -entirely regains them.</p> - -<p>As far as I am concerned, I am able to describe most excellently -the movements of faith; but I cannot make them myself. When a -person wishes to learn how to swim he has himself suspended in -a swimming-belt and then goes through the motions; but that does -not mean that he can swim. In the same fashion I too can go -through the motions of faith; but when I am thrown into the -water I swim; to be sure (for I am not a wader in the shallows), -but I go through a different set of movements, to-wit, those -of infinity; whereas faith does the opposite, to-wit, makes -the movements to regain the finite after having made those of -infinite resignation. Blessed is he who can make these movements, -for he performs a marvelous feat, and I shall never weary of -admiring him, whether now it be Abraham himself or the slave -in Abraham's house, whether it be a professor of philosophy or -a poor servant-girl: it is all the same to me, for I have regard -only to the movements. But these movements I watch closely, and -I will not be deceived, whether by myself or by any one else. -The knights of infinite resignation are easily recognized, for -their gait is dancing and bold. But they who possess the jewel -of faith frequently deceive one because their bearing is curiously -like that of a class of people heartily despised by infinite -resignation as well as by faith—the philistines.</p> - -<p>Let me admit frankly that I have not in my experience encountered -any certain specimen of this type; but I do not refuse to admit -that as far as I know, every other person may be such a specimen. -At the same time I will say that I have searched vainly for years. -It is the custom of scientists to travel around the globe to see -rivers and mountains, new stars, gay-colored birds, misshapen -fish, ridiculous races of men. They abandon themselves to a -bovine stupor which gapes at existence and believe they have -seen something worth while. All this does not interest me; but -if I knew where there lived such a knight of faith I would journey -to him on foot, for that marvel occupies my thoughts exclusively. -Not a moment would I leave him out of sight, but would watch -how he makes the movements, and I would consider myself provided -for life, and would divide my time between watching him and -myself practicing the movements, and would thus use all my time -in admiring him.</p> - -<p>As I said, I have not met with such a one; but I can easily -imagine him. Here he is. I make his acquaintance and am introduced -to him. The first moment I lay my eyes on him I push him back, -leaping back myself, I hold up my hands in amazement and say -to myself: "Good Lord! that person? Is it really he—why, he -looks like a parish-beadle!" But it is really he. I become more -closely acquainted with him, watching his every movement to see -whether some trifling incongruous movement of his has escaped me, -some trace, perchance, of a signaling from the infinite, a glance, -a look, a gesture, a melancholy air, or a smile, which might -betray the presence of infinite resignation contrasting with -the finite.</p> - -<p>But no! I examine his figure from top to toe to discover whether -there be anywhere a chink through which the infinite might be -seen to peer forth. But no! he is of a piece, all through. And -how about his footing? Vigorous, altogether that of finiteness, -no citizen dressed in his very best, prepared to spend his Sunday -afternoon in the park, treads the ground more firmly. He belongs -altogether to this world, no philistine more so. There is no -trace of the somewhat exclusive and haughty demeanor which marks -off the knight of infinite resignation. He takes pleasure in all -things, is interested in everything, and perseveres in whatever -he does with the zest characteristic of persons wholly given to -worldly things. He attends to his business, and when one sees -him one might think he was a clerk who had lost his soul in -doing double bookkeeping, he is so exact. He takes a day off -on Sundays. He goes to church. But no hint of anything supernatural -or any other sign of the incommensurable betrays him, and if one -did not know him it would be impossible to distinguish him in -the congregation, for his brisk and manly singing proves only -that he has a pair of good lungs.</p> - -<p>In the afternoon he walks out to the forest. He takes delight -in all he sees, in the crowds of men and women, the new omnibuses, -the Sound—if one met him on the promenade one might think he -was some shopkeeper who was having a good time, so simple is -his joy; for he is not a poet, and in vain have I tried to lure -him into betraying some sign of the poet's detachment. Toward -evening he walks home again, with a gait as steady as that of -a mail-carrier. On his way he happens to wonder whether his -wife will have some little special warm dish ready for him, -when he comes home—as she surely has—as, for instance, a -roasted lamb's head garnished with greens. And if he met one minded -like him he is very likely to continue talking about this dish -with him till they reach the East Gate, and to talk about it -with a zest befitting a chef. As it happens, he has not four -shillings to spare, and yet he firmly believes that his wife -surely has that dish ready for him. If she has, it would be -an enviable sight for distinguished people, and an inspiring -one for common folks, to see him eat, for he has an appetite -greater than Esau's. His wife has not prepared it—strange, -he remains altogether the same.</p> - -<p>Again, on his way he passes a building lot and there meets another -man. They fall to talking, and in a trice he erects a building, -freely disposing of everything necessary. And the stranger will -leave him with the impression that he has been talking with a -capitalist—the fact being that the knight of my admiration is -busy with the thought that if it really came to the point he -would unquestionably have the means wherewithal at his disposal.</p> - -<p>Now he is lying on his elbows in the window and looking over -the square on which he lives. All that happens there, if it be -only a rat creeping into a gutter-hole, or children playing -together—everything engages his attention, and yet his mind -is at rest as though it were the mind of a girl of sixteen. He -smokes his pipe in the evening, and to look at him you would -swear it was the green-grocer from across the street who is -lounging at the window in the evening twilight. Thus he shows -as much unconcern as any worthless happy-go-lucky fellow; and -yet, every moment he lives he purchases his leisure at the highest -price, for he makes not the least movement except by virtue of -the absurd; and yet, yet—indeed, I might become furious with -anger, if for no other reason than that of envy—and yet, this -man has performed, and is performing every moment, the movement -of infinity... He has resigned everything absolutely, and then -again seized hold of it all on the strength of the absurd...</p> - -<p>But this miracle may so easily deceive one that it will be best -if I describe the movements in a given case which may illustrate -their aspect in contact with reality; and that is the important -point. Suppose, then, a young swain falls in love with a princess, -and all his life is bound up in this love. But circumstances are -such that it is out of the question to think of marrying her, an -impossibility to translate his dreams into reality. The slaves of -paltriness, the frogs in the sloughs of life, they will shout, of -course: "Such a love is folly, the rich brewer's widow is quite -as good and solid a match." Let them but croak. The knight of -infinite resignation does not follow their advice, he does not -surrender his love, not for all the riches in the world. He is -no fool, he first makes sure that this love really is the contents -of his life, for his soul is too sound and too proud to waste -itself on a mere intoxication. He is no coward, he is not afraid -to let his love insinuate itself into his most secret and most -remote thoughts, to let it wind itself in innumerable coils about -every fiber of his consciousness—if he is disappointed in his -love he will never be able to extricate himself again. He feels -a delicious pleasure in letting love thrill his every nerve, and -yet his soul is solemn as is that of him who has drained a cup -of poison and who now feels the virus mingle with every drop of -his blood, poised in that moment between life and death.</p> - -<p>Having thus imbibed love, and being wholly absorbed in it, he -does not lack the courage to try and dare all. He surveys the -whole situation, he calls together his swift thoughts which like -tame pigeons obey his every beck, he gives the signal, and they -dart in all directions. But when they return, every one bearing -a message of sorrow, and explain to him that it is impossible, -then he becomes silent, he dismisses them, he remains alone; -and then he makes the movement. Now if what I say here is to -have any significance, it is of prime importance that the movement -be made in a normal fashion. The knight of resignation is supposed -to have sufficient energy to concentrate the entire contents -of his life and the realization of existing conditions into -one single wish. But if one lacks this concentration, this devotion -to a single thought; if his soul from the very beginning is -scattered on a number of objects, he will never be able to make -the movement—he will be as worldly-wise in the conduct of his -life as the financier who invests his capital in a number of -securities to win on the one if he should lose on the other; -that is, he is no knight. Furthermore, the knight is supposed -to possess sufficient energy to concentrate all his thought into -a single act of consciousness. If he lacks this concentration he -will only run errands in life and will never be able to assume -the attitude of infinite resignation; for the very minute he -approaches it he will suddenly discover that he forgot something -so that he must remain behind. The next minute, thinks he, it -will be attainable again, and so it is; but such inhibitions -will never allow him to make the movement but will, rather, -tend to let him sink ever deeper into the mire.</p> - -<p>Our knight, then, performs the movement—which movement? Is he -intent on forgetting the whole affair, which, too, would presuppose -much concentration? No, for the knight does not contradict himself, -and it is a contradiction to forget the main contents of one's -life and still remain the same person. And he has no desire to -become another person; neither does he consider such a desire to -smack of greatness. Only lower natures forget themselves and become -something different. Thus the butterfly has forgotten that it -once was a caterpillar—who knows but it may forget altogether -that it once was a butterfly, and turn into a fish! Deeper natures -never forget themselves and never change their essential qualities. -So the knight remembers all; but precisely this remembrance is -painful. Nevertheless, in his infinite resignation he has become -reconciled with existence. His love for the princess has become -for him the expression of an eternal love, has assumed a religious -character, has been transfigured into a love for the eternal being -which, to be sure, denied him the fulfillment of his love, yet -reconciled him again by presenting him with the abiding consciousness -of his love's being preserved in an everlasting form of which no -reality can rob him....</p> - -<p>Now, he is no longer interested in what the princess may do, and -precisely this proves that he has made the movement of infinite -resignation correctly. In fact, this is a good criterion for -detecting whether a person's movement is sincere or just make-believe. -Take a person who believes that he too has resigned, but lo! -time passed, the princess did something on her part, for example, -married a prince, and then his soul lost the elasticity of its -resignation. This ought to show him that he did not make the -movement correctly, for he who has resigned absolutely is sufficient -unto himself. The knight does not cancel his resignation, but -preserves his love as fresh and young as it was at the first -moment, he never lets go of it just because his resignation is -absolute. Whatever the princess does, cannot disturb him, for it -is only the lower natures who have the law for their actions in -some other person, i.e. have the premises of their actions outside -of themselves....</p> - -<p>Infinite resignation is the last stage which goes before faith, -so that every one who has not made the movement of infinite -resignation cannot have faith; for only through absolute resignation -do I become conscious of my eternal worth, and only then can -there arise the problem of again grasping hold of this world by -virtue of faith.</p> - -<p>We will now suppose the knight of faith in the same case. He -does precisely as the other knight, he absolutely resigns the -love which is the contents of his life, he is reconciled to the -pain; but then the miraculous happens, he makes one more movement, -strange beyond comparison, saying: "And still I believe that I -shall marry her—marry her by virtue of the absurd, by virtue of -the act that to God nothing is impossible." Now the absurd is not -one of the categories which belong to the understanding proper. -It is not identical with the improbable, the unforeseen, the -unexpected. The very moment our knight resigned himself he made -sure of the absolute impossibility, in any human sense, of his -love. This was the result reached by his reflections, and he had -sufficient energy to make them. In a transcendent sense, however, -by his very resignation, the attainment of his end is not impossible; -but this very act of again taking possession of his love is at -the same time a relinquishment of it. Nevertheless this kind of -possession is by no means an absurdity to the intellect; for the -intellect all the while continues to be right, as it is aware -that in the world of finalities, in which reason rules, his -love was and is, an impossibility. The knight of faith realizes -this fully as well. Hence the only thing which can save him is -recourse to the absurd, and this recourse he has through his -faith. That is, he clearly recognizes the impossibility, and -in the same moment he believes the absurd; for if he imagined he -had faith, without at the same time recognizing, with all the -passion his soul is capable of, that his love is impossible, -he would be merely deceiving himself, and his testimony would -be of no value, since he had not arrived even at the stage of -absolute resignation....</p> - -<p>This last movement, the paradoxical movement of faith, I cannot -make, whether or no it be my duty, although I desire nothing -more ardently than to be able to make it. It must be left to -a person's discretion whether he cares to make this confession; -and at any rate, it is a matter between him and the Eternal Being, -who is the object of his faith, whether an amicable adjustment -can be affected. But what every person can do is to make the -movement of absolute resignation, and I for my part would not -hesitate to declare him a coward who imagines he cannot perform -it. It is a different matter with faith. But what no person has -a right to, is to delude others into the belief that faith is -something of no great significance, or that it is an easy matter, -whereas it is the greatest and most difficult of all things.</p> - -<p>But the story of Abraham is generally interpreted in a different -way. God's mercy is praised which restored Isaac to him—it -was but a trial! A trial. This word may mean much or little, -and yet the whole of it passes off as quickly as the story is -told: one mounts a winged horse, in the same instant one arrives -on Mount Moriah, and <i>presto</i> one sees the ram. It is not remembered -that Abraham only rode on an ass which travels but slowly, that -it was a three days' journey for him, and that he required some -additional time to collect the firewood, to bind Isaac, and to -whet his knife.</p> - -<p>And yet one extols Abraham. He who is to preach the sermon may -sleep comfortably until a quarter of an hour before he is to -preach it, and the listener may comfortably sleep during the -sermon, for everything is made easy enough, without much exertion -either to preacher or listener. But now suppose a man was present -who suffered with sleeplessness and who went home and sat in a -corner and reflected as follows: "The whole lasted but a minute, -you need only wait a little while, and then the ram will be shown -and the trial will be over." Now if the preacher should find -him in this frame of mind, I believe he would confront him -in all his dignity and say to him: "Wretch that thou art, to -let thy soul lapse into such folly; miracles do not happen, all -life is a trial." And as he proceeded he would grow more and -more passionate, and would become ever more satisfied with himself; -and whereas he had not noticed any congestion in his head whilst -preaching about Abraham, he now feels the veins on his forehead -swell. Yet who knows but he would stand aghast if the sinner -should answer him in a quiet and dignified manner that it was -precisely this about which he preached the Sunday before.</p> - -<p>Let us then either waive the whole story of Abraham, or else -learn to stand in awe of the enormous paradox which constitutes -his significance for us, so that we may learn to understand that -our age, like every age, may rejoice if it has faith. If the -story of Abraham is not a mere nothing, an illusion, or if it -is just used for show and as a pastime, the mistake cannot by -any means be in the sinner's wishing to do likewise; but it is -necessary to find out how great was the deed which Abraham performed, -in order that the man may judge for himself whether he has the -courage and the mission to do likewise. The comical contradiction -in the procedure of the preacher was his reduction of the story of -Abraham to insignificance whereas he rebuked the other man for -doing the very same thing.</p> - -<p>But should we then cease to speak about Abraham? I certainly -think not. But if I were to speak about him I would first of -all describe the terrors of his trial. To that end leech-like -I would suck all the suffering and distress out of the anguish -of a father, in order to be able to describe what Abraham suffered -whilst yet preserving his faith. I would remind the hearer that -the journey lasted three days and a goodly part of the fourth—in -fact, these three and a half days ought to become infinitely -longer than the few thousand years which separate me from Abraham. -I would remind him, as I think right, that every person is still -permitted to turn about-before trying his strength on this formidable -task; in fact, that he may return every instant in repentance. -Provided this is done, I fear for nothing. Nor do I fear to -awaken great desire among people to attempt to emulate Abraham. -But to get out a cheap edition of Abraham and yet forbid every -one to do as he did, that I call ridiculous.<a name="FNanchor_18_2" id="FNanchor_18_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_2" class="fnanchor">[18]</a></p> - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_4" id="Footnote_1_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_4"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>Freely afetr Genesis 22.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_4" id="Footnote_2_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_4"><span class="label">[2]</span></a>Genesis 20, 11 f.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_4" id="Footnote_3_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_4"><span class="label">[3]</span></a>Genesis 22, 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_3" id="Footnote_4_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_3"><span class="label">[4]</span></a>Luke 23, 30.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_3" id="Footnote_5_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_3"><span class="label">[5]</span></a>Genesis 22, 3.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_3" id="Footnote_6_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_3"><span class="label">[6]</span></a>Genesis 22, 9.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7_3" id="Footnote_7_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_3"><span class="label">[7]</span></a><i>Cf.</i> Thessalonians 3, 10.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8_3" id="Footnote_8_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_3"><span class="label">[8]</span></a>In <i>Aladdin</i>, Oehlenschläger's famous dramatic poem, Aladdin, "the -cheerful son of nature," is contrasted with Noureddin, representing -the gloom of doubt and night.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9_3" id="Footnote_9_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_3"><span class="label">[9]</span></a>Matthew 5, 45.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_10_3" id="Footnote_10_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_3"><span class="label">[10]</span></a><i>Cf.</i> not the legend but Plato's <i>Symposion.</i></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_11_3" id="Footnote_11_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_3"><span class="label">[11]</span></a>Matthew 3, 9.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_12_2" id="Footnote_12_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_2"><span class="label">[12]</span></a>Isaiah 26, 18.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_13_2" id="Footnote_13_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_2"><span class="label">[13]</span></a>Themistocles, that is; see Plutarch, Lives.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_14_2" id="Footnote_14_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_2"><span class="label">[14]</span></a>Matthew 19, 16f.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_15_2" id="Footnote_15_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_2"><span class="label">[15]</span></a>Your cause, too, is at stake.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_16_2" id="Footnote_16_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_2"><span class="label">[16]</span></a>By his own impulse and on his own responsibility.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_17_2" id="Footnote_17_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_2"><span class="label">[17]</span></a><i>Cf.</i> I Cor. 10, 12.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_18_2" id="Footnote_18_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_2"><span class="label">[18]</span></a>The above, with the omissions indicated, constitutes about one-third -of "Fear and Trembling."</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - -<h4><a id="PREPARATION_FOR_A_CHRISTIAN_LIFE">PREPARATION FOR A CHRISTIAN LIFE</a></h4> - - - - -<h4>I<a name="FNanchor_1_5" id="FNanchor_1_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_5" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></h4> - - -<p class="center">"COME HITHER UNTO ME, ALL YE THAT LABOR AND ARE HEAVY LADEN, AND I WILL -GIVE YOU REST." (MATTHEW 11, 28.)</p> - - - - -<h4>THE INVITATION</h4> - - -<p>"Come hither!"—It is not at all strange if he who is in danger -and needs help—speedy, immediate help, perhaps—it is not -strange if he cries out: "come hither"! Nor it is strange that a quack -cries his wares: "come hither, I cure all maladies"; alas, for -in the case of the quack it is only too true that it is the -physician who has need of the sick. "Come hither all ye who -at extortionate prices can pay for the cure—or at any rate -for the medicine; here is physic for everybody—who can pay; -come hither!"</p> - -<p>In all other cases, however, it is generally true that he who -can help must be sought; and, when found, may be difficult of -access; and, if access is had, his help may have to be implored -a long time; and when his help has been implored a long time, -he may be moved only with difficulty, that is, he sets a high -price on his services; and sometimes, precisely when he refuses -payment or generously asks for none, it is only an expression -of how infinitely high he values his services. On the other hand, -he<a name="FNanchor_2_5" id="FNanchor_2_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_5" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> who sacrificed himself, he sacrifices himself, here too; -it is indeed he who seeks those in need of help, is himself the -one who goes about and calls, almost imploringly: "come hither!" -He, the only one who can help, and help with what alone is indispensable, -and can save from the one truly mortal disease, he does not -wait for people to come to him, but comes himself, without having -been called; for it is he who calls out to them, it is he who -holds out help—and what help! Indeed, that simple sage of -antiquity<a name="FNanchor_3_5" id="FNanchor_3_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_5" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> was as infinitely right as the majority who do the opposite -are wrong, in setting no great price, whether on himself or his -instruction; even if he thus in a certain sense proudly expressed -the utter difference in kind between payment and his services. -But he was not so solicitous as to beg any one to come to him, -notwithstanding—or shall I say because?—he was not altogether -sure what his help signified; for the more sure one is that his -help is the only one obtainable, the more reason has he, in a -human sense, to ask a great price for it; and the less sure one -is, the more reason has he to offer freely the possible help -he has, in order to do at least something for others. But he -who calls himself the Savior, and knows that he is, he calls -out solicitously: "come hither unto me!"</p> - - -<p>"Come hither all ye!"—Strange! For if he who, when it comes -to the point, perhaps cannot help a single one—if such a one -should boastfully invite everybody, that would not seem so -very strange, man's nature being such as it is. But if a man -is absolutely sure of being able to help, and at the same time -willing to help, willing to devote his all in doing so, and with -all sacrifices, then he generally makes at least one reservation; -which is, to make a choice among those he means to help. That -is, however willing one may be, still it is not everybody one -cares to help; one does not care to sacrifice one's self to -that extent. But he, the only one who can really help, and really -help everybody—the only one, therefore, who really can invite -everybody—he makes no conditions whatever; but utters the invitation -which, from the beginning of the world, seems to have been reserved -for him: "Come hither all ye!" Ah, human self-sacrifice, even when -thou art most beautiful and noble, when we admire thee most: this -is a sacrifice still greater, which is, to sacrifice every provision -for one's own self, so that in one's willingness to help there is -not even the least partiality. Ah, the love that sets no price on -one's self, that makes one forget altogether that he is the -helper, and makes one altogether blind as to who it is one helps, -but infinitely careful only that he be a sufferer, whatever else he -may be; and thus willing unconditionally to help everybody—different, -alas! in this from everybody!</p> - -<p>"Come hither unto me!" Strange! For human compassion also, and -willingly, does something for them that labor and are heavy laden; -one feeds the hungry, clothes the naked, makes charitable gifts, -builds charitable institutions, and if the compassion be heartfelt, -perhaps even visits those that labor and are heavy laden. But to -invite them to come to one, that will never do, because then all -one's household and manner of living would have to be changed. -For a man cannot himself live in abundance, or at any rate in -well-being and happiness, and at the same time dwell in one and -the same house together with, and in daily intercourse with, the -poor and miserable, with them that labor and are heavy laden! In -order to be able to invite them in such wise, a man must himself -live altogether in the same way, as poor as the poorest, as lowly -as the lowliest, familiar with the sorrows and sufferings of life, -and altogether belonging to the same station as they whom he invites, -that is, they who labor and are heavy laden. If he wishes to -invite a sufferer, he must either change his own condition to be -like that of the sufferer, or else change that of the sufferer to -be like his own; for if this is not done the difference will -stand out only the more by contrast. And if you wish to invite -all those who suffer—for you may make an exception with one of -them and change his condition—it can be done only in one way, -which is, to change your condition so as to live as they do; -provided your life be not already lived thus, as was the case -with Him who said: "Come hither unto me, all ye that labor and -are heavy laden!" Thus said he; and they who lived with him -saw him, and behold! there was not even the least thing in his -manner of life to contradict it. With the silent and truthful -eloquence of actual performance his life expresses—even though -he had never in his life said these words—his life expresses: -"Come hither, unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden"! -He abides by his word, or he himself is the word; he is what he -says, and also in this sense he is the Word.<a name="FNanchor_4_5" id="FNanchor_4_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_5" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> - - -<p>"All ye that labor and are heavy laden." Strange! His only concern -is lest there be a single one who labors and is heavy laden who -does not hear this invitation. Neither does he fear that too many -will come. Ah, heart-room makes house-room; but where wilt thou -find heart-room, if not in his heart? He leaves it to each one how -to understand his invitation: he has a clear conscience about -it, for he has invited all those that labor and are heavy laden.</p> - -<p>But what means it, then, to labor and be heavy laden? Why does -he not offer a clearer explanation so that one may know exactly -whom he means, and why is he so chary of his words? Ah, thou -narrow-minded one, he is so chary of his words, lest he be narrow-minded; -and thou narrow-hearted one, he is so chary of his words lest -he be narrow-hearted. For such is his love—and love has regard -to all—as to prevent any one from troubling and searching his -heart whether he too be among those invited. And he who would -insist on a more definite explanation, is he not likely to be -some self-loving person who is calculating whether this explanation -does not particularly fit himself; one who does not consider that -the more of such exact explanations are offered, the more certainly -some few would be left in doubt as to whether they were invited? -Ah man, why does thine eye see only thyself, why is it evil because -he is good?<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> The invitation to all men opens the arms of him -who invites, and thus he stands of aspect everlasting; but no -sooner is a closer explanation attempted which might help one -or the other to another kind of certainty, than his aspect would -be transformed and, as it were, a shadow of change would pass -over his countenance.</p> - -<p>"I will give you rest." Strange! For then the words "come hither -unto me" must be understood to mean: stay with me, I am rest; -or, it is rest to remain with me. It is not, then, as in other -cases where he who helps and says "come hither" must afterwards -say: "now depart again," explaining to each one where the help -he needs is to be found, where the healing herb grows which will -cure him, or where the quiet spot is found where he may rest -from labor, or where the happier continent exists where one is -not heavy laden. But no, he who opens his arms, inviting every -one—ah, if all, all they that labor and are heavy laden came -to him, he would fold them all to his heart, saying: "stay with -me now; for to stay with me is rest." The helper himself is the -help. Ah, strange, he who invites everybody and wishes to help -everybody, his manner of treating the sick is as if calculated -for every sick man, and as if every sick man who comes to him -were his only patient. For otherwise a physician divides his -time among many patients who, however great their number, still -are far, far from being all mankind. He will prescribe the medicine, -he will say what is to be done, and how it is to be used, and -then he will go—to some other patient; or, in case the patient -should visit him, he will let him depart. The physician cannot -remain sitting all day with one patient, and still less can he -have all his patients about him in his home, and yet sit all -day with one patient without neglecting the others. For this -reason the helper and his help are not one and the same thing. -The help which the physician prescribes is kept with him by the -patient all day so that he may constantly use it, whilst the -physician visits him now and again; or he visits the physician -now and again. But if the helper is also the help, why, then -he will stay with the sick man all day, or the sick man with -him—ah, strange that it is just this helper who invites all men!</p> - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p class="center">COME HITHER ALL YE THAT LABOR AND ARE HEAVY LADEN, -AND I WILL GIVE YOU REST.</p> - - -<p>What enormous multiplicity, what an almost boundless diversity, -of people invited; for a man, a lowly man, may, indeed, try to -enumerate only a few of these diversities—but he who invites -must invite all men, even if every one specially and individually.</p> - - -<p>The invitation goes forth, then—along the highways and the -byways, and along the loneliest paths; aye, goes forth where -there is a path so lonely that one man only, and no one else, -knows of it, and goes forth where there is but one track, the -track of the wretched one who fled along that path with his -misery, that and no other track; goes forth even where there is -no path to show how one may return: even there the invitation -penetrates and by itself easily and surely finds its way back—most -easily, indeed, when it brings the fugitive along to him that -issued the invitation. Come hither, come hither all ye, also -thou, and thou, and thou, too, thou loneliest of all fugitives!</p> - -<p>Thus the invitation goes forth and remains standing, wheresoever -there is a parting of the ways, in order to call out. Ah, just -as the trumpet call of the soldiers is directed to the four -quarters of the globe, likewise does this invitation sound wherever -there is a meeting of roads; with no uncertain sound—for who -would then come?—but with the certitude of eternity.</p> - -<p>It stands by the parting of the ways where worldly and earthly -sufferings have set down their crosses, and calls out: Come -hither, all ye poor and wretched ones, ye who in poverty must -slave in order to assure yourselves, not of a care-free, but of -a toilsome, future; ah, bitter contradiction, to have to slave -for—assuring one's self of that under which one groans, of that -which one flees! Ye despised and overlooked ones, about whose -existence no one, aye, no one is concerned, not so much even as -about some domestic animal which is of greater value! Ye sick, -and halt, and blind, and deaf, and crippled, come hither!—Ye -bed-ridden, aye, come hither, ye too; for the invitation makes -bold to invite even the bed-ridden—to come! Ye lepers; for the -invitation breaks down all differences in order to unite all, -it wishes to make good the hardship caused by the difference -in men, the difference which seats one as a ruler over millions, -in possession of all gifts of fortune, and drives another one -out into the wilderness—and why? (ah, the cruelty of it!) because -(ah, the cruel human inference!) because he is wretched, indescribably -wretched. Why then? Because he stands in need of help, or at -any rate, of compassion. And why, then? Because human compassion -is a wretched thing which is cruel when there is the greatest -need of being compassionate, and compassionate only when, at -bottom, it is not true compassion! Ye sick of heart, ye who only -through your anguish learned to know that a man's heart and an -animal's heart are two different things, and what it means to be -sick at heart—what it means when the physician may be right in -declaring one sound of heart and yet heart-sick; ye whom faithlessness -deceived and whom human sympathy—for the sympathy of man is -rarely late in coming—whom human sympathy made a target for -mockery; all ye wronged and aggrieved and ill-used; all ye noble -ones who, as any and everybody will be able to tell you, deservedly -reap the reward of ingratitude (for why were ye simple enough -to be noble, why foolish enough to be kindly, and disinterested, -and faithful)—all ye victims of cunning, of deceit, of backbiting, -of envy, whom baseness chose as its victim and cowardice left -in the lurch, whether now ye be sacrificed in remote and lonely -places, after having crept away in order to die, or whether ye -be trampled underfoot in the thronging crowds where no one asks -what rights ye have, and no one, what wrongs ye suffer, and no -one, where ye smart or how ye smart, whilst the crowd with brute -force tramples you into the dust—come ye hither!</p> - -<p>The invitation stands at the parting of the ways, where death -parts death and life. Come hither all ye that sorrow and ye that -vainly labor! For indeed there is rest in the grave; but to sit -by a grave, or to stand by a grave, or to visit a grave, all that -is far from lying in the grave; and to read to one's self again -and again one's own words which one knows by heart, the epitaph -which one devised one's self and understands best, namely, who -it is that lies buried here, all that is not the same as to lie -buried one's self. In the grave there Is rest, but by the grave -there is no rest; for it is said: so far and no farther, and so -you may as well go home again. But however often, whether in your -thoughts or in fact, you return to that grave—you will never get -any farther, you will not get away from the spot, and this is -very trying and is by no means rest. Come ye hither, therefore: -here is the way by which one may go farther, here is rest by -the grave, rest from the sorrow over loss, or rest in the sorrow -of loss—through him who everlastingly re-unites those that are -parted, and more firmly than nature unites parents with their -children, and children with their parents—for, alas! they were -parted; and more closely than the minister unites husband and -wife—for, alas! their separation did come to pass; and more -indissolubly than the bond of friendship unites friend with -friend—for, alas! it was broken. Separation penetrated everywhere -and brought with it sorrow and unrest; but here is rest!—Come -hither also ye who had your abodes assigned to you among the -graves, ye who are considered dead to human society, but neither -missed nor mourned—not buried and yet dead; that is, belonging -neither to life nor to death; ye, alas! to whom human society -cruelly closed its doors and for whom no grave has as yet opened -itself in pity—come hither, ye also, here is rest, and here is -life!</p> - -<p>The invitation stands at the parting of the ways, where the road -of sin turns away from the inclosure of innocence—ah, come hither, -ye are so close to him; but a single step in the opposite direction, -and ye are infinitely far from him. Very possibly ye do not yet -stand in need of rest, nor grasp fully what that means; but still -follow the invitation, so that he who invites may save you from -a predicament out of which it is so difficult and dangerous to -be saved; and so that, being saved, ye may stay with him who is -the Savior of all, likewise of innocence. For even if it were -possible that innocence be found somewhere, and altogether pure: -why should not innocence also need a savior to keep it safe from -evil?—The invitation stands at the parting of the ways, where -the road of sin turns away to enter more deeply into sin. Come -hither all ye who have strayed and have been lost, whatever may -have been your error and sin: whether one more pardonable in the -sight of man and nevertheless perhaps more frightful, or one -more terrible in the sight of man and yet, perchance, more pardonable; -whether it be one which became known here on earth or one which, -though hidden, yet is known in heaven—and even if ye found -pardon here on earth without finding rest in your souls, or -found no pardon because ye did not seek it, or because ye sought -it in vain: ah, return and come hither, here is rest!</p> - -<p>The invitation stands at the parting of the ways, where the -road of sin turns away for the last time and to the eye is lost -in perdition. Ah, return, return, and come hither! Do not shrink -from the difficulties of the retreat, however great; do not fear -the irksome way of conversion, however laboriously it may lead -to salvation; whereas sin with winged speed and growing pace -leads forward or—downward, so easily, so indescribably easy—as -easily, in fact, as when a horse, altogether freed from having -to pull, cannot even with all his might stop the vehicle which -pushes him into the abyss. Do not despair over each relapse which -the God of patience has patience enough to pardon, and which a -sinner should surely have patience enough to humble himself under. -Nay, fear nothing and despair not: he that sayeth "come hither," -he is with you on the way, from him come help and pardon on that -way of conversion which leads to him; and with him is rest.</p> - -<p>Come hither all, all ye—with him is rest; and he will raise no -difficulties, he does but one thing: he opens his arms. He will -not first ask you, you sufferer—as righteous men, alas, are -accustomed to, even when willing to help—"Are you not perhaps -yourself the cause of your misfortune, have you nothing with -which to reproach yourself?" It is so easy to fall into this -very human error, and from appearances to judge a man's success -or failure: for instance, if a man is a cripple, or deformed, -or has an unprepossessing appearance, to infer that therefore -he is a bad man; or, when a man is unfortunate enough to suffer -reverses so as to be ruined or so as to go down in the world, -to infer that therefore he is a vicious man. Ah, and this is -such an exquisitely cruel pleasure, this being conscious of -one's own righteousness as against the sufferer—explaining his -afflictions as God's punishment, so that one does not even—dare -to help him; or asking him that question which condemns him -and flatters our own righteousness, before helping him. But -he will not ask you thus, will not in such cruel fashion be -your benefactor. And if you are yourself conscious of your sin -he will not ask about it, will not break still further the bent -reed, but raise you up, if you will but join him. He will not -point you out by way of contrast, and place you outside of himself, -so that your sin will stand out as still more terrible, but he -will grant you a hiding place within him; and hidden within him -your sins will be hidden. For he is the friend of sinners. Let -him but behold a sinner, and he not only stands still, opening -his arms and saying "come hither," nay, but he stands—and waits, -as did the father of the prodigal son; or he does not merely -remain standing and waiting, but goes out to search, as the -shepherd went forth to search for the strayed sheep, or as the -woman went to search for the lost piece of silver. He goes—nay, -he has gone, but an infinitely longer way than any shepherd or -any woman, for did he not go the infinitely long way from being -God to becoming man, which he did to seek sinners?</p> - - - - -<h4>III</h4> - - - - -<p class="center">COME HITHER UNTO ME ALL YE THAT LABOR AND ARE HEAVY -LADEN, AND I WILL GIVE YOU REST.</p> - - -<p>"Come hither!" For he supposes that they that labor and are -heavy laden feel their burden and their labor, and that they -stand there now, perplexed and sighing—one casting about with -his eyes to discover whether there is help in sight anywhere; -another with his eyes fixed on the ground, because he can see -no consolation; and a third with his eyes staring heavenward, -as though help was bound to come from heaven—but all seeking. -Therefore he sayeth: "come hither!" But he invites not him who -has ceased to seek and to sorrow.—"Come hither!" For he who -invites knows that it is a mark of true suffering, if one walks -alone and broods in silent disconsolateness, without courage to -confide in any one, and with even less self-confidence to dare -to hope for help. Alas, not only he whom we read about was possessed -of a dumb devil.<a name="FNanchor_6_5" id="FNanchor_6_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_5" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> No suffering which does not first of all -render the sufferer dumb is of much significance, no more than -the love which does not render one silent; for those sufferers -who run on about their afflictions neither labor nor are heavy -laden. Behold, therefore the inviter will not wait till they -that labor and are heavy laden come to him, but calls them lovingly; -for all his willingness to help might, perhaps, be of no avail -if he did not say these words and thereby take the first step; -for in the call of these words: "come hither unto me!" he comes -himself to them. Ah, human compassion—sometimes, perhaps, it is -indeed praiseworthy self-restraint, sometimes, perhaps, even true -compassion, which may cause you to refrain from questioning him -whom you suppose to be brooding over a hidden affliction; but -also, how often indeed is this compassion but worldly wisdom which -does not care to know too much! Ah, human'compassion—how often -was it not pure curiosity, and not compassion, which prompted -you to venture into the secret of one afflicted; and how burdensome -it was—almost like a punishment of your curiosity—when -he accepted your invitation and came to you! But he who sayeth -these redeeming words "Come hither!" he is not deceiving himself -in saying these words, nor will he deceive you when you come -to him in order to find rest by throwing your burden on him. -He follows the promptings of his heart in saying these words, -and his heart follows his words; if you then follow these words, -they will follow you back again to his heart. This follows as a -matter of course—ah, will you not follow the invitation?—"Come -hither!" For he supposes that they that labor and are heavy -laden are so worn out and overtaxed, and so near swooning that -they have forgotten, as though in a stupor, that there is such -a thing as consolation. Alas, or he knows for sure that there -is no consolation and no help unless it is sought from him; and -therefore must he call out to them "Come hither!"</p> - - -<p>"Come hither!" For is it not so that every society has some -symbol or token which is worn by those who belong to it? When -a young girl is adorned in a certain manner one knows that she -is going to the dance: Come hither all ye that labor and are -heavy laden—come hither! You need not carry an external and -visible badge; come but with your head anointed and your face -washed, if only you labor in your heart and are heavy laden.</p> - - -<p>"Come hither!" Ah, do not stand still and consider; nay, consider, -consider that with every moment you stand still after having -heard the invitation you will hear the call more faintly and thus -withdraw from it, even though you are standing still.—"Come -hither!" Ah, however weary and faint you be from work, or from -the long, long and yet hitherto fruitless search for help and -salvation, and even though you may feel as if you could not -take one more step, and not wait one more moment, without dropping -to the ground: ah, but this one step and here is rest!—"Come -hither!" But if, alas, there be one who is so wretched that -he cannot come?—Ah, a sigh is sufficient; your mere sighing -or him is also to come hither.</p> - - - - -<h4>THE PAUSE</h4> - - -<p class="center">COME HITHER UNTO ME ALL YE THAT LABOR AND ARE HEAVY -LADEN, AND I SHALL GIVE YOU REST.</p> - - -<p>Pause now! But what is there to give pause? That which in the -same instant makes all undergo an absolute change—so that, -instead of seeing an immense throng ofthem that labor and are -heavy laden following the invitation, you will in the end behold -the very opposite, that is, an immense throng of men who flee -back shudderingly, scrambling to get away, trampling all down -before them; so that, if one were to infer the sense of what -had been said from the result it produced, one would have to -infer that the words had been "<i>procul o procul este profani</i>," -rather than "come hither"—that gives pause which is infinitely -more important and infinitely more decisive: THE PERSON OF HIM -WHO INVITES. Not in the sense that he is not the man to do what -he has said, or not God, to keep what he has promised; no, in -a very different sense.</p> - - -<p>Pause is given by the fact that he who invites is, and insists -on being, the definite historic person he was 1800 years ago, -and that he as this definite person, and living under the conditions -then obtaining, spoke these words of invitation.—He is not, and -does not wish to be, one about whom one may simply know something -from history (i.e. world history, history proper, as against -Sacred History); for from history one cannot "learn" anything -about him, the simple reason being that nothing can be "known" -about him.—He does not wish to be judged in a human way, from -the results of his life; that is, he is and wishes to be, a -rock of offense and the object of faith. To judge him after -the consequences of his life is a blasphemy, for being God, his -life, and the very fact that he was then living and really did -live, is infinitely more important than all the consequences of -it in history.</p> - - - - -<h4><i>A.</i> Who spoke these words of invitation?</h4> - - -<p>He that invites. Who is he? Jesus Christ. Which Jesus Christ? -He that sits in glory on the right side of his Father? No. From -his seat of glory he spoke not a single word. Therefore it is -Jesus Christ in his lowliness, and in the condition of lowliness, -who spoke these words.</p> - -<p>Is then Jesus Christ not the same? Yes, verily, he is today, and -was yesterday, and 1800 years ago, the same who abased himself, -assuming the form of a servant—the Jesus Christ who spake these -words of invitation. It is also he who hath said that he would -return again in glory. In his return in glory he is, again, the -same Jesus Christ; but this has not yet come to pass.</p> - -<p>Is he then not in glory now? Assuredly, that the Christian believes. -But it was in his lowly condition that he spoke these words; he -did not speak them from his glory. And about his return in glory -nothing can be known, for this can in the strictest sense be a -matter of belief only. But a believer one cannot become except -by having gone to him in his lowly condition—to him, the rock -of offense and the object of faith. In other shape he does not -exist, for only thus did he exist. That he will return in glory -is indeed expected, but can be expected and believed only by him -who believes, and has believed, in him as he was here on earth.</p> - -<p>Jesus Christ is, then, the same; yet lived he 1800 years ago in -debasement, and is transfigured only at his return. As yet he -has not returned; therefore he is still the one in lowly guise -about whom we believe that he will return in glory. Whatever he -said and taught, every word he spoke, becomes <i>eo ipso</i> untrue -if we give it the appearance of having been spoken by Christ in -his glory. Nay, he is silent. It is the lowly Christ who speaks. -The space of time between (i.e. between his debasement and his -return in glory) which is at present about 1800 years, and will -possibly become many times 1800—this space of time, or else -what this space of time tries to make of Christ, the worldly -information about him furnished by world history or church history, -as to who Christ was, as to who it was who really spoke these -words—all this does not concern us, is neither here nor there, -but only serves to corrupt our conception of him, arid thereby -renders untrue these words of invitation.</p> - -<p>It is untruthful of me to impute to a person words which he -never used. But it is likewise untruthful, and the words he used -likewise become untruthful, or it becomes untrue that he used -them, if I assign to him a nature essentially unlike the one -he had when he did use them. Essentially unlike; for an untruth -concerning this or the other trifling circumstance will not make -it untrue that "he" said them. And therefore, if it please God -to walk on earth in such strict incognito as only one all-powerful -can assume, in guise impenetrable to all men; if it please him—and -why he does it, for what purpose, that he knows best himself; -but whatever the reason and the purpose, it is certain that -the incognito is of essential significance—I say, if it please -God to walk on earth in the guise of a servant and, to judge -from his appearance, exactly like any other man; if it please -him to teach men in this guise—if, now, any one repeats his -very words, but gives the saying the appearance that it was -God that spoke these words: then it is untruthful; for it is -untrue that h e said these words.</p> - - - - -<h4><i>B.</i> Can one from history<a name="FNanchor_7_5" id="FNanchor_7_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_5" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> learn to know anything about Christ?</h4> - - -<p>No. And why not? Because one cannot "know" anything at all about -"Christ"; for he is the paradox, the object of faith, and exists -only for faith. But all historic information is communication of -"knowledge." Therefore one cannot learn anything about Christ -from history. For whether now one learn little or much about him, -it will not represent what he was in reality. Hence one learns -something else about him than what is strictly true, and therefore -learns nothing about him, or gets to know something wrong about -him; that is, one is deceived. History makes Christ look different -from what he looked in truth, and thus one learns much from history -about—Christ? No, not about Christ; because about him nothing -can be "known," he can only be believed.</p> - - - - -<h4><i>C.</i> Can one prove from history that Christ was God?</h4> - - -<p>Let me first ask another question: is any more absurd contradiction -thinkable than wishing to prove (no matter, for the present, -whether one wishes to do so from history, or from whatever else -in the wide world one wishes to prove it) that a certain person -is God? To maintain that a certain person is God—that is, professes -to be God—is indeed a stumbling block in the purest sense. But -what is the nature of a stumbling block? It is an assertion -which is at variance with all (human) reason. Now think of proving -that! But to prove something is to render it reasonable and real. -Is it possible, then, to render reasonable and real what is at -variance with all reason? Scarcely; unless one wishes to contradict -one's self. One can prove only that it is at variance with all -reason. The proofs for the divinity of Christ given in Scripture, -such as the miracles and his resurrection from the grave exist, -too, only for faith; that is, they are no "proofs," for they are -not meant to prove that all this agrees with reason but, on the -contrary, are meant to prove that it is at variance with reason -and therefore a matter of faith.</p> - -<p>First, then, let us take up the proofs from history. "Is it not -1800 years ago now that Christ lived, is not his name proclaimed -and reverenced throughout the world, has not his teaching (Christianity) -changed the aspect of the world, having victoriously affected -all affairs: has then history not sufficiently, or more than -sufficiently, made good its claim as to who he was, and that -he was—God?" No, indeed, history has by no means sufficiently, -or more than sufficiently, made good its claim, and in fact -history cannot accomplish this in all eternity. However, as -to the first part of the statement, it is true enough that his -name is proclaimed throughout the world—as to whether it is -reverenced, that I do not presume to decide. Also, it is true -enough that Christianity has transformed the aspect of the world, -having victoriously affected all affairs, so victoriously indeed, -that everybody now claims to be a Christian.</p> - -<p>But what does this prove? It proves, at most, that Jesus Christ -was a great man, the greatest, perhaps, who ever lived. But that -he was God—stop now, that conclusion shall with God's help fall -to the ground.</p> - -<p>Now, if one intends to introduce this conclusion by assuming that -Jesus Christ was a man, and then considers the 1800 years of -history (i.e. the consequences of his life), one may indeed -conclude with a constantly rising superlative: he was great, -greater, the greatest, extraordinarily and astonishingly the -greatest man who ever lived. If one begins, on the other hand, -with the assumption (of faith) that he was God, one has by so -doing stricken out and car celled the 1800 years as not making -the slightest difference, one way or the other, because the -certainty of faith is on an infinitely higher plane. And one -course or the other one must take; but we shall arrive at sensible -conclusions only if we take the latter.</p> - -<p>If one takes the former course one will find it impossible—unless -by committing the logical error of passing over into a different -category—one will find it impossible in the conclusion suddenly -to arrive at the new category "God"; that is, one cannot make -the consequence, or consequences, of—a man's life suddenly -prove at a certain point in the argument that this man was God. -If such a procedure were correct one ought to be able to answer -satisfactorily a question like this: what must the consequence -be, how great the effects, how many centuries must elapse, in -order to infer from the consequences of a man's life—for such -was the assumption—that he was God; or whether it is really -the case that in the year 300 Christ had not yet been entirely -proved to be God, though certainly the most extraordinarily, -astonishingly, greatest man who had ever lived, but that a few -more centuries would be necessary to prove that he was God. In -that case we would be obliged to infer that people in the fourth -century did not look upon Christ as God, and still less they -who lived in the first century; whereas the certainty that he -was God would grow with every century. Also, that in our century -this certainty would be greater than it had ever been, a certainty -in comparison with which the first centuries hardly so much as -glimpsed his divinity. You may answer this question or not, it -does not matter.</p> - -<p>In general, is it at all possible by the consideration of the -gradually unfolding consequences of something to arrive at a -conclusion different in quality from what we started with? Is -it not sheer insanity (providing man is sane) to let one's judgment -become so altogether confused as to land in the wrong category? -And if one begins with such a mistake, then how will one be able, -at any subsequent point, to infer from the consequences of something, -that one has to deal with an altogether different, in fact, -infinitely different, category? A foot-print certainly is the -consequence of some creature having made it. Now I may mistake -the track for that of, let us say, a bird; whereas by nearer -inspection, and by following it for some distance, I may make -sure that it was made by some other animal. Very good; but there -was no infinite difference in quality between my first assumption -and my later conclusion. But can I, on further consideration -and following the track still further, arrive at the conclusion: -therefore it was a spirit—a spirit that leaves no tracks? Precisely -the same holds true of the argument that from the consequences -of a human life—for that was the assumption—we may infer that -therefore it was God.</p> - -<p>Is God then so like man, is there so little difference between -the two that, while in possession of my right senses, I may -begin with the assumption that Christ was human? And, for that -matter, has not Christ himself affirmed that he was God? On the -other hand, if God and man resemble each other so closely, and -are related to each other to such a degree—that is, essentially -belong to the same category of beings, then the conclusion "therefore -he was God" is nevertheless just humbug, because if that is all -there is to being God, then God does not exist at all. But if -God does exist and, therefore, belongs to a category infinitely -different from man, why, then neither I nor any one else can -start with the assumption that Christ was human and end with -the conclusion that therefore he was God. Any one with a bit -of logical sense will easily recognize that the whole question -about the consequences of Christ's life on earth is incommensurable -with the decision that he is God. In fact, this decision is to -be made on an altogether different plane: man must decide for -himself whether he will believe Christ to be what he himself -affirmed he was, that is, God, or whether he will not believe so.</p> - -<p>What has been said—mind you, providing one will take the time -to understand it—is sufficient to make a logical mind stop -drawing any inferences from the consequences of Christ's life: -that therefore he was God. But faith in its own right protests -against every attempt to approach Jesus Christ by the help of -historical information about the consequences of his life. Faith -contends that this whole attempt is—blasphemous. Faith -contends that the only proof left unimpaired by unbelief when -it did away with all the other proofs of the truth of Christianity, -the proof which—indeed, this is complicated business—I -say, which unbelief invented in order to prove the truth of -Christianity—the proof about which so excessively much -ado has been made in Christendom, the proof of 1800 years: as -to this, faith contends that it is—blasphemy.</p> - -<p>With regard to a man it is true that the consequences of his -life are more important than his life. If one, then, in order to -find out who Christ was, and in order to find out by some inference, -considers the consequences of his life: why, then one changes -him into a man by this very act—a man who, like other men, is -to pass his examination in history, and history is in this case -as mediocre an examiner as any half-baked teacher in Latin.</p> - -<p>But strange! By the help of history, that is, by considering -the consequences of his life, one wishes to arrive at the conclusion -that therefore, therefore he was God; and faith makes the exactly -opposite contention that he who even begins with this syllogism -is guilty of blasphemy. Nor does the blasphemy consist in assuming -hypothetically that Christ was a man. No, the blasphemy consists -in the thought which lies at the bottom of the whole business, -the thought without which one would never start it, and of whose -validity one is fully and firmly assured that it will hold also -with regard to Christ—the thought that the consequences of his -life are more important than his life; in other words, that he -is a man. The hypothesis is: let us assume that Christ was a -man; but at the bottom of this hypothesis, which is not blasphemy -as yet, there lies the assumption that, the consequences of a -man's life being more important than his life, this will hold -true also of Christ. Unless this is assumed one must admit that -one's whole argument is absurd, must admit it before beginning—so -why begin at all? But once it is assumed, and the argument is -started, we have the blasphemy. And the more one becomes absorbed -in the consequences of Christ's life, with the aim of being able -to make sure whether or no he was God, the more blasphemous is -one's conduct; and it remains blasphemous so long as this consideration -is persisted in.</p> - -<p>Curious coincidence: one tries to make it appear that, providing -one but thoroughly considers the consequences of Christ's life, -this "therefore" will surely be arrived at—and faith condemns -the very beginning of this attempt as blasphemy, and hence the -continuance in it as a worse blasphemy.</p> - -<p>"History," says faith, "has nothing to do with Christ." With -regard to him we have only Sacred History (which is different -in kind from general history), Sacred History which tells of -his life and career when in debasement, and tells also that he -affirmed himself to be God. He is the paradox which history never -will be able to digest or convert into a general syllogism. He -is in his debasement the same as he is in his exaltation—but -the 1800 years, or let it be 18,000 years, have nothing whatsoever -to do with this. The brilliant consequences in the history of -the world which are sufficient, almost, to convince even a professor -of history that he was God, these brilliant consequences surely -do not represent his return in glory! Forsooth, in that case it -were imagined rather meanly! The same thing over again: Christ -is thought to be a man whose return in glory can be, and can become, -nothing else than the consequences of his life in history—whereas -Christ's return in glory is something absolutely different and a -matter of faith. He abased himself and was swathed in rags—he -will return in glory; but the brilliant consequences in history, -especially when examined a little more closely, are too shabby -a glory—at any rate a glory of an altogether incongruous nature, -of which faith therefore never speaks, when speaking about his -glory. History is a very respectable science indeed, only it must -not become so conceited as to take upon itself what the Father -will do, and clothe Christ in his glory, dressing him up with -the brilliant garments of the consequences of his life, as if -that constituted his return. That he was God in his debasement -and that he will return in glory, all this is far beyond the -comprehension of history; nor can all this be got from history, -excepting by an incomparable lack of logic, and however incomparable -one's view of history may be otherwise.</p> - -<p>How strange, then, that one ever wished to use history -in order to prove Christ divine.</p> - - - - -<h4><i>D.</i> Are the consequences of Christ's life more important than -his life?</h4> - - -<p>No, by no means, but rather the opposite; for else Christ were -but a man.</p> - -<p>There is really nothing remarkable in a man having lived. There -have certainly lived millions upon millions of men. If the fact -is remarkable, there must have been something remarkable in a -man's life. In other words, there is nothing remarkable in his -having lived, but his life was remarkable for this or that. The -remarkable thing may, among other matters, also be what he accomplished; -that is, the consequences of his life.</p> - -<p>But that God lived here on earth in human form, that is infinitely -remarkable. No matter if his life had had no consequences at all—it -remains equally remarkable, infinitely remarkable, infinitely more -remarkable than all possible consequences. Just try to introduce -that which is remarkable as something secondary and you will -straightway see the absurdity of doing so: now, if you please, -whatever remarkable is there in God's life having had remarkable -consequences? To speak in this fashion is merely twaddling.</p> - -<p>No, that God lived here on earth, that is what is infinitely -remarkable, that which is remarkable in itself. Assuming that -Christ's life had had no consequences whatsoever—if any one -then undertook to say that therefore his life was not remarkable -it would be blasphemy. For it would be remarkable all the same; -and if a secondary remarkable characteristic had to be introduced -it would consist in the remarkable fact that his life had no -consequences. But if one should say that Christ's life was remarkable -because of its consequences, then this again were a blasphemy; for -it is his life which in itself is the remarkable thing.</p> - -<p>There is nothing very remarkable in a man's having lived, but it -is infinitely remarkable that God has lived. God alone can lay -so much emphasis on himself that the fact of his having lived -becomes infinitely more important than all the consequences -which may flow therefrom and which then become a matter of history.</p> - - - - -<h4><i>E.</i> A comparison between Christ and a man who in his life endured -the same treatment by his times as Christ endured.</h4> - - -<p>Let us imagine a man, one of the exalted spirits, one who was -wronged by his times, but whom history later reinstated in his -rights by proving by the consequences of his life who he was. I -do not deny, by the way, that all this business of proving from -the consequences is a course well suited to "a world which ever -wishes to be deceived." For he who was contemporary with him and -did not understand who he was, he really only imagines that he -understands when he has got to know it by help of the consequences -of the noble one's life. Still, I do not wish to insist on this -point, for with regard to a man it certainly holds true that -the consequences of his life are more important than the fact -of his having lived.</p> - -<p>Let us imagine one of these exalted spirits. He lives among -his contemporaries without being understood, his significance -is not recognized—he is misunderstood, and then mocked, persecuted, -and finally put to death like a common evil-doer. But the consequences -of his life make it plain who he was; history which keeps a record -of these consequences re-instates him in his rightful position, -and now he is named in one century after another as the great and -the noble spirit, and the circumstances of his debasement are -almost completely forgotten. It was blindness on the part of his -contemporaries which prevented them from comprehending his true -nature, and wickedness which made them mock him and deride him, -and finally put him to death. But be no more concerned about this; -for only after his death did he really become what he was, through -the consequences of his life which, after all, are by far more -important than his life.</p> - -<p>Now is it not possible that the same holds true with regard -to Christ? It was blindness and wickedness on the part of those -times<a name="FNanchor_8_5" id="FNanchor_8_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_5" class="fnanchor">[8]</a>—but be no more concerned about this, history has now -re-instated him, from history we know now who Jesus Christ was, -and thus justice is done him.</p> - -<p>Ah, wicked thoughtlessness which thus interprets Sacred History -like profane history, which makes Christ a man! But can one, then, -learn anything from history about Jesus? (<i>cf. B</i>) No, nothing. -Jesus Christ is the object of faith—one either believes in him -or is offended by him; for "to know" means precisely that such -knowledge does not pertain to him. History can therefore, to be -sure, give one knowledge in abundance; but "knowledge" annihilates -Jesus Christ.</p> - -<p>Again—ah, the impious thoughtlessness!—for one to presume -to say about Christ's abasement: "Let us be concerned no more -about his abasement." Surely, Christ's abasement was not something -which merely happened to him—even if it was the sin of that -generation to crucify him; was surely not something that simply -happened to him and, perhaps, would not have happened to him in -better times. Christ himself wished to be abased and lowly. His -abasement (that is, his walking on earth in humble guise, though -being God) is therefore a condition of his own making, something -he wished to be knotted together, a dialectic knot which no one -shall presume to untie, and which no one will untie, for that -matter, until he himself shall untie it when returning in his glory.</p> - -<p>His case is, therefore, not the same as that of a man who, through -the injustice inflicted on him by his times, was not allowed -to be himself or to be valued at his worth, while history revealed -who he was; for Christ himself wished to be abased—it is precisely -this condition which he desired. Therefore, let history not trouble -itself to do him justice, and let us not in impious thoughtlessness -presumptuously imagine that we as a matter of course know who he -was. For that no one knows; and he who believes it must become -contemporaneous with him in his abasement. When God chooses to let -himself be born in lowliness, when he who holds all possibilities -in his hand assumes the form of a humble servant, when he fares -about defenseless, letting people do with him what they list: he -surely knows what he does and why he does it; for it is at all -events he who has power over men, and not men who have power -over him—so let not history be so impertinent as to wish to -reveal who he was.</p> - -<p>Lastly—ah the blasphemy!—if one should presume to say that -the percussion which Christ suffered expresses something accidental! -If a man is persecuted by his generation it does not follow -that he has the right to say that this would happen to him in -every age. Insofar there is reason in what posterity says about -letting bygones be bygones. But it is different with Christ! -It is not he who by letting himself be born, and by appearing -in Palestine, is being examined by history; but it is he who -examines, his life is the examination, not only of that generation, -but of mankind. Woe unto the generation that would presumptuously -dare to say: "let bygones be bygones, and forget what he suffered, -for history has now revealed who he was and has done justice by him."</p> - -<p>If one assumes that history is really able to do this, then -the abasement of Christ bears an accidental relation to him; -that is to say, he thereby is made a man, an extraordinary man -to whom this happened through the wickedness of that generation—a -fate which he was far from wishing to suffer, for he would gladly -(as is human) have become a great man; whereas Christ voluntarily -chose to be the lowly one and, although it was his purpose to -save the world, wished also to give expression to what the "truth" -suffered then, and must suffer in every generation. But if this -is his strongest desire, and if he will show himself in his -glory only at his return, and if he has not returned as yet; -and if no generation may be without repentance, but on the contrary -every generation must consider itself a partner in the guilt of -that generation: then woe to him who presumes to deprive him of -his lowliness, or to cause what he suffered to be forgotten, and -to clothe him in the fabled human glory of the historic consequences -of his life, which is neither here nor there.</p> - - - - -<h4><i>F.</i> The Misfortune of Christendom</h4> - - -<p>But precisely this is the misfortune, and has been the misfortune, -in Christendom that Christ is neither the one nor the other—neither -the one he was when living on earth, nor he who will return in -glory, but rather one about whom we have learned to know something -in an inadmissible way from history—that he was somebody or other -of great account. In an inadmissible and unlawful way we have -learned to know him; whereas to believe in him is the only permissible -mode of approach. Men have mutually confirmed one another in the -opinion that the sum total of information about him is available -if they but consider the result of his life and the following -1800 years, i.e. the consequences. Gradually, as this became -accepted as the truth, all pith and strength was distilled out -of Christianity; the paradox was relaxed, one became a Christian -without noticing it, without noticing in the least the possibility -of being offended by him. One took over Christ's teachings, turned -them inside out and smoothed them down—he himself guaranteeing -them, of course, the man whose life had had such immense consequences -in history! All became plain as day—very naturally, since -Christianity in this fashion became heathendom.</p> - -<p>There is in Christendom an incessant twaddling on Sundays about -the glorious and invaluable truths of Christianity, its mild -consolation. But it is indeed evident that Christ lived 1800 -years ago; for the rock of offense and object of faith has become -a most charming fairy-story character, a kind of divine good -old man.<a name="FNanchor_9_5" id="FNanchor_9_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_5" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> People have not the remotest idea of what it means -to be offended by him, and still less, what it means to worship. -The qualities for which Christ is magnified are precisely those -which would have most enraged one, if one had been contemporaneous -with him; whereas now one feels altogether secure, placing implicit -confidence in the result and, relying altogether on the verdict -of history that he was the great man, concludes therefore that -it is correct to do so. That is to say, it is the correct, arid -the noble, and the exalted, and the true, thing—if it is he who -does it; which is to say, again, that one does not in any deeper -sense take the pains to understand what it is he does, and that -one tries even less, to the best of one's ability and with the -help of God, to be like him in acting rightly and nobly, and in -an exalted manner, and truthfully. For, not really fathoming it -in any deeper sense, one may, in the exigency of a contemporaneous -situation, judge him in exactly the opposite way. One is satisfied -with admiring and extolling and is, perhaps, as was said of a -translator who rendered his original word for word and therefore -without making sense, "too conscientious,"—one is, perhaps, also -too cowardly and too weak to wish to understand his real meaning.</p> - -<p>Christendom has done away with Christianity, without being aware -of it. Therefore, if anything is to be done about it, the attempt -must be made to re-introduce Christianity.</p> - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>He who invites is, then, Jesus Christ in his abasement, it is he -who spoke these words of invitation. It is not from his glory -that they are spoken. If that were the case, then Christianity -were heathendom and the name of Christ taken in vain, and for -this reason it cannot be so. But if it were the case that he who -is enthroned in glory had said these words: Come hither—as though -it were so altogether easy a matter to be clasped in the arms of -glory—well, what wonder, then, if crowds of men ran to him! But -they who thus throng to him merely go on a wild goose chase, -imagining they know who Christ is. But that no one knows; and -in order to believe in him one has to begin with his abasement.</p> - -<p>He who invites and speaks these words, that is, he whose words -they are—whereas the same words if spoken by some one else are, -as we have seen, an historic falsification—he is the same lowly -Jesus Christ, the humble man, born of a despised maiden, whose -father is a carpenter, related to other simple folk of the very -lowest class, the lowly man who at the same time (which, to be -sure, is like oil poured on the fire) affirms himself to be God.</p> - -<p>It is the lowly Jesus Christ who spoke these words. And no word -of Christ, not a single one, have you permission to appropriate -to yourself, you have not the least share in him, are not in any -way of his company, if you have not become his contemporary in -lowliness in such fashion that you have become aware, precisely -like his contemporaries, of his warning: "Blessed is he whosoever -shall not be offended in me.<a name="FNanchor_10_4" id="FNanchor_10_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_4" class="fnanchor">[10]</a>" You have no right to accept -Christ's words, and then lie him away; you have no right to accept -Christ's words, and then in a fantastic manner, and with the aid -of history, utterly change the nature of Christ; for the chatter -of history about him is literally not worth a fig.</p> - -<p>It is Jesus Christ in his lowliness who is the speaker. It -is historically true that h e said these words; but so soon as -one makes a change in his historic status, it is false to say -that these words were spoken by him.</p> - -<p>This poor and lowly man, then, with twelve poor fellows as his -disciples, all from the lowest class of society, for some time -an object of curiosity, but later on in company only with sinners, -publicans, lepers, and madmen; for one risked honor, life, and -property, or at any rate (and that we know for sure) exclusion -from the synagogue, by even letting one's self be helped by -him—come hither now, all ye that labor and are heavy laden! -Ah, my friend, even if you were deaf and blind and lame and -leprous, if you, which has never been seen or heard before, -united all human miseries in your misery—and if he wished to -help you by a miracle: it is possible that (as is human) you -would fear more than all your sufferings the punishment which -was set on accepting aid from him, the punishment of being cast -out from the society of other men, of being ridiculed and mocked, -day after day, and perhaps of losing your life. It is human -(and it is characteristic of being human) were you to think -as follows: "no, thank you, in that case I prefer to remain deaf -and blind and lame and leprous, rather than accept aid under -such conditions."</p> - -<p>"Come hither, come hither, all, ye that labor and are heavy -laden, ah, come hither," lo! he invites you and opens his arms. -Ah, when a gentlemanly man clad in a silken gown says this in -a pleasant, harmonious voice so that the words pleasantly resound -in the handsome vaulted church, a man in silk who radiates honor -and respect on all who listen to him; ah, when a king in purple -and velvet says this, with the Christmas tree in the background -on which are hanging all the splendid gifts he intends to distribute, -why, then of course there is some meaning in these words! But -whatever meaning you may attach to them, so much is sure that -it is not Christianity, but the exact opposite, something as -diametrically opposed to Christianity as may well be; for remember -who it is that invites!</p> - -<p>And now judge for yourself—for that you have a right to do; -whereas men really do not have a right to do what is so often -done, viz. to deceive themselves. That a man of such appearance, -a man whose company every one shuns who has the least bit of sense -in his head, or the least bit to lose in the world, that he—well, -this is the absurdest and maddest thing of all, one hardly knows -whether to laugh or to weep about it—that he—indeed, that is -the very last word one would expect to issue from his mouth; for -if he had said: "Come hither and help me," or: "Leave me alone," -or: "Spare me," or proudly: "I despise you all," we could understand -that perfectly—but that such a man says: "Come hither to me!" why, -I declare, that looks inviting indeed! And still further: "All -ye that labor and are heavy laden"—as though such folk were -not burdened enough with troubles, as though they now, to cap -all, should be exposed to the consequences of associating with -him. And then, finally: "I shall give you rest." What's that?—he -help them? Ah, I am sure even the most good-natured joker who -was contemporary with him would have to say: "Surely, that was -the thing he should have undertaken last of all—to wish to -help others, being in that condition himself! Why, it is about -the same as if a beggar were to inform the police that he had -been robbed. For it is a contradiction that one who has nothing, -and has had nothing, informs us that he has been robbed; and -likewise, to wish to help others when one's self needs help -most." Indeed it is, humanly speaking, the most harebrained -contradiction, that he who literally "hath not where to lay -his head," that he about whom it was spoken truly, in a human -sense, "Behold the man!"—that he should say: "Come hither unto -me all ye that suffer—I shall help!"</p> - -<p>Now examine yourself—for that you have a right to do. You have -a right to examine yourself, but you really do not have a right -to let yourself without self-examination be deluded by "the -others" into the belief, or to delude yourself into the belief, -that you are a Christian—therefore examine yourself: supposing -you were contemporary with him! True enough he—alas! he affirmed -himself to be God! But many another madman has made that claim—and -his times gave it as their opinion that he uttered blasphemy. -Why, was not that precisely the reason why a punishment was -threatened for allowing one's self to be aided by him? It was -the godly care for their souls entertained by the existing order -and by public opinion, lest any one should be led astray: it was -this godly care that led them to persecute him in this fashion. -Therefore, before any one resolves to be helped by him, let -him consider that he must not only expect the antagonism of -men, but—consider it well!—even if you could bear the -consequences of that step—but consider well, that the -punishment meted out by men is supposed to be God's punishment -of him, "the blasphemer"—of him who invites!</p> - -<p>Come hither now all ye that labor and are heavy laden!</p> - -<p>How now? Surely this is nothing to run after—some little pause -is given, which is most fittingly used to go around about by way -of another street. And even if you should not thus sneak out in -some way—always providing you feel yourself to be contemporary -with him—or sneak into being some kind of Christian by belonging -to Christendom: yet there will be a tremendous pause given, the -pause which is the very condition that faith may arise: you are -given pause by the possibility of being offended in him.</p> - -<p>But in order to make it entirely clear, and bring it home to our -minds, that the pause is given by him who invites, that it is he -who gives us pause and renders it by no means an easy, but a -peculiarly difficult, matter to follow his invitation, because -one has no right to accept it without accepting also him who -invites—in order to make this entirely clear I shall briefly -review his life under two aspects which, to be sure, show some -difference though both essentially pertain to his abasement. -For it is always an abasement for God to become man, even if -he were to be an emperor of emperors; and therefore he is not -essentially more abased because he is a poor, lowly man, mocked, -and as Scripture adds,<a name="FNanchor_11_4" id="FNanchor_11_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_4" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> spat upon.</p> - - - - -<h4>THE FIRST PHASE OF HIS LIFE</h4> - - -<p>And now let us speak about him in a homely fashion, just as -his contemporaries spoke about him, and as one speaks about -some contemporary—let him be a man of the same kind as we are, -whom one meets on the street in passing, of whom one knows where -he lives and in what story, what his business is, who his parents -are, his family, how he looks and how he dresses, with whom he -associates, "and there is nothing extraordinary about him, he -looks as men generally look"; in short, let us speak of him as -one speaks of some contemporary about whom one does not make a -great ado; for in living life together with these thousands upon -thousands of real people there is no room for a fine distinction -like this: "Possibly, this man will be remembered in centuries to -come," and "at the same time he is really only a clerk in some -shop who is no whit better than his fellows." Therefore, let us -speak about him as contemporaries speak about some contemporary. -I know very well what I am doing; and I want you to believe that -the canting and indolent world-historic habit we have of always -reverently speaking about Christ (since one has learned all -about it from history, and has heard so much about his having -been something very extraordinary, indeed, or something of that -kind)—that reverent habit, I assure you, is not worth a row -of pins but is, rather, sheer thoughtlessness, hypocrisy, and as -such blasphemy; for it is blasphemy to reverence thoughtlessly -him whom one is either to believe in or to be offended in.</p> - -<p>It is the lowly Jesus Christ, a humble man, born of a maiden -of low degree, whose father is a carpenter. To be sure, his -appearance is made under conditions which are bound to attract -attention to him. The small nation among whom he appears, God's -Chosen People as they call themselves, live in anticipation of -a Messiah who is to bring a golden period to land and people. -You must grant that the form in which he appears is as different -as possible from what most people would have expected. On the -other hand, his appearance corresponds more to the ancient prophecies -with which the people are thought to have been familiar. Thus -he presents himself. A predecessor has called attention to him, -and he himself fastens attention very decidedly on himself by -signs and wonders which are noised abroad in all the land—and -he is the hero of the hour, surrounded by unnumbered multitudes -of people wheresoever he fares. The sensation aroused by him -is enormous, every one's eyes are fastened on him, every one -who can go about, aye even those who can only crawl, must see -the wonder—and every one must have some opinion about him, -so that the purveyors of ready-made opinions are put to it because -the demand is so furious and the contradictions so confusing. -And yet he, the worker of miracles, ever remains the humble man -who literally hath not where to lay his head.</p> - -<p>And let us not forget: signs and wonders as contemporary events -have a markedly greater elasticity in repelling or attracting -than the tame stories generally re-hashed by the priests, or the -still tamer stories about signs and wonders that happened—1800 -years ago! Signs and wonders as contemporary events are something -plaguy and importunate, something which in a highly embarrassing -manner almost compels one to have an opinion, something which, -if one does not happen to be disposed to believe, may exasperate -one excessively by thus forcing one to be contemporaneous with it. -Indeed, it renders existence too complicated, and the more so, the -more thoughtful, developed, and cultured one is. It is a peculiarly -ticklish matter, this having to assume that a man who is contemporaneous -with one really performs signs and wonders; but when he is at some -distance from one, when the consequences of his life stimulate -the imagination a bit, then it is not so hard to imagine, in a -fashion, that one believes it.</p> - -<p>As I said, then, the people are carried away with him; they follow -him jubilantly, and see signs and wonders, both those which he -performs and those which he does not perform, and they are glad -in their hope that the golden age will begin, once he is king. -But the crowd rarely have a clear reason for their opinions, they -think one thing today and another tomorrow. Therefore the wise -and the critical will not at once participate. Let us see now -what the wise and the critical must think, so soon as the first -impression of astonishment and surprise has subsided.</p> - -<p>The shrewd and critical man would probably say: "Even assuming -that this person is what he claims to be, that is, something -extraordinary—for as to his affirming himself to be God I can, -of course, not consider that as anything but an exaggeration for -which I willingly make allowances, and pardon him, if I really -considered him to be something extraordinary; for I am not a -pedant—assuming then, which I hesitate to do, for it is a matter -on which I shall at any rate suspend my judgment—assuming then -that he is really performing miracles: is it not an inexplicable -mystery that this person can be so foolish, so weak-minded, so -altogether devoid of worldly wisdom, so feeble, or so good-naturedly -vain, or whatever else you please to call it—that he behaves -in this fashion and almost forces his benefactions on men? Instead -of proudly and commandingly keeping people away from himself at -a distance marked by their profoundest submission, whenever he -does allow himself to be seen, at rare occasions: instead of -doing so, think of his being accessible to every one, or rather -himself going to every one, of having intercourse with everybody, -almost as if being the extraordinary person consisted in his -being everybody's servant,<a name="FNanchor_12_3" id="FNanchor_12_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_3" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> as if the extraordinary person -he claims to be were marked by his being concerned only lest -men should fail to be benefited by him—in short as if being -an extraordinary person consisted in being the most solicitous -of all persons. The whole business is inexplicable to me—what -he wants, what his purpose is, what end he has in mind, what he -expects to accomplish; in a word, what the meaning of it all -is. He who by so many a wise saying reveals so profound an insight -into the human heart, he must certainly know what I, using but -half of my wits, can predict for him, viz. that in such fashion -one gets nowhere in the world—unless, indeed, despising prudence, -one consistently, aims to make a fool of one's self or, perchance, -goes so far in sincerity as to prefer being put to death; but -anyone, one desiring that must certainly be crazy. Having such -profound knowledge of the human heart he certainly ought to know -that the thing to do is to deceive people and then to give one's -deception the appearance of being a benefaction conferred on -the whole race. By doing so one reaps all advantages, even the -one whose enjoyment is the sweetest of all, which is, to be called -by one's contemporaries a benefactor of the human race—for, once -in your grave, you may snap your fingers at what posterity may -have to say about you. But to surrender one's self altogether, -as he does, and not to think the least of one's self—in fact, -almost to beg people to accept these benefactions: no, I would -not dream of joining his company. And, of course, neither does he -invite me; for, indeed, he invites only them that labor and -are heavy laden."</p> - -<p>Or he would reason as follows: "His life is simply a fantastic -dream. In fact, that is the mildest expression one can use about -it; for, when judging him in this fashion, one is good-natured -enough to forget altogether the evidence of sheer madness in his -claim to be God. This is wildly fantastical. One may possibly -live a few years of one's youth in such fashion. But he is now -past thirty years. And he is literally nothing. Still further, -in a very short time he will necessarily lose all the respect -and reputation he has gained among the people, the only thing, -you may say, he has gained for himself. One who wishes to keep -in the good graces of the people—the riskiest chance imaginable, -I will admit—he must act differently. Not many months will -pass before the crowd will grow tired of one who is so altogether -at their service. He will be regarded as a ruined person, a kind -of outcast, who ought to be glad to end his days in a corner, -the world forgetting, by the world forgot; providing he does -not, by continuing his previous behavior, prefer to maintain -his present attitude and be fantastic enough to wish to be put -to death, which is the unavoidable consequence of persevering -in that course. What has he done for his future? Nothing. Has -he any assured position? No. What expectations has he? None. -Even this trifling matter: what will he do to pass the time -when he grows older, the long winter nights, what will he do -to make them pass—why, he cannot even play cards! He is now -enjoying a bit of popular favor—in truth, of all movable property -the most movable—which in a trice may turn into an enormous -popular hatred of him.—Join his company? No, thank you, I am -still, thank God, in my right mind."</p> - -<p>Or he may reason as follows: "That there is something extraordinary -about this person—even if one reserves the right, both one's own -and that of common sense, to refrain from venturing any opinion -as to his claim of being God—about that there is really little -doubt. Rather, one might be indignant at Providence's having -entrusted such a person with these powers—a person who does -the very opposite of what he himself bids us do: that we shall -not cast our pearls before the swine; for which reason he will, -as he himself predicts, come to grief by their turning about and -trampling him under their feet. One may always expect this of -swine; but, on the other hand, one would not expect that he who -had himself called attention to this likelihood, himself would -do precisely<a name="FNanchor_13_3" id="FNanchor_13_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_3" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> what he knows one should not do. If only there -were some means of cleverly stealing his wisdom—for I shall -gladly leave him in undisputed possession of that very peculiar -thought of his that he is God—if one could but rob his wisdom -without, at the same time, becoming his disciple! If one could -only steal up to him at night and lure it from him; for I am -more than equal to editing and publishing it, and better than -he, if you please. I undertake to astonish the whole world by -getting something altogether different out of it; for I clearly -see there is something wondrously profound in what he says, and -the misfortune is only that he is the man he is. But perhaps, -who knows, perhaps it is feasible, anyway, to fool him out of -it. Perhaps in that respect too he is good-natured and simple -enough to communicate it quite freely to me. It is not impossible; -for it seems to me that the wisdom he unquestionably possesses, -evidently has been entrusted to a fool, seeing there is so much -contradiction in his life.—But as to joining his company and -becoming his disciple—no, indeed, that would be the same as -becoming'a fool oneself." Or he might reason as follows: "If -this person does indeed mean to further what is good and true -(I do not venture to decide this), he is helpful at least, in -this respect, to youths and inexperienced people. For they will -be benefited, in this serious life of ours, by learning, the -sooner the better, and very thoroughly—he opens the eyes even -of the blindest to this—that all this pretense of wishing to -live only for goodness and truth contains a considerable admixture -of the ridiculous. He proves how right the poets of our times -are when they let truth and goodness be represented by some -half-witted fellow, one who is so stupid that you can knock -down a wall with him. The idea of exerting one's self, as this -man does, of renouncing everything but pains and trouble, to be -at beck and call all day long, more eager than the busiest family -physician—and pray why? Because he makes a living by it? No, not -in the very least; it has never occurred to him, as far as I -can see, to want something in return. Does he earn any money by -it? No, not a red cent—he has not a red cent to his name, -and if he did he would forthwith give it away. Does he, then, -aspire to a position of honor and dignity in the state? On the -contrary, he loathes all worldly honor. And he who, as I said, -condemns all worldly honor, and practices the art of living -on nothing; he who, if any one, seems best fitted to pass his -life in a most comfortable <i>dolce far niente</i>—which is not such -a bad thing—: he lives under a greater strain than any government -official who is rewarded by honor and dignity, lives under a greater -strain than any business man who earns money like sand. Why does he -exert himself thus, or (why this question about a matter not -open to question?) why should any one exert himself thus—in -order to attain to the happiness of being ridiculed, mocked, -and so forth? To be sure, a peculiar kind of pleasure! That one -should push one's way through a crowd to reach the spot where -money, honor, and glory are distributed—why, that is perfectly -understandable; but to push forward to be whipped: how exalted, -how Christian, how stupid!"</p> - -<p>Or he will reason as follows: "One hears so many rash opinions -about this person from people who understand nothing—and worship -him; and so many severe condemnations of him by those who, perhaps, -misunderstand him after all. As for me, I am not going to allow -myself to be accused of venturing a hasty opinion. I shall keep -entirely cool and calm; in fact, which counts for still more, I -am conscious of being as reasonable and moderate with him as is -possible. Grant now—which, to be sure. I do only to a certain -extent—grant even that one's reason is impressed by this person. -What, then, is my opinion about him? My opinion is, that for the -present, I can form no opinion about him. I do not mean about his -claim of being God; for about that I can never in all eternity -have an opinion. No, I mean about him as a man. Only by the -consequences of his life shall we be able to decide whether -he was an extraordinary person or whether, deceived by his imagination, -he applied too high a standard, not only to himself, but also to -humanity in general. More I cannot do for him, try as I may—if -he were my only friend, my own child, I could not judge him more -leniently, nor differently, either. It follows from this, to be -sure, that in all probability, and for good reasons, I shall -not ever be able to have any opinion about him. For in order to -be able to form an opinion I must first see the consequences of -his life, including his very last moments; that is, he must be -dead. Then, and perhaps not even then, may I form an opinion of -him. And even granting this, it is not really an opinion about -him, for he is then no more. No more is needed to say why it is -impossible for me to join him while he is living. The authority -he is said to show in his teaching can have no decisive influence -in my case; for it is surely easy to see that his thought moves -in a circle. He quotes as authority that which he is to prove, -which in its turn can be proved only by the consequences of his -life; provided, of course, it is not connected with that fixed -idea of his about being God, because if it is therefore he has -this authority (because he is God) the answer must be: yes—if! -So much, however, I may admit, that if I could imagine myself -self living in some later age, and if the consequences of his -life as shown in history had made it plain that he was the extraordinary -person he in a former age claimed to be, then it might very well -be—in fact, I might come very near, becoming his disciple."</p> - -<p>An ecclesiastic would reason as follows: "For an impostor and -demagogue he has, to say the truth, a remarkable air of honesty -about him; for which reason he cannot be so absolutely dangerous, -either, even though the situation looks dangerous enough while -the squall is at its height, and even though the situation looks -dangerous enough with his enormous popularity—until the -squall has passed over and the people—yes, precisely the -people—overthrow him again. The honest thing about him -is his claim to be the Messiah when he resembles him so little as -he does. That is honest, just as if some one in preparing bogus -paper-money made the bills so poorly that every one who knows -the least about it cannot fail to detect the fraud.—True -enough, we all look forward to a Messiah, but surely no one with -any sense expects God himself to come, and every religious person -shudders at the blasphemous attitude of this person. We look -forward to a Messiah, we are all agreed on that. But the governance -of the world does not go forward tumultuously, by leaps and bounds; -the development of the world, as is indicated by the very fact that -it is a development, proceeds by evolution, not by revolution. The -true Messiah will therefore look quite different, and will arrive as -the most glorious flower, and the highest development, of that -which already exists. Thus will the true Messiah come, and he -will proceed in an entirely different fashion: he will recognize -the existing order as the basis of things, he will summon all -the clergy to council and present to them the results accomplished -by him, as well as his credentials—and then, if he obtain -the majority of the votes when the ballot is cast, he will be -received and saluted as the extraordinary person, as the one -he is: the Messiah.<a name="FNanchor_14_3" id="FNanchor_14_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_3" class="fnanchor">[14]</a></p> - -<p>"However, there is a duplicity in this man's behavior; he assumes -too much the role of judge. It seems as if he wished to be, at -one and the same time, both the judge who passes sentence on -the existing order of things, and the Messiah. If he does not -wish to play the role of the judge, then why his absolute isolation, -his keeping at a distance from all which has to do with the -existing order of things? And if he does not wish to be the -judge, then why his fantastic flight from reality to join the -ignorant crowd, then why with the haughtiness of a revolutionary -does he despise all the intelligence and efficiency to be found -in the existing order of things? And why does he begin afresh -altogether, and absolutely from the bottom up, by the help -of—fishermen and artisans? May not the fact that he is an -illegitimate child fitly characterize his entire relation to the existing -order of things? On the other hand, if he wishes to be only the Messiah, -why then his warning about putting a piece of new cloth unto an -old garment.<a name="FNanchor_15_3" id="FNanchor_15_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_3" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> For these words are precisely the watchwords -of every revolution since they are expressive of a person's -discontent with the existing order and of his wish to destroy -it. That is, these words reveal his desire to remove existing -conditions, rather than to build on them and better them, if -one is a reformer, or to develop them to their highest possibility, -if one is indeed the Messiah. This is duplicity. In fact, it is -not feasible to be both judge and Messiah. Such duplicity will -surely result in his downfall.<a name="FNanchor_16_3" id="FNanchor_16_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_3" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> The climax in the life of a -judge is his death by violence, and so the poet pictures it -correctly; but the climax in the life of the Messiah cannot -possibly be his death. Or else, by that very fact, he would -not be the Messiah, that is, he whom the existing order expects -in order to deify him. This duplicity has not as yet been recognized -by the people, who see in him their Messiah; but the existing -order of things cannot by any manner of means recognize him as -such. The people, the idle and loafing crowd, can do so only -because they represent nothing less than the existing order -of things. But as soon as the duplicity becomes evident to them, -his doom is sealed. Why, in this respect his predecessor was -a far more definitely marked personality, for he was but one -thing, the judge. But what confusion and thoughtlessness, to wish -to be both, and what still worse confusion, to acknowledge his -predecessor as the judge—that is, in other words, precisely to -make the existing order of things receptive and ripe for the -Messiah who is to come after the judge, and yet not wish to -associate himself with the existing order of things!"</p> - -<p>And the philosopher would reason as follows: "Such dreadful -or, rather, insane vanity, that a single individual claims to -be God, is a thing hitherto unheard of. Never before have we -been witness to such an excess of pure subjectivity and sheer -negation. He has no doctrines, no system of philosophy, he knows -really nothing, he simply keeps on repeating, and making variations -on, some unconnected aphoristic sentences, some few maxims, and -a couple of parables by which he dazzles the crowd for whom he -also performs signs and wonders; so that they, instead of learning -something, or being improved, come to believe in one who in a -most brazen way constantly forces his subjective views on us. -There is nothing objective or positive whatever in him and in -what he says. Indeed, from a philosophical point of view, he -does not need to fear destruction for he has perished already, -since it is inherent in the nature of subjectivity to perish. -One may in all fairness admit that his subjectivity is remarkable -and that, be it as it may with the other miracles, he constantly -repeats his miracle with the five small loaves,<a name="FNanchor_17_3" id="FNanchor_17_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_3" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> viz., by -means of a few lyric utterances and some aphorisms he rouses -the whole country. But even if one were inclined to overlook -his insane notion of affirming himself to be God, it is an -incomprehensible mistake, which, to be sure, demonstrates a -lack of philosophic training, to believe that God could reveal -himself in the form of an individual. The race, the universal, -the total, is God; but the race surely is not an individual! -Generally speaking, that is the impudent assumption of subjectivity, -which claims that the individual is something extraordinary. -But sheer insanity is shown in the claim of an individual to -be God. Because if the insane thing were possible, viz. that -an individual might be God, why, then this individual would -have to be worshipped, and a more beastly philosophic stupidity -is not conceivable."</p> - -<p>The astute statesman would reason as follows: "That at present -this person wields great power is undeniable—entirely disregarding, -of course, this notion of his that he is God. Foibles like these, -being idiosyncrasies, do not count against a man and concern no -one, least of all a statesman. A statesman is concerned only -with what power a man wields; and that he does wield great power -cannot, as I have remarked, be denied. But what he intends to do, -what his aim is, I cannot make out at all. If this be calculation -it must be of an entirely new and peculiar order, not so altogether -unlike what is otherwise called madness. He possesses points of -considerable strength; but he seems to defeat, rather than to -use, it; he expends it without himself getting any returns. I -consider him a phenomenon with which—as ought to be one's rule -with all phenomena—a wise man should not have anything to do, -since it is impossible to calculate him or the catastrophe threatening -his life. It is possible that he will be made king. It is possible, -I say; but it is not impossible, or rather, it is just as possible, -that he may end on the gallows. He lacks earnestness in all his -endeavors. With all his enormous stretch of wings he only hovers -and gets nowhere. He does not seem to have any definite plan of -procedure, but just hovers. Is it for his nationality he is fighting, -or does he aim at a communistic revolution? Does he wish to establish -a republic or a kingdom? With which party does he affiliate -himself to combat which party, or does he wish to fight all -parties?</p> - -<p>"I have anything to do with him?—No, that would be the very -last thing to enter my mind. In fact, I take all possible precautions -to avoid him. I keep quiet, undertake nothing, act as if I did -not exist; for one cannot even calculate how he might interfere -with one's undertakings, be they ever so unimportant, or at any -rate, how one might become involved in the vortex of his activities. -Dangerous, in a certain sense enormously dangerous, is this -man. But I calculate that I may ensnare him precisely by doing -nothing. For overthrown he must be. And this is done most; safely -by letting him do it himself, by letting him stumble over himself. -I have, at least at this moment, not sufficient power to bring -about his fall; in fact, I know no one who has. To undertake the -least thing against him now, means to be crushed one's self. No, -my plan is constantly to exert only negative resistance to him, -that is, to do nothing, and he will probably involve himself -in the enormous consequences he draws after him, till in the -end he will tread on his own train, as it were, and thus fall."</p> - -<p>And the steady citizen would reason as follows (which would -then become the opinion of his family): "Now, let us be human, -everything is good when done in moderation, too little and too -much spoil everything, and as a French saying has it which I -once heard a traveling salesman use: every power which exceeds -itself comes to a fall—and as to this person, his fall is certainly -sure enough. I have earnestly spoken to my son and warned and -admonished him not to drift into evil ways and join that person. -And why? Because all people are running after him. That is to -say, what sort of people? Idlers and loafers, street-walkers and -tramps, who run after everything. But mightily few of the men -who have house and property, and nobody who is wise and respected, -none after whom I set my clock, neither councillor Johnson, nor -senator Anderson, nor the wealthy broker Nelson—oh no! they -know what's what. And as to the ministry who ought to know most -about such matters—ah, they will have none of him. What was it -pastor Green said in the club the other evening? 'That man will -yet come to a terrible end,' he said. And Green, he can do more -than preach, you oughtn't to hear him Sundays in church so much -as Mondays in the club—I just wished I had half his knowledge -of affairs! He said quite correctly, and as if spoken out of -my own heart: 'Only idlers and loafers are running after that -man.' And why do they run after him? Because he performs some -miracles. But who is sure they are miracles, or that he can -confer the same power on his disciples? And, in any case, a -miracle is something mightily uncertain, whereas the certain -is the certain. Every serious father who has grown-up children -must be truly alarmed lest his sons be seduced and join that -man together with the desperate characters who follow him—desperate -characters who have nothing to lose. And even these, how does -he help them? Why, one must be mad to wish to be helped in this -fashion. Even the poorest beggar is brought to a worse estate -than his former one, is brought to a pass he could have escaped -by remaining what he was, that is, a beggar and no more."</p> - -<p>And the mocker, not the one hated on account of his malice, but -the one who is admired for his wit and liked for his good nature, -he would reason as follows: "It is, after all, a rich idea which -is going to prove useful to all of us, that an individual who -is in no wise different from us claims to be God. If that is -not being a benefactor of the race then I don't know what charity -and beneficence are. If we assume that the characteristic of -being God—well, who in all the world would have hit on that -idea? How true that such an idea could not have entered into -the heart of man<a name="FNanchor_18_3" id="FNanchor_18_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_3" class="fnanchor">[18]</a>—but if we assume that it consists in looking -in no wise different from the rest of us, and in nothing else: -why, then we are all gods. Q. E. D. Three cheers for him, the -inventor of a discovery so extraordinarily important for mankind! -Tomorrow I, the undersigned, shall proclaim that I am God, and -the discoverer at least will not be able to contradict me without -contradicting himself. At night all cats are gray; and if to -be God consists in looking like the rest of us, absolutely and -altogether like the rest of mankind: why, then it is night and -we all are..., or what is it I wanted to say: we all are God, -every one of us, and no one has a right to say he isn't as well -off as his neighbor. This is the most ridiculous situation imaginable, -the contradiction here being the greatest imaginable, and a -contradiction always making for a comical effect. But this is -in no wise my discovery, but solely that of the discoverer: -this idea that a man of exactly the same appearance as the rest -of us, only not half so well dressed as the average man, that -is, a poorly dressed person who, rather than being God, seems -to invite the attention of the society for the relief of the -poor—that he is God! I am only sorry for the director of the -charitable society that he will not get a raise from this general -advancement of the human race but that he will, rather, lose -his job on account of this, etc."</p> - -<p>Ah, my friend, I know well what I am doing, I know my responsibility, -and my soul is altogether assured of the correctness of my procedure. -Now then, imagine yourself a contemporary of him who invites. -Imagine yourself to be a sufferer, but consider well to what you -expose yourself in becoming his disciple and following him. You -expose yourself to losing practically everything in the eyes of -all wise and sensible and respected men. He who invites demands -of you that you surrender all, give up everything; but the common -sense of your own times and of your contemporaries will not give -you up, but will judge that to join him is madness. And mockery -will descend cruelly upon you; for while it will almost spare him, -out of compassion, you will be thought madder than a march-hare -for becoming his disciple. People will say: "That h e is a wrong-headed -enthusiast, that can't be helped. Well and good; but to become—in -all seriousness—his disciple, that is the greatest piece of -madness imaginable. There surely is but one possibility of being -madder than a madman, which is the higher madness of joining -a madman in all seriousness and regarding him as a sage."</p> - -<p>Do not say that the whole presentation above is exaggerated. -Ah, you know (but, possibly, have not fully realized it) that -among all the respectable men, among all the enlightened and -sensible men, there was but one—though it is easily possible -that one or the other of them, impelled by curiosity, entered -into conversation with him—that there was but one among them -who sought him in all seriousness.<a name="FNanchor_19_3" id="FNanchor_19_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_3" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> And he came to him—in -the night! And as you know, in the night one walks on forbidden -paths, one chooses the night to go to places of which one does -not like to be known as a frequenter. Consider the opinion of -the inviter implied in this—it was a disgrace to visit him, -something no man of honor could afford to do, as little as to -pay a nightly visit to—but no, I do not care to say in so many -words what would follow this "as little as."</p> - -<p>Come hither to me now all ye that labor and are heavy laden, -and I will give you rest.</p> - - - - -<h4>THE SECOND PHASE OF HIS LIFE</h4> - - -<p>His end was what all the wise and the sensible, the statesmen and -the citizens and the mockers, etc., predicted it would be. And as -was later spoken to him, in a moment when, it would seem, the -most hardened ought to have been moved to sympathy, and the very -stones to tears: "He saved others; let him save himself,<a name="FNanchor_20_3" id="FNanchor_20_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_3" class="fnanchor">[20]</a>" -and as it has been repeated thousands upon thousands of times, -by thousands upon thousands: "What was it he spoke of before, -saying his hour was not yet come<a name="FNanchor_21_3" id="FNanchor_21_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_3" class="fnanchor">[21]</a>—is it come now, -perchance?"—It has been repeated, alas, the while the single -individual, the believer, shudders whenever considering—while -yet unable to refrain from gazing into the depth of what to men is a -meaningless absurdity—shudders when considering that God in -human guise, that his divine teaching, that these signs and wonders -which might have made a very Sodom and Gomorrha reform its ways, in -reality produced the exact opposite, and caused the teacher -to be shunned, hated, despised.</p> - -<p>Who he is, one can recognize more easily now when the powerful -ones and the respected ones, and all the precautionary measures -of those upholding the existing order, have corrected any wrong -conception one might have entertained about him at first—now -when the people have lost their patience to wait for a Messiah, -seeing that his life, instead of rising in dignity, lapsed into -ever greater degradation. Who, pray, does not recognize that a -man is judged according to the society in which he moves—and -now, think of his society! Indeed, his society one might well -designate as equivalent to being expelled from "human society"; -for his society are the lowest classes of the people, with sinners -and publicans among them, people whom everybody with the slightest -self-respect shuns for the sake of his good name and reputation—and -a good name and reputation surely are about the least one can -wish to preserve. In his company there are, furthermore, lepers -whom every one flees, madmen who can only inspire terror, invalids -and wretches—squalor and misery. Who, then, is this person -that, though followed by such a company, still is the object -of the persecution of the mighty ones? He is one despised as -a seducer of men, an impostor, a blasphemer! And if any one -enjoying a good reputation refrains from expressing contempt -of him, it is really only a kind of compassion; for to fear -him is, to be sure, something different.</p> - -<p>Such, then, is his appearance; for take care not to be influenced -by anything that you may have learned after the event—as, how -his exalted spirit, with an almost divine majesty, never was -so markedly manifest as just them. Ah, my friend, if you were -the contemporary of one who is not only himself "excluded from -the synagogue" but, as you will remember, whose very help meant -being "excluded from the synagogue"—I say, if you were the -contemporary of an outcast, who in every respect answers to -that term, (for everything has two sides): then you will scarcely -be the man to explain all this in terms directly contrary to -appearances;<a name="FNanchor_22_3" id="FNanchor_22_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_3" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> or, which is the same thing, you will not be -the "single individual" which, as you well know, no one wants -to be, and to be which is regarded as a ridiculous oddity, perhaps -even as a crime.</p> - -<p>And now—for they are his society chiefly—as to his -apostles! What absurdity; though not—what new absurdity, for it is -quite in keeping with the rest—his apostles are some fishermen, -ignorant people who but the other day followed their trade. And tomorrow, -to pile one absurdity on the other, they are to go out into the -wide world and transform its aspect. And it is he who claims to -be God, and these are his duly appointed apostles! Now, is he to -make his apostles respected, or are perhaps the apostles to make -him respected? Is he, the inviter, is he an absurd dreamer? -Indeed, his procession would make it seem so; no poet could -have hit on a better idea. A teacher, a sage, or whatever you -please to call him, a kind of stranded genius, who affirms himself -to be God—surrounded by a jubilant mob, himself accompanied by -some publicans, criminals, and lepers; nearest to him a chosen -few, his apostles. And these judges so excellently competent as -to what truth is, these fishermen, tailors, and shoe-makers, -they do not only admire him, their teacher and master, whose -every word is wisdom and truth: they do not only see what no -one else can see, his exaltedness and holiness, nay, but they -see God in him and worship him. Certainly, no poet could invent -a better situation, and it is doubtful if the poet would not -forget the additional item that this same person is feared by -the mighty ones and that they are scheming to destroy him. His -death alone can reassure and satisfy them. They have set an -ignominious punishment on joining his company, on merely accepting -aid from him; and yet they do not feel secure, and cannot feel -altogether reassured that the whole thing is mere wrong-headed -enthusiasm and absurdity. Thus the mighty ones. The populace -who had Idolized him, the populace have pretty nearly given -him up, only in moments does their old conception of him blaze -forth again. In all his existence there is not a shred the most -envious of the envious might envy him to have. Nor do the mighty -ones envy his life. They demand his death for safety's sake, so -that they may have peace again, when all has returned to the -accustomed ways, peace having been made still more secure by -the warning example of his death.</p> - - -<p>These are the two phases of his life. It began with the people's -idolizing him, whereas all who were identified with the existing -order of things, all who had power and influence, vengefully, -but in a cowardly and hidden manner, laid their snares for him—in -which he was caught, then? Yes, but he perceived it well. Finally -the people discover that they had been deceived in him, that -the fulfillment he would bring them answered least of all to -their expectations of wonders and mountains of gold. So the -people deserted him and the mighty ones drew the snare about -him—in which he was caught, then? Yes, but he perceived it -well. The mighty ones drew the snare together about him—and -thereupon the people, who then saw themselves completely deceived, -turned against him in hatred and rage.</p> - -<p>And—to include that too—compassion would say; or, among the -compassionate ones—for compassion is sociable, and likes to -assemble together, and you will find spitefulness and envy keeping -company with whining soft-headedness: since, as a heathen philosopher -observed long ago, no one is so ready to sympathize as an envious -person—among the compassionate ones the verdict would be: it is -really too bad that this good-hearted fellow is to come to such -an end. For he was really a good sort of fellow. Granting it was -an exaggeration to claim to be God, he really was good to the -poor and the needy, even if in an odd manner, by becoming one of -them and going about in the company of beggars. But there is -something touching in it all, and one can't help but feel sorry -for the poor fellow who is to suffer such a miserable death. -For you may say what you will, and condemn him as strongly as -you will, I cannot help feeling pity for him. I am not so heard-hearted -as not to feel compassion.</p> - -<p>We have arrived at the last phase, not of Sacred History, as -handed down by the apostles and disciples who believed in Christ, -but of profane history, its counterpart.</p> - -<p>Come hither now, all ye that labor and are heavy laden; that is, -if you feel the need, even if you are of all sufferers the most -miserable—if you feel the need of being helped in this fashion, -that is, to fall into still greater suffering, then come hither, -he will help you.</p> - - - - -<h4>III</h4> - - - - -<h4>THE INVITATION AND THE INVITER</h4> - - -<p>Let us forget for a little while what, in the strictest sense, -constitutes the "offense"; which is, that the inviter claims -to be God. Let us assume that he did not claim to be more than -a man, and let us then consider the inviter and his invitation.</p> - - -<p>The invitation is surely inviting enough. How, then, shall one -explain the bad relation which did exist, this terribly wrong -relation, that no one, or practically no one, accepted the invitation; -that, on the contrary, all, or practically all—alas! and was -it not precisely all who were invited?—that practically all -were at one in offering resistance to the inviter, in wishing -to put him to death, and in setting a punishment on accepting -aid from him? Should one not expect that after an invitation -such as he issued all, all who suffered, would come crowding -to him, and that all they who were not suffering would crowd -to him, touched by the thought of such compassion and mercy, -and that thus the whole race would be at one in admiring and -extolling the inviter? How is the opposite to be explained? -For that this was the outcome is certain enough; and the fact -that it all happened in those remote times is surely no proof -that the generation then living was worse than other generations! -How could any one be so thoughtless as to believe that? For -whoever gives any thought to the matter will easily see that -it happened in that generation only because they chanced to -be contemporaneous with him. How then explain that it happened—that -all came to that terribly wrong end, so opposite to what ought -to have been expected?</p> - -<p>Well, in the first place, if the inviter had looked the figure -which purely human compassion would have him be; and, in the -second place, if he had entertained the purely human conception -of what constitutes man's misery—why, then it would probably -not have happened.</p> - -<p>In the first place: According to this human conception of him -he should have been a most generous and sympathetic person, and -at the same time possessed of all qualifications requisite for -being able to help in all troubles of this world, ennobling the -help thus extended by a profound and heartfelt human compassion. -Withal (so they would imagine him) he should also have been a -man of some distinction and not without a certain amount of -human self-assertion—the consequence of which would be, however, -that he would neither have been able, in his compassion, to -reach down to all sufferers, nor yet to have comprehended fully -what constitutes the misery of man and of mankind.</p> - -<p>But divine compassion, the infinite unconcern which takes thought -only of those that suffer, and not in the least of one's self, -and which with absolute unconcern takes thought of all that suffer: -that will always seem to men only a kind of madness, and they will -ever be puzzled whether to laugh or to weep about it. Even if -nothing else had militated against the inviter, this alone would -have been sufficient to make his lot hard in the world.</p> - -<p>Let a man but try a little while to practice divine compassion, -that is, to be somewhat unconcerned in his compassion, and you -will at once perceive what the opinion of mankind would be. -For example: let one who could occupy some higher rank in society, -let him not (preserving all the while the distinction of his -position) lavishly give to the poor, and philanthropically -(i.e. in a superior fashion) visit the poor and the sick and the -wretched—no, let him give up altogether the distinction of his -position and in all earnest choose the company of the poor and the lowly, -let him live altogether with the people, with workmen, hodmen, -mortar-mixers, and the like! Ah, in a quiet moment, when not -actually beholding him, most of us will be moved to tears by -the mere thought of it; but no sooner would they see him in -this company—him who might have attained to honor and dignity -in the world—see him walking along in such goodly company, -with a bricklayer's apprentice on his right side and a cobbler's -boy on his left, but—well, what then? First they would devise -a thousand explanations to explain that it is because of queer -notions, or obstinacy, or pride, or vanity that he chooses this -mode of life. And even if they would refrain from attributing -to him these evil motives they will never be reconciled with -the sight of him—in this company. The noblest person in the -world will be tempted to laugh, the moment he sees it.</p> - -<p>And if all the clergymen in the world, whether in velvet or -in silk or in broadcloth or in satin, contradicted me I would -say: "You lie, you only deceive people with your Sunday sermons. -Because it will always be possible for a contemporary to say -about one so compassionate (who, it is to be kept in mind, is -our contemporary): I believe he is actuated by vanity, and -that is why I laugh and mock at him; but if he were truly compassionate, -or had I been contemporary with him, the noble one—why then!" -And now, as to those exalted ones "who were not understood by -men"—to speak in the fashion of the usual run of sermons—why, -sure enough, they are dead. In this fashion these people succeed -in playing hide and seek. You simply assume that every contemporary -who ventures out so far is actuated only by vanity; and as to -the departed, you assume that they are dead and that they, therefore, -were among the glorious ones.</p> - -<p>It must be remembered, to be sure, that every person wishes -to maintain his own level in life, and this fixed point, this -steady endeavor, is one of the causes which limit human compassion -to a certain sphere. The cheese-monger will think that to live -like the inmate of a poorhouse is going too far in expressing -one's sympathy; for the sympathy of the cheese-monger is biased -in one regard which is, his regard of the opinion of other cheese-mongers -and of the saloon-keepers. His compassion is therefore not without -its limitations. And thus with every class—and the journalists, -living as they do on the pennies of the poor, under the pretense -of asserting and defending their rights, they would be the first -to heap ridicule on this unlimited compassion.</p> - -<p>To identify one's self wholly and literally with him who is -most miserable (and this, only this, is divine compassion), -that is to men the "too much" by which one is moved to tears, -in a quiet Sunday hour, and about which one unconsciously bursts -into laughter when one sees it in reality. The fact is, it is -too exalted a sight for daily use; one must have it at some -distance to be able to support it. Men are not so familiar with -exalted virtue to believe it at once. The contradiction seen -here is, therefore, that this exalted virtue manifests itself -in—reality, in daily life, quite literally the daily life. -When the poet or the orator illustrates this exalted virtue, -that is, pictures it in a poetical distance from real life, -men are moved; but to see this exalted virtue in reality, the -reality of daily life, here in Copenhagen, on the Market Square, -in the midst of busy every-day life—! And when the poet or -the orator does touch people it is only for a short time, and -just so long are men able to believe, almost, in this exalted -virtue. But to see it in real life every day—! To be sure, -there is an enormous contradiction in the statement that the -most exalted of all has become the most every-day occurrence!</p> - -<p>Insofar, then, it was certain in advance what would be the inviter's -fate, even if nothing else had contributed to his doom. The -absolute,<a name="FNanchor_23_3" id="FNanchor_23_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_3" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> or all which makes for an absolute standard, becomes -by that very fact the victim. For men are willing enough to -practice sympathy and self-denial, are willing enough to strive -for wisdom, etc.; but they wish themselves to determine the -standard and to have that read: "to a certain degree." They do -not wish to do away with all these splendid virtues. On the -contrary, they want—at a bargain and in all comfort—to have -the appearance and the name of practicing them. Truly divine -compassion is therefore necessarily the victim so soon as it -shows itself in this world. It descends on earth out of compassion -for mankind, and yet it is mankind who trample upon it. And -whilst it is wandering about among them, scarcely even the sufferer -dares to flee to it, for fear of mankind. The fact is, it is -most important for the world to keep up the appearance of being -compassionate; but this it made out by divine compassion to -be a falsehood—and therefore: away with divine compassion!</p> - -<p>But now the inviter represented precisely this divine compassion—and -therefore he was sacrificed, and therefore even those that suffered -fled from him; for they comprehended (and, humanly speaking, very -exactly), what is true of most human infirmities, that one is better -off to remain what one is than to be helped by him.</p> - -<p>In the second place: the inviter likewise had an other, and -altogether different, conception than the purely human one as -to what constitutes man's misery. And in this sense only he -was intent on helping; for he had with him neither money, nor -medicine, nor anything else of this kind.</p> - -<p>Indeed, the inviter's appearance is so altogether different -from what human compassion wold imagine it that he is a downright -offense to men. In a purely human sense there is something positively -cruel—something outrageous, something so exasperating as to make -one wish to kill that person—in the fact of his inviting to -him the poor and the sick and the suffering, and then not being -able to do anything for them, except to promise them remission -of their sins. "Let us be human, man is no spirit. And when a -person is about to die of starvation and you say to him: I promise -you the gracious remission of your sins—that is revolting cruelty. -In fact it is ridiculous, though too serious a matter to laugh about."</p> - -<p>Well (for in quoting these sentiments I wish merely to let offended -man discover the contradiction and exaggerate it—it is not I who -wish to exaggerate), well then, the real intention of the inviter -was to point out that sin is the destruction of mankind. Behold -now, that makes room, as the invitation also made room, almost -as if he had said <i>procul, o procul este profani</i>, or as if, -even though he had not said it, a voice had been heard which -thus interpreted the "come hither" of the invitation. There -surely are not many sufferers who will follow the invitation. -And even if there were one who, although aware that from this -inviter no actual wordily help was to be expected, nevertheless -had sought refuge with him, touched by his compassion: now even -he will flee from him. For is it not almost a bit of sharp practice -to profess to be here out of compassion, and then to speak about sin?</p> - -<p>Indeed, it is a piece of cunning, unless you are altogether -certain that you are a sinner. If it is tooth-ache which bothers -you, or if your house is burned to the ground, but if it has -escaped you that you are a sinner—why, then it was cunning on -his part. It is a bit of sharp practice of him to assert: "I -heal all manner of disease," in order to say, when one approaches -him: "the fact is, I recognize only one disease, which is sin—of -that I shall cure all them 'that labor and are heavy laden,' all -them that labor to work themselves free of the power of sin, that -labor to resist the evil, and to vanquish their weakness, but -succeed only in being laden." Of this malady he cures "all" -persons; even if there were but a single one who turned to him -because of this malady: he heals all persons. But to come to -him on account of any other disease, and only because of that, -is about as useful as to look up an eye-doctor when you have -fractured your leg.</p> - - - - -<h4>CHRISTIANITY AS THE ABSOLUTE; CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS WITH CHRIST</h4> - - -<p>With its invitation to all "that labor and are heavy laden" Christianity -has entered the world, not—as the clergy whimperingly and falsely -introduce it—as a shining paragon of mild grounds of consolation; -but as the absolute. God wills it so because of His love, but it -is God who wills it, and He wills it as He wills it. He does not -choose to have His nature changed by man and become a nice, that -is to say, humane, God; but He chooses to change the nature -of man because of His love for them. Neither does He care to -hear any human impertinence concerning the why and wherefore -of Christianity, and why it entered the world: it is, and is -to be, the absolute. Therefore all the relative explanations -which may have been ventured as to its why and wherefore are -entirely beside the point. Possibly, these explanations were -suggested by a kind of human compassion which believes it necessary -to haggle a bit—God very likely does not know the nature of -man very well, His demands are a bit exorbitant, and therefore -the clergymen must haggle and beat Him down a bit.<a name="FNanchor_24_3" id="FNanchor_24_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_3" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> Maybe -the clergy hit upon that idea in order to stand well with men -and reap some advantage from preaching the gospel; for if its -demands are reduced to the purely human, to the demands which -arise in man's heart, why, then men will of course think well -of it, and of course also of the amiable preacher who knows -how to make Christianity so mild—if the Apostles had been able -to do that the world would have esteemed them highly also in -their time. However, all this is the absolute. But what is it -good for, then—is it not a downright torment? Why, yes, you -may say so: from the standpoint of the relative, the absolute -is the greatest torment. In his dull, languid, sluggish moments, -when man is dominated by his sensual nature, Christianity is -an absurdity to him since it is not commensurable with any definite -"wherefore?" But of what use is it, then? Answer: peace! it is -the absolute. And thus it must be represented; that is, in a -fashion which makes it appear as an absurdity to the sensual -nature of man. And therefore is it, ah, so true and, in still -another sense, so true when the worldly-wise man who is contemporaneous -with Christ condemns him with the words: "he is literally -nothing"—quite true, for he is the absolute. And, being -absolute, Christianity has come in the world, not as a consolation -in the human sense: in fact, quite on the contrary, it is ever -reminding one how the Christian must suffer in order to become, -or to remain, a Christian—sufferings which he may, if you -please, escape by not electing to be a Christian.</p> - -<p>There is, indeed, an unbridgeable gulf fixed between God and -man. It therefore became plain to those contemporary with Christ -that the process of becoming a Christian (that is, being changed -into the likeness of God) is, in a human sense, a greater torment -and wretchedness and pain than the greatest conceivable human -suffering, and moreover a crime in the eyes of one's contemporaries. -And thus will it always be; that is, if becoming a Christian in -reality means becoming contemporaneous with Christ. And if becoming -a Christian does not have that meaning, then all your chatter -about becoming a Christian is a vanity, a delusion and a snare, -and likewise a blasphemy and a sin against the Holy Ghost.</p> - -<p>For with regard to the absolute there is but one time, viz. the -present. He who is not contemporaneous with the absolute, for -him it does not exist at all. And since Christ is the absolute, -it is evident that in respect of him there is but one situation: -contemporaneousness. The three, or seven, or fifteen, or seventeen, -or eighteen hundred years which have elapsed since his death do -not make the least difference, one way or the other. They neither -change him nor reveal, either, who he was; for his real nature -is revealed only to faith.</p> - -<p>Christ, let me say so with the utmost seriousness, is not an -actor; neither is he a merely historical personage since, being -the paradox, he is an extremely unhistorical personage. But -precisely this is the difference between poetry and reality: -contemporaneousness.<a name="FNanchor_25_3" id="FNanchor_25_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_3" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> The difference between poetry and history -is no doubt this, that history is what has really happened, and -poetry, what is possible, the action which is supposed to have -taken place, the life which has taken form in the poet's imagination. -But that which really happened (the past) is not necessarily -reality, except in a certain sense, viz., in contrast with poetry. -There is still lacking in it the criterion of truth (as inwardness) -and of all religion, there is still lacking the criterion: the -truth FOR YOU. That which is past is not a reality—for me, -but only my time is. That which you are contemporaneous with, -that is reality—for you. Thus every person has the choice to -be contemporaneous with the age in which he is living—and also -with one other period, with that of Christ's life here on earth; -for Christ's life on earth, or Sacred History, stands by itself, -outside of history.</p> - -<p>History you may read and hear about as a matter of the past. -Within its realm you can, if you so care, judge actions by their -results. But in Christ's life here on earth there is nothing -past. It did not wait for the assistance of any subsequent results -in its own time, 1800 years ago; neither does it now. Historic -Christianity is sheer moonshine and un-Christian muddle-headedness. -For those true Christians who in every generation live a life -contemporaneous with that of Christ have nothing whatsoever to -do with Christians of the preceding generation, but all the -more with their contemporary, Christ. His life here on earth -attends every generation, and every generation severally, as -Sacred History; his life on earth is eternal contemporaneousness. -For this reason all learned lecturing about Christianity, which -has its haunt and hiding-place in the assumption that Christianity -is something which belongs to the past and to the 1800 years of -history, this lecturing is the most un-Christian of heresies, -as every one would readily recognize if he but tried to imagine -the generation contemporaneous with Christ as—lecturing! No, -we must ever keep in mind that every generation (of the faithful) -is contemporaneous with him.</p> - -<p>If you cannot master yourself so as to make yourself contemporaneous -with him and thus become a Christian; or if he cannot, as your -contemporary, draw you to himself, then you will never be a -Christian. You may, if you please, honor, praise, thank, and -with all worldly goods reward, him who deludes you into thinking -that you are a Christian; nevertheless—he deceives you. You -may count yourself happy that you were not contemporaneous with -one who dared to assert this; or you may be exasperated to madness -by the torment, like that of the "gadfly,<a name="FNanchor_26_3" id="FNanchor_26_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_3" class="fnanchor">[26]</a>" of being contemporaneous -with one who says this to your face: in the first case you are -deceived, whereas in the second you have at least had a chance -to hear the truth.</p> - -<p>If you cannot bear this contemporaneousness, and not bear to see -this sight in reality—if you cannot prevail upon yourself to go -out into the street—and behold! it is God in that loathsome -procession; and if you cannot bear to think that this will be -your condition also if you kneel and worship him: then you are -not essentially a Christian. In that case, what you will have -to do is to admit the fact unconditionally to yourself, so that -you may, above all, preserve humility, and fear and trembling, -when contemplating what it means really to be a Christian. For -that way you must proceed, in order to learn and to practice -how to flee to grace, so that you will not seek it in vain; but -do not, for God's sake, go to any one to be "consoled." For to -be sure it is written: "blessed are the eyes which see the things -that ye see,<a name="FNanchor_27_3" id="FNanchor_27_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_3" class="fnanchor">[27]</a>" which word the priests have on the tips of -their tongues—curiously enough; at times, perhaps, even to -defend a worldly finery which, if contemporary with Christ, -would be rather incongruous—as if these words had not been -said solely about those contemporaries of his who believed. -If his exaltation had been evident to the eyes so that every -one without any trouble could have beheld it, why then it would -be incorrect to say that Christ abased himself and assumed the -guise of a servant, and it would be superfluous to warn against -being offended in him; for why in the world should one take -offense in an exalted one arrayed in glory? And how in the world -will you explain it that Christ fared so ill and that everybody -failed to rush up admiringly to behold what was so plain? Ah no, -"he hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, -there is no beauty that we should desire him" (Isaiah 53, 2<a name="FNanchor_28_3" id="FNanchor_28_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_3" class="fnanchor">[28]</a>); -and there was to all appearances nothing remarkable about him -who in lowly guise, and by performing signs and wonders, constantly -presented the possibility of offense, who claimed to be God—in -lowly guise; which therefore expresses: in the first place, -what God means by compassion, and by one's self needing to be -humble and poor if one wishes to be compassionate; and in the -second place, what God means by the misery of mankind. Which, -again, in both instances is extremely different from what men -mean by these things and which every generation, to the end -of time, has to learn over again from the beginning, and beginning -in every respect at the same point where those who were contemporary -with Christ had to start; that is, to practice these things -as contemporaries of Christ. Human impatience and unruliness -is, of course, of no avail whatsoever. No man will be able to -tell you in how far you may succeed in becoming essentially -a Christian. But neither will anxiety and fear and despair help -one. Sincerity toward God is the first and the last condition, -sincerity in confessing to one's self just where one stands, -sincerity before God in ever aiming at one's task. However slowly -one may proceed, and if it be but crawling—one is, at any rate, -in the right position and is not misled and deceived by the -trick of changing the nature of Christ who, instead of being -God, is thereby made to represent that sentimental compassion -which is man's own invention; by which men instead of being -lifted up to heaven by Christianity, are delayed on their way -and remain human and no more.</p> - - - - -<h4>THE MORAL</h4> - - -<p>"And what, then, does all this signify?" It signifies that every -one, in silent inwardness before God, is to feel humility before -what it means to be in the strictest sense a Christian; is to -confess sincerely before God what his position is, so that he -may worthily partake of the grace which is offered to every one -who is not perfect, that is, to every one. And it means no more -than that. For the rest let him attend to his work and find joy -in it, let him love his wife, rejoicing in her, let him raise his -children to be a joy to him, and let him love his fellow-men and -enjoy life. God will surely let him know if more is demanded of -him, and will also help him to accomplish it; for in the terrifying -language of the law this sounds so terrible because it would -seem as if man by his own strength were to hold fast to Christ, -whereas in the language of love it is Christ that holds fast -to him. As was said, then, God will surely let him know if more -is demanded of him. But what is demanded of every one is that he -humble himself in the presence of God under the demands of ideality. -And therefore these demands should be heard, and heard again and -again in all their absoluteness. To be a Christian has become -a matter of no importance whatever—a mummery, something one -is anyway, or something one acquires more readily than a trick. -In very truth, it is high time that the demands of ideality were -heard.</p> - -<p>"But if being a Christian is something so terrifying and awesome, -how in all the world can a man get it into his head to wish to -accept Christianity?" Very simply and, if you so wish, quite -according to Luther: only the consciousness of sin, if I may -express myself so, can force one—from the other side, grace -exerts the attraction—can force one into this terror. And in -the same instant the Christian ideal is transformed, and is -sheer mildness, grace, love, and pity. Looking at it any other -way, however, Christianity is, and shall ever be, the greatest -absurdity, or else the greatest terror. Approach is had only -through the consciousness of sin, and to desire to enter by -any other way amounts to a crime of lèse-majesté against Christianity.</p> - -<p>But sin, or the fact that you and I, individually, are sinners, -has at present either been done away with, or else the demands -have been lowered in an unjustifiable manner, both in life—the -domestic, the civic, as well as the ecclesiastic—and in science -which has invented the new doctrine of sin in general. As an -equivalent, one has hit upon the device of helping men into -Christianity, and keeping them in it, by the aid of a knowledge -of world-historic events, of that mild teaching, the exalted -and profound spirit of it, about Christ as a friend, etc., etc.—all -of which Luther would have called stuff and nonsense and which -is really blasphemy, aiming as it does at fraternizing impudently -with God and with Christ.</p> - -<p>Only the consciousness of being a sinner can inspire one with -absolute respect for Christianity. And just because Christianity -demands absolute respect it must and shall, to any other way of -looking at it, seem absurdity or terror; just because only thereby -can the qualitative and absolute emphasis fall on the fact that -it is only the consciousness of being a sinner which will procure -entrance into it, and at the same time give the vision which, -being absolute respect, enables one to see the mildness and love -and compassion of Christianity.</p> - -<p>The poor in spirit who acknowledge themselves to be sinners, -they do not need to know the least thing about the difficulties -which appear when one is neither simple nor humble-minded. But -when this humble consciousness of one's self, i. e., the individual's, -being a sinner is lacking—aye, even though one possessed all -human ingenuity and wisdom, and had all accomplishments possible -to man: it will profit him little. Christianity will in the same -degree rise terrifying before him and transform itself into -absurdity or terror; until he learns, either to renounce it, -or else, by the help of what is nothing less than scientific -propædeutics, apologetics, etc., that is, through the torments -of a contrite heart, to enter into Christianity by the narrow -path, through the consciousness of sin.</p> - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_5" id="Footnote_1_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_5"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>First Part; comprising about one-fourth of the whole book.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_5" id="Footnote_2_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_5"><span class="label">[2]</span></a>I. e. Christ; <i>cf.</i> Introduction p. 41 for the use of small letters.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_5" id="Footnote_3_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_5"><span class="label">[3]</span></a>Socrates.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_5" id="Footnote_4_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_5"><span class="label">[4]</span></a>John I, 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a>Matthew 20, 15.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_5" id="Footnote_6_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_5"><span class="label">[6]</span></a>Luke 11, 14.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7_5" id="Footnote_7_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_5"><span class="label">[7]</span></a>Kierkegaard's note: by history we mean here profane history, -world history, history as such, as against Sacred History.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8_5" id="Footnote_8_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_5"><span class="label">[8]</span></a><i>Cf.</i> the claim of the Pharisees, Matth. 23, 30: "If we had been -in the days of our fathers, we would not have been partakers with -them in the blood of the prophets."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9_5" id="Footnote_9_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_5"><span class="label">[9]</span></a>One is here irresistibly reminded of passages in Ibsen's "Brand," -e. g., Brand's conversation with Einar, in Act I. <i>Cf.</i> also "The invitation and the inviter" and Introduction.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_10_4" id="Footnote_10_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_4"><span class="label">[10]</span></a>Matthew 11, 6.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_11_4" id="Footnote_11_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_4"><span class="label">[11]</span></a>Luke 18, 32.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_12_3" id="Footnote_12_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_3"><span class="label">[12]</span></a>Matthew 20, 27f.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_13_3" id="Footnote_13_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_3"><span class="label">[13]</span></a>The original here does not agree with the sense of the passage.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_14_3" id="Footnote_14_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_3"><span class="label">[14]</span></a>Björnson's play of "Beyond Human Power," Part I, Act 2, reads -like an elaboration of these views.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_15_3" id="Footnote_15_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_3"><span class="label">[15]</span></a>Matthew 9, 16.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_16_3" id="Footnote_16_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_3"><span class="label">[16]</span></a>The following passage is capable of different interpretations in -the original..</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_17_3" id="Footnote_17_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_3"><span class="label">[17]</span></a>Matthew 14, 17.</p></div> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_18_3" id="Footnote_18_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_3"><span class="label">[18]</span></a><i>Cf.</i> 1 Cor. 2, 9.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_19_3" id="Footnote_19_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_3"><span class="label">[19]</span></a>John 3, 1f.</p></div> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_20_3" id="Footnote_20_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_3"><span class="label">[20]</span></a>Luke 23, 35.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_21_3" id="Footnote_21_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_3"><span class="label">[21]</span></a>John 2, 4, etc.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_22_3" id="Footnote_22_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_3"><span class="label">[22]</span></a>The passage is not quite clear. Probably, you will not be the -man to explain this phenomenon in the very opposite terms, viz., as -the divinity himself.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_23_3" id="Footnote_23_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_3"><span class="label">[23]</span></a>Here, the unreserved identification with human suffering above -referred to.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_24_3" id="Footnote_24_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_3"><span class="label">[24]</span></a><i>Cf.</i> Footnote 8, in "The Misfortune of Christendom."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_25_3" id="Footnote_25_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_3"><span class="label">[25]</span></a>As my friend, H. M. Jones, points out, the following passage is -essentially Aristotelian: "The true difference is that one (history) -relates what has happened, the other (poetry) what may happen"; -"Poetics," Chap. IX.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_26_3" id="Footnote_26_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_3"><span class="label">[26]</span></a><i>Cf.</i> Plato's "Apologia" where Socrates is made to say of himself -that he is inflicted on the Athenians like a gadfly on a horse, in order -to keep them awake.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_27_3" id="Footnote_27_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_3"><span class="label">[27]</span></a>Luke 10, 23.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_28_3" id="Footnote_28_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_3"><span class="label">[28]</span></a>Kierkegaard's own note.</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - -<h4><a id="THE_PRESENT_MOMENT">THE PRESENT MOMENT</a><a name="FNanchor_1_6" id="FNanchor_1_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_6" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></h4> - - -<h4>BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION</h4> - -<h4>(No. I, 1)</h4> - - -<p>Plato says somewhere in his "Republic" that things will go well -only when those men shall govern the state who do not desire to -govern. The idea is probably that, assuming the necessary capability, -a man's reluctance to govern affords a good guarantee that he -will govern well and efficiently; whereas a man desirous of -governing may very easily either abuse his power and become -a tyrant, or by his desire to govern be brought into an unforeseen -situation of dependence on the people he is to rule, so that -his government really becomes an illusion.</p> - -<p>This observation applies also to other relations where much -depends on taking things seriously: assuming there is ability -in a man, it is best that he show reluctance to meddle with -them. To be sure, as the proverb has it: "where there is a will -there is a way"; but true seriousness appears only when a man -fully equal to his task is forced, against his will, to undertake -it—against his will, but fully equal to the task.</p> - -<p>In this sense I may say of myself that I bear a correct relation -to the task in hand: to work in the present moment; for God knows -that nothing is more distasteful to me.</p> - -<p>Authorship—well, I confess that I find it pleasant; and I may -as well admit that I have dearly loved to write—in the manner, -to be sure, which suits me. And what I have loved to do is precisely -the opposite of working in the present moment. What I have loved -is precisely remoteness from the present moment—that remoteness -in which, like a lover, I may dwell on my thoughts and, like an -artist in love with his instrument, entertain myself with language -and lure from it the expressions demanded by my thoughts—ah -blissful entertainment! In an eternity I should not weary of -this occupation.</p> - -<p>To contend with men—well, I do like it in a certain sense; for -I have by nature a temperament so polemic that I feel in my -element only when surrounded by men's mediocrity and meanness. -But only on one condition, viz., that I be permitted to scorn -them in silence and to satisfy the master passion of my soul: -scorn—opportunity for which my career as an author has often -enough given me.</p> - -<p>I am therefore a man of whom it may be said truthfully that he -is not in the least desirous to work in the present moment—very -probably I have been called to do so for that very reason.</p> - -<p>Now that I am to work in the present moment I must, alas! say -farewell to thee, beloved remoteness, where there was no necessity -to hurry, but always plenty of time, where I could wait for -hours and days and weeks for the proper expression to occur -to me; whereas now I must break with all such regards of tender -love.<a name="FNanchor_2_6" id="FNanchor_2_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_6" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> And now that I am to work in the present moment I find -that there will be not a few persons whom I must oblige by paying -my respects to all the insignificant things which mediocrity -with great self-importance will lecture about; to all the nonsense -which mediocre people, by interpreting into my words their own -mediocrity, will find in all I shall write; and to all the lies -and calumnies to which a man is exposed against whom those two -great powers in society: envy and stupidity, must of necessity -conspire.</p> - -<p>Why, then, do I wish to work in the present moment? Because I -should forever repent of not having done so, and forever repent -of having been discouraged by the consideration that the generation -now living would find a representation of the essential truths of -Christianity interesting and curious reading, at most; having -accomplished which they will calmly remain where they are; that -is, in the illusion that they are Christians and that the clergy's -toying with Christianity really is Christianity.</p> - - - - -<h4>A PANEGYRIC ON THE HUMAN RACE OR PROOF THAT THE NEW TESTAMENT IS -NO LONGER TRUE.</h4> - -<h4>(No. II, 5)</h4> - - -<p>In the New Testament the Savior of the World, our Lord Jesus -Christ, represents the matter in this way: "Strait is the gate, -and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be -that find it.<a name="FNanchor_3_6" id="FNanchor_3_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_6" class="fnanchor">[3]</a>"</p> - -<p>—Now, however, just to confine ourselves to Denmark, the way -is as broad as a road can possibly be; in fact, the broadest in -Denmark, for it is the road we all travel. At the same time it -is in all respects a comfortable way, and the gate as wide as -it is possible for a gate to be; for certainly a gate cannot -be wider than to let all men pass through <i>en masse</i>:</p> - -<p>Therefore, the New Testament is no longer true.</p> - -<p>All credit is due to the human race! For thou, oh Savior of -the World, thou didst entertain too low an estimate of the human -race, so that thou didst not foresee the exalted plan which, in -its perfectibility, it may reach by steadily continued endeavor!</p> - -<p>To such an extent, then, is the New Testament no longer true: the -way is the broadest possible, the gate the widest possible, and -we are all Christians. In fact, I may venture still further—I -am enthusiastic about it, for you see I am writing a panegyric -on the human race—I venture to assert that the average Jew -living among us is, to a certain degree, a Christian just as -well as we others: to such an extent are we all Christians, -and to such an extent is the New Testament no longer true.</p> - -<p>And, since the point is to find out all which may be adduced -to extol the human race, one ought—while having a care not -to mention anything which is not true—one ought to watch -that nothing, nothing escape one which in this connection may -serve as a proof or even as a suggestion. So I venture still -further—without wishing to be too positive, as I lack definite -information on this subject and would like, therefore, to refer the matter -to specialists in this line to decide—: whether there are not -present among our domestic animals, or at any rate the nobler ones, such -as the horse, the dog and the cow, indications of a Christian -spirit. It is not improbable. Consider what it means to live -in a Christian state, among a Christian people, where everything -is Christian and everybody is a Christian and where one, turn -where one may, sees nothing but Christians and Christianity, -truth and martyrs for the truth—it is not at all unlikely that -this exerts an influence on the nobler domestic animals and -thereby again—which is ever of the utmost importance, according -to the opinion both of veterinarians and of clergymen—an -influence on their progeny. We have all read of Jacob's ruse, -how in order to obtain spotted lambs he put party-colored twigs -into the watering troughs, so that the ewes saw nothing but -mottled things and then brought forth spotted lambs. Hence it -is not improbable—although I do not wish to be positive, -since I do not belong to the profession, but would rather have -this passed on by a committee composed of both clergymen and -veterinarians—I say, it is not improbable that the result will -finally be that the domestic animals living in a Christian nation will -produce a Christian progeny. The thought almost takes away my -breath. To be sure, in that case the New Testament will to the greatest -possible extent have ceased to be true.</p> - -<p>Ah, Thou Savior of the World, when Thou saidst with great -concern: "When the Son of man cometh, shall He find Faith on the -earth?<a name="FNanchor_4_6" id="FNanchor_4_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_6" class="fnanchor">[4]</a>"—and when Thou didst bow Thy head in death, then -didst Thou least of all think that Thy expectations were to be exceeded -to such a degree, and that the human race would in such a pretty and -touching way render the New Testament no longer true, and Thy -significance almost doubtful; for such nice creatures certainly also -needed a Savior!<a name="FNanchor_5_6" id="FNanchor_5_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_6" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p> - - - - -<h4>IF WE ARE REALLY CHRISTIANS—THEN WHAT IS GOD?</h4> - -<h4>(No. II, 8)</h4> - - -<p>If it is not so—that all we mean by being "Christians" is a -delusion—that all this machinery, with a State Church and thousands -of spiritual-worldly councillors of chancery, etc., is a stupendous -delusion which will not be of the least help to us in the life -everlasting but, on the contrary, will be turned into an accusation -against us—if this is not so; for if it is, then let us, for the -sake of life everlasting, get rid of it, the sooner the better—</p> - -<p>If it is not so, and if what we understand by being a Christian really -is to be a Christian: then what is God in Heaven?</p> - -<p>He is the most ridiculous being that ever existed, His Word is -the most ridiculous book which has ever appeared; for to move -heaven and earth, as He does in his Word, and to threaten with -hell and everlasting damnation—in order to obtain as His result -what we understand by being Christians (and our assumption was -that we are true Christians)—well, now, has anything so ridiculous -ever been seen before? Imagine that a fellow with a loaded pistol -in his hand held up a person and said to him, "I shall shoot you"; -or imagine, what is still more terrible, that he said, "I shall -seize you and torture you to death in the most horrible manner, -if"—now watch, here's the point—"if you do not render your -life here on earth as profitable and as enjoyable as you can": -would not that be utterly ridiculous? For to obtain that effect -it certainly is not necessary to threaten one with a loaded -pistol and the most painful torture; in fact, it is possible -that neither the loaded pistol nor the most painful torture -would be able to deter him from making his life as comfortable -as he can. And the same is true when, by fear of eternal punishment -(terrible threat!), and by hope of eternal salvation, He wishes -to bring about—well, to make us what we are (for what we call -Christian is, as we have seen, really being Christian), to make -us—well, to make us what we are; that is, make men live as -they please; for to abstain from committing crimes is nothing -but common prudence!</p> - -<p>The most terrible blasphemy is the one of which "Christianity" -is guilty, which is, to transform the God of the Spirit into—a -ridiculous piece of nonsense. And the stupidest kind of worship, -more stupid than any idolatry ever was among the heathen, and -more stupid than to worship as a god some stone, or an ox, or -an insect—more stupid than anything, is to adore as god—a -fool!</p> - - - - -<h4>DIAGNOSIS</h4> - -<h4>(No. IV, 1)</h4> - - -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>Every physician will admit that by the correct diagnosis of a -malady more than half the fight against it is won; also, that -if a correct diagnosis has not been made, all skill and all -care and attention will be of little avail.</p> - -<p>The same is true with regard to religion.</p> - -<p>We are agreed to let stand the claim that in "Christendom" we are -Christians, every one of us; and then we have laid and, perhaps, -will lay, emphasis now on this, now on that, side of the teachings -of the Scriptures.</p> - -<p>But the truth is: we are not only not Christians—no, we are not -even the heathen to whom Christianity may be taught without -misgivings, and what is worse, we are prevented through a delusion, -an enormous delusion (viz. "Christendom," the Christian state, -a Christian country, a Christian world) from becoming Christians.</p> - -<p>And then the suggestion is made to one to continue untouched and -unchanged this delusion and, rather, to furnish a new presentation -of the teachings of Christ.<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></p> - -<p>This has been suggested; and, in a certain sense, it is altogether -fitting. Just because one lives in a delusion (not to speak even -of being interested in keeping up the delusion), one is bound -to desire that which will feed the malady—a common enough -observation this—the sick man desiring precisely those things -which feed his malady.</p> - - - - -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>Imagine a hospital. The patients are dying off like so many flies. -The methods are changed, now this way, now that: of no avail! What -may be the cause? The cause lies in the building—the whole -building is tainted. The patients are put down as having died, -the one of this, the other of that, disease, but strictly speaking -this is not true; for they all died from the taint which is in the -building.</p> - -<p>The same is true in religion. That religious conditions are -wretched, and that people in respect of their religion are in -a wretched condition, nothing is more certain. So one ventures -the opinion that if we could but have a new hymn-book; and another, -if we could but have a new service-book; and a third, if we could -but have a musical service, etc., etc.—that then matters would -mend.</p> - -<p>In vain; for the fault lies in the edifice. The whole ramshackle -pile of a State Church which has not been aired, spiritually -speaking, in times out of mind—the air in it has developed -a taint. And therefore religious life has become diseased or -has died out; alas, for precisely that which the worldly mind -regards as health is, in a Christian sense, disease—just as, -vice versa, that which is healthy in a Christian sense, is regarded -as diseased from a worldly point of view.</p> - -<p>Then let the ramshackle pile collapse, get it out of the way, -close all these shops and booths which are the only ones which -are excepted from the strict Sunday regulations, forbid this -official double-dealing, put them out of commission, and provide -for them, for all these quacks:—even though it is true that -the royally attested physician is the acceptable one, and he -who is not so attested is a quack: in Christianity it is just -the reverse; that is, the royally attested teacher is the quack, -is a quack by the very fact that he is royally attested—and -let us worship God again in simplicity, instead of making a -fool of him in splendid edifices; let us be in earnest again -and stop playing; for a Christianity preached by royal officials -who are payed and insured by the state and who use the police -against the others, such a Christianity bears about the same -relation to the Christianity of the New Testament as swimming -with the help of a cork-belt or a bladder does to swimming alone—it -is mere play.</p> - -<p>Yes, let that come about. What Christianity needs is not the -stifling protection of the state—ah no, it needs fresh air, -it needs persecution and—the protection of God. The state does -only mischief in averting persecution and surely is not the -medium through which God's protection can be conducted. Whatever -you do, save Christianity from the state, for with its protection -it overlies Christianity like a fat woman overlying her child -with her carcass, beside teaching Christianity the most abominable -bad habits—as, e.g., to use the police force and to call that -Christianity.</p> - - - - -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>A person is growing thinner every day and is wasting away. What -may the trouble be? For surely he is not suffering want! "No, -sure enough," says the doctor, "that is not the trouble. The -trouble is precisely with his eating, with his eating in season -and out of season, with his eating without being hungry, with -his using stimulants to produce an appetite, and in this manner -ruining his digestion, so that he is wasting away as if he suffered -want."</p> - -<p>The same is true in religion. The worst of all is to satisfy -a craving which has not as yet made its appearance, to anticipate -it, or—worse still—by the help of stimulants to produce -something which looks like a craving, which then is promptly satisfied. -Ah, the shame of it! And yet this is exactly what is being done in -religion where people are in very truth fooled out of the real -meaning of life and helped to waste their lives. That is in -very truth, the effect of this whole machinery of a state church -and a thousand royal officials who, under the pretense of being -spiritual guides for the people, trick them out of the highest -thing in life, which is, the solicitude about one's self, and -the need which would surely of itself find a teacher or minister -after its own mind; whereas now the need—and it is just the -growth of this sense, of a need which gives life its highest -significance—whereas now this need does not arise at all, but -on the contrary is forestalled by being satisfied long before -it can arise. And this is the way, they claim, this is the way -to continue the work which the Savior of Mankind did begin—stunting -the human race as they do. And why is this so? Because there -happen to be a thousand and one royal officials who have to -support their families by furnishing what is called—spiritual -guidance for men's souls!</p> - - - - -<h4>THE CHRISTIANITY OF THE NEW TESTAMENT; THE CHRISITANITY OF -"CHRISTENDOM."</h4> - -<h4>(No. V, 4)</h4> - - -<p>The intention of Christianity was: to change everything.</p> - -<p>The result, the Christianity of "Christendom" is: everything, -literally everything, remained as it had been, with just the -difference that to everything was affixed the attribute "Christian"—and -for the rest (strike up, fiddlers!) we live in Heathendom—so -merrily, so merrily the dance goes around; or, rather, we live -in a Heathendom made more refined by the help of Life Everlasting -and by help of the thought that, after all, it is all Christian!</p> - -<p>Try it, point to what you will, and you shall see that I am right -in my assertion.</p> - -<p>If what Christianity demanded was chastity, then away with brothels! -But the change is that the brothels have remained just as they -did in Heathendom, and the proportion of prostitutes remained -the same, too; to be sure, they became "Christian" brothels! A -brothel-keeper is a "Christian" brothel-keeper, he is a Christian -as well as we others. Exclude him from church membership? "Why, -for goodness sake," the clergyman will say, "what would things -come to if we excluded a single paying member?" The brothel-keeper -dies and gets a funeral oration with a panegyric in proportion -to the amount he pays. And after having earned his money in a -manner which, from a Christian point of view, is as filthy and -base as can be (for, from a Christian point of view it would be -more honorable if he had stolen it) the clergyman returns home. -He is in a hurry, for he is to go to church in order to deliver -an oration or, as Bishop Martensen would say, "bear witness."</p> - -<p>But if Christianity demanded honesty and uprightness, and doing -away with this swindle, the change which really came about was -this: the swindling has remained just as in Heathendom, "every -one (every Christian) is a thief in his own line"; only, the -swindling has taken, on the predicate "Christian." So we now -have "Christian" swindling—and the "clergyman" bestows his -blessing on this Christian community, this Christian state, -in which one cheats just as one did in Heathendom, at the same -time that one pays the "clergyman," that is, the biggest swindler -of them all, and thus cheats one's self into Christianity.</p> - -<p>And if Christianity demanded seriousness in life and doing away -with the praise and approbation of vanity—why, everything has -remained as before, with just this difference that it has assumed -the predicate "Christian." Thus the trumpery business with decorations, -titles, and rank, etc. has become Christian—and the clergyman -(that most indecent of all indecencies, that most ridiculous of -all ridiculous hodgepodges), he is as pleased as Punch to be decorated -himself—with the "cross." The cross? Why, certainly; for in the -Christianity of "Christendom" has not the cross become something -like a child's hobby-horse and tin-trumpet?</p> - -<p>And so with everything. There is implanted in man no stronger -instinct, after that of self-preservation, than the instinct of -reproduction; for which reason Christianity seeks to reduce its -strength, teaching that it is better not to marry; "but if they -cannot contain, let them marry; for it is better to marry than -to burn." But in Christendom the propagation of the race has -become the serious business of life and of Christianity; and -the clergyman—that quint-essence of nonsense done up in long -clothes—the clergyman, the teacher of Christianity, of the -Christianity of the New Testament, has his income adjusted to -the fact that the human race is active in propagating the race, -and gets a little something for each child!</p> - -<p>As I said, look about you and you will find that everything -is as I told you: the change from Heathendom consists in everything -remaining unchanged but having assumed the predicate "Christian."</p> - - - - -<h4>MODERN RELIGIOUS GUARANTEES</h4> - -<h4>(No. V, 8)</h4> - - -<p>In times long, long past people looked at matters in this fashion: -it was demanded of him who would be a teacher of Christianity -that his life should be a guarantee for the teachings he proclaimed.</p> - -<p>This idea was abandoned long ago, the world having become wiser -and more serious. It has learned to set little store by these -illiberal and sickly notions of personal responsibility, having -learned to look for purely objective ends. The demand is made -now of the teacher that his life should guarantee that what he -has to say is entertaining and dramatic stuff, amusing, and -purely objective.</p> - -<p>Some examples. Suppose you wanted to speak about Christianity, -that is, the Christianity of the New Testament which expresses -preference for the single state—and suppose you yourself are -unmarried: why, my dear man! you ought not to speak on this -subject, because your congregation might think that you meant -what you said and become disquieted, or it might feel insulted -that you thus, very improperly, mixed in your own affairs. No, -dear sir, it will take a little longer before you are entitled -to speak seriously on this matter so as really to satisfy the -congregation. Wait till you have buried your first wife and -are well along with your second wife: then it will be time for -you to stand before your congregation to preach and "bear witness" -that Christianity prefers the single state—then you will -satisfy them altogether; for your life will furnish the guarantee -that it is all tomfoolery and great fun, or that what you say -is—interesting. Indeed, how interesting! For just as, to -make it interesting, the husband must be unfaithful to his wife -and the wife to her husband, likewise truth becomes interesting, -intensely interesting, only when one lets one's self be carried away -by one's feelings, be fascinated by them—but of course does -the precise opposite and thus in an underhand manner is re-assured -in persisting in one's ways.</p> - -<p>Do you wish to speak about Christianity's teaching contempt -for titles and decorations and all the follies of fame—and -should you happen to be neither a person of rank nor anything -of the kind: Why, my dear sir! You ought not to undertake to -speak on this subject. Why, your congregation might think you -were in earnest, or feel insulted by such a lack of tact in -forcing your personality on their notice. No, indeed, you ought -to wait till you have a lot of decorations, the more the merrier; -you ought to wait till you drag along with a rigmarole of titles, -so many that you hardly know yourself what you are called: then -is your time come to stand before your congregation to preach -and "bear witness"—and you will undoubtedly satisfy them; for -your life will then furnish the guarantee that it is but a dramatic -divertissement, an interesting forenoon entertainment.</p> - -<p>Is it your intention to preach Christianity in poverty, and -insist that only thus it is taught in truth—and you happen -to be very literally a poor devil: Why, my dear sir! You ought -not to venture to speak on this subject. Why, your congregation -might think you were in earnest, they might become afraid and -lose their good humor, and they might be very unpleasantly affected -by thus having poverty-thrust in on them. No indeed, first get -yourself some fat living, and when you have had it so long that -your promotion to one still fatter is to be expected: then is -your time come to stand before your congregation and to preach -and "bear witness"—and you will satisfy them; for your life -then furnishes the guarantee that it is just a joke, such as -serious men like to indulge in, now and then, in theatre or -in church, as a sort of recreation to gather new strength—for -making money.</p> - -<p>And that is the way they honor God in the churches! And then -these silk and velvet orators weep, they sob, their voice is -drowned in tears! Ah, if it be true (and it is, since God Himself -has said so), if it be true that He counts the tears of the -afflicted and puts them into His bottle,<a name="FNanchor_7_6" id="FNanchor_7_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_6" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> then woe to these -orators, if God has counted also their Sunday tears and put -them into His bottle! And woe to us all if God really heeds -these Sunday tears—especially those of the speakers, but -also those of the listeners! For a Sunday preacher would indeed -be right if he said—and, oratorically, this would have -a splendid effect, especially if accompanied by his own tears -and suppressed sobs—he would be right if he said to his -audience: I shall count all the futile tears you have shed in -church, and with them I shall step accusingly before you on the -Day of Judgment—indeed, he is right; only please not to -forget that, after all, the speaker's own dramatic tears are by far -more dreadful than the thoughtless tears of his listeners.</p> - - - - -<h4>WHAT SAYS THE FIRE-MARSHAL</h4> - -<h4>(No. VI, 5)</h4> - - -<p>That a man who in some fashion or other has what one calls a -"cause," something he seriously purposes to accomplish—and -there are other persons who make it their business to counteract, -and antagonize, and hurt him—that he must take measures against -these his enemies, this will be evident to every one. But that -there is a well-intentioned kindness by far more dangerous, -perhaps, and one that seems calculated to prevent the serious -accomplishment of his mission, this will not at once be clear -to every one.</p> - -<p>When a person suddenly falls ill, kindly-intentioned folk will -straightway rush to his help, and one will suggest this, another -that—and if all those about him had a chance to have their way -it would certainly result in the sick man's death; seeing that -even one person's well-meaning advice may be dangerous enough. -And even if nothing is done, and the advice of neither the assembled -and well-meaning crowd nor of any one person is taken, yet their -busy and flurried presence may be harmful, nevertheless, inasmuch -as they are in the way of the physician.</p> - -<p>Likewise at a fire. Scarcely has the alarm of fire been sounded -but a great crowd of people will rush to the spot, good and kindly -and sympathetic, helpful people, the one with a bucket, the other -with a basin, still another with a hand-squirt—all of them goodly, -kindly, sympathetic, helpful persons who want to do all they can -to extinguish the fire.</p> - -<p>But what says the fire-marshal? The fire-marshal, he says—well, -at other times the fire-marshal is a very pleasant and refined -man; but at a fire he does use coarse language—he says -or, rather, he roars out: "Oh, go to hell with your buckets -and hand-squirts!" And then, when these well-meaning people -feel insulted, perhaps, and think it highly improper to be -treated in this fashion, and would like at least to be treated -respectfully—what says the fire-marshal then? Well, at other -times the fire-marshal is a very pleasant and refined gentleman -who will show every one the respect due him; but at a fire he is -somewhat different—he says: "Where the devil is the police?" -And when the policemen arrive he says to them: "Rid me of these -damn people with their buckets and hand-squirts; and if they won't -clear out, then club them on their heads, so that we get rid of them -and—can get at the fire!"</p> - -<p>That is to say, in the case of a fire the whole way of looking -at things is a very different one from that of quiet every-day -life. The qualities which in quiet every-day life render one -well-liked, viz., good-nature and kindly well-meaning, all this -is repaid, in the case of a fire, with abusive language and -finally with a crack on the head.</p> - -<p>And this is just as it should be. For a conflagration is a serious -business; and wherever we have to deal with a serious business -this well-intentioned kindness won't do at all. Indeed, any -serious business enforces a very different mode of behavior -which is: either-or. Either you are able really to do something, -and really have something to do here; or else, if that be not -the case, then the serious business demands precisely that you -take yourself away. And if you will not comprehend that, the -fire-marshal proposes to have the police hammer it into your -head; which may do you a great deal of good, as it may help -to render you a little serious, as is befitting so serious a -business as a fire.</p> - -<p>But what is true in the case of a fire holds true also in matters -of the spirit. Wherever a cause is to be promoted, or an enterprise -to be seen through, or an idea to be served—you may be -sure that when he who really is the man to do it, the right -man, he who, in a higher sense has and ought to have command, -he who is in earnest and can make the matter the serious business -it really is—you may be sure that when he arrives at the -spot, so to say, he will find there a nice company of easy-going, -addle-pated twaddlers who pretending to be engaged in serious -business, dabble in wishing to serve this cause, to further -that enterprise, to promote that idea—a company of addle-pated -fools who will of course consider one's unwillingness to make -common cause with them (which unwillingness precisely proves -one's seriousness)—will of course consider that a sure proof of -the man's lack of seriousness. I say, when the right man arrives he -will find this; but I might also look at it in this fashion: the very -question as to whether he is the right man is most properly decided -by his attitude to that crowd of fools. If he thinks they may help him, -and that he will add to his strength by joining them, then he is -<i>eo ipso</i> not the right man. The right man will understand at -once, as did the fire-marshal, that the crowd must be got out of the way; -in fact, that their presence and puttering around is the most -dangerous ally the fire could have. Only, that in matters of -the spirit it is not as in the case of the conflagration, where -the fire-marshal needs but to say to the police: rid me of these -people!</p> - -<p>Thus in matters of the spirit, and likewise in matters of religion. -History has frequently been compared to what the chemists call -a "process." The figure is quite suggestive, providing it is -correctly understood. For instance, in the "process of filtration" -water is run through a filter and by this process loses its -impurities. In a totally different sense history is a process. -The idea is given utterance—and then enters into the process -of history. But unfortunately this process (how ridiculous a -supposition!) consists not in purifying the idea, which never -is purer than at its inception; oh no, it consists in gradually -and increasingly botching, bungling, and making a mess of, the -idea, in using up the idea, in—indeed, is not this the opposite -of filtering?—adding the impurer elements which it originally -lacked: until at last, by the enthusiastic and mutually appreciative -efforts of successive generations, the idea has absolutely disappeared -and the very opposite of the original idea is now called the -idea, which is then asserted to have arisen through a historic -process by which the idea is purified and elevated.</p> - -<p>When finally the right man arrives, he who in the highest sense -is called to the task—for all we know, chosen early and slowly -educated for this business—which is, to throw light on the matter, -to set fire to this jungle which is a refuge for all kinds of -foolish talk and delusions and rascally tricks—when he comes -he will always find a nice company of addle-pated fools and -twaddlers who, surely enough, do think that, perhaps, things -are wrong and that "something must be done about it"; or who -have taken the position, and talk a good deal about it, that -it is preposterous to be self-important and talk about it. Now -if he, the right man, is deceived but a single instant and thinks -that it is this company who are to aid him, then it is clear -he is not the right man. If he is deceived and has dealings -with that company, then providence will at once take its hand -off him, as not fit. But the right man will see at a glance, -as the fire-marshal does, that the crowd who in the kindness -of their hearts mean to help in extinguishing a conflagration -by buckets and hand-squirts—the right man will see that the -same crowd who here, when there is a question, not of extinguishing -a fire, but rather of setting something on fire, will in the -kindness of their hearts wish to help, with a sulphur match -sans fire or a wet spill—he will see that this crowd must be -got rid of, that he must not have the least thing in common -with this crowd, that he will be! obliged to use the coarsest -possible language against them—he who perhaps at other times -is anything but coarse. But the thing of supreme importance -is to be rid of the crowd; for the effect of the crowd is to -hamstring the whole cause by robbing it of its seriousness while -heartfelt sympathy is pretended. Of course the crowd will then -rage against him, against his incredible arrogance and so forth. -This ought not to count with him, whether for or against. In -all truly serious business the law of: either—or, prevails. -Either, I am the man whose serious business this is, I am called -to it, and am willing to take a decisive risk; or, if this be -not the case, then the seriousness of the business demands that -I do not meddle with it at all. Nothing is more detestable and -mean, and nothing discloses and effects a deeper demoralization, -than this lackadaisical wishing to enter "somewhat" into matters -which demand an <i>aut—aut, aut Cæsar aut nihil</i>,<a name="FNanchor_8_6" id="FNanchor_8_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_6" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> this -taking just a little part in something, to be so wretchedly lukewarm, -to twaddle about the business, and then by twaddling to usurp -through a lie the attitude of being better than they who wish -not to have anything whatever to do with the whole business—to -usurp through a lie the attitude of being better, and thus to -render doubly difficult the task of him whose business it really is.</p> - - - - -<h4>CONFIRMATION AND WEDDING CEREMONY; CHRISTIAN—COMEDY—OR -WORSE STILL.</h4> - -<h4>(No. VII, 6)</h4> - - -<p>Pricks of conscience (insofar as they may be assumed in this -connection)—pricks of conscience seem to have convinced -"Christendom" that it was, after all, going too far, and that it would -not do—this beastly farce of becoming a Christian by the -simple method of letting a royal official give the infant a sprinkle -of water over his head, which is the occasion for a family gathering -with a banquet to celebrate the day.</p> - -<p>This won't do, was the opinion of "Christendom," for the opportunity -ought to be given the baptized individual to indorse personally his -baptismal vows.</p> - -<p>For this purpose the rite of confirmation was devised—a splendid -invention, providing we take two things for granted: in the first -place, that the idea of divine worship is to make God ridiculous; -and in the second place, that its purpose is to give occasion -for family celebrations, parties, a jolly evening, a banquet which -is different from other banquets in that it—ah, exquisite—in -that it, "at the same time" has a religious significance.</p> - -<p>"The tender child," thus Christendom, "can of course not assume -the baptismal vow personally, for this requires a real personality." -Consequently there was chosen—is this a stroke of genius or -just ingenious?—there was chosen the age of 14 or 15 year's, -the schoolboy age. This real personality—that is all right, -if you please—he is equal to the task of personally assuming -responsibility for the baptismal vow taken in behalf of the infant.</p> - -<p>A boy of fifteen! Now, if it were a matter of 10 dollars, his -father would probably say: "No, my boy, I can't let you have -all that money, you are still too green for that." But for a -matter touching his eternal salvation where the point is to -assume, with all the seriousness one's personality is capable -of, and as a personality, responsibility for what certainly -could not in any profounder sense be called serious—when a -child is bound by a vow: for that the age of fifteen is excellently -fitting.</p> - -<p>Excellently fitting. Oh yes if, as was remarked above, divine -worship serves a double purpose, viz., to render God ridiculous -in a very adroit manner—if you may call it so—and to furnish -the occasion for graceful family celebrations. In that case it -is indeed excellently fitting, as everything is on that occasion; -as is, likewise, the customary biblical lesson for the day which, -you will remember, begins: "Then the same day at evening, when -the doors were shut<a name="FNanchor_9_6" id="FNanchor_9_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_6" class="fnanchor">[9]</a>"—and this text is particularly suitable -to a Confirmation Sunday. One is truly edified when hearing a -clergyman read it on a Confirmation Sunday.</p> - -<p>As is easily perceived, then, the confirmation ceremony is still -worse nonsense than the baptism of infants, just because confirmation -pretends to supply what was lacking at the baptism, viz., a real -personality capable of making a vow in a matter touching one's -eternal salvation. In another sense this nonsense is, to be -sure, ingenious enough, as serving the self-interest of the -clergy who understand full well that if the decision concerning -a man's religion were reserved until he had reached maturity -(which were the only Christian, as well as the only sensible, -way), many might possess character enough to refuse to become -Christians by an act of hypocrisy. For this reason "the clergyman" -seeks to gain control of men in their infancy and their youth, -so that they would find it difficult, upon reaching a more mature -age, to break a "sacred" vow dating, to be sure, from one's -boyhood, but which would, perhaps, still be a serious enough -matter to many a one. Hence the clergy take hold of the infants, -the youths, and receive sacred promises and the like from them. -And what that man of God, "the clergyman," does, why, that is, -of course, a God-fearing action. Else, analogy might, perhaps, -demand that to the ordinance forbidding the sale of spirituous -liquors to minors there should be added one forbidding the taking -of solemn vows concerning one's eternal salvation from—boys; -which ordinance would look toward preventing the clergy, who -themselves are perjurers, from working—in order to salve their -own consciences—from working toward the greatest conceivable -shipwreck which is, to make all society become perjured; for -letting boys of fifteen bind themselves in a matter touching -their eternal salvation is a measure which is precisely calculated -to have that effect.</p> - -<p>The ceremony of confirmation is, then, in itself a worse piece -of nonsense than the baptism of infants. But in order to miss -nothing which might, in any conceivable manner, contribute to -render confirmation the exact opposite of what it purports to -be, this ceremony has been connected with all manner of worldly -and civil affairs, so that the significance of confirmation lies -chiefly in the—certificate of character which the minister -makes out; without which certificate no boy or girl will be -able to get on at all in life.<a name="FNanchor_10_6" id="FNanchor_10_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_6" class="fnanchor">[10]</a></p> - -<p>The whole thing is a comedy; and perhaps something might be -done to add greater dramatic illusion to the solemnity; as e.g., -passing an ordinance forbidding any one to be confirmed in a -jacket, as not becoming a real personality; likewise, a regulation -ordering male candidates for confirmation to wear a beard during -the ceremony, which beard might, of course, be taken off for the -family celebration in the evening, or be used in fun and merrymaking.</p> - -<p>I am not now attacking the community—they are led astray; they -cannot be blamed for liking this kind of divine worship, seeing -that they are left to their own devices and deceived by their -clergyman who has sworn an oath on the New Testament. But woe -to these clergymen, woe to them, these sworn liars! I know there -have been mockers at religion, and I know how much they would -have given to be able to do what I do; but they were not able -to, because God was not with them. It is different with me. -Originally as well disposed to the clergy as few have been, -and very ready to help them. I have undergone a change of heart -in the opposite direction, owing to their attitude. And the -Almighty is with me, and He knows how the whip is to be handled -so that the blows take effect, and that laughter must be that -whip, handled with fear and trembling—therefore am I used.</p> - - - - -<h4>THE WEDDING CEREMONY</h4> - - -<p>True worship of God consists, very simply, in doing God's will.</p> - -<p>But that kind of divine service has never suited man's wishes. -That which occupies man's mind at all times, that which gives -rise to science<a name="FNanchor_11_6" id="FNanchor_11_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_6" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> and makes science spread into many, many -sciences, and into interminable detail; that of which, and for -which, thousands of clergymen and professors live, that which -forms the contents of the history of Christendom, by the study -of which the clergyman or the professor is to be trained—is -to get a different kind of worship arranged, the main point of -which would be: to do what one pleases, but in such fashion that -the name of God and the invocation of God be brought into connection -therewith; by which arrangement man imagines himself safeguarded -against ungodliness—whereas, alas! just this procedure is the -most unqualified ungodliness.</p> - -<p>For example: a man has the intention to make his living by killing -people. To be sure, he knows from the Word of God that this is -not permissible, that God's will is: thou shalt not kill! "All -right," thinks he, "but this way of serving God will not serve -my purposes—at the same time I don't care to be among the ungodly -ones, either." So what does he do but get hold of some priest who -in God's name blesses his dagger. Ah, <i>c'est bien autre chose!</i></p> - -<p>In the Scriptures the single state is recommended. "But," says -man, "that kind of worship really does not serve my purposes—and -surely, you can't say that I am an ungodly person; and such an -important step as marriage (which <i>nota bene</i> God counsels against, -His opinion being, in fact, that the important thing is not to -take "this important step")—should I take such an important step -without making sure of God's blessing?" Bravo! "That is what we -have the priest for, that man of God, he will bestow the blessing -on this important step (<i>nota bene</i> concerning which the most -important thing was not to take it at all) and so it will be -acceptable to God"—and so I have my own way; and my own way -becomes the way of worshipping God; and the priest has his own -way and gets his ten dollars, which are not earned in such a -simple way as, for example, by brushing people's clothes, or -by serving out beer and brandy—oh no! Was he not active on -behalf of God? To earn ten dollars in this fashion is: serving -God. Bravissimo!</p> - -<p>What depth of nonsense and abomination! If something is -not pleasing to God, does it perhaps become pleasing to Him -by having—why, that is aggravating the mischief!—by -having a clergyman along who—why, that is aggravating -the mischief still more!—who gets ten dollars for declaring -it pleasant to God?</p> - -<p>Let us consider the marriage ceremony still further! In His -word God recommends the single state. Now suppose two young -people want to be married. To be sure, they ought certainly -to know, themselves, what Christianity is, seeing that they -call themselves Christians; but never mind that now. The lovers -then apply to—the clergyman; and the clergyman is, we remember, -pledged by his oath on the New Testament (which <i>nota bene</i> -recommends the single state). Now, if he is not a liar and a -perjurer who makes his money in the very shabbiest fashion, -he would be bound to take the following course: at most he could, -with human compassion for this human condition of being in love, -say to them: "Dear children, I am the one to whom you should -turn last of all; to turn to me on this occasion is, indeed, -as strange as if one should turn to the chief of police and -ask him how best to steal. My duty is to employ all means to -restrain you. At most, I can say, with the words of the Apostle -(for they are not the words of Our Lord), I can say to you: -well, if it must be, and you cannot contain, why, then find -some way of getting together; for fit is better to marry than -to burn.'<a name="FNanchor_12_4" id="FNanchor_12_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_4" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> I know very well that you will be likely to shudder -when I speak in this manner about what you think is the most -beautiful thing in life; but I must do my duty. And it is therefore -I said to you that to me you should have applied last of all."</p> - -<p>It is different in "Christendom." The priest—oh dear me!—if -there are but two to clap together, why certainly! Indeed, if -the persons concerned turned to a midwife they would perhaps -not be as sure to be confirmed in their conviction that their -intention is pleasing to God.</p> - -<p>And so they are married; i.e. man has his own way, and this -having his own way strategically serves at the same time as -divine worship, God's name being connected with it. They are -married—by the priest! Ah, for having the clergyman along is -just what reassures one—the man who, to be sure, is pledged -by his oath to preach the New Testament, but who for a consideration -of ten dollars is the pleasantest company one could desire—that -man he guarantees that this act is true worship of God.</p> - -<p>In a Christian sense one ought to say: precisely the fact that -a priest is in it, precisely that is the worst thing about the -whole business. If you want to be married you ought, rather, -be married by a smith; for then—if it were admissible to speak -in this fashion—then it might possibly escape God's attention; -whereas, if there is a priest along it can certainly not escape -His attention. Precisely the fact of the clergyman's being there -makes it as criminal an affair as possible—call to mind what -was said to a man who in a storm at sea invoked the gods: "By -all means do not let the gods notice that you are aboard!" Thus -one might say here also: By all means try to avoid calling in -a priest. The others, the smith and the lovers, have not pledged -themselves by an oath on the New Testament, so matters are not -as bad—if it be admissible to speak in this fashion—as when -the priest assists with his—holy presence.</p> - - - - -<h4>AN ETERNITY TO REPENT IN!</h4> - -<h4>(No. VIII, 3)</h4> - - -<p>Let me relate a story. I did not read it in a book of devotion -but in what is generally called light reading. Yet I do not -hesitate to make use of it, and indicate its source only lest -any one be disturbed if he should happen to be acquainted with -it, or find out at some later time where it is from—lest he be -disturbed that I had been silent about this.</p> - -<p>Once upon a time there lived somewhere in the East a poor old -couple. Utterly poor they were, and anxiety about the future -naturally grew when they thought of old age approaching. They -did not, indeed, constantly assail heaven with their prayers, -they were too God-fearing to do that; but still they were ever -praying to God for help.</p> - -<p>Then one morning it happened that the old woman found an exceeding -large jewel on the hearth-stone, which she forthwith showed to -her husband, who recognized its value and easily perceived that -now their poverty was at an end.</p> - -<p>What a bright future for these old people, and what gladness! -But frugal and pious as they were they decided not to sell the -jewel just yet, since they had enough wherewithal to live still -one more day. But on the morrow they would sell it, and then a -new life was to begin for them.</p> - -<p>In the following night the woman dreamed that she was transported -to Paradise. An angel showed her about the splendors which only -an Oriental imagination can devise. He showed her a hall in which -there stood long rows of arm-chairs gemmed all over with precious -stones and pearls. These, so the angel explained, were the seats -of the pious. And last of all he pointed out to her the one -destined for herself. When regarding it more closely she discovered -that a very large jewel was lacking in the back of the chair, and -she asked the angel how that might be. He—ah, watch now, for -here is the point! The angel answered: "That was the jewel which -you found on your hearth-stone. It was given you ahead of time, -and it cannot be put in again."</p> - -<p>In the morning the woman told her husband this dream. And she -was of the opinion that it was better, perhaps, to endure in -poverty the few years still left to them to live, rather than -to be without that jewel in all eternity. And her pious husband -was of the same opinion.</p> - -<p>So in the evening they laid the jewel on the hearth-stone and -prayed to God to take it away again. And next morning it had -disappeared, for certain; and what had become of it the old -folks well knew: it was in its right place again.</p> - -<p>This man was in truth happily married, and his wife a sensible -woman. But even if it were true, as is maintained so often, -that it is men's wives who cause them to lose sight of eternal -values: even if all men remained unmarried, there would still -be in every one of us an impulse, more ingenious and more pressing -and more unremitting than a woman, which will cause him to use -a wrong measure and to think a couple of years, or ten years, -or forty years, so enormous a length of time that even eternity -were quite brief in comparison; instead of these years being -as nothing when compared with the infinite duration of eternity.</p> - -<p>Therefore, heed this well! You may by worldly wisdom escape -perhaps what it has pleased God to unite with the condition of -one's being a Christian, that is, sufferings and tribulations; -you may, and to your own destruction, by cleverly avoiding the -difficulties, perhaps, gain what God has forever made incompatible -with being a Christian, that is, the enjoyment of pleasures -and all earthly goods; you may, fooled by your own worldly wisdom, -perhaps, finally perish altogether, in the illusion that you -are on the right way because you have gained happiness in this -world: and then—you will have an eternity to repent in! An -eternity to repent in; to repent that you did not employ your -time in doing what might be remembered in all eternity; that is, -in truth to love God, with the consequence that you suffer the -persecution of men in this life.</p> - -<p>Therefore, do not deceive yourself, and of all deceivers fear -most yourself! Even if it were possible for one, with regard -to eternity, to take something ahead of time, you would still -deceive yourself just by having something ahead of time—and -then an eternity to repent in!</p> - - - - -<h4>A DOSE OF DISGUST WITH LIFE</h4> - -<h4>(No. IX, 3)</h4> - - -<p>Just as man—as is natural—desires that which tends to -nourish and revive his love of life, likewise he who wishes to live with -eternity in mind needs a constant dose of disgust with life -lest he become foolishly enamored of this world and, still more, -in order that he may learn thoroughly to be disgusted and bored -and sickened with the folly and lies of this wretched world. Here -is a dose of it:</p> - -<p>God Incarnate is betrayed, mocked, deserted by absolutely all -men; not a single one, literally not a single one, remains faithful -to him—and then, afterwards, afterwards,—oh yes, afterwards, -there were millions of men who on their knees made pilgrimage -to the places where many hundred years ago His feet, perhaps, -trod the ground; afterwards, afterwards—oh yes, afterwards, -millions worshipped a splinter of the cross on which He was crucified!</p> - -<p>And so it was always when men were contemporary with the great; -but afterwards, afterwards—oh yes, afterwards!</p> - -<p>Must one then not loathe being human?</p> - -<p>And again, must one not loathe being human? For these millions -who on their knees made pilgrimage to His grave, this throng of -people which no power on earth was able to overcome: but one -thing were necessary, Christ's return—and all these millions -would quickly regain their feet to run their way, so that the -whole throng were as if blown away; or would, in a mass, and -erect enough, rush upon Christ in order to kill him.</p> - -<p>That which Christ and the Apostles and every martyr desires, -and desires as the only thing: that we should follow in His -footsteps, just that is the thing which mankind does not like -or does not find pleasure in.</p> - -<p>No, take away the danger—so that it is but play, and -then the battallions of the human race will (ah, disgusting!) will -perform astonishing feats in aping Him; and then instead of an -imitation of Christ we get (ah, disgusting!), we get that sacred -buffoonery—under guidance and command (ah, disgusting!) -of sworn clergymen who do service as sergeants, lieutenants, -etc.—ordained men who therefore have the Holy Spirit's -special assistance in this serious business.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_6" id="Footnote_1_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_6"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>Selections.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_6" id="Footnote_2_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_6"><span class="label">[2]</span></a>The following sentence is not clear in the original.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_6" id="Footnote_3_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_6"><span class="label">[3]</span></a>Matthew 7, 14.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_6" id="Footnote_4_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_6"><span class="label">[4]</span></a>Luke 18, 8.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_6" id="Footnote_5_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_6"><span class="label">[5]</span></a>The last line of this piece of bloody irony is not clear in the original -(S. V. XIII, 128). It will make better sense if one substitutes -"da" for the first "de."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a>This suggestion had actually been made to Kierkegaard in the -course of his attacks on Martensen.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7_6" id="Footnote_7_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_6"><span class="label">[7]</span></a>Allusion to Psalm 56, 9; also, to a passage in one of Bishop -Mynster's sermons (S. V.).</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8_6" id="Footnote_8_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_6"><span class="label">[8]</span></a>Either-or; either Cæsar or nothing (Cesare Borgia's slogan).</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9_6" id="Footnote_9_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_6"><span class="label">[9]</span></a>"John 20, 19—where the disciples were assembled for fear of the -Jews, came Jesus and stood in the midst, and saith unto them. Peace -be unto you."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_10_6" id="Footnote_10_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_6"><span class="label">[10]</span></a>This was, until very recently, the universal rule in Protestant -Scandinavia and Germany.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_11_6" id="Footnote_11_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_6"><span class="label">[11]</span></a>"It is to be borne in mind that Danish <i>videnskab</i>, like German -<i>Wissenschaft</i>, embraces the humanities and theology as well."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_12_4" id="Footnote_12_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_4"><span class="label">[12]</span></a>I Cor. 7, 9.</p></div> - - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Selections from the Writings of -Kierkegaard, by Søren Kierkegaard - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WRITINGS OF KIERKEGAARD *** - -***** This file should be named 60333-h.htm or 60333-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/3/3/60333/ - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images -generously made available by Internet Archive.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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