{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_60333/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_60333","id":"gutenberg_60333","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60333","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Biographies","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Philosophy","Theology"],"text":"UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS BULLETIN\n\nNO. 2326: JULY 8, 1923\n\nSELECTIONS FROM THE WRITINGS OF KIERKEGAARD\n\nTRANSLATED BY L. M. HOLLANDER\n\nADJUNCT PROFESSOR OF GERMANIC LANGUAGES\n\nCOMPARATIVE LITERATURE SERIES NO. 3\n\nPUBLISHED BY THE UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS, AUSTIN\n\n\n\n\nThe benefits of education and of\nuseful knowledge, generally diffused\nthrough a community, are essential\nto the preservation of a free government.\n\n\nSam Houston\n\n\n\n\nCultivated mind is the guardian\ngenius of democracy.... It is the\nonly dictator that freemen acknowledge\nand the only security that free-men\ndesire.\n\n\nMirabeau B. Lamar\n\n\n\n\n_To my Father-in-Law\nThe Reverend George Fisher,\nA Christian._\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration 01]\n\n\n[Illustration 02]\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\nINTRODUCTION.\nDIAPSALMATA.\nIN VINO VERITAS (THE BANQUET).\nFEAR AND TREMBLING.\nPREPARATION FOR A CHRISTIAN LIFE.\nTHE PRESENT MOMENT.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION I\n\n\nCreditable as have been the contributions of Scandinavia to\nthe cultural life of the race in well-nigh all fields of human\nendeavor, it has produced but one thinker of the first magnitude,\nthe Dane, S\u00f6ren \u00c5. Kierkegaard[1]. The fact that he is virtually\nunknown to us is ascribable, on the one hand to the inaccessibility\nof his works, both as to language and form; on the other, to the\nregrettable insularity of English thought.\n\nIt is the purpose of this book to remedy the defect in a measure,\nand by a selection from his most representative works to provide a\nstimulus for a more detailed study of his writings; for the present\ntimes, ruled by material considerations,  wholly led by socializing,\nand misled by national, ideals are precisely the most opportune to\nintroduce the bitter but wholesome antidote of individual responsibility,\nwhich is his message. In particular, students of Northern literature\ncannot afford to know no more than the name of one who exerted a\npotent and energizing influence on an important epoch of Scandinavian\nthought. To mention only one instance, the greatest ethical poem of our\nage, \"Brand\"--notwithstanding Ibsen's curt statement that he\n\"had read little of Kierkegaard and understood less\"--undeniably\nowes its fundamental thought to him, whether directly or indirectly.\n\n\nOf very few authors can it be said with the same literalness\nas, of Kierkegaard that their life is their works: as if to furnish\nliving proof of his untiring insistance on inwardness, his life, like\nthat of so many other spiritual educators of the race, is notably poor\nin incidents; but his life of inward experiences is all the\nricher--witness the \"literature within a literature\" that came to\nbe within a few years and that gave to Danish letters a score of\nimmortal works.\n\nKierkegaard's physical heredity must be pronounced unfortunate.\nBeing the child of old parents--his father was fifty-seven,\nhis mother forty-five years at his birth (May 5, 1813), he had a weak\nphysique and a feeble constitution. Still worse, he inherited from his\nfather a burden of melancholy  which he took a sad pride in masking\nunder a show of sprightliness. His father, Michael Pedersen Kierkegaard,\nhad begun life as a poor cotter's boy in West Jutland, where he was\nset to tend the sheep on the wild moorlands. One day, we are told,\noppressed by loneliness and cold, he ascended a hill and in a passionate\nrage cursed God who had given him this miserable existence--the\nmemory of which \"sin against the Holy Ghost\" he was not able to\nshake off to the end of his long life[2]. When seventeen years\nold, the gifted lad was sent to his uncle in Copenhagen, who\nwas a well-to-do dealer in woolens and groceries. Kierkegaard\nquickly established himself in the trade and amassed a considerable\nfortune. This enabled him to withdraw from active life when only\nforty, and to devote himself to philosophic studies, the leisure\nfor which life had till then denied him. More especially he seems\nto have studied the works of the rationalistic philosopher Wolff.\nAfter the early death of his first wife who left him no issue, he\nmarried a former servant in his household, also of Jutish stock,\nwho bore him seven children. Of these only two survived him, the\noldest son--later bishop--Peder Christian, and the youngest son,\nS\u00f6ren \u00c5bye.\n\nNowhere does Kierkegaard speak of his mother, a woman of simple\nmind and cheerful disposition; but he speaks all the more often of his\nfather, for whom he ever expressed the greatest love and admiration and\nwho, no doubt, devoted himself largely to the education of his sons,\nparticularly  to that of his latest born. Him he was to mould in his own\nimage. A pietistic, gloomy spirit of religiosity pervaded the household\nin which the severe father was undisputed master, and absolute obedience\nthe watchword. Little S\u00f6ren, as he himself tells us, heard more of the\nCrucified and the martyrs than of the Christ-child and good angels. Like\nJohn Stuart Mill, whose early education bears a remarkable resemblance\nto his, he \"never had the joy to be a child.\" Although less\nsystematically held down to his studies, in which religion was the\nbe-all and end-all (instead of being banished, as was the case with\nMill), he was granted but a minimum of out-door play and exercise. And,\ninstead of  strengthening the feeble body, his father threw the whole\nweight of his melancholy on the boy.\n\nNor was his home training, formidably abstract, counterbalanced\nby a normal, healthy school-life. Naturally introspective and shy, both\non account of a slight deformity of his body and on account of the\nold-fashioned clothes his father made him wear, he had no boy friends;\nand when cuffed by his more robust contemporaries, he could defend\nhimself only with his biting sarcasm. Notwithstanding his early maturity\nhe does not seem to have impressed either his schoolmates or his\nteachers by any gifts much above the ordinary. The school he attended\nwas one of those semi-public schools which by strict discipline and\nconsistent methods laid a solid foundation of humanities and mathematics\nfor those who were to enter upon a professional  career. The natural\nsciences played noddle whatever.\n\nObedient to the wishes of his father, S\u00f6ren chose the study of\ntheology, as had his eldest brother; but, once relieved  from the grind\nof school at the age of seventeen, he rejoiced in the full liberty of\nuniversity life, indulging himself  to his heart's content in all the\nrefined intellectual and \u00e6sthetic enjoyments the gay capital of\nCopenhagen offered. He declares himself in later years to be \"one who\nis penitent\" for having in his youth plunged into all kinds of excesses;\nbut we feel reasonably sure that he committed no excesses worse than\n\"high living.\" He was frequently seen at the opera and the theatre,\nspent money freely in restaurants and confectionary shops, bought\nmany and expensive books, dressed well, and indulged in such\nextravagances as driving in a carriage and pair, alone, for days\nthrough the fields and forests of the lovely island of Zealand. In\nfact, he contracted considerable debts, so that his disappointed\nfather decided to put him on an allowance of 500 rixdollars\nyearly--rather a handsome sum, a hundred years ago.\n\nNaturally, little direct progress was made in his studies. But\nwhile to all appearances aimlessly dissipating his energies, he showed\na pronounced love for philosophy and kindred disciplines. He lost no\nopportunity then offered at the University of Copenhagen to train his\nmind along these lines. He heard the sturdily independent Sibbern's\nlectures on \u00e6sthetics and enjoyed a \"privatissimum\" on the main issues\nof Schleiermacher's Dogmatics with his later enemy, the theologian\nMartensen, author of the celebrated \"Christian Dogmatics.\"\n\nBut there was no steadiness in him. Periods of indifference to these\nstudies alternated with feverish activity, and doubts of the truth of\nChristianity, with bursts of devotion. However, the Hebraically stern\ncast of mind of the externally gay student soon wearied of this\nrudderless existence. He sighs for an \"Archimedean\" point of support for\nhis conduct of life. We find the following entry in his diary, which\nprophetically foreshadows some of the fundamental ideas of his later\ncareer: \"...what I really need is to arrive at a clear comprehension of\nwhat I  am to do, not of what I am to grasp with my understanding,\nexcept insofar as this understanding is necessary for every action. The\npoint is, to comprehend what I am called to do, to see what the Godhead\nreally means that I shall do, to find a truth which is truth for me, to\nfind the idea for which I am willing to live and to die...\"\n\nThis Archimedean point was soon to be furnished him. There came a\nsuccession of blows, culminating in the death of his father, whose\nsilent disapprobation had long been weighing heavily on the conscience\nof the wayward son. Even more awful, perhaps, was a revelation made by\nthe dying father to his sons, very likely touching that very \"sin\nagainst the Holy Ghost\" which he had committed in his boyhood and the\nconsequence of which he now was to lay on them as a curse, instead of\nhis blessing. Kierkegaard calls it \"the great earthquake, the terrible\nupheaval, which suddenly forced on me a new and infallible interpretation\nof all phenomena.\" He began to suspect that he had been chosen by\nProvidence for an extraordinary purpose; and with his abiding filial\npiety he interprets his father's death; as the last of many sacrifices\nhe made for him; \"for he died, not away from me, but for me, so that\nthere might yet, perchance, become something of me.\" Crushed by this\nthought, and through the \"new interpretation\" despairing of happiness\nin this life, he clings to the thought of his unusual intellectual\npowers as his only consolation and a means by which his salvation\nmight be accomplished. He quickly absolved his examination for\nordination (ten years after matriculation) and determined on his\nmagisterial dissertation[3].\n\nAlready some years before he had made a not very successful debut\nin the world of letters with a pamphlet whose queer title \"From the\nMSS. of One Still Living\" reveals Kierkegaard's inborn love of\nmystification and innuendo. Like a Puck of philosophy, with somewhat\nawkward bounds and a callow manner, he had there teased the worthies of\nhis times; and, in particular, taken a good fall out of Hans Christian\nAndersen, the poet of the Fairy Tales, who had aroused his indignation\nby describing in somewhat lachrymose fashion the struggles of genius to\ncome into its own. Kierkegaard himself was soon to show the truth of\nhis own dictum that \"genius does not whine but like a thunderstorm goes\nstraight counter to the wind.\"\n\nWhile casting about for a subject worthy of a more sustained\neffort--he marks out for study the legends of Faust, of the\nWandering Jew, of Don Juan, as representatives of certain basic views\nof life; the Conception of Satire among the Ancients, etc.,\netc.,--he at last becomes aware of his affinity with Socrates,\nin whom he found that rare harmony between theory and the conduct of\nlife which he hoped to attain himself.\n\nThough not by Kierkegaard himself counted among the works bearing on\nthe \"Indirect Communication\"--presently to be explained--his\nmagisterial dissertation, entitled \"The Conception of Irony, with\nConstant Reference to Socrates,\" a book of 300 pages, is of crucial\nimportance. It shows that, helped by the sage who would not directly\nhelp any one, he had found the master key: his own interpretation of\nlife. Indeed, all the following literary output may be regarded as the\nconsistent development of the simple directing thoughts of his firstling\nwork. And we must devote what may seem a disproportionate amount of\nspace to the explanation of these thoughts if we would enter into\nthe world of his mind.\n\nNot only did Kierkegaard feel kinship with Socrates. It did not\nescape him that there was an ominous similarity between Socrates'\ntimes and his own--between the period of flourishing Attica,\neminent in the arts and in philosophy, when a little familiarity with\nthe shallow phrases of the Sophists enabled one to have an opinion\nabout everything on earth and in heaven, and his own Copenhagen in the\nthirties of the last century, when Johan Ludvig Heiberg had popularized\nHegelian philosophy with such astonishing success that the very cobblers\nwere using the Hegelian terminology,  with \"Thesis, Antithesis, and\nSynthesis,\" and one could get instructions from one's barber, while\nbeing shaved, how to \"harmonize the ideal with reality, and our wishes\nwith what we have attained.\" Every difficulty could be \"mediated,\"\naccording to this recipe. And just as the great questioner of Athens\ngave pause to his more na\u00efve contemporaries by his \"know thyself,\"\nso Kierkegaard insisted that he must rouse his contemporaries from\ntheir philosophic complacency and unwarranted optimism, and move,\nthem to realize that the spiritual life has both mountain and valley,\nthat it is no flat plain easy to travel. He intended to show difficulties\nwhere the road had been supposedly smoothed for them.\n\nCentral, both in the theory and in the practice of Socrates\n(according to Kierkegaard), is his irony. The ancient sage would\nstop old and young and quizz them skilfully on what they regarded as\ncommon and universally established propositions, until his interlocutor\nbecame confused by some consequence or contradiction arising\nunexpectedly, and until he who had been sure of his knowledge was made\nto confess his ignorance, or even to become distrustful of the\npossibility of knowledge. Destroying supposedly positive values, this\nmethod would seem to lead to a negative result only.\n\nKierkegaard makes less (and rather too little) of the positive side\nof Socrates' method, his _maieutic_, or midwifery, by which we\nare led inductively from trivial instances to a new definition of a\nconception, a method which will fit all cases. Guided by a lofty\npersonality, this Socratic irony becomes, in Kierkegaard's definition,\nmerely \"the negative liberation of subjectivity\"; that is, not the\nfamily, nor society, nor the state, nor any rules superimposed from\noutside, but one's innermost self (or subjectivity) is to be the\ndetermining factor in one's life. And understood thus, irony as a\nnegative element borders on the ethical conception of life.\n\nRomantic irony, on the other hand, laying main stress on subjective\nliberty, represents the \u00e6sthetic conduct of life. It was, we remember,\nthe great demand of the Romantic period that one live poetically. That\nis, after having reduced all reality to possibilities, all existence to\nfragments, we are to choose _ad libitum_ one such possible existence,\nto consider that one's proper sphere, and for the rest to look\nironically on all other reality as philistine. Undeniably, this license,\nthrough the infinitude of possibilities open to him, gives the ironist\nan enthusiastic sense of irresponsible freedom in which he \"disports\nhimself as does Leviathan in the deep.\" Again, the \"\u00e6sthetical\nindividual\" is ill at ease in the world into which he is born. His\ntypical ailment is a Byronesque _Weltschmerz._ He would fain mould\nthe elements of existence to suit himself; that, is, \"compose\" not\nonly himself but also his surroundings. But without fixed task and\npurpose, life will soon lose all continuity (\"except that of boredom\")\nand fall apart into disconnected moods and impulses. Hence, while\nsupposing himself a superman, free, and his own master, the \u00e6sthetic\nindividual is, in reality, a slave to the merest accidents. He is not\nself-directed, self-propelled; but--drifts.\n\nOver against this attitude Kierkegaard now sets the ethical,\nChristian life, one with a definite purpose and goal beyond itself.\n\"It is one thing to compose one's own life, another, to let one's life\nbe composed. The Christian lets his life be composed; and insofar a\nsimple Christian lives far more poetically than many a genius.\" It\nwould hardly be possible to characterize the contents of Kierkegaard's\nfirst great book, _Enten-Eller_ \"Either-Or,\" more inclusively\nand tersely.\n\nVery well, then, the Christian life, with its clear directive, is\nsuperior to the \u00e6sthetic existence. But how is this: are we not all\nChristians in Christendom, children of Christians, baptized and\nconfirmed according to the regulations of the Church? And are we\nnot all to be saved according to the promise of Our Lord who died for\nus? At a very early time Kierkegaard, himself desperately struggling to\nmaintain his Christian faith against doubts, had his eyes opened to this\nenormous delusion of modern times and was preparing to battle against\nit. The great idea and task for which he was to live and to die--here\nit was: humanity is in apparent possession of the divine truth, but\nutterly perverts it and, to cap injury with insult, protects and\nintrenches the deception behind state sanction and institutions. More\nappalling evil confronted not even the early protagonists of\nChristianity against heathendom. How was he, single-handed,\nmagnificently gifted though he was, to cleanse the temple and restore\nits pristine simplicity?\n\nClearly, the old mistake must not be repeated, to try to influence\nand reform the masses by a vulgar and futile \"revival,\" preaching to\nthem directly and gaining disciples innumerable. It would only lead\nagain, to the abomination of a lip service. But a ferment must be\nintroduced which--he hoped--would gradually restore Christianity to\nits former vigor; at least in individuals. So far as the form of his\nown works is concerned he was thus bound to use the \"indirect method\"\nof Socrates whom he regards as his teacher. In conscious opposition to\nthe Sophists who sold their boasted wisdom for money, Socrates not\nonly made no charges for his instruction but even warned people of his\nignorance, insisting that, like a midwife, he only helped people to\ngive birth to their own thoughts. And owing to his irony Socrates'\nrelation to his disciples was not in any positive sense a personal one.\nLeast of all did he wish to found a new \"school\" or erect a philosophic\n\"system.\"\n\nKierkegaard, with Christianity as his goal, adopted the same\ntactics. By an attractive \u00e6sthetic beginning people were to be \"lured\"\ninto envisaging the difficulties to be unfolded presently, to think for\nthemselves, to form their own conclusions, whether for or against. The\nindividual was to be appealed to, first and last--the individual,\nno matter how humble, who would take the trouble to follow him and\nbe his reader, \"my only reader, the single individual. So the\nreligious author must make it his first business to put himself in touch\nwith men. That is to say, he must begin \u00e6sthetically. The more brilliant\nhis performance, the better.\" And then, when he has got them to follow\nhim \"he must produce the religious categories so that these same men\nwith all the impetus of their devotion to \u00e6sthetic things are suddenly\nbrought up sharp against the religious aspect.\" The writer's own\npersonality was to be entirely eliminated by a system of pseudonyms;\nfor the effect of his teaching was not to be jeopardized by a\ndistracting knowledge of his personality. Accordingly, in conscious\nimitation of Socrates, Kierkegaard at first kept up a semblance of his\nprevious student life, posing as a frivolous idler on the streets of\nCopenhagen, a witty dog incapable of prolonged serious activity; thus\nanxiously guarding the secret of his feverish activity during the lonely\nhours of the night.\n\n\nHis campaign of the \"indirect communication\" was thus fully\ndetermined upon; but there was still lacking the impetus of an elemental\npassion to start it and give it driving force and conquering persistence.\nThis also was to be furnished him.\n\nShortly before his father's death he had made the acquaintance of\nRegine Olson, a beautiful young girl of good family. There followed one\nof the saddest imaginable engagements. The melancholy, and essentially\nlonely, thinker may not at first have entertained the thought of a\nlasting attachment; for had he not, on the one hand, given up all\nhope of worldly happiness, and on the other, begun to think of himself\nas a chosen tool of heaven not to be bound by the ordinary ties of\nhuman affection? But the natural desire to be as happy as others and to\nlive man's common lot, for a moment hushed all anxious scruples. And\nthe love of the brilliant and promising young man with the deep,\nsad eyes and the flashing wit was ardently returned by her.\n\nDifficulties arose very soon. It was not so much the extreme youth\nand immaturity of the girl--she was barely sixteen--as against his\ntremendous mental development, or even her \"total lack of religious\npre-suppositions\"; for that might not itself have precluded a happy\nunion. Vastly more ominous was his own unconquerable and overwhelming\nmelancholy. She could not break it. And struggle as he might, he\ncould not banish it. And, he reasoned, even if he were successful\nin concealing it from her, the very concealment were a deceit. Neither\nwould he burden her with his melancholy by revealing it to her.\nBesides, some mysterious ailment which, with Paul, he terms the \"thorn\nin his flesh,\" tormented him. The fact that he consulted a physician\nmakes it likely that it was bodily, and perhaps sexual. On the other\nhand, the manner of Kierkegaard's multitudinous references to woman\nremoves the suspicion of any abnormality. The impression remains that\nat the bottom of his trouble there lay his melancholy, aggravated\nadmittedly by an \"insane education,\" and coupled with an exaggerated\nsense of a misspent youth. That nothing else prevented the union\nis clear from his own repeated later remarks that, with more faith,\nhe would have married her.\n\nThough to the end of his life he never ceased to love her, he\nfeels that they must part. But she clings to him with a rather maudlin\ndevotion, which, to be sure, only increased his determination. He\nfinally hit on the desperate device of pretending frivolous indifference\nto her affections, and acted this sad comedy with all the dialectic\nsubtleness of his genius, until she eventually released him. Then,\nafter braving for a while the philistine indignation of public opinion\nand the disapproval of his friends, in order to confirm her in her bad\nopinion of him, he fled to Berlin with shattered nerves and a bleeding\nheart.\n\nHe had deprived himself of what was dearest to him in life. For\nall that, he knew that the foundations of his character remained\nunshaken. The voluntary renunciation of a worldly happiness which\nwas his for the taking intensifies his idea of being one of the \"few\nin each generation selected to be a sacrifice.\" Thereafter, \"his thought\nis all to him,\" and all his gifts are devoted to the service of God.\n\n\nDuring the first half of the nineteenth century, more than at any\nother time, Denmark was an intellectual dependency of Germany. It\nwas but natural that Kierkegaard, in search for the ultimate verities,\nshould resort to Berlin where Schelling was just then beginning his\nfamous course of lectures. In many respects it may be held deplorable\nthat, at a still formative stage, Kierkegaard should have remained in\nthe prosaic capital of Prussia and have been influenced by bloodless\nabstractions; instead of journeying to France, or still better, to\nEngland whose empiricism would, no doubt, have been an excellent\ncorrective of his excessive tendency to speculation. In fact he was\nquickly disappointed with Schelling and after four months returned\nto his beloved Copenhagen (which he was not to leave thereafter\nexcept for short periods), with his mind still busy on the problems\nwhich were peculiarly his own. The tremendous impulse given by his\nunfortunate engagement was sufficient to stimulate his sensitive mind\nto a productivity without equal in Danish literature, to create a\n\"literature within a literature.\" The fearful inner collision\nof motives had lit an inner conflagration which did not die down for\nyears. \"My becoming an author is due chiefly to her, my melancholy,\nand my money.\"\n\nAbout a year afterwards (1843) there appeared his first great work,\n\"Either-Or,\" which at once established his fame. As in the case of most\nof his works it will be impossible to give here more than the barest\noutline of its plan and contents. In substance, it is a grand debate\nbetween the \u00e6sthetic and the ethic views of life. In his dissertation\nKierkegaard had already characterized the \u00e6sthetic point of view. Now,\nin a brilliant series of articles, he proceeds' to exemplify it with\nexuberant detail.\n\nThe fundamental chord of the first part is struck in the _Diapsalmata_\naphorisms which, like so many flashes of a lantern, illuminate\nthe \u00e6sthetic life, its pleasures and its despair. The \u00e6sthetic\nindividual--this is brought out in the article entitled \"The Art of\nRotation\"--wishes to be the exception in human society, shirking its\ncommon, humble duties and claiming special privileges. He has no fixed\nprinciple except that he means not to be bound to anything or anybody.\nHe has but one desire which is, to enjoy the sweets of life--whether\nits purely sensual pleasures or the more refined Epicureanism of the\nfiner things in life and art, and the ironic enjoyment of one's own\nsuperiority over the rest of humanity; and he has no fear except that\nhe may succumb to boredom.\n\nAs a comment on this text there follow a number of essays in\n\"experimental psychology,\" supposed to be the fruit of the \u00e6sthete's\n(A's) leisure. In them the \u00e6sthetic life is exhibited in its various\nmanifestations, in \"terms of existence,\" especially as to its \"erotic\nstages,\" from the indefinite longings of the Page to the fully conscious\n\"sensual genius\" of Don Juan--the examples are taken from Mozart's\nopera of this name, which was Kierkegaard's favorite--until the\nwhole culminates in the famous \"Diary of the Seducer,\" containing\nelements of the author's own engagement, poetically disguised--a\nseducer, by the way, of an infinitely reflective kind.\n\nFollowing this climax of unrestrained \u00e6stheticism we hear in the\nsecond part the stern demands of the ethical life. Its spokesman, Judge\nWilliam, rises in defense of the social institutes, and of marriage in\nparticular, against the slurs cast on them by his young friend A. He\nmakes it clear that the only possible outcome of the \u00e6sthetic life,\nwith its aimlessness, its superciliousness, its vague possibilities,\nis a feeling of vanity and vexation of spirit, and a hatred of life\nitself: despair. One floundering in this inevitable slough of despond,\nwho earnestly wishes to escape from it and to save himself from the\nultimate destruction of his personality, must choose and determine to\nrise into the ethical sphere. That is, he must elect a definite calling,\nno matter how humdrum, marry, if possible, and thus subject himself\nto the \"general law.\" In a word, instead of a world of vague\npossibilities, however attractive, he must choose the definite\ncircumscription of the individual who is a member of society. Only\nthus will he obtain a balance in his life between the demands of his\npersonality on the one hand, and of the demands of society on him.\nWhen thus reconciled to his environment--his \"lot\"--all the\npleasures of the \u00e6sthetic sphere which he resigned will be his again\nin rich measure, but in a transfigured sense.\n\nThough nobly eloquent in places, and instinct with warm feeling,\nthis panegyric on marriage and the fixed duties of life is somewhat\nunconvincing, and its style undeniably tame and unctious--at\nleast when contrasted with the Satanic verve of most of A's papers.\nThe fact is that Kierkegaard, when considering the ethical sphere, in\norder to carry out his plan of contrasting it with the \u00e6sthetic sphere,\nwas already envisaging the higher sphere of religion, to which the\nethical sphere is but a transition, and which is the only true\nalternative to the \u00e6sthetic life. At the very end of the book\nKierkegaard, flying his true colors, places a sermon  as an \"ultimatum,\"\npurporting to have been written by a pastor on the Jutish Heath. Its\ntext is that \"as against God we are always in the wrong,\" and the tenor\nof it, \"only that truth which edifies is truth for you.\" It is not that\nyou must choose either the \u00e6sthetic or the ethical view of life; but\nthat neither the one nor the other is the full truth--God alone is the\ntruth which must be grasped with all inwardness. But since we recognize\nour imperfections, or sins, the more keenly, as we are developed more\nhighly, our typical relation to God must be that of repentance; and by\nrepentance as by a step we may rise into the higher sphere of\nreligion--as will be seen, a purely Christian thought.\n\nA work of such powerful originality, imposing by its very size, and\npublished at the anonymous author's own expense,  could not but create\na stir among the small Danish reading public. And notwithstanding\nKierkegaard's consistent efforts to conceal his authorship in the\ninterest of his \"indirect communication,\" it could not long remain a\nsecret. The book was much, and perplexedly, discussed, though no one\nwas able to fathom the author's real aim, most readers being attracted\nby piquant subjects such as the \"Diary of the Seducer,\" and regarding\nthe latter half as a feeble afterthought. As he said himself: \"With my\nleft hand I held out to the world 'Either-Or,' with my right, 'Two\nEdifying Discourses'; but they all--or practically all--seized\nwith their right hands what I held in my left.\"\n\nThese \"Two Edifying Discourses[4]\"--for thus he preferred to call\nthem, rather than sermons, because he claimed no authority to\npreach--as well as all the many later ones, were published over\nhis own name, addressed to Den Enkelte \"The Single Individual whom\nwith joy and gratitude he calls his reader,\" and were dedicated to the\nmemory of his father. They belong among the noblest books of\nedification, of which the North has not a few.\n\nDuring the following three years (1843-5) Kierkegaard, once roused\nto productivity, though undoubtedly kept at his task by the exertion of\nmarvelous will-power, wrote in quick succession some of his most\nnotable works--so original  in form, in thought, in content that\nit is a well-nigh hopeless task to analyze them to any satisfaction.\nAll we can do here is to note the development in them of the one grand\ntheme which is fundamental to all his literary activity: how to become\na Christian.\n\nIf the second part of \"Either-Or\" was devoted to an explanation of\nthe nature of the ethical, as against the \u00e6sthetic, conduct of life,\ninevitably the next task was, first, to define the nature of the\nreligious life, as against the merely ethical life; then, to show how\nthe religious sphere may be attained. This is done in the brilliant twin\nbooks _Frygt og Baeven_ \"Fear and Trembling\" and _Gjentagelsen_\n\"Repetition.\" Both were published over pseudonyms.\n\n\"Fear and Trembling\" bears as its subtitle \"Dialectic Lyrics.\"\nIndeed, nowhere perhaps is Kierkegaard's strange union of dialectic\nsubtlety and intense lyrical power and passion so strikingly in evidence\nas in this panegyric on Abraham, the father of faith. To Kierkegaard\nhe is the shining exemplar of the religious life; and his greatest act\nof faith, his obedience to God's command to slay Isaac. Nothing can\nsurpass the eloquence with which he depicts the agony of the father,\nhis struggle between the ethical, or general, law which, saith \"thou\nshalt no kill\"! and God's specific command. In the end, Abraham by a\ngrand resolve transgresses the law; and lo! because he has faith,\nagainst certainty, that he will keep Isaac, and does not merely resign\nhim, as many a tragic hero would have done, he receives all again, in\na new and higher sphere. In other words, Abraham chooses to be \"the\nexception\" and set aside the general law, as well as does the \u00e6sthetic\nindividual; but, note well: \"in fear and trembling,\" and at the express\ncommand of God! He is a \"knight of faith.\" But because this direct\nrelation to the divinity necessarily can be certain only to Abraham's\nself, his action is altogether incomprehensible to others. Reason\nrecoils before the absolute paradox of the individual who chooses\nto rise superior to the general law.\n\nThe rise into the religious sphere is always likely to be the outcome\nof some severe inner conflict engendering infinite passion. In the\nsplendidly written _Gjentagelse_ \"Repetition\" we are shown _ad oculos_\nan abortive transition into the religious sphere, with a corresponding\nrelapse into the \u00e6sthetic sphere. Kierkegaard's own love-story is again\ndrawn upon: the \"Young Person\" ardently loves the woman; but discovers\nto his consternation that she is in reality but a burden to him since,\ninstead of having an actual, living relation to her, he merely\n\"remembers\" her when she is present. In the ensuing collision of motives\nhis \u00e6sthetically cool friend Constantin Constantius advises him to act\nas one unworthy of her--as did Kierkegaard--and to forget her. But\ninstead of following this advice, and lacking a deeper religious\nbackground, he flees the town and subsequently transmutes his trials\ninto poetry--that is, relapses into the \u00e6sthetic sphere: rather than,\nlike Job, whom he apostrophises passionately, \"receiving all again\"\n(having all \"repeated\") in a higher sphere. This idea of the resumption\nof a lower stage into a higher one is one of Kierkegaard's most original\nand fertile thoughts. It is illustrated here with an amazing wealth of\ninstances.\n\nSo far, it had been a question of religious feeling in general--how it\nmay arise, and what its nature is. In the pivotal work _Philosophiske\nSmuler_ \"Philosophic Trifles\"--note the irony--Kierkegaard throws\nthe searching rays of his penetrating intellect on the grand problem\nof revealed religion: can one's eternal salvation be based on\nan historical event? This is the great stumbling block to the\nunderstanding.\n\nHegel's philosophic optimism maintained that the difficulties of\nChristianity had been completely \"reconciled\" or \"mediated\" in the\nsupposedly higher synthesis of philosophy, by which process religion\nhad been reduced to terms which might be grasped by the intellect.\nKierkegaard, fully voicing the claim both of the intellect and of\nreligion, erects the barrier of the paradox, impassable except by\nthe act of faith. As will be seen, this is Tertullian's _Credo\nquia absurdum._[5]\n\nIn the briefest possible outline his argument is as follows:\nSocrates had taught that in reality every one had the truth in him\nand needed but to be reminded of it by the teacher who thus is\nnecessary only in helping the disciple to discover it himself. That is\nthe indirect communication of the truth. But now suppose that the\ntruth is not innate in man, suppose he has merely the ability to\ngrasp it when presented to him. And suppose the teacher to be of\nabsolute, infinite importance--the Godhead himself, directly\ncommunicating with man, revealing the truth in the shape of man; in\nfact, as the lowliest of men, yet insisting on implicit belief in Him!\nThis, according to Kierkegaard, constitutes the paradox of faith\n_par excellence._ But this paradox, he shows, existed for the\ngeneration contemporaneous with Christ in the same manner as it does\nfor those living now. To think that faith was an easier matter for\nthose who saw the Lord and walked in His blessed company is but a\nsentimental, and fatal, delusion. On the other hand, to found one's\nfaith on the glorious results, now evident, of Christ's appearance in\nthe world is sheer thoughtlessness and blasphemy. With ineluctable\ncogency it follows that \"there can be no disciple at second hand.\"\nNow, as well as \"1800 years ago,\" whether in Heathendom or in\nChristendom, faith is born of the same conditions: the resolute\nacceptance by the individual of the absolute paradox.\n\nIn previous works Kierkegaard had already intimated that what\nfurnished man the impetus to rise into the highest sphere and to\nassail passionately and incessantly the barrier of the paradox, or else\ncaused him to lapse into \"demonic despair,\" was the consciousness of\nsin. In the book _Begrebet Angest_ \"The Concept of Sin,\" he now\nattempts with an infinite and laborious subtlety to explain the nature\nof sin. Its origin is found in the \"sympathetic antipathy\" of\nDread--that force which at one and the same time attracts and\nrepels from the suspected danger of a fall and is present even in the\nstate of innocence, in children. It finally results in a kind of\n\"dizziness\" which is fatal. Yet, so Kierkegaard contends, the \"fall\"\nof man is, in every single instance, due to a definite act of the will,\na \"leap\"--which seems a patent contradiction.\n\nTo the modern reader, this is the least palatable of Kierkegaard's\nworks, conceived as it is with a sovereign and almost medieval\ndisregard of the predisposing undeniable factors of environment and\nheredity (which, to be sure, poorly fit his notion of the absolute\nresponsibility of the individual). Its somberness is redeemed, to a\ncertain degree, by a series of marvelous observations, drawn from\nhistory and literature, on the various phases and manifestations\nof Dread in human life.\n\nOn the same day as the book just discussed there appeared, as a\n\"counter-irritant,\" the hilariously exuberant _Forord_ \"Forewords,\"\na collection of some eight playful but vicious attacks, in the form of\nprefaces, on various foolish manifestations of Hegelianism in Denmark.\nThey are aimed chiefly at the high-priest of the \"system,\" the poet\nJohan Ludvig Heiberg who, as the _arbiter elegantiarum_ of the\ntimes had presumed to review, with a plentiful lack of insight,\nKierkegaard's activity. But some of the most telling shots are fired at\na number of the individualist Kierkegaard's pet aversions.\n\nHis next great work, _Stadier paa Livets Vei_ \"Stages on\nLife's Road,\" forms a sort of resume of the results so far gained.\nThe three \"spheres\" are more clearly elaborated.\n\nThe \u00e6sthetic sphere is represented existentially by the incomparable\n_In Vino Veritas_, generally called \"The Banquet,\" from a purely\nliterary point of view the most perfect of Kierkegaard's works, which,\nif written in one of the great languages of Europe, would have procured\nhim world fame. Composed in direct emulation of Plato's immortal\nSymposion, it bears comparison with it as well as any modern composition\ncan.[6] Indeed, it excels Plato's work in subtlety, richness, and\nrefined humor. To be sure, Kierkegaard has charged his creation with\nsuch romantic super-abundance of delicate observations and rococo\nornament that the whole comes dangerously near being improbable;\nwhereas the older work stands solidly in reality.\n\nIt is with definite purpose that the theme of the speeches of the\nfive participants in the banquet is love, i.e., the relation of the two\nsexes in love; for it is there the main battle between the \u00e6sthetic and\nthe ethical view of life must be fought out. Accordingly, Judge William,\nto whom the last idyllic pages of \"The Banquet\" again introduce us, in\nthe second part breaks another shaft in defense of marriage, which in\nthe ethical view of life is the typical realization of the \"general\nlaw.\" Love exists also for the ethical individual. In fact, love and no\nother consideration whatsoever can justify marriage. But whereas to the\n\u00e6sthetic individual love is merely eroticism, viz., a passing\nself-indulgence without any obligation, the ethical individual attaches\nto himself the woman of his choice by an act of volition, for better or\nfor worse, and by his marriage vow incurs an obligation to society.\nMarriage is thus a synthesis of love and duty. A pity only that\nKierkegaard's astonishingly low evaluation of woman utterly mars\nwhat would otherwise be a classic defense of marriage.\n\nThe religious sphere is shown forth in the third part,\n_Skyldig--Ikke-Skyldig_ \"Guilty--Not-Guilty,\" with the apt subtitle\n\"A History of Woe.\" Working over, for the third time, and in the most\nintense fashion, his own unsuccessful attempt to \"realize the general\nlaw,\" i.e., by marrying, he here presents in the form of a diary the\nessential facts of his own engagement, but in darker colors than in\n\"Repetition.\" It is broken because of religious incompatibility\nand the lover's unconquerable melancholy; and by his voluntary\nrenunciation, coupled with acute suffering through his sense of guilt\nfor his act, he is driven up to an approximation of the religious\nsphere. Not unjustly, Kierkegaard himself regarded this as the richest\nof his works.\n\nOne may say that \"Guilty--Not-Guilty\" corresponds to Kierkegaard's\nown development at this stage. Christianity is still above him. How\nmay it be attained? This is the grand theme of the huge book\nwhimsically named \"Final Unscientific Postscript to the Philosophical\nTrifles,\" _Afsluttende Uvidenskabelig Efterskrift_ (1846): \"How\nshall I become a Christian, I, Johannes Climacus, born in this city,\nthirty years of age, and not in any way different from the ordinary\nrun of men\"?\n\nFollowing up the results gained in the \"Trifles,\" the subjectivity\nof faith is established once for all: it is not to be attained by\nswearing to any set of dogmas, not even Scripture; for who will vouch\nfor its being an absolutely reliable and inspired account of Christ?\nBesides, as Lessing had demonstrated conclusively: historic facts never\ncan become the proof of eternal verities. Nor can the existence of the\nChurch through the ages furnish any guarantee for faith--straight\ncounter to the opinion, held by Kierkegaard's famous contemporary\nGrundtvig--any more than can mere contemporaneousness establish\na guarantee for those living at the beginning. To sum up: \"One who has\nan objective Christianity and nothing else, he is _eo ipso_ a\nheathen.\" For the same reason, \"philosophic speculation\" is not the\nproper approach, since it seeks to understand Christianity objectively,\nas an historic phenomenon--which rules it out from the start.\n\nIt is only by a decisive \"leap,\" from objective thinking into\nsubjective faith, with the consciousness of sin as the driving power,\nthat the individual may realize (we would say, attain) Christianity. Nor\nis it gained once for all, but must ever be maintained by passionately\nassailing the paradox of faith, which is, that one's eternal salvation\nis based on an historic fact. The main thing always is the \"how,\"\nnot the \"what.\" Kierkegaard goes so far as to say that he who with\nfervency and inwardness prays to some false god is to be preferred\nto him who worships the true god, but without the passion of devotion.\n\nIn order to prevent any misunderstanding about the manner of\npresentation in this remarkable book, it will be well to add\nKierkegaard's own remark after reading a conscientious German review of\nhis \"Trifles\": \"Although the account given is correct, every one who\nreads it will obtain an altogether incorrect impression of the book;\nbecause the account the critic gives is in the _ex cathedra style_\n(docerende), which will produce on the reader the impression\nthat the book is written in a like manner. But this is in my eyes the\nworst misconception possible.\" And as to its peculiar conversational,\nentertaining manner which in the most leisurely, leg\u00e8re fashion and in\nan all but dogmatic style treats of the profoundest problems, it is well\nto recall the similarly popular manner of Pascal in his _Lettres\nProvinciales._ Like him--and his grand prototype Socrates--Kierkegaard\nhas the singular faculty of attacking the most abstruse matters with\na chattiness bordering on frivolity, yet without ever losing dignity.\n\n\nFor four and a half years Kierkegaard had now, notwithstanding\nhis feeble health, toiled feverishly and, as he himself states,\nwithout even a single day's remission. And \"the honorarium had been\nrather Socratic\": all of his books had been brought out at his own\nexpense, and their sale had been, of course, small. (Of the \"Final\nPostscript,\" e.g., which had cost him between 500 and 600 rixdollars,\nonly 60 copies were sold). Hardly any one had understood what the\npurpose of this \"literature\" was. He himself had done, with the utmost\nexertion and to the best of his ability, what he set out to do: to show\nhis times, which had assumed that being a Christian is an easy enough\nmatter, how unspeakably difficult a matter it really is and what terribly\nsevere demands it makes on natural man. He now longed for rest\nand seriously entertained the plan of bringing his literary career to\na close and spending the remainder of his days as a pastor of some\nquiet country parish, there to convert his philosophy into terms of\npractical existence. But this was not to be. An incident which would\nseem ridiculously small to a more robust nature sufficed to inflict on\nKierkegaard's sensitive mind the keenest tortures and thus to sting\nhim into a renewed and more passionate literary activity.\n\nAs it happened, the comic paper _Korsaren_ \"The Corsair\" was then\nat the heyday of its career. The first really democratic periodical\nin Denmark, it stood above party lines and through its malicious,\nbrilliant satire and amusing caricatures of prominent personalities\nwas hated, feared, and enjoyed by everybody. Its editor, the Jewish\nauthor Meir Goldschmidt, was a warm and outspoken admirer of the\nphilosopher. Kierkegaard, on the other hand, had long regarded\nthe Press with suspicion. He loathed it because it gave expression\nto, and thus subtly flattered, the multitude, \"the public,\"\n\"the mob\"--as against the individual, and because it worked with\nthe terrible weapon of anonymity; but held it especially dangerous by\nreason of its enormous circulation and daily repetition of mischievous\nfalsehoods. So it seemed to him who ever doubted the ability of the\n\"people\" to think for themselves. In a word, the Press is to him \"the\nevil principle in the modern world.\" Needless to say, the tactics of\n\"The Corsair,\" in particular, infuriated him.\n\nIn a Christmas annual (1845) there had appeared a blundering\nreview, by one of the collaborators on \"The Corsair,\" of his \"Stages on\nLife's Road.\" Seizing the opportunity offered, Kierkegaard wrote a\ncaustic rejoinder, adding the challenge: \"Would that I now soon appear\nin 'The Corsair.' It is really hard on a poor author to be singled out\nin Danish literature by remaining the only one who is not abused in\nit.\" We know now that Goldschmidt did his best in a private interview\nto ward off a feud, but when rebuffed he turned the batteries of his\nridicule on the personality of his erstwhile idol. And for the better\npart of a year the Copenhagen public was kept laughing and grinning\nabout the unequal trouser legs, the spindle shanks, the inseparable\numbrella, the dialectic propensities, of \"Either-Or,\" as Kierkegaard came\nto be called by the populace; for, owing to his peripatetic\nhabits--acquired in connection with the Indirect Communication--he\nhad long been a familiar figure on the streets of the capital. While\ntrying to maintain an air of indifference, he suffered the tortures\nof the damned. In his Journal (several hundred of whose pages are\ngiven over to reflections on this experience) we find exclamations\nsuch as this one: \"What is it to be roasted alive at a slow fire,\nor to be broken on the wheel or, as they do in warm climates, to\nbe smeared with honey and put at the mercy of the insects--what\nis that in comparison with this torture: to be grinned to death!\"\n\nThere could be no thought now of retiring to a peaceful charge in\nthe country. That would have been fleeing from persecution. Besides,\nunbeknown perhaps to himself, his pugnacity was aroused. While under\nthe influence of the \"Corsair Feud\" (as it is known in Danish\nliterature) he completes the booklet \"A Literary Review.\" This was\noriginally intended as a purely \u00e6sthetic evaluation and appreciation\nof the (then anonymous) author[7] of the _Hverdagshistorier_\n\"Commonplace Stories\" that are praised by him for their thoughtful\nbodying forth of a consistent view of life which--however different\nfrom his own--yet commanded his respect. He now appended a series\nof bitter reflections on the Present Times, paying his respects to the\nPress, which he calls incomparably the worst offender in furnishing\npeople with cheap irony, in forcibly levelling out and reducing to\nmediocrity all those who strive to rise above it intellectually--words\napplicable, alas! no less to our own times. To him, however, who in a\nreligious sense has become the captain of his soul, the becoming a\nbutt of the Press is but a true test. Looking up, Kierkegaard sees in\nhis own fate the usual reward accorded by mankind to the courageous\nsouls who dare to fight for the truth, for the ideal--for Christianity,\nagainst the \"masses.\" In a modern way, through ridicule, he was\nundergoing the martyrdom which the blood witnesses of old had\nundergone for the sake of their faith. Their task it had been to\npreach the Gospel among the heathen. His, he reasoned, was in nowise\neasier: to make clear to uncomprehending millions of so-called\nChristians that they were not Christians at all, that they did not even\nknow what Christianity is: suffering and persecution, as he now\nrecognizes, being inseparable from the truly Christian life.\n\nFirst, then, the road had to be cleared, emphatically, for the\ntruth that Christianity and \"the public\" are opposite terms. The\ncollection of \"Edifying Discourses in Diverse Spirits\" is thus a\nreligious parallel to the polemic in his \"Review.\" The first part\nof these meditations has for its text: \"The purity of the\nheart consists in willing one thing\"--and this one thing is\nnecessarily the good, the ideal; but only he who lives his life as\nthe individual can possibly will the good--else it is lived in\nduplicity, for the world will share his aspirations, he will bid for the\nrewards which the bowing before the crowd can give him. In the second\npart, entitled \"What we may learn from the Lilies of the Field and the\nBirds of the Air\"--one of Kierkegaard's favorite texts--the\ngreatest danger to the ethic-religious life is shown to be the\nuneasiness about our material welfare which insidiously haunts our\nthought-life, and, notwithstanding our best endeavors, renders us\nessentially slaves to \"the crowd\"; whereas it is given to man, created\nin the image of God, to be as self-contained, unafraid, hopeful as\nare (symbolically) the lily and the bird. The startlingly new\ndevelopment attained through his recent experiences is most evident\nin the third part, \"The Gospel of Sufferings,\" in which absolute stress\nis laid on the imitation of Christ in the strictest sense. Only the\n\"individual\" can compass this: the narrow way to salvation must be\ntraveled alone; and will lead to salvation only if the world is,\nliterally, overcome in persecution and tribulation. And, on the other\nhand, to be happy in this world is equivalent to forfeiting salvation.\nThus briefly outlined, the contents of this book would seem to be sheer\nmonkish asceticism; but no synopsis, however full, can hope to give\nan idea of its lyrical pathos, its wealth of tender reflections,\nthe great love tempering the stern severity of its teaching.\n\nWith wonderful beauty \"The Deeds of Love\" (_Kjerlighedens\nGjerninger_) (1847) are exalted as the Christian's help and\nsalvation against the tribulations of the world--love, not indeed\nof the human kind, but of man through God. \"You are not concerned at\nall with what others do to you, but only with what you do to others;\nand also, with how you react to what others do to you--you are\nconcerned, essentially, only with yourself, before God.\"\n\nIn rapid succession there follow \"Christian Discourses\"; \"The Lily\nof the Field and the Bird of the Air\"; \"Sickness Unto Death\"\n(with the sub-title \"A Christian Psychological Exposition\"); \"Two\nReligious Treatises\"; \"The High Priest, the Publican, the Sinner\";\n\"Three Discourses on the Occasion of Communion on Friday.\"\n\nIn the course of these reflections it had become increasingly\nclear to Kierkegaard that the self-constituted representative of\nChrist--the Church or, to mention only the organization he was\nintimately acquainted with, the Danish State Church--had succeeded\nin becoming a purely worldly organization whose representatives, far\nfrom striving to follow Christ, had made life quite comfortable for\nthemselves; retort to which was presently made that by thus stressing\n\"contemporaneousness\" with its aspects of suffering and persecution,\nKierkegaard had both exceeded the accepted teaching of the Church and\nstaked the attainment of Christianity so high as to drive all existing\nforms of it _ad absurdum._\n\nIn his _lnd\u00f6velse i Christendom_ \"Preparation for a Christian\nLife\" and the somber _Til Selvpr\u00f6velse_ \"For a Self-Examination\"\nKierkegaard returns to the attack with a powerful re-examination of the\nwhole question as to how far modern Christianity corresponds to that\nof the Founder. Simply, but with grandiose power, he works out in\nconcrete instances the conception of \"contemporaneousness\" gained\nin the \"Final Postscript\"; at the same time demonstrating to all who\nhave eyes to see, the axiomatic connection between the doctrine of\nPropitiation and Christ's life in debasement; that Christianity consists\nin absolutely dying to the world; and that the Christianity which does\nnot live up to this is but a travesty on Christianity. We may think what\nwe please about this counsel of perfection, and judge what we may about\nthe rather arbitrary choice of Scripture passages on which Kierkegaard\nbuilds: no serious reader, no sincere Christian can escape the searching\nof heart sure to follow this tremendous arraignment of humanity false\nto its divine leader. There is nothing more impressive in all modern\nliterature than the gallery of \"opinions\" voiced by those arrayed\nagainst Christ when on earth--and now--as to what constitutes the\n\"offense.\"\n\n\nKierkegaard had hesitated a long time before publishing the\n\"Preparation for a Christian Life.\" Authority-loving as he was, he\nshrank from antagonizing the Church, as it was bound to do; and more\nespecially, from giving offense to its primate, the venerable Bishop\nMynster who had been his father's friend and spiritual adviser, to\nwhom he had himself always looked up with admiring reverence, and\nwhose sermons he had been in the habit of reading at all times. Also,\nto be sure, he was restrained by the thought, that by publishing his\nbook he would render Christianity well-night unattainable to the weak\nand the simple and the afflicted who certainly were in need of the\nconsolations of Christianity without any additional sufferings\ninterposed--and surely no reader of his devotional works can be in\ndoubt that he was the most tender-hearted of men. In earlier, stronger\ntimes, he imagines, he would have been made a martyr for his opinions;\nbut was he entitled to become a blood-witness--he who realized\nmore keenly than any one that he himself was not a Christian in the\nstrictest sense? In his \"Two Religious Treatises\" he debates the\nquestion: \"Is it permissible for a man to let himself be killed for the\ntruth?\"; which is answered in the negative in \"About the Difference\nbetween a Genius and an Apostle\"--which consists in the Apostle's\nspeaking with authority. However, should not the truth be the most\nimportant consideration? His journal during that time offers abundant\nproof of the absolute earnestness with which he struggled over the\nquestion.\n\nWhen Kierkegaard finally published \"The Preparation for a Christian\nLife,\" the bishop was, indeed, incensed; but he did nothing. Nor did\nany one else venture forth. Still worse affront! Kierkegaard had said\nhis last word, had stated his ultimatum--and it was received with\nindifference, it seemed. Nevertheless he decided to wait and see\nwhat effect his books would have for he hesitated to draw the\nlast conclusions and mortally wound the old man tottering on the\nbrink of his grave by thus attacking the Church. There followed a three\nyears' period of silence on the part of Kierkegaard--again\ncertainly a proof of his utter sincerity. It must be remembered, in\nthis connection, that the very last thing Kierkegaard desired was an\nexternal reorganization, a \"reform,\" of the Church--indeed, he\nfirmly refused to be identified with any movement of secession,\ndiffering in this respect vitally from his contemporaries Vinet and\nGrundtvig who otherwise had so much in common with him. His only\nwish was to infuse life and inwardness into the existing forms. And far\nfrom being inferior to them in this he was here at one with the Founder\nand the Early Church in that he states the aim of the Christian\nLife to be, not to transform the existing social order, but to transcend\nit. For the very same reason, coupled to be sure with a pronounced\naristocratic individualism, he is utterly and unreasonably indifferent,\nand even antagonistic, to the great social movements of his time, to\nthe political upheavals of 1848, to the revolutionary advances of\nscience.\n\nAs Kierkegaard now considered his career virtually concluded,\nhe wrote (1851) a brief account \"About my Activity as an Author\"\nin which he furnishes his readers a key to its unfolding--from\nan \u00e6sthetic view to the religious view--which he considers his\nown education by Providence; and indicates it to be his special task to\ncall attention, without authority, to the religious, the Christian life.\nHis \"Viewpoint for my Activity as an Author,\" published by his brother\nonly long after his death, likewise defines the purpose of the whole\n\"authorship,\" besides containing important biographical material.\n\nAt length (January, 1854) Mynster died. Even then Kierkegaard,\nthough still on his guard, might not have felt called upon to\nhave recourse to stronger measures if it had not been for an\nunfortunate sentence in the funeral sermon preached by the now\nfamous Martensen--generally pointed out as the successor to the\nprimacy--with whom Kierkegaard had already broken a lance or two.\nMartensen had declared Mynster to have been \"one of the holy\nchain of witnesses for the truth (_sandhedsvidner_) which extends through\nthe centuries down from the time of the Apostles.\" This is the\nprovocation for which Kierkegaard had waited. \"Bishop Mynster a witness\nfor the truth\"! he bursts out, \"You who read this, you know well what\nin a Christian sense is a witness for the truth. Still, let me remind\nyou that to be one, it is absolutely essential to suffer for the\nteaching of Christianity\"; whereas \"the truth is that Mynster\nwas wordily-wise to a degree--was weak, pleasure-loving, and\ngreat only as a declaimer.\" But once more--striking proof of his\ncircumspection and single-mindedness--he kept this harsh letter\nin his desk for nine months, lest its publication should interfere in\nthe least with Martensen's appointment, or seem the outcome of\npersonal resentment.\n\nMartensen's reply, which forcefully enough brings out all that could\nbe said for a milder interpretation of the Christian categories and for\nhis predecessor, was not as respectful to the sensitive author as it\nought to have been. In a number of newspaper letters of increasing\nviolence and acerbity Kierkegaard now tried to force his obstinately\nsilent opponent to his knees; but in vain. Filled with holy wrath at\nwhat he conceived to be a conspiracy by silence, and evasions to bring\nto naught the whole infinitely important matter for which he had\nstriven, Kierkegaard finally turned agitator. He addressed himself\ndirectly to the people with the celebrated pamphlet series \u00d6ieblikket\n\"The Present Moment\" in which he opens an absolutely withering\nfire of invective on anything and everything connected with \"the\nexisting order\" in Christendom--an agitation the like of which for\nrevolutionary vehemence has rarely, if ever, been seen. All rites of the\nChurch--marriage, baptism, confirmation, communion, burial--and\nmost of all the clergy, high and low, draw the fiery bolts of his wrath\nand a perfect hail of fierce, cruel invective. The dominant note, though\nvaried infinitely, is ever the same: \"Whoever you may be, and whatever\nthe life you live, my friend: by omitting to attend the public\ndivine service--if indeed it be your habit to attend it--by\nomitting, to attend public divine service as now constituted\n(claiming as it does to represent the Christianity of the New Testament)\nyou will escape at least one, and a great, sin in not attempting to fool\nGod by calling that the Christianity of the New Testament which is not\nthe Christianity of the New Testament.\" And he does not hesitate\nto use strong, even coarse, language; he even courts the reproach\nof blasphemy in order to render ridiculous in \"Official Christianity\"\nwhat to most may seem inherently, though mistakenly, a matter of\nhighest reverence.\n\nThe swiftness and mercilessness of his attack seem to have left\nhis contemporaries without a weapon: all they could do was to shrug\ntheir shoulders about the \"fanatic,\" or to duck and wait dumbly until\nthe storm had passed.\n\nNor did it last long. On the second of October, 1855, Kierkegaard\nfell unconscious in the street. He was brought to the hospital where he\ndied on the eleventh of November, aged 42. The immense exertions of\nthe last months had shattered his frail body. And strange: the last of\nhis money had been used up. He had said what he thought Providence\nhad to communicate through him. His strength was gone. His death at\nthis moment would put the crown on his work. As he said on his\ndeath-bed: \"The bomb explodes, and the conflagration will follow.\"\n\n\nIn appraising Kierkegaard's life and works it will be found true,\nas Hotfding says, that he can mean much even to those who do not\nsubscribe to the beliefs so unquestioningly entertained by him. And\nhowever much they may regret that he poured his noble wine into the\nold bottles, they cannot fail to recognize the yeoman's service he did,\nboth for sincere Christians in compelling them to rehearse inwardly\nwhat ever tends to become a matter of form: what it means to be a\nChristian; and for others, in deepening their sense of individual\nresponsibility. In fact, every one who has once come under his\ninfluence and has wrestled with this mighty spirit will bear away\nsome blessing. In a time when, as in our own, the crowd, society,\nthe millions, the nation, had depressed the individual to an\ninsignificant atom--and what is worse, in the individual's own\nestimation; when shallow altruistic, socializing effort thought\nnaively that the millenium was at hand, he drove the truth home\nthat, on the contrary, the individual is the measure of all things;\nthat we do not live en masse; that both the terrible responsibility\nand the great satisfactions of life inhere in the individual.\nAgain, more forcibly than any one else in modern times, certainly\nmore cogently than Pascal, he demonstrated that the possibility\nof proof in religion is an illusion; that doubt cannot be combatted\nby reason, that it ever will be _credo quia impossibile._ In\nreligion, he showed the utter incompatibility of the \u00e6sthetic and\nthe religious life; and in Christianity, he re-stated and re-pointed\nthe principle of ideal perfection by his unremitting insistence\non contemporaneousness with Christ. It is another matter whether\nby so doing Kierkegaard was about to pull the pillars from underneath\nthe great edifice of Christianity which housed both him and his\nenemies: seeing that he himself finally doubted whether it had\never existed apart from the Founder and, possibly, the Apostles.\n\n\nKierkegaard is not easy reading. One's first impression of crabbedness,\nwhimsicality, abstruseness will, however, soon give way to admiration\nof the marvelous instrument of precision language has become in his\nhands. To be sure, he did not write for people who are in a hurry,\nnor for dullards. His closely reasoned paragraphs and, at times\nhuge, though rhetorically faultless, periods require concentrated\nattention, his involutions and repetitions, handled with such\nincomparable virtuosity, demand an everlasting readiness of\ncomprehension on the part of the reader. On the other hand his\nphilosophic work is delightfully \"Socratic,\" unconventional, and\naltogether \"un-textbook-like.\" Kierkegaard himself wished that his\ndevotional works should be read aloud. And, from a purely \u00e6sthetic\npoint of view, it ought to be a delight for any orator to practice\non the wonderful periods of e. g., \"The Preparation,\" or of,\nsay, the parable of the coach-horses in \"Acts of the Apostles.\"\nThey alone would be sufficient to place Kierkegaard in the front rank\nof prose writers of the nineteenth century  where, both by the power of\nhis utterance and the originality of his thought, he rightfully\nbelongs.\n\nIn laying before an English speaking public selections from\nKierkegaard's works, the translator has endeavored to give an\nadequate idea of the various aspects of his highly disparate works.\nFor this purpose he has chosen a few large pieces, rather than given\ntidbits. He hopes to be pardoned for not having a slavish regard for\nKierkegaard's very inconsequential paragraphing[8] and for breaking,\nwith no detriment, he believes, to the thought, some excessively\nlong paragraphs into smaller units; which will prove more restful\nto the eye and more encouraging to the reader. As to occasional\nomissions--always indicated by dots--the possessor of the complete\nworks will readily identify them. In consonance with Kierkegaard's\nviews on \"contemporaneousness,\" no capitals are used in \"The\nPreparation\" when referring to Christ by pronouns.\n\n\nWhen Kierkegaard died, his influence, like that of Socrates, was\njust beginning to make itself felt. The complete translation into\nGerman of all his works[9] and of many into other languages; the\nmagnificent new edition of his works[10] and of his extraordinarily\nvoluminous diaries,[11] now nearing completion; and the steadily\nincreasing number of books, pamphlets, and articles from the most\ndiverse quarters testify to his reaching a growing number of\n_individuals._ Below is given a list of the more important books\nand articles on Kierkegaard. It does not aim at completeness.\n\n\nB\u00e4rthold, A. S. K., _Eine Verfassetexistenz eigner Art._ Halberstadt,\n1873.\n\nSame: _Noten zu S. K.'s Lebensgeschichte._ Halle, 1876.\n\nSame: _Die Bedeutung der aesthetischen Schriften S. K.'s._ Halle,\n1879.\n\nBarfod, H. P. (Introduction to the first edition of the Diary.)\nCopenhagen, 1869.\n\nBohlin, Th. _S. K.'s Etiska \u00c5skadning._ Uppsala, 1918.\n\nBrandes, G. _S. K., En kritisk Fremstilling i Grundrids._ Copenhagen,\n1877.\n\nSame: German ed. Leipzig, 1879.\n\nDeleuran, V. _Esquisse d'une \u00e9tude sur S. K._ Th\u00e8se, University\nof Paris, 1897.\n\nH\u00f6ffding, H. _S. K._ Copenhagen, 1892.\n\nSame: German edition (2nd). Stuttgart, 1902.\n\nHoffmann, R. _K. und die religi\u00f6se Gewissheit._ G\u00f6ttingen, 1910.\n\nJensen, Ch. _S. K.'s religi\u00f6se Udvikling._ Aarhus, 1898.\n\nMonrad, O. P. _S. K. Sein Leben und seine Werke._ Jena, 1909.\n\nM\u00fcnch, Ph. _Haupt und Grundgedanken der Philosophie S. K.'s._\nLeipzig, 1902.\n\nRosenberg, P. A. _S. K., hans Liv, hans Personlighed og hans\nForfatterskab._ Copenhagen, 1898.\n\nRudin, W. S. _K.'s Person och F\u00f6rfatterskap. F\u00f6rste Afdelningen._\nStockholm, 1880.\n\nSchrempf, Ch. _S. K.'s Stellung zu Bibel und Dogma._ Zeitschrift\nf\u00fcr Theologie und Kirche, 1891, p. 179.\n\nSame: _S. K. Ein unfreier Pionier der Freiheit._ (With a foreword\nby H\u00f6ffding) Frankfurt, 1909.\n\nSwenson, D. _The Anti-Intellectualism of K._ Philosophic Review,\n1916, p. 567.\n\n\nTo my friends and colleagues, Percy M. Dawson and Howard M. Jones,\nI wish also in this place to express my thanks for help and criticism\n\"in divers spirits.\"\n\n\n[Footnote 1: Pronounced _Kerkegor._]\n\n[Footnote 2: An interesting parallel is the story of Peter Williams, as\ntold by George Borrow, _Lavengro_, chap. 75 ff.]\n\n[Footnote 3: Corresponding, approximately, to our doctoral thesis.]\n\n[Footnote 4: Not \"Discourses for Edification,\" _cf._ the Foreword to\n_Atten Opbyggelige Taler_, S. V. vol. IV.]\n\n[Footnote 5: _De Carne Christi_, chap. V, as my friend, Professor A. E.\nHaydon, kindly points out.]\n\n[Footnote 6: _Cf._ Brandes, S. K. p. 157.]\n\n[Footnote 7: Mrs. Thomasine Gyllembourg-Ehrensv\u00e4rd.]\n\n[Footnote 8: With signal exception of \"The Present Moment.\"]\n\n[Footnote 9: In process of publication. Jena.]\n\n[Footnote 10: Samlede V\u00e6rker. Copenhagen, 1901-1906 (14 vols). In the\nnotes abbreviated S. V. Still another edition is preparing.]\n\n[Footnote 11: Copenhagen, 1909 ff.]\n\n\n\n\nDIAPSALMATA[1]\n\n\nWhat is a poet? An unhappy man who conceals profound anguish in his\nheart, but whose lips are so fashioned that when sighs and groans pass\nover them they sound like beautiful music. His fate resembles that of\nthe unhappy men who were slowly roasted by a gentle fire in the tyrant\nPhalaris' bull--their shrieks could not reach his ear to terrify\nhim, to him they sounded like sweet music. And people flock about the\npoet and say to him: do sing again; which means, would that new\nsufferings tormented your soul, and: would that your lips stayed\nfashioned as before, for your cries would only terrify us, but your\nmusic is delightful. And the critics join them, saying: well done, thus\nmust it be according to the laws of \u00e6sthetics. Why, to be sure, a critic\nresembles a poet as one pea another, the only difference being that he\nhas no anguish in his heart and no music on his lips. Behold, therefore\nwould I rather be a swineherd on Amager,[2] and be understood by the\nswine than a poet, and misunderstood by men.\n\n\nIn addition to my numerous other acquaintances I have still one more\nintimate friend--my melancholy. In the midst of pleasure, in the\nmidst of work, he beckons to me, calls me aside, even though I remain\npresent bodily. My melancholy is the most faithful sweetheart I have\nhad--no wonder that I return the love!\n\nOf all ridiculous things the most ridiculous seems to me, to be\nbusy--to be a man who is brisk about his food and his work.\nTherefore, whenever I see a fly settling, in the decisive moment, on\nthe nose of such a person of affairs; or if he is spattered with mud\nfrom a carriage which drives past him in still greater haste; or the\ndrawbridge opens up before him; or a tile falls down and knocks him\ndead, then I laugh heartily. And who, indeed, could help laughing?\nWhat, I wonder, do these busy folks get done? Are they not to be\nclassed with the woman who in her confusion about the house being\non fire carried out the fire-tongs? What things of greater account, do\nyou suppose, will they rescue from life's great conflagration?\n\n\nLet others complain that the times are wicked. I complain that they\nare paltry; for they are without passion. The thoughts of men are thin\nand frail like lace, and they themselves are feeble like girl\nlace-makers. The thoughts of their hearts are too puny to be sinful.\nFor a worm it might conceivably be regarded a sin to harbor thoughts\nsuch as theirs, not for a man who is formed in the image of God. Their\nlusts are staid and sluggish, their passions sleepy; they do their duty,\nthese sordid minds, but permit themselves, as did the Jews, to trim the\ncoins just the least little bit, thinking that if our Lord keep tab of\nthem ever so carefully one might yet safely venture to fool him a bit.\nFye upon them! It is therefore my soul ever returns to the Old Testament\nand to Shakespeare. There at least one feels that one is dealing with\nmen and women; there one hates and loves, there one murders one's\nenemy and curses his issue through all generations--there one sins.\n\n\nJust as, according to the legend,[3] Parmeniscus in the Trophonian\ncave lost his ability to laugh, but recovered it again on the island\nof Delos at the sight of a shapeless block which was exhibited as the\nimage of the goddess Leto: likewise did it happen to me. When I was\nvery young I forgot in the Trophonian cave how to laugh; but when I\ngrew older and opened my eyes and contemplated the real world, I had\nto laugh, and have not ceased laughing, ever since. I beheld that the\nmeaning of life was to make a living; its goal, to become Chief Justice;\nthat the delights of love consisted in marrying a woman with ample\nmeans; that it was the blessedness of friendship to help one another\nin financial difficulties; that wisdom was what most people supposed\nit to be; that it showed enthusiasm to make a speech, and courage, to\nrisk being fined 10 dollars; that it was cordiality to say \"may it agree\nwith you\" after a repast; that it showed piety to partake of the\ncommunion once a year. I saw that and laughed.\n\n\nA strange thing happened to me in my dream. I was rapt into the\nSeventh Heaven. There sat all the gods assembled. As a special\ndispensation I was granted the favor to have one wish. \"Do you wish\nfor youth,\" said Mercury, \"or for beauty, or power, or a long life; or\ndo you wish for the most beautiful woman, or any other of the many fine\nthings we have in our treasure trove? Choose, but only one thing!\" For\na moment I was at a loss. Then I addressed the gods in this wise: \"Most\nhonorable contemporaries, I choose one thing--that I may always\nhave the laughs on my side.\" Not one god made answer, but all began\nto laugh. From this I concluded that my wish had been granted and\nthought that the gods knew how to express themselves with good taste;\nfor it would surely have been inappropriate to answer gravely: your\nwish has been granted.\n\n\n[Footnote 1: Interlude (of aphorisms). Selection.]\n\n[Footnote 2: A flat island south of the capital, called the \"Kitchen\nGarden of Copenhagen.\"]\n\n[Footnote 3: Told by Athenaios.]\n\n\n\n\nIN VINO VERITAS (THE BANQUET)\n\n\nIt was on one of the last days in July, at ten o'clock in the\nevening, when the participants in that banquet assembled together.\nDate and year I have forgotten; indeed, this would be interesting only\nto one's memory of details, and not to one's recollection of the\ncontents of what experience. The \"spirit of the occasion\" and whatever\nimpressions are recorded in one's mind under that heading, concerns\nonly one's recollections; and just as generous wine gains in flavor by\npassing the Equator, because of the evaporation of its watery particles,\nlikewise does recollection gain by getting rid of the watery particles\nof memory; and yet recollection becomes as little a mere figment of the\nimagination by this process as does the generous wine.\n\nThe participants were five in number: John, with the epithet of the\nSeducer, Victor Eremita, Constantin Constantius, and yet two others\nwhose names I have not exactly forgotten--which would be a matter\nof small importance--but whose names I did not learn. It was as\nif these two had no proper names, for they were constantly addressed\nby some epithet. The one was called the Young Person. Nor was he more\nthan twenty and some years, of slender and delicate build, and of a very\ndark complexion. His face was thoughtful; but more pleasing even was\nits lovable and engaging expression which betokened a purity of soul\nharmonizing perfectly with the soft charm, almost feminine, and the\ntransparency of his whole presence. This external beauty of appearance\nwas lost sight of, however, in one's next impression of him; or, one\nkept it only in mind whilst regarding a youth nurtured or--to use\na still tenderer expression--petted into being, by thought, and\nnourished by the contents of his own soul--a youth who as yet\nhad had nothing to do with the world, had been neither aroused and\nfired, nor disquieted and disturbed. Like a sleep-walker he bore the\nlaw of his actions within himself, and the amiable, kindly expression\nof his countenance concerned no one, but only mirrored the disposition\nof his soul.\n\nThe other person they called the Dressmaker, and that was his\noccupation. Of him it was impossible to get a consistent impression.\nHe was dressed according to the very latest fashion, with his hair\ncurled and perfumed, fragrant with eau-de-cologne. One moment his\ncarriage did not lack self-possession, whereas in the next it assumed a\ncertain dancing, festive air, a certain hovering motion, which, however,\nwas kept in rather definite bounds by the robustness of his figure. Even\nwhen he was most malicious in his speech his voice ever had a touch of\nthe smoothtonguedness of the shop, the suaveness of the dealer in\nfancy-goods, which evidently was utterly disgusting to himself and only\nsatisfied his spirit of defiance. As I think of him now I understand him\nbetter, to be sure, than when I first saw him step out of his carriage\nand I involuntarily laughed. At the same time there is some\ncontradiction left still. He had transformed or bewitched himself, had\nby the magic of his own will assumed the appearance of one almost\nhalf-witted, but had not thereby entirely satisfied himself; and this is\nwhy his reflectiveness now and then peered forth from beneath his\ndisguise.\n\nAs I think of it now it seems rather absurd that five such persons\nshould get a banquet arranged. Nor would anything have come of it,\nI suppose, if Constantin had not been one of us. In a retired room of\na confectioner's shop where they met at times, the matter had been\nbroached once before, but had been dropped immediately when the\nquestion arose as to who was to head the undertaking. The Young\nPerson was declared unfit for that task, the Dressmaker affirmed\nhimself to be too busy. Victor Eremita did not beg to be excused\nbecause \"he had married a wife or bought a yoke of oxen which he\nneeded to prove\";[1] but, he said, even if he should make an\nexception, for once, and come to the banquet, yet he would decline\nthe courtesy offered him to preside at it, and he therewith \"entered\nprotest at the proper time.[2]\" This, John considered a work spoken\nin due season; because, as he saw it, there was but one person able\nto prepare a banquet, and that was the possessor of the wishing-table\nwhich set itself with delectable things whenever he said to it\n\"Cover thyself!\" He averred that to enjoy the charms of a young girl\nin haste was not always the wisest course; but as to a banquet, he\nwould not wait for it, and generally was tired of it a long while\nbefore it came off. However, if the plan was to be carried into effect\nhe would make one condition, which was, that the banquet should be so\narranged as to be served in one course. And that all were agreed on.\nAlso, that the settings for it were to be made altogether new, and\nthat afterwards they were to be destroyed entirely; ay, before rising\nfrom table one was to hear the preparation for their destruction.\nNothing was to remain; \"not even so much,\" said the Dressmaker, \"as\nthere is left of a dress after it has been made over into a hat.\"\n\"Nothing,\" said John, \"because nothing is more unpleasant than a\nsentimental scene, and nothing more disgusting than the knowledge\nthat somewhere or other there is an external setting which in a\ndirect and impertinent fashion pretends to be a reality.\"\n\nWhen the conversation had thus became animated, Victor Eremita\nsuddenly arose, struck an attitude on the floor, beckoned with his hand\nin the fashion of one commanding and, holding his arm extended as one\nlifting a goblet, he said, with the gesture of one waving a welcome:\n\"With this cup whose fragrance already intoxicates my senses, whose cool\nfire already inflames my blood, I greet you, beloved fellow-banqueters,\nand bid you welcome; being entirely assured  that each one of you is\nsufficiently satisfied by our merely speaking about the banquet; for our\nLord satisfied the stomach before satisfying the eye, but the imagination\nacts in the reverse fashion.\" Thereupon he inserted his hand in his\npocket, took from it a cigar-case, struck a match, and began to smoke.\nWhen Constantin Constantius protested against this sovereign free way\nof transforming the banquet planned into an illusory fragment of life,\nVictor declared that he did not believe for one moment that such\na banquet could be got up and that, in any case, it had been\na mistake to let it become the subject of discussion in advance.\n\"Whatever is to be good must come at once; for 'at once' is the\ndivinest of all categories and deserves to be honored as in the language\nof the Romans: _ex templo_,[3] because it is the starting point for\nall that is divine in life, and so much so that what is not done at\nonce is of evil.\" However, he remarked, he did not care to argue\nthis point. In case the others wished to speak and act differently\nhe would not say a word, but if they wished him to explain the sense\nof his remarks more fully he must have leave to make a speech,\nbecause he did not consider it all desirable to provoke a discussion\non the subject.\n\nPermission was given him; and as the others called on him to do so\nat once, he spoke as follows: \"A banquet is in itself a difficult\nmatter, because even if it be arranged with ever so much taste and\ntalent there is something else essential to its success, to wit, good\nluck. And by this I mean not such matters as most likely would give\nconcern to an anxious hostess, but something different, a something\nwhich no one can make absolutely sure of: a fortunate harmonizing\nof the spirit and the minuti\u00e6 of the banquet, that fine ethereal\nvibration of chords, that soul-stirring music which cannot be ordered\nin advance from the town-musicians. Look you, therefore is it a\nhazardous thing to undertake, because if things do go wrong, perhaps\nfrom the very start, one may suffer such a depression and loss of\nspirits that recovery from it might involve a very long time.\n\n\"Sheer habit and thoughtlessness are father and godfather to most\nbanquets, and it is only due to the lack of critical sense among people\nthat one fails to notice the utter absence of any idea in them. In the\nfirst place, women ought never to be present at a banquet. Women\nmay be used to advantage only in the Greek style, as a chorus of\ndancers. As it is the main thing at a banquet that there be eating and\ndrinking, woman ought not to be present; for she cannot do justice to\nwhat is offered; or, if she can, it is most unbeautiful. Whenever a\nwoman is present the matter of eating and drinking ought to be reduced\nto the very slightest proportions. At most, it ought to be no more\nthan some trifling feminine occupation, to have something to busy\none's hands with. Especially in the country a little repast of this\nkind--which, by the way, should be put at other times than the\nprincipal meals--may be extremely delightful; and if so, always\nowing to the presence of the other sex. To do like the English, who\nlet the fair sex retire as soon as the real drinking is to start,\nis to fall between two stools, for every plan ought to be a whole,\nand the very manner with which I take a seat at the table and seize\nhold of knife and fork bears a definite relation to this whole. In\nthe same sense a political banquet presents an unbeautiful\nambiguity inasmuch as one does not[4] want to cut down to a very\nminimum the essentials of a banquet, and yet does not wish to have\nthe speeches thought of as having been made over the cups.\n\n\"So far, we are agreed, I suppose; and our number--in case anything\nshould come of the banquet--is correctly chosen, according to that\nbeautiful rule: neither more than the Muses nor fewer than the\nGraces. Now I demand the greatest superabundance of everything\nthinkable. That is, even though everything be not actually there, yet\nthe possibility of having it must be at one's immediate beck and call,\naye, hover temptingly over the table, more seductive even than the\nactual sight of it. I beg to be excused, however, from banqueting on\nsulphur-matches or on a piece of sugar which all are to suck in turn.\nMy demands for such a banquet will, on the contrary, be difficult to\nsatisfy; for the feast itself must be calculated to arouse and incite\nthat unmentionable longing which each worthy participant is to bring\nwith him. I require that the earth's fertility be at our service, as\nthough everything sprouted forth at the very moment the desire for it\nwas born. I desire a more luxurious abundance of wine than when\nMephistopheles needed but to drill holes into the table to obtain it.\nI demand an illumination more splendid than have the gnomes when\nthey lift up the mountain on pillars and dance in a sea of blazing\nlight. I demand what most excites the senses, I demand their\ngratification by deliciously sweet perfumes, more superb than any\nin the Arabian Nights. I demand a coolness which voluptuously provokes\ndesire and breathes relaxation on desire satisfied. I demand a\nfountain's unceasing  enlivenment. If M\u00e6cenas could not sleep without\nhearing the splashing of a fountain, I cannot eat without it. Do not\nmisunderstand me, I can eat stockfish without it, but I cannot eat at\na banquet without it; I can drink water without it, but I cannot drink\nwine at a banquet without it. I demand a host of servants, chosen and\ncomely, as if I sate at table with the gods; I demand that there\nshall be music at the feast, both strong and subdued; and I demand\nthat it shall be an accompaniment to my thoughts; and what concerns\nyou, my friends, my demands regarding you are altogether incredible.\nDo you see, by reason of all these demands--which are as many\nreasons against it--I hold a banquet to be a _pium desideratum_,[5]\nand am so far from desiring a repetition of it that I presume it is not\nfeasible even a first time.\"\n\n\nThe only one who had not actually participated in this conversation,\nnor in the frustration of the banquet, was Constantin. Without him,\nnothing would have been done save the talking. He had come to a\ndifferent conclusion and was of the opinion that the idea might well\nbe realized, if one but carried the matter with a high hand.\n\nThen some time passed, and both the banquet and the discussion\nabout it were forgotten, when suddenly, one day, the participants\nreceived a card of invitation from Constantius  for a banquet the very\nsame evening. The motto of the party had been given by him as: _In Vino\nVeritas_, because there was to be speaking, to be sure, and not only\nconversation; but the speeches were not to be made except _in vino_,\nand no truth was to be uttered there excepting that which is\n_in vino_--when the wine is a defense of the truth and the truth a\ndefense of the wine.\n\nThe place had been chosen in the woods, some ten miles distant\nfrom Copenhagen. The hall in which they were to feast had been newly\ndecorated and in every way made unrecognizable; a smaller room,\nseparated from the hall by a corridor, was arranged for an orchestra.\nShutters and curtains were let down before all windows, which were left\nopen. The arrangement that the participants were to drive to the\nbanquet in the evening hour was to intimate to them--and that was\nConstantin's idea--what was to follow. Even if one knows that\none is driving to a banquet, and the imagination therefore indulges for\na moment in thoughts of luxury, yet the impression of the natural\nsurroundings is too powerful to be resisted. That this might possibly\nnot be the case was the only contingency he apprehended; for just as\nthere is no power like the imagination to render beautiful all it\ntouches, neither is there any power which can to such a degree disturb\nall--misfortune conspiring--if confronted with reality. But\ndriving on a summer evening does not lure the imagination to luxurious\nthoughts, but rather to the opposite. Even if one does not see it or\nhear it, the imagination will unconsciously create a picture of the\nlonging for home which one is apt to feel in the evening hours--one\nsees the reapers, man and maid, returning from their work in the fields,\none hears the hurried rattling of the hay wagon, one interprets even the\nfar-away lowing from the meadows as a longing. Thus does a summer\nevening suggest idyllic thoughts, soothing even a restless mind with\nits assuagement, inducing even the soaring imagination to abide on\nearth with an indwelling yearning for home as the place from whence\nit came, and thus teaching the insatiable mind to be satisfied with\nlittle, by rendering one content; for in the evening hour time stands\nstill and eternity lingers.\n\nThus they arrived in the evening hour: those invited; for Constantin\nhad come out somewhat earlier. Victor Eremita who resided in the country\nnot far away came on horseback, the others in a carriage. And just as\nthey had discharged it, a light open vehicle rolled in through the\ngate carrying a merry company of four journeymen who were entertained\nto be ready at the decisive moment to function as a corps of destruction:\njust as firemen are stationed in a theatre, for the opposite reason\nat once to extinguish a fire.\n\n\nSo long as one is a child one possesses sufficient imagination\nto maintain one's soul at the very top-notch of expectation--for\na whole hour in the dark room, if need be; but when one has grown\nolder one's imagination may easily cause one to tire of the Christmas\ntree before seeing it.\n\n\nThe folding doors were opened. The effect of the radiant illumination,\nthe coolness wafting toward them, the beguiling fragrance of sweet\nperfumes, the excellent taste of the arrangements, for a moment\noverwhelmed the feelings of those entering; and when, at the same\ntime, strains from the ballet of \"Don Juan\" sounded from the orchestra,\ntheir persons seemed transfigured and, as if out of reverence for an\nunseen spirit about them, they stopped short for a moment like men\nwho have been roused by admiration and who have risen to admire.\n\n\nWhoever knows that happy moment, whoever has appreciated its\ndelight, and has not also felt the apprehension lest suddenly something\nmight happen, some trifle perhaps, which yet might be sufficient to\ndisturb all! Whoever has held the lamp of Aladdin in his hand and has\nnot also felt the swooning of pleasure, because one needs but to wish?\nWhoever has held what is inviting in his hand and has not also learned\nto keep his wrist limber to let go at once, if need be?\n\nThus they stood side by side. Only Victor stood alone, absorbed in\nthought; a shudder seemed to pass through his soul, he almost trembled;\nhe collected himself and saluted the omen with these words: \"Ye\nmysterious, festive, and seductive strains which drew me out of the\ncloistered seclusion of a quiet youth and beguiled me with a longing as\nmighty as a recollection, and terrible, as though Elvira had\nnot even been seduced but had only desired to be! Immortal Mozart,\nthou to whom I owe all; but no! as yet I do not owe thee all. But when\nI shall have become an old man--if ever I do become an old man;\nor when I shall have become ten years older--if ever I do; or when\nI am become old--if ever I shall become old; or when I shall\ndie--for that, indeed, I know I shall: then shall I say: immortal\nMozart, thou to whom I owe all--and then I shall let my admiration,\nwhich is my soul's first and only admiration, burst forth in all its\nmight and let it make away with me, as it often has been on the point\nof doing. Then have I set my house in order,[6] then have I remembered\nmy beloved one, then have I confessed my love, then have I fully\nestablished that I owe thee all, then am I occupied no longer with\nthee, with the world, but only with the grave thought of death.\"\n\nNow there came from the orchestra that invitation in which joy\ntriumphs most exultantly, and heaven-storming soars aloft above\nElvira's sorrowful thanks; and gracefully apostrophizing, John repeated:\n\"_Viva la liberta_\"--\"_et veritas_,\" said the Young Person; \"but\nabove all, _in vino_,\" Constantin interrupted them, seating himself\nat the table and inviting the others to do likewise.\n\nHow easy to prepare a banquet; yet Constantin declared that he\nnever would risk preparing another. How easy to admire; yet Victor\ndeclared that he never again would lend words to his admiration; for to\nsuffer a discomfiture is more dreadful than to become an invalid in\nwar! How easy to express a desire, if one has the magic lamp; yet that\nis at times more terrible than to perish of want!\n\nThey were seated. In the same moment the little company were\nlaunched into the very middle of the infinite sea of enjoyment--as\nif with one single bound. Each one had addressed all his thoughts and\nall his desires to the banquet, had prepared his soul for the enjoyment\nwhich was offered to overflowing and in which their souls overflowed.\nThe experienced driver is known by his ability to start the\nsnorting team with a single bound and to hold them well abreast; the\nwell-trained steed is known by his lifting himself in one absolutely\ndecisive leap: even if one or the other of the guests perhaps fell short\nin some particular, certainly Constantin was a good host.\n\nThus they banqueted. Soon, conversation had woven its beautiful\nwreaths about the banqueters, so that they sat garlanded. Now, it was\nenamored of the food, now of the wine, and now again of itself; now,\nit seemed to develop into significance, and then again it was altogether\nslight. Soon, fancy unfolded itself--the splendid one which blows\nbut once, the tender one which straightway closes its petals; now, there\ncame an exclamation from one of the banqueters: \"These truffles are\nsuperb,\" and now, an order of the host: \"This Chateau Margaux!\" Now,\nthe music was drowned in the noise, now it was heard again. Sometimes\nthe servants stood still as if _in pausa_, in that decisive moment\nwhen a new dish was being brought out, or a new wine was ordered and\nmentioned by name, sometimes they were all a bustle. Sometimes there\nwas a silence for a moment, and then the re-animating spirit of the\nmusic went forth over the guests. Now, one with some bold thought would\ntake the lead in the conversation and the others followed after, almost\nforgetting to eat, and the music would sound after them as it sounds\nafter the jubilant shouts of a host storming on; now, only the clinking\nof glasses and the clattering of plates was heard and the feasting\nproceeded in silence, accompanied only by the music that joyously\nadvanced and again stimulated conversation. Thus they banqueted.\n\n\nHow poor is language in comparison with that symphony of sounds\nunmeaning, yet how significant, whether of a battle or of a banquet,\nwhich even scenic representation cannot imitate and for which language\nhas but a few words! How rich is language in the expression of the\nworld of ideas, and how poor, when it is to describe reality!\n\nOnly once did Constantin abandon his omnipresence in which one\nactually lost sight of his presence. At the very beginning he got them\nto sing one of the old drinking songs, \"by way of calling to mind that\njolly time when men and women feasted together,\" as he said--a\nproposal which had the positively burlesque effect he had perhaps\ncalculated it should have. It almost gained the upper hand when the\nDressmaker wanted them to sing the ditty: \"When I shall mount the\nbridal bed, hoiho!\" After a couple of courses had been served Constantin\nproposed that the banquet should conclude with each one's making a\nspeech, but that precautions should be taken against the speakers'\ndivagating too much. He was for making two conditions, viz., there\nwere to be no speeches until after the meal; and no one was to speak\nbefore having drunk sufficiently to feel the power of the wine--else\nhe was to be in that condition in which one says much which under\nother circumstances one would leave unsaid--without necessarily\nhaving the connection of speech and thought constantly interrupted by\nhiccoughs.[7] Before speaking, then, each one was to declare\nsolemnly that he was in that condition. No definite quantity of wine\nwas to be required, capacities differed so widely. Against this\nproposal, John entered protest. He could never become intoxicated,\nhe averred, and when he had come to a certain point he grew the\nsoberer the more he drank. Victor Eremita was of the opinion that\nany such preparatory premeditations to insure one's becoming drunk\nwould precisely militate against one's becoming so. If one desired\nto become intoxicated the deliberate wish was only a hindrance. Then\nthere ensued some discussion about the divers influences of wine on\nconsciousness, and especially about the fact that, in the case of\na reflective temperament, an excess of wine may manifest itself,\nnot in any particular _impetus_ but, on the contrary, in a noticeably\ncool self-possession. As to the contents of the speeches, Constantin\nproposed that they should deal with love, that is, the relation\nbetween man and woman. No love stories were to be told though they\nmight furnish the text of one's remarks.\n\nThe conditions were accepted. All reasonable and just demands a\nhost may make on his guests were fulfilled: they ate and drank, and\n\"drank and were filled with drink,\" as the Bible has it;[8] that is,\nthey drank stoutly.\n\nThe desert was served. Even if Victor had not, as yet, had his desire\ngratified to hear the splashing of a fountain--which, for that\nmatter, he had luckily forgotten since that former conversation--now\nchampagne flowed profusely. The clock struck twelve. Thereupon\nConstantin commanded silence, saluted the Young Person with a goblet\nand the words _quod felix sit faustumque_[9] and bade him to speak\nfirst.\n\n\n\n\n(The Young Person's Speech)\n\n\nThe Young Person arose and declared that he felt the power of the\nwine, which was indeed apparent to some degree; for the blood pulsed\nstrongly in his temples, and his appearance was not as beautiful as\nbefore the meal. He spoke as follows:\n\nIf there be truth in the words of the poets, dear fellow-banqueters,\nthen unrequited love is, indeed, the greatest of sorrows. Should you\nrequire any proof of this you need but listen to the speech of lovers.\nThey say that it is death, certain death; and the first time they\nbelieve it--for the space of two weeks. The next time they say\nthat it is death; and finally they will die sometime--as the result\nof unrequited love. For that love has killed them, about that there\ncan obtain no doubt. And as to love's having to take hold three times\nto make away with them, that is not different from the dentist's having\nto pull three times before he is able to budge that firmly rooted molar.\nBut, if unrequited love thus means certain death, how happy am I who\nhave never loved and, I hope, will only achieve dying some time,\nand not from unrequited love! But just this may be the greatest\nmisfortune, for all I know, and how unfortunate must I then be!\n\nThe essence of love probably (for I speak as does a blind man about\ncolors), probably lies in its bliss; which is, in other words, that the\ncessation of love brings death to the lover. This I comprehend very well\nas in the nature of a hypothesis correlating life and death. But, if\nlove is to be merely by way of hypothesis, why, then lovers lay\nthemselves open to ridicule through their actually falling in love.\nIf, however, love is something real, why, then reality must bear out\nwhat lovers say about it. But did one in real life ever hear of, or\nobserve, such things having taken place, even if there is hearsay to\nthat effect? Here I perceive already one of the contradictions in which\nlove involves a person; for whether this is different for those\ninitiated, that I have no means of knowing; but love certainly does\nseem to involve people in the most curious contradictions.\n\nThere is no other relation between human beings which makes\nsuch demands on one's ideality as does love, and yet love is never seen\nto have it. For this reason alone I would be afraid of love; for I fear\nthat it might have the power to make me too talk vaguely about a bliss\nwhich I did not feel and a sorrow I did not have. I say this here since\nI am bidden to speak on love, though unacquainted with it--I\nsay this in surroundings which appeal to me like a Greek symposion; for\nI should otherwise not care to speak on this subject as I do not wish to\ndisturb any one's happiness but, rather, am content with my own\nthoughts. Who knows but these thoughts are sheer imbecilities and vain\nimaginings--perhaps my ignorance is explicable from the fact\nthat I never have learned, nor have wished to learn, from any one, how\none comes to love; or from the fact that I have never yet challenged a\nwoman with a glance--which is supposed to be smart--but have always\nlowered my eyes, unwilling to yield to an impression before having\nfully made sure about the nature of the power into whose sphere\nI am venturing.\n\nAt this point he was interrupted by Constantin who expostulated\nwith him because, by his very confession of never having been in love,\nhe had debarred himself from speaking. The Young Person declared that\nat any other time he would gladly obey an injunction to that effect as\nhe had often enough experienced how tiresome it was to have to make a\nspeech; but that in this case he would insist upon his right. Precisely\nthe fact that one had had no love affair, he said, also constituted an\naffair of love; and he who could assert this of himself was entitled to\nspeak about Eros just because his thoughts were bound to take issue\nwith the whole sex and not with individuals. He was granted permission\nto speak and continued.\n\n\nInasmuch as my right to speak has been challenged, this may serve\nto exempt me from your laughter; for I know well that, just as among\nrustics he is not considered a man who does not call a tobacco pipe his\nown, likewise among men-folks he is not considered a real man who is\nnot experienced in love. If any one feels like laughing, let him\nlaugh--my thought is, and remains, the essential consideration\nfor me. Or is love, perchance, privileged to be the only event which is\nto be considered after, rather than before, it happens? If that be the\ncase, what then if I, having fallen in love, should later on think that\nit was too late to think about it? Look you, this is the reason why I\nchoose to think about love before it happens. To be sure, lovers also\nmaintain that they gave the matter thought, but such is not the case.\nThey assume it to be essential in man to fall in love; but this surely\ndoes not mean thinking about love but, rather, assuming it, in order\nto make sure of getting one's self a sweetheart.\n\nIn fact, whenever my reflection endeavors to pin down love, naught\nbut contradiction seems to remain. At times, it is true, I feel as if\nsomething had escaped me, but I cannot tell what it is, whereas my\nreflection is able at once to point out the contradictions in what\ndoes occur. Very well, then, in my opinion love is the greatest\nself-contradiction imaginable, and comical at the same time. Indeed,\nthe one corresponds to the other. The comical is always seen to occur\nin the category of contradictions--which truth I cannot take the\ntime to demonstrate now; but what I shall demonstrate now is that\nlove is comical. By love I mean the relation between man and woman.\nI am not thinking of Eros in the Greek sense which has been extolled so\nbeautifully by Plato who, by the way, is so far from considering the\nlove of woman that he mentions it only in passing, holding it to be\ninferior to the love of youths.[10] I say, love is comical to a\nthird person--more I say not. Whether it is for this reason that lovers\nalways hate a third person I do not know; but I do know that\nreflection is always in such a relation the third person, and\nfor this reason I cannot love without at the same time having a third\nperson present in the shape of my reflection.\n\nThis surely cannot seem strange to any one, every one having\ndoubted everything, whereas I am uttering my doubts only with reference\nto love. And yet I do think it strange that people have doubted\neverything and have again reached certainty, without as much as dropping\na word concerning the difficulties which have held my thought\ncaptive--so much so that I have, now and then, longed to be freed\nof them--freed by the aid of one, note well, who was aware\nof these difficulties, and not of one who in his sleep had a\nnotion to doubt, and to have doubted, everything, and again\nin his sleep had the notion that he is explaining, and has\nexplained, all.[11]\n\nLet me then have your attention, dear fellow banqueters, and if you\nyourselves be lovers do not therefore interrupt me, nor try to silence\nme because you do not wish to hear the explanation. Rather turn away\nand listen with averted faces to what I have to say, and what I insist\nupon saying, having once begun.\n\nIn the first place I consider it comical that every one loves, and\nevery one wishes to love, without any one ever being able to tell one\nwhat is the nature of the lovable or that which is the real object of\nlove. As to the word \"to love\" I shall not discuss it since it means\nnothing definite; but as soon as the matter is broached at all we are\nmet by the question as to what it is one loves. No other answer is\never vouchsafed us on that point other than that one loves what is\nlovable. For if one should make answer, with Plato,[12] that one is\nto love what is good, one has in taking this single step exceeded\nthe bounds of the erotic.\n\nThe answer may be offered, perhaps, that one is to love what is\nbeautiful. But if I then should ask whether to love means to love a\nbeautiful landscape or a beautiful painting it would be immediately\nperceived that the erotic is not, as it were, comprised in the more\ngeneral term of the love of things beautiful, but is something entirely\nof its own kind. Were a lover--just to give an example--to speak\nas follows, in order to express adequately how much love there\ndwelled in him: \"I love beautiful landscapes, and my Lalage, and the\nbeautiful dancer, and a beautiful horse--in short, I love all that\nis beautiful,\" his Lalage would not be satisfied with his encomium,\nhowever well satisfied she might be with him in all other respects, and\neven if she be beautiful; and now suppose Lalage is not beautiful and he\nyet loved her!\n\nAgain, if I should refer the erotic element to the bisection\nof which Aristophanes tells us[13] when he says that the gods severed\nman into two parts as one cuts flounders, and that these parts thus\nseparated sought one another, then I again encounter a difficulty I\ncannot get over, which is, in how far I may base my reasoning on\nAristophanes who in his speech--just because there is no reason for\nthe thought to stop at this point--goes further in his thought and\nthinks that the gods might take it into their heads to divide man\ninto three parts, for the sake of still better fun. For the sake\nof still better fun; for is it not true, as I said, that love\nrenders a person ridiculous, if not in the eyes of others then\ncertainly in the eyes of the gods?\n\nNow, let me assume that the erotic element resides essentially in the\nrelation between man and woman--what is to be inferred from that?\nIf the lover should say to his Lalage: I love you because you are a\nwoman; I might as well love any other woman, as for instance, ugly\nZo\u00eb: then beautiful Lalage would feel insulted.\n\nIn what, then, consists the lovable? This is my question; but\nunfortunately, no one has been able to tell me. The individual lover\nalways believes that, as far as he is concerned, he knows. Still he\ncannot make himself understood by any other lover; and he who listens\nto the speech of a number of lovers will learn that no two of them ever\nagree, even though they all talk about the same thing. Disregarding\nthose altogether silly explanations which leave one as wise as before,\nthat is, end by asserting that it is really the pretty feet of the\nbeloved damsel, or the admired mustachios of the swain, which are the\nobjects of love--disregarding these, one will find mentioned, even\nin the declamations of lovers in the higher style, first a number of\ndetails and, finally, the declaration: all her lovable ways; and when\nthey have reached the climax: that inexplicable something I do not know\nhow to explain. And this speech is meant to please especially beautiful\nLalage. Me it does not please, for I don't understand a word of it and\nfind, rather, that it contains a double contradiction--first, that\nit ends with the inexplicable, second, that it ends with the\ninexplicable; for he who intends to end with the inexplicable had best\nbegin with the inexplicable and then say no more, lest he lay himself\nopen to suspicion. If he begin with the inexplicable, saying no more,\nthen this does not prove his helplessness, for it is, anyway, an\nexplanation in a negative sense; but if he does begin with something\nelse and lands in the inexplicable, then this does certainly\nprove his helplessness.\n\nSo then we see: to love corresponds to the lovable; and the lovable\nis the inexplicable. Well, that is at least something; but comprehensible\nit is not, as little as the inexplicable way in which love seizes\non its prey. Who, indeed, would not be alarmed if people about one,\ntime and again, dropped down dead, all of a sudden, or had convulsions,\nwithout any one being able to account for it? But precisely in this\nfashion does love invade life, only with the difference that one is\nnot alarmed thereby, since the lovers themselves regard it as their\ngreatest happiness, but that one, on the contrary, is tempted to\nlaugh; for the comical and the tragical elements ever correspond to\none another. Today, one may converse with a person and can fairly\nwell make him out--tomorrow, he speaks in tongues and with strange\ngestures: he is in love.\n\nNow, if to love meant to fall in love with the first person that came\nalong, it would be easy to understand that one could give no special\nreasons for it; but since to love means to fall in love with one, one\nsingle person in all the world, it would seem as if such an extraordinary\nprocess of singling out ought to be due to such an extensive chain of\nreasoning that one might have to beg to be excused from hearing\nit--not so much because it did not explain anything as because it\nmight be too lengthy to listen to. But no, the lovers are not able to\nexplain anything at all. He has seen hundreds upon hundreds of\nwomen; he is, perhaps, advanced in years and has all along felt\nnothing--and all at once he sees her, her the Only one, Catherine.\nIs this not comical? Is it not comical that the relation which is\nto explain and beautify all life, love, is not like the mustard\nseed from which there grows a great tree,[14] but being still smaller\nis, at bottom, nothing at all; for not a single antecedent criterion\ncan be mentioned, as e.g., that the phenomenon occurred at a certain\nage, nor a single reason as to why he should select her, her alone\nin all the world--and that by no means in the same sense as when\n\"Adam chose Eve, because there was none other.[15]\"\n\nOr is not the explanation which the lovers vouchsafe just as comical;\nor, does it not, rather, emphasize the comical aspect of love? They say\nthat love renders one blind, and by this fact they undertake to explain\nthe phenomenon. Now, if a person who was going into a dark room to\nfetch something should answer, on my advising him to take a light\nalong, that it was only a trifling matter he wanted and so he would\nnot bother to take a light along--ah! then I would understand him\nexcellently well. If, on the other hand, this same person should take\nme aside and, with an air of mystery, confide to me that the thing\nhe was about to fetch was of the very greatest importance and that\nit was for this reason that he was able to do it in the dark--ah!\nthen I wonder if my weak mortal brain could follow the soaring flight\nof his speech. Even if I should refrain from laughing, in order not\nto offend him, I should hardly be able to restrain my mirth as soon\nas he had turned his back. But at love nobody laughs; for I am quite\nprepared to be embarrassed like the Jew who, after ending his story,\nasks: Is there no one who will laugh?[16] And yet I did not miss\nthe point, as did the Jew, and as to my laughter I am far from wanting\nto insult any one. Quite on the contrary, I scorn those fools who\nimagine that their love has such good reasons that they can afford\nto laugh at other lovers; for since love is altogether inexplicable,\none lover is as ridiculous as the other. Quite as foolish and haughty\nI consider it also when a man proudly looks about him in the circle\nof girls to find who may be worthy of him, or when a girl proudly\ntosses her head to select or reject; because such persons are simply\nbasing their thoughts on an unexplained assumption. No. What busies\nmy thought is love as such, and it is love which seems ridiculous\nto me; and therefore I fear it, lest I become ridiculous in my own eyes,\nor ridiculous in the eyes of the gods who have fashioned man thus.\nIn other words, if love is ridiculous it is equally ridiculous, whether\nnow my sweetheart be a princess or a servant girl; for the lovable, as\nwe have seen, is the inexplicable.\n\nLook you, therefore do I fear love, and find precisely in\nthis a new proof of love's being comical; for my fear is so\ncuriously tragic that it throws light on the comical nature of love.\nWhen people wreck a building a sign is hung up to warn people, and I\nshall take care to stand from under; when a bar has been freshly painted\na stone is laid in the road to apprise people of the fact; when a driver\nis in danger of running a man over he will shout \"look out\"; when\nthere have been cases of cholera in a house a soldier is set as\nguard; and so forth. What I mean is that if there is some danger, one\nmay be warned and will successfully escape it by heeding the warning.\nNow, fearing to be rendered ridiculous by love, I certainly regard it as\ndangerous; so what shall I do to escape it? In other words, what shall\nI do to escape the danger of some woman falling in love with me?\nI am far from entertaining the thought of being an Adonis every\ngirl is bound to fall in love with (_relata refero_,[17] for what\nthis means I do not understand)--goodness no! But since I do not\nknow what the lovable is I cannot, by any manners of means, know how\nto escape this danger. Since, for that matter, the very opposite of\nbeauty may constitute the lovable; and, finally, since the inexplicable\nalso is the lovable, I am forsooth in the same situation as the man\nJean Paul speaks of somewhere who, standing on one foot, reads a\nsign saying, \"fox-traps here,\" and now does not dare, either to lift\nhis foot or to set it down.\n\nNo, love any one I will not, before I have fathomed what love is;\nbut this I cannot, but have, rather, come to the conclusion that it is\ncomical. Hence I will not love--but alas! I have not thereby\navoided the danger, for, since I do not know what the lovable is and\nhow it seizes me, or how it seizes a woman with reference to me, I\ncannot make sure whether I have avoided the danger. This is tragical\nand, in a certain sense, even profoundly tragical, even if no one is\nconcerned about it, or if no one is concerned about the bitter\ncontradiction for one who thinks--that a something exists which\neverywhere exercises its power and yet is not to be definitely\nconceived by thought and which, perhaps, may attack from the\nrear him who in vain seeks to conceive it. But as to the tragic\nside of the matter it has its deep reason in the comic aspects\njust pointed out. Possibly, every other person will turn all this\nupside down and not find that to be comical which I do, but\nrather that which I conceive to be tragical; but this too proves that\nI am right to a certain extent. And that for which, if so happens, I\nbecome either a tragic or comic victim is plain enough, viz., my\ndesire to reflect about all I do, and not imagine I am reflecting\nabout life by dismissing its every important circumstance with an\n\"I don't care, either way.\"\n\nMan has both a soul and a body. About this the wisest and best of\nthe race are agreed. Now, in case one assumes the essence of love to lie\nin the relation between man and woman, the comic aspect will show again\nin the face-about which is seen when the highest spiritual values\nexpress themselves in the most sensual terms. I am now referring\nto all those extraordinary and mystic signals of love--in short, to\nall the free-masonry which forms a continuation of the above-mentioned\ninexplicable something. The contradiction in which love here involves a\nperson lies in the fact that the symbolic signs mean nothing at all\nor--which amounts to the same--that no one is able to explain what\nthey do signify. Two loving souls vow that they will love each the\nother in all eternity; thereupon they embrace, and with a kiss\nthey seal this eternal pact. Now I ask any thinking person whether he\nwould have hit upon that! And thus there is constant shifting from the\none to the other extreme in love. The most spiritual is expressed\nby its very opposite, and the sensual is to signify the most\nspiritual.--Let me assume I am in love. In that case I would\nconceive it to be of the utmost importance to me that the one I love\nbelonged to me for all time. This I comprehend; for I am now, really,\nspeaking only of Greek eroticism which has to do with loving beautiful\nsouls. Now when the person I love had vowed to return my love I would\nbelieve her or, in as far as there remained any doubt in me, try to\ncombat my doubt. But what happens actually? For if I were in love\nI would, probably, behave like all the others, that is, seek\nto obtain still some other assurance than merely to believe\nher I love; which, though, is plainly the only assurance to be had.\n\nWhen Cockatoo[18] all at once begins to plume himself like a\nduck which is gorged with food, and then emits the word \"Marian,\"\neverybody will laugh, and so will I. I suppose the spectator finds it\ncomical that Cockatoo, who doesn't love Marian at all, should be on\nsuch intimate terms with her. But suppose, now, that Cockatoo does\nlove Marian. Would that be comical still? To me it would; and the\ncomical would seem to me to lie in love's having become capable of\nbeing expressed in such fashion. Whether now this has been the custom\nsince the beginning of the world makes no difference whatsoever, for the\ncomical has the prescriptive  right from all eternity to be present in\ncontradictions--and here is a contradiction. There is really\nnothing comical in the antics of a manikin since we see some one pulling\nthe strings. But to be a manikin at the beck of something inexplicable\nis indeed comical, for the contradiction lies in our not seeing any\nsensible reason why one should have to twitch now this leg and now\nthat. Hence, if I cannot explain what I am doing, I do not care to do\nit; and if I cannot understand the power into whose sphere I am\nventuring, I do not care to surrender myself to that power. And if love\nis so mysterious a law which binds together the extremest contradictions,\nthen who will guarantee that I might not, one day, become altogether\nconfused? Still, that does not concern me so much.\n\nAgain, I have heard that some lovers consider the behavior of other\nlovers ridiculous. I cannot conceive how this ridicule is justified,\nfor if this law of love be a natural law, then all lovers are subject\nto it; but if it be the law of their own choice, then those laughing\nlovers ought to be able to explain all about love; which, however, they\nare unable to do. But in this respect I understand this matter better as\nit seems a convention for one lover to laugh at the other because\nhe always finds the other lover ridiculous, but not himself. If it\nbe ridiculous to kiss an ugly girl, it is also ridiculous to kiss\na pretty one; and the notion that doing this in some particular way\nshould entitle one to cast ridicule on another who does it differently,\nis but presumptuousness and a conspiracy which does not, for all that,\nexempt such a snob from laying himself open to the ridicule which\ninvariably results from the fact that no one is able to explain what\nthis act of kissing signifies, whereas it is to signify all--to\nsignify, indeed, that the lovers desire to belong to each other\nin all eternity; aye, what is still more amusing, to render them\ncertain that they will. Now, if a man should suddenly lay his head on\none side, or shake it, or kick out with his leg and, upon my asking\nhim why he did this, should answer \"To be sure I don't know, myself,\nI just happened to do so, next time I may do something different, for I\ndid it unconsciously\"--ah, then I would understand him quite\nwell. But if he said, as the lovers say about their antics, that all\nbliss lay therein, how could I help finding it ridiculous--just\nas I thought that other man's motions ridiculous, to be sure in a\ndifferent sense, until he restrained my laughter by declaring that\nthey did not signify anything. For by doing so he removed the\ncontradiction which is the basic cause of the comical. It is not at all\ncomical that the insignificant is declared to signify nothing, but it\nis very much so if it be asserted to signify all.\n\nAs regards involuntary actions, the contradiction arises at the very\noutset because involuntary actions are not looked for in a free rational\nbeing. Thus if one supposed that the Pope had a coughing spell the\nvery moment he was to place the crown on Napoleon's head; or that\nbride and groom in the most solemn moment of the wedding ceremony\nshould fall to sneezing--these would be examples of the comical.\nThat is, the more a given action accentuates the free rational being,\nthe more comical are involuntary actions. This holds true also in\nrespect of the erotic gesticulations, where the comical element appears\na second time, owing to the circumstance that the lovers attempt to\nexplain away the contradiction by attributing to their gesticulations an\nabsolute value. As is well known, children have a keen sense\nof the ridiculous--witness children's testimony which can always\nbe relied on in this regard. Now as a rule children will laugh at\nlovers, and if one makes them tell what they have seen, surely no one\ncan help laughing. This is, perhaps, due to the fact that children omit\nthe point. Very strange! When the Jew omitted the point no one cared to\nlaugh. Here, on the contrary, every one laughs because the point is\nomitted; since, however, no one can explain what the point is--why,\nthen there is no point at all.\n\nSo the lovers explain nothing; and those who praise love explain\nnothing but are merely intent on--as one is bidden in the Royal\nLaws of Denmark--on saying anent it all which may be pleasant\nand of good report. But a man who thinks, desires to have his logical\ncategories in good order; and he who thinks about love wishes to be\nsure about his categories also in this matter. The fact is, though, that\npeople do not think about love, and a \"pastoral science\" is still\nlacking; for even if a poet in a pastoral poem makes an attempt to\nshow how love is born, everything is smuggled in again by help of\nanother person who teaches the lovers how to love!\n\nAs we saw, the comical element in love arose from the face-about\nwhereby the highest quality of one sphere does not find expression in\nthat sphere but in the exactly opposite quality of another sphere. It is\ncomical that the soaring flight of love--the desire to belong to\neach other for all time--lands ever, like Saft,[19] in the pantry;\nbut still more comical is it that this conclusion is said to\nconstitute love's highest expression.\n\nWherever there is a contradiction, there the comical element is\npresent also. I am ever following that track. If it be disconcerting to\nyou, dear fellow banqueters, to follow me in what I shall have to say\nnow, then follow me with averted countenances. I myself am speaking\nas if with veiled eyes; for as I see only the mystery in these matters,\nwhy, I cannot see, or I see nothing.\n\nWhat is a consequence? If it cannot, in some way or other, be brought\nunder the same head as its antecedent--why, then it would be ridiculous\nif it posed as a consequence. To illustrate: if a man who wanted to\ntake a bath jumped into the tank and, coming to the surface again\nsomewhat confused, groped for the rope to hold on to, but caught the\ndouche-line by mistake, and a shower now descended on him with\nsufficient motivation and for excellent good reason--why, then the\nconsequence would be entirely in order. The ridiculous here consisted\nin his seizing the wrong rope; but there is nothing ridiculous in\nthe shower descending when one pulls the proper rope. Rather, it would\nbe ridiculous if it did not come; as for example, just to show the\ncorrectness of my contention about contradictions, if a man nerved\nhimself with bold resolution in order to withstand the shock and, in\nthe enthusiasm of his decision, with a stout heart pulled the\nline--and the shower did not come.\n\nLet us see now how it is with regard to love. The lovers wish to\nbelong to each other for all time, and this they express, curiously, by\nembracing each other with all the intensity of the moment; and all the\nbliss of love is said to reside therein. But all desire is egotistic.\nNow, to be sure, the lover's desire is not egotistic in respect of\nthe one he loves, but the desire of both in conjunction is absolutely\negotistic in so far as they in their union and love represent a new ego.\nAnd yet they are deceived; for in the same moment the race triumphs\nover the individual, the race is victorious, and the individuals are\ndebased to do its bidding.\n\nNow this I find more ridiculous than what Aristophanes thought so\nridiculous. The ridiculous aspect of his theory of bi-section lies in\nthe inherent contradiction (which the ancient author does not\nsufficiently emphasize, however). In considering a person one naturally\nsupposes him to be an entity, and so one does believe till it becomes\napparent that, under the obsession of love, he is but a half which runs\nabout looking for its complement. There is nothing ridiculous in half\nan apple. The comical would appear if a whole apple turned out to be\nonly half an apple. In the first case there exists no contradiction,\nbut certainly in the latter. If one actually based one's reasoning\non the figure of speech that woman is but half a person she would\nnot be ridiculous at all in her love. Man, however, who has been\nenjoying civic rights as a whole person, will certainly appear\nridiculous when he takes to running about (and looking for his\nother half);[20] for he betrays thereby that he is but half a\nperson. In fact, the more one thinks about the matter the more\nridiculous it seems; because if man really be a whole, why, then\nhe will not become a whole in love, but he and woman would make\nup one and a half. No wonder, then, that the gods laugh, and\nparticularly at man.\n\nBut let me return to my consequence. When the lovers have found each\nother, one should certainly believe that they formed a whole, and in\nthis should lie the proof of their assertion that they wished to live\nfor each other for all time. But lo! instead of living for each other\nthey begin to live for the race, and this they do not even suspect.\n\nWhat is a consequence? If, as I observed, one cannot detect in it\nthe cause out of which it proceeded, the consequence is merely\nridiculous, and he becomes a laughing stock to whom this happens.\nNow, the fact that the separated halves have found each other ought\nto be a complete satisfaction and rest for them; and yet the consequence\nis a new existence. That having found each other should mean a new\nexistence for the lovers, is comprehensible enough; but not, that a new\nexistence for a third being should take its inception from this fact.\nAnd yet the resulting consequence is greater than that of which it is\nthe consequence, whereas such an end as the lovers' finding each other\nought to be infallible evidence of no other, subsequent, consequence\nbeing thinkable.\n\nDoes the satisfaction of any other desire show an analogy to this\nconsequence? Quite on the contrary, the satisfaction of desire is in\nevery other case evinced by a period of rest; and even if a\n_tristitia_[21] does supervene--indicating, by the way, that every\nsatisfaction of an appetite is comical--this _tristitia_ is a\nstraightforward consequence, though no _tristitia_ so eloquently\nattests a preceding comical element as does that following love.\nIt is quite another matter with an enormous consequence such as\nwe are dealing with, a consequence of which no one knows whence\nit comes, nor whether it will come; whereas, if it does come, it\ncomes as a consequence.\n\nWho is able to grasp this? And yet that which for the initiates of\nlove constitutes the greatest pleasure is also the most important thing\nfor them--so important that they even adopt new names, derived\nfrom the consequence thereof which thus, curiously enough, assumes\nretroactive force. The lover is now called father, his sweetheart,\nmother; and these names seem to them the most beautiful. And yet there\nis a being to whom these names are even more beautiful; for what is as\nbeautiful as filial piety? To me it seems the most beautiful of all\nsentiments; and fortunately I can appreciate the thought underlying it.\nWe are taught that it is seeming in a son to love his father. This I\ncomprehend, I cannot even suspect that there is any contradiction\npossible here, and I acknowledge infinite satisfaction in being held\nby the loving bonds of filial piety. I believe it is the greatest debt\nof all to owe another being one's life. I believe that this debt cannot\never be wiped out, or even fathomed by any calculation, and for this\nreason I agree with Cicero when he asserts that the son is always in the\nwrong as against his father; and it is precisely filial piety which\nteaches me to believe this, teaches me not even to penetrate the hidden,\nbut rather to remain hidden in the father. Quite true, I am glad to be\nanother person's greatest debtor; but as to the opposite, viz., before\ndeciding to make another person my greatest debtor, I want to arrive\nat greater clarity. For to my conception there is a world of difference\nbetween being some person's debtor, and making some person one's\ndebtor to such an extent that he will never be able to clear himself.\n\nWhat filial piety forbids the son to consider, love bids the father\nto consider. And here contradiction sets in again. If the son has an\nimmortal soul like his father, what does it mean, then, to be a father?\nFor must I not smile at myself when thinking of myself as a\nfather--whereas the son is most deeply moved when he reflects on\nthe relation he bears to his father? Very well do I understand Plato\nwhen he says that an animal will give birth to an animal of the same\nspecies, a plant, to a plant of the same species, and thus also man\nto man.[22] But this explains nothing, does not satisfy one's thought,\nand arouses but a dim feeling; for an immortal soul cannot be born.\nWhenever, then, a father considers his son in the light of his son's\nimmortality--which is, indeed, the essential consideration[23]--he\nwill probably smile at himself, for he cannot, by any means, grasp in\ntheir entirety all the beautiful and noble thoughts which his son with\nfilial piety entertains about him. If, on the other hand, he considers\nhis son from the point of view of his animal nature he must smile again,\nbecause the conception of fatherhood is too exalted an expression\nfor it.\n\nFinally, if it were thinkable that a father influenced his son in\nsuch fashion that his own nature was a condition from which the\nson's nature could not free itself, then the contradiction would arise\nin another direction; for in this case nothing more terrible is\nthinkable than being a father. There is no comparison between killing\na person and giving him life--the former decides his fate only in\ntime, the other for all eternity. So there is a contradiction again, and\none both to laugh and to weep about. Is paternity then an\nillusion--even if not in the same sense as is implied in Magdelone's\nspeech to Jeronymus[24]--or is it the most terrible thought imaginable?\nIs it the greatest benefit conferred on one, or is it the sweetest\ngratification of one's desire--is it something which just happens,\nor is it the greatest task of life?\n\nLook you, for this reason have I forsworn all love, for my thought\nis to me the most essential consideration. So even if love be the most\nexquisite joy, I renounce it, without wishing either to offend or to\nenvy any one; and even if love be the condition for conferring the\ngreatest benefit imaginable I deny myself the opportunity therefor--but\nmy thought I have not prostituted. By no means do I lack an eye for\nwhat is beautiful, by no means does my heart remain unmoved when I\nread the songs of the poets, by no means is my soul without sadness\nwhen it yields to the beautiful conception of love; but I do not wish\nto become unfaithful to my thought. And of what avail were it to be,\nfor there is no happiness possible for me except my thought have\nfree sway. If it had not, I would in desperation yearn for my\nthought, which I may not desert to cleave to a wife, for it is my\nimmortal part and, hence, of more importance than a wife. Well do I\ncomprehend that if any thing is sacred it is love; that if faithlessness\nin any relation is base, it is doubly so in love; that if any deceit\nis detestable, it is tenfold more detestable in love. But my soul is\ninnocent of blame. I have never looked at any woman to desire her,\nneither have I fluttered about aimlessly before blindly plunging, or\nlapsing, into the most decisive of all relations. If I knew what the\nlovable were I would know with certainty whether I had offended by\ntempting any one; but since I do not know, I am certain only of\nnever having had the conscious desire to do so.\n\nSupposing I should yield to love and be made to laugh; or supposing\nI should be cast down by terror, since I cannot find the narrow path\nwhich lovers travel as easily as if it were the broad highway,\nundisturbed by any doubts, which they surely have bestowed thought on\n(seeing our times have, indeed, reflected about all[25] and consequently\nwill comprehend me when I assert that to act unreflectingly is nonsense,\nas one ought to have gone through all possible reflections before\nacting)--supposing, I say, I should yield to love! Would I not\ninsult past redress my beloved one if I laughed; or irrevocably plunge\nher into despair if I were overwhelmed by terror? For I understand\nwell enough that a woman cannot be expected to have thought as\nprofoundly about these matters; and a woman who found love comical\n(as but gods and men can, for which reason woman is a temptation\nluring them to become ridiculous) would both betray a suspicious\namount of previous experience and understand me least. But a woman\nwho comprehended the terror of love would have lost her loveliness\nand still fail to understand me--she would be annihilated; which\nis in nowise my case, so long as my thought saves me.\n\nIs there no one ready to laugh? When I began by wanting to speak\nabout the comical element in love you perhaps expected to be made to\nlaugh, for it is easy to make you laugh, and I myself am a friend of\nlaughter; and still you did not laugh, I believe. The effect of my\nspeech was a different one, and yet precisely this proves that I have\nspoken about the comical. If there be no one who laughs at my\nspeech--well, then laugh a little at me, dear fellow-banqueters,\nand I shall not wonder; for I do not understand what I have occasionally\nheard you say about love. Very probably, though, you are among the\ninitiated as I am not.\n\n\nThereupon the Young Person seated himself. He had become more\nbeautiful, almost, than before the meal. Now he sat quietly, looking\ndown before him, unconcerned about the others. John the Seducer\ndesired at once to urge some objections against the Young Person's\nspeech but was interrupted by Constantin who warned against discussions\nand ruled that on this occasion only speeches were in order. John said\nif that was the case, he would stipulate that he should be allowed to be\nthe last speaker. This again gave rise to a discussion as to the order\nin which they were to speak, which Constantin closed by offering to\nspeak forthwith, against their recognizing his authority to appoint the\nspeakers in their turn.\n\n\n(Constantin's Speech)\n\n\nConstantin spoke as follows:\n\nThere is a time to keep silence, and a time to speak,[26] and\nnow it seems to be the time to speak briefly, for our young friend\nhas spoken much and very strangely. His _vis comica_[27] has made\nus struggle _ancipiti proelio_[28] because his speech was full of\ndoubts, as he himself is, sitting there now--a perplexed man who\nknows not whether to laugh, or weep, or fall in love. In fact, had\nI had foreknowledge of his speech, such as he demands one should\nhave of love, I should have forbidden him to speak; but now it is\ntoo late. I shall bid you then, dear bellow-banqueters, \"gladsome and\nmerry to be,\" and even if I cannot enforce this I shall ask you to forget\neach speech so soon as it is made and to wash it down with a single\ndraught.\n\nAnd now as to woman, about whom I shall speak. I too have pondered\nabout her, and I have finally discovered the category to which she\nbelongs. I too have sought, but I have found, too, and I have made a\nmatchless discovery which I shall now communicate to you. Woman is\nunderstood correctly only when placed in the category of \"the joke.\"\n\nIt is man's function to be absolute, to act in an absolute fashion,\nor to give expression to the absolute. Woman's sphere lies in her\nrelativity.[29] Between beings so radically different, no true\nreciprocal relation can exist. Precisely in this incommensurability\nlies the joke. And with woman the joke was born into the world. It\nis to be understood, however, that man must know how to stick to\nhis role of being absolute; for else nothing is seen--that is to\nsay, something exceedingly common is seen, viz., that man and woman\nfit each other, he as a half man and she as a half man.\n\nThe joke is not an \u00e6sthetic, but an abortive ethical, category. Its\neffect on thought is about the same as the impression we receive if a\nman were solemnly to begin making a speech, recite a comma or two\nwith his pronouncement, then say \"hm!\"--\"dash\"--and then stop.\nThus with woman. One tries to cover her with the ethical category,\none thinks of human nature, one opens one's eyes, one fastens one's\nglances on the most excellent maiden in question, an effort is\nmade to redeem the claims of the ethical demand; and then one\ngrows ill at ease and says to one's self: ah, this is undoubtedly\na joke! The joke lies, indeed, in applying that category to her\nand measuring her by it, because it would be idle to expect serious\nresults from her; but just that is the joke. Because if one could\ndemand it of her it would not be a joke at all. A mighty poor joke\nindeed it would be, to place her under the air-pump and draw the air out\nof her--indeed it were a shame; but to blow her up to supernatural\nsize and let her imagine herself to have attained all the ideality which\na little maiden of sixteen imagines she has, that is the beginning of\nthe game and, indeed, the beginning of a highly entertaining performance.\nNo youth has half so much imaginary ideality as a young girl, but: \"We\nshall soon be even\" as says the tailor in the proverb; for her ideality\nis but an illusion.\n\nIf one fails to consider woman from this point of view she may cause\nirreparable harm; but through my conception of her she becomes harmless\nand amusing. For a man there is nothing more shocking than to catch\nhimself twaddling. It destroys all true ideality; for one may repent of\nhaving been a rascal, and one may feel sorry for not having meant\na word of what one said; but to have talked nonsense, sheer nonsense,\nto have meant all one said and behold! it was all nonsense--that\nis too disgusting for repentance incarnate to put up with. But this is\nnot the case with woman. She has a prescriptive right to transfigure\nherself--in less than 24 hours--in the most innocent and pardonable\nnonsense; for far is it from her ingenuous soul to wish to deceive\none! Indeed, she meant all she said, and now she says the precise\nopposite, but with the same amiable frankness, for now she is\nwilling to stake everything on what she said last. Now in case a man\nin all seriousness surrenders to love he may be called fortunate indeed\nif he succeeds in obtaining an insurance--if, indeed, he is able to\nobtain it anywhere; for so inflammable a material as woman is most\nlikely to arouse the suspicions of an insurance agent. Just consider\nfor a moment what he has done in thus identifying himself with her!\nIf, some fine New Year's night she goes off like some fireworks he\nwill promptly follow suit; and even if this should not happen he\nwill have many a close call. And what may he not lose! He may lose\nhis all; for there is but one absolute antithesis to the absolute,\nand that is nonsense. Therefore, let him not seek refuge in some\nsociety for morally tainted individuals, for he is not morally\ntainted--far from it; only, he has been reduced _in absurdum_\nand beatified in nonsense; that is, has been made a fool of.\n\nThis will never happen among men. If a man should sputter off in\nthis fashion I would scorn him. If he should fool me by his cleverness\nI need but apply the ethical category to him, and the danger is\ntrifling. If things go too far I shall put a bullet through his brain;\nbut to challenge a woman--what is that, if you please? Who does\nnot see that it is a joke, just as when Xerxes had the sea whipped?\nWhen Othello murders Desdemona, granting she really had been guilty,\nhe has gained nothing, for he has been duped, and a dupe he remains;\nfor even by his murdering her he only makes a concession with regard\nto a consequence which originally made him ridiculous; whereas\nElvira[30] may be an altogether pathetic figure when arming herself\nwith a dagger to obtain revenge. The fact that Shakespeare has\nconceived Othello as a tragic figure (even disregarding the calamity\nthat Desdemona is innocent) is to be explained and, indeed, to perfect\nsatisfaction, by the hero being a colored person. For a colored\nperson, dear fellow-banqueters, who cannot be assumed to represent\nspiritual qualities--a colored person, I say, who therefore becomes\ngreen in his face when his ire is aroused (which is a physiological\nfact), a colored man may, indeed, become tragic if he is deceived\nby a woman; just as a woman has all the pathos of tragedy on her\nside when she is betrayed by a man. A man who flies into a rage\nmay perhaps become tragic; but a man of whom one may expect a\ndeveloped mentality, he will either not become jealous, or he\nwill become ridiculous if he does; and most of all when he comes\nrunning with a dagger in his hand.\n\nA pity that Shakespeare has not presented us with a comedy of this\ndescription in which the claim raised by a woman's infidelity is turned\ndown by irony; for not every one who is able to see the comical element\nin this situation is able also to develop the thought and give it\ndramatic embodiment. Let one but imagine Socrates surprising Xanthippe\nin the act--for it would be un-Socratic even to think of Socrates\nbeing particularly concerned about his wife's fidelity, or still worse,\nspying on her--imagine it, and I believe that the fine smile which\ntransformed the ugliest man in Athens into the handsomest, would for the\nfirst time have turned into a roar of laughter. It is incomprehensible\nwhy Aristophanes, who so frequently made Socrates the butt of his\nridicule, neglected to have him run on the stage shouting: \"Where is\nshe, where is she, so that I may kill her, i.e., my unfaithful\nXanthippe.\" For really it does not matter greatly whether or no\nSocrates was made a cuckold, and all that Xanthippe may do in this\nregard is wasted labor, like snapping one's fingers in one's pocket;\nfor Socrates remains the same intellectual hero, even with a horn on his\nforehead. But if he had in fact become jealous and had wanted to kill\nXanthippe--alas! then would Xanthippe have exerted a power over\nhim such as the entire Greek nation and his sentence of death could\nnot--to make him ridiculous.\n\nA cuckold is comical, then, with respect to his wife; but he may be\nregarded as becoming tragical with respect to other men. In this fact we\nmay find an explanation of the Spanish conception of honor. But the\ntragic element resides chiefly in his not being able to obtain redress,\nand the anguish of his suffering consists really in its being devoid\nof meaning--which is terrible enough. To shoot the woman, to\nchallenge her, to despise her, all this would only serve to render the\npoor man still more ridiculous; for woman is the weaker sex. This\nconsideration enters in everywhere and confuses all. If she performs\na great deed she is admired more than man, because it is more than\nwas expected of her. If she is betrayed, all the pathos is on her\nside; but if a man is deceived one has scant sympathy and little\npatience while he is present--and laughs at him when his back is\nturned.\n\nLook you, therefore is it advisable betimes to consider woman as\na joke. The entertainment she affords is simply incomparable. Let one\nconsider her a fixed quantity, and one's self a relative one; let one by\nno means contradict her, for that would simply be helping her; let one\nnever doubt what she says but, rather, believe her every word; let one\ngallivant about her, with eyes rendered unsteady by unspeakable\nadmiration and blissful intoxication, and with the mincing steps of a\nworshipper; let one languishingly fall on one's knees, then lift up one's\neyes up to her languishingly and heave a breath again; let one do all\nshe bids one, like an obedient slave. And now comes the cream of the\njoke. We need no proof that woman can speak, i.e., use words.\nUnfortunately, however, she does not possess sufficient reflection for\nmaking sure against her in the long run--which is, at most, eight\ndays--contradicting herself; unless indeed man, by contradicting\nher, exerts a regulative influence. So the consequence is that within a\nshort time confusion will reign supreme. If one had not done what she\ntold one to, the confusion would pass unnoticed; for she forgets again\nas quickly as she talks. But since her admirer has done all, and has\nbeen at her beck and call in every instance, the confusion is only too\nglaring.\n\nThe more gifted the woman, the more amusing the situation. For the\nmore gifted she is, the more imagination she will possess. Now, the\nmore imagination she possesses, the greater airs she will give herself\nand the greater the confusion which is bound to become evident in the\nnext instant. In life, such entertainment is rarely had, because this\nblind obedience to a woman's whims occurs but seldom. And if it does,\nin some languishing swain, most likely he is not qualified to see the\nfun. The fact is, the ideality a little maiden assumes in moments when\nher imagination is at work is encountered nowhere else, whether in\ngods or man; but it is all the more entertaining to believe her and\nto add fuel to the fire.\n\nAs I remarked, the fun is simply incomparable--indeed, I know\nit for a fact, because I have at times not been able to sleep at night\nwith the mere thought of what new confusions I should live to see,\nthrough the agency of my sweetheart and my humble zeal to please her.\nIndeed, no one who gambles in a lottery will meet with more remarkable\ncombinations than he who has a passion for this game. For this is sure,\nthat every woman without exception possesses the same qualifications\nfor being resolved and transfigured in nonsense with a gracefulness, a\nnonchalance, an assurance such as befits the weaker sex.\n\nBeing a right-minded lover one naturally discovers every possible\ncharm in one's beloved. Now, when discovering genius in the above\nsense, one ought not to let it remain a mere possibility but ought,\nrather, to develop it into virtuosity. I do not need to be more specific,\nand more cannot be said in a general way, yet every one will understand\nme. Just as one may find entertainment in balancing a cane on one's\nnose, in swinging a tumbler in a circle without spilling a drop, in\ndancing between eggs, and in other games as amusing and profitable,\nlikewise, and not otherwise, in living with his beloved the lover will\nhave a source of incomparable entertainment and food for most\ninteresting study. In matters pertaining to love let one have absolute\nbelief, not only in her protestations of fidelity--one soon tires\nof that game--but in all those explosions of inviolable Romanticism\nby which she would probably perish if one did not contrive a safety-valve\nthrough which the sighs and the smoke, and \"the aria of Romanticism[31]\"\nmay escape and make her worshipper happy. Let one compare her admiringly\nto Juliet, the difference being only that no person ever as much as\nthought of touching a hair on her Romeo's head. With regard to\nintellectual matters, let one hold her capable of all and, if one has\nbeen lucky enough to find the right woman, in a trice one will have\na cantankerous authoress, whilst wonderingly shading one's eyes with\none's hand and duly admiring what the little black hen may yield\nbesides.[32] It is altogether incomprehensible why Socrates\ndid not choose this course of action instead of bickering with\nXanthippe--oh, well! to be sure he wished to acquire practice,\nlike the riding master who, even though he has the best trained\nhorse, yet knows how to tease him in such fashion that there is\ngood reason for breaking him in again.[33]\n\nLet me be a little more concrete, in order to illustrate a particular\nand highly interesting phenomenon. A great deal has been said about\nfeminine fidelity, but rarely with any discretion.[34] From a purely\n\u00e6sthetic point of view this fidelity is to be regarded as a piece of\npoetic fiction which steps on the stage to find her lover--a fiction\nwhich sits by the spinning wheel and waits for her lover to come;\nbut when she has found him, or he has come, why, then \u00e6sthetics is\nat a loss. Her infidelity, on the other hand, as contrasted with\nher previous fidelity, is to be judged chiefly with regard to its\nethical import, when jealousy will appear as a tragic passion.\nThere are three possibilities, so the case is favorable for woman;\nfor there are two cases of fidelity, as against one of infidelity.\nInconceivably great is her fidelity when she is not altogether sure\nof her cavalier; and ever so inconceivably great is it when he repels\nher fidelity. The third case would be her infidelity. Now granted one\nhas sufficient intellect and objectivity to make reflections, one will\nfind sufficient justification, in what has been said, for my category\nof \"the joke.\" Our young friend whose beginning in a manner deceived\nme seemed to be on the point of entering into this matter, but backed\nout again, dismayed at the difficulty. And yet the explanation\nis not difficult, providing one really sets about it seriously,\nto make unrequited love and death correspond to one another, and\nproviding one is serious enough to stick to his thought--and\nso much seriousness one ought to have--for the sake of the joke.\n\nOf course this phrase of unrequited love being death originated\neither with a woman or a womanish male. Its origin is easily made out,\nseeing that it is one of those categorical outbursts which, spoken with\ngreat bravado, on the spur of the moment, may count on a great and\nimmediate applause; for although this business is said to be a\nmatter of life and death, yet the phrase is meant for immediate\nconsumption--like cream-puffs. Although referring to daily experience\nit is by no means binding on him who is to die, but only obliges\nthe listener to rush post-haste to the assistance of the dying\nlover. If a man should take to using such phrases it would not be\namusing at all, for he would be too despicable to laugh at. Woman,\nhowever, possesses genius, is lovable in the measure she possesses it,\nand is amusing at all times. Well, then, the languishing lady dies of\nlove--why certainly, for did she not say so herself? In this matter\nshe is pathetic, for woman has enough courage to say what no man would\nhave the courage to do--so then she dies! In saying so I have\nmeasured her by ethical standards. Do ye likewise, dear fellow-banqueters,\nand understand your Aristotle aright, now! He observes very correctly\nthat woman cannot be used in tragedy.[35] And very certainly, her\nproper sphere is the pathetic and serious divertissement, the\nhalf-hour face, not the five-act drama. So then she dies. But should\nshe for that reason not be able to love again? Why not?--that is,\nif it be possible to restore her to life. Now, having been restored\nto life, she is of course a new being--another person, that is, and\nbegins afresh and falls in love for the first time: nothing remarkable\nin that! Ah, death, great is thy power; not the most violent emetic\nand not the most powerful laxative could ever have the same purging\neffect!\n\nThe resulting confusion is capital, if one but is attentive and\ndoes not forget. A dead man is one of the most amusing characters\nto be met with in life. Strange that more use is not made of\nhim on the stage, for in life he is seen, now and then. When you come\nto think of it, even one who has only been seemingly dead is a comical\nfigure; but one who was really dead certainly contributes to our\nentertainment all one can reasonably expect of a man. All depends\non whether one is attentive. I myself had my attention called to it,\none day, as I was walking with one of my acquaintances. A couple\npassed us. I judged from the expression on his face that he knew them\nand asked whether that was the case. \"Why, yes,\" he answered, \"I know\nthem very well, and especially the lady, for she is my departed\none.\"--\"What departed one?\" I asked.--\"Why, my departed first\nlove,\" he answered. \"Indeed, this is a strange affair. She said:\nI shall die. And that very same moment she departed, naturally enough,\nby death--else one might have insured her beforehand in the\nwidow's insurance. Too late! Dead she was and dead she remained;\nand now I wander about, as says the poet, vainly seeking the grave of\nmy lady-love that I may shed my tears thereon.\" Thus this broken-hearted\nman who remained alone in the world, though it consoled him to find\nher pretty far along with some other man.\n\nIt is a good thing for the girls, thought I, that they don't have to\nbe buried, every time they die; for if parents have hitherto considered\na boy-child to be the more expensive, the girls might become even\nmore so!\n\nA simple case of infidelity is not as amusing, by far. I mean, if a\ngirl should fall in love with some one else and should say to her lover:\n\"I cannot help it, save me from myself!\" But to die from sorrow because\nshe cannot endure being separated from her lover by his journey to the\nWest Indies, to have put up with his departure, however,--and\nthen, at his return, be not only not dead, but attached to some one\nelse for all time--that certainly is a strange fate for a lover to\nundergo. No wonder, then, that the heart-broken man at times consoled\nhimself with the burthen of an old song which runs: \"Hurrah for you and\nme, I say, we never shall forget that day!\"\n\nNow forgive me, dear fellow-banqueters, if I have spoken at too\ngreat length; and empty a glass to love and to woman. Beautiful she\nis and lovely, if she be considered \u00e6sthetically. That is undeniable.\nBut, as has often been said, and as I shall say also: one ought not to\nremain standing here, but should go on.[36] Consider her, then,\nethically and you will hardly have begun to do so before the humor\nof it will become apparent. Even Plato and Aristotle assume that\nwoman is an imperfect form, an irrational quantity, that is, one\nwhich might some time, in a better world, be transformed into a\nman. In this life one must take her as she is. And what this is becomes\napparent very soon; for she will not be content with the \u00e6sthetic\nsphere, but goes on, she wants to become emancipated, and she has the\ncourage to say so. Let her wish be fulfilled and the amusement will be\nsimply incomparable.\n\n\nWhen Constantin had finished speaking he forthwith ruled Victor\nEremita to begin. He spoke as follows:\n\n\n(Victor Eremita's Speech)\n\n\nAs will be remembered, Plato offers thanks to the gods for four\nthings. In the fourth place he is grateful for having been permitted\nto be a contemporary of Socrates. For the three other boons mentioned\nby him,[37] an earlier Greek philosopher[38] had already thanked\nthe gods, and so I conclude that they are worthy our gratitude. But\nalas!--even if I wanted to express my gratitude like these Greeks I\nwould not be able to do so for what was denied me. Let me then\ncollect my soul in gratitude for the one good which was conferred\non me also--that I was made a man and not a woman.\n\nTo be a woman is something so curious, so heterogeneous and\ncomposite that no predicate will fully express these qualities;\nand if I should use many predicates they would contradict one\nanother in such fashion that only a woman would be able to tolerate\nthe result and, what is worse, feel happy about it. The fact that\nshe really signifies less than man--that is not her misfortune,\nand still less so if she got to know it, for it might be borne\nwith fortitude. No, her misfortune consists in her life's having\nbecome devoid of fixed meaning through a romantic conception of\nthings, by virtue of which, now she signifies all, and now, nothing at\nall; without ever finding out what she really does signify--and\neven that is not her misfortune but, rather, the fact that, being\na woman, she never will be able to find out. As for myself, if I\nwere a woman, I should prefer to be one in the Orient and as a\nslave; for to be a slave, neither more nor less, is at any rate\nsomething, in comparison with being, now heyday, now nothing.\n\nEven if a woman's life did not contain such contrasts, the distinction\nshe enjoys, and which is rightly assumed to be hers as a woman--a\ndistinction she does not share with man--would by itself point to\nthe meaninglessness of her life. The distinction I refer to is\nthat of gallantry. To be gallant to woman is becoming in men. Now\ngallantry consists very simply in conceiving in fantastic categories\nthat person to whom one is gallant. To be gallant to a man is,\ntherefore, an insult, for he begs to be excused from the application\nof fantastic categories to him. For the fair sex, however, gallantry\nsignifies a tribute, a distinction, which is essentially its\nprivilege. Ah me, if only a single cavalier were gallant to them\nthe case would not be so serious. But far from it! At bottom every\nman is gallant, he is unconsciously so. This signifies, therefore,\nthat it is life itself which has bestowed this perquisite on the\nfair sex. Woman on her part unconsciously accepts it. Here we have\nthe same trouble again; for if only a single woman did so, another\nexplanation would be necessary. This is life's characteristic irony.\n\nNow if gallantry contained the truth it ought to be reciprocal,\ni.e., gallantry would be the accepted quotation for the stated\ndifference between beauty on the one hand, and power, astuteness,\nand strength, on the other. But this is not the case, gallantry\nis essentially woman's due; and the fact that she unconsciously\naccepts it may be explained through the solicitude of nature\nfor the weak and those treated in a step-motherly fashion by her,\nwho feel more than recompensed by an illusion. But precisely this\nillusion is her misfortune. It is not seldom the case that nature\ncomes to the assistance of an afflicted creature by consoling him\nwith the notion that he is the most beautiful. If that is so, why,\nthen we may say that nature made good the deficiency since now\nthe creature is endowed with even more than could be reasonably\ndemanded. But to be beautiful only in one's imagination, and not\nto be overcome, indeed, by sadness, but to be fooled into an\nillusion--why, that is still worse mockery. Now, as to being\nafflicted, woman certainly is far from having been treated in a\nstep-motherly fashion by nature; still she is so in another sense\ninasmuch as she never can free herself from the illusion with which\nlife has consoled her.\n\nGathering together one's impressions of a woman's existence,\nin order to point out its essential features, one is struck by\nthe fact that every woman's life gives one an entirely fantastic\nimpression. In a far more decisive sense than man she may be said\nto have turning points in her career; for her turning points\nturn everything upside down. In one of Tieck's[39] Romantic dramas\nthere occurs a person who, having once been king of Mesopotamia,\nnow is a green-grocer in Copenhagen. Exactly as fantastic is\nevery feminine existence. If the girl's name is Juliana, her life\nis as follows: erstwhile empress in the wide domains of love,\nand titular queen of all the exaggerations of tomfoolery; now,\nMrs. Peterson, corner Bath Street.\n\nWhen a child, a girl is less highly esteemed than a boy. When a\nlittle older, one does not know exactly what to make of her. At\nlast she enters that decisive period in which she holds absolute\nsway. Worshipfully man approaches her as a suitor. Worshipfully,\nfor so does every suitor, it is not the scheme of a crafty deceiver.\nEven the executioner, when laying down his _fasces_ to go a-wooing,\neven he bends his knee, although he is willing to offer himself up,\nwithin a short time, to domestic executions which he finds so natural\nthat he is far from seeking any excuse for them in the fact that\npublic executions have grown so few. The cultured person behaves in\nthe very same manner. He kneels, he worships, he conceives his\nlady-love in the most fantastic categories; and then he very quickly\nforgets his kneeling position--in fact, he knew, full well the while\nhe knelt that it was fantastic to do so.\n\nIf I were a woman I would prefer to be sold by my father to the\nhighest bidder, as is the custom in the Orient; for there is at\nleast some sense in such a deal. What misfortune to have been born\na woman! Yet her misfortune really consists in her not being able\nto comprehend it, being a woman. If she does complain, she complains\nrather about her Oriental, than her Occidental, status. But if I\nwere a woman I would first of all refuse to be wooed, and resign\nmyself to belong to the weaker sex, if such is the case, and\nbe careful--which is most important if one is proud--of not going\nbeyond the truth. However, that is of but little concern to her.\nJuliana is in the seventh heaven, and Mrs. Peterson submits to\nher fate.\n\nLet me, then, thank the gods that I was born a man and not a woman.\nAnd still, how much do I forego! For is not all poetry, from the\ndrinking song to the tragedy, a deification of woman? All the worse\nfor her and for him who admires her; for if he does not look out\nhe will, all of a sudden, have to pull a long face. The beautiful,\nthe excellent, all of man's achievement, owes its origin to woman,\nfor she inspires him. Woman is, indeed, the inspiring element in life.\nHow many a love-lorn shepherd has played on this theme, and how many\na shepherdess has listened to it! Verily, my soul is without envy\nand feels only gratitude to the gods; for I would rather be a man,\nthough in humble station, but really so, than be a woman and an\nindeterminate quantity, rendered happy by a delusion--I would rather\nbe a concrete thing, with a small but definite meaning, than an\nabstraction which is to mean all.\n\nAs I have said, it is through woman that ideality is born into\nthe world and--what were man without her! There is many a man who\nhas become a genius through a woman, many a one a hero, many a one\na poet, many a one even a saint; but he did not become a genius\nthrough the woman he married, for through her he only became a\nprivy councillor; he did not become a hero through the woman he\nmarried, for through her he only became a general; he did not\nbecome a poet through the woman he married, for through her he\nonly became a father; he did not become a saint through the woman\nhe married, for he did not marry, and would have married but\none--the one whom he did not marry; just as the others became\na genius, became a hero, became a poet through the help of the\nwoman they did not marry. If woman's ideality were in itself\ninspiring, why, then the inspiring woman would be the one to\nwhom a man is united for life. But life tells a different story.\nIt is only by a negative relation to her that man is rendered\nproductive in his ideal endeavors. In this sense she is inspiring;\nbut to say that she is inspiring, without qualifying one's statement,\nis to be guilty of a paralogism[40] which one must be a woman to\noverlook. Or has any one ever heard of any man having become a\npoet through his wife? So long as man does not possess her she\ninspires him. It is this truth which gives rise to the illusions\nentertained in poetry and by women. The fact that he does not possess\nher signifies, either, that he is still fighting for her--thus\nhas woman inspired many a one and rendered him a knight; but has\nany one ever heard of any man having been rendered a knight valiant\nthrough his wife? Or, the fact that he does not possess her signifies\nthat he cannot obtain her by any manner of means--thus has woman\ninspired many a one and roused his ideality; that is, if there is\nanything in him worth while. But a wife, who has things ever so\nmuch worth while for her husband, will hardly arouse any ideal\nstrivings in him. Or, again, the fact that he does not possess\nher signifies that he is pursuing an ideal. Perchance he loves\nmany, but loving many is also a kind of unrequited love; and yet\nthe ideality of his soul is to be seen in this striving and yearning,\nand not in the small bits of lovableness which make up the sum\ntotal of the contributions of all those he loves.\n\nThe highest ideality a woman can arouse in a man consists, in fact,\nin the awakening within him of the consciousness of immortality.\nThe point of this proof lies in what one might call the necessity\nof a reply. Just as one may remark about some play that it cannot\nend without this or that person getting in his say, likewise\n(says ideality) our existence cannot be all over with death: I\ndemand a reply! This proof is frequently furnished, in a positive\nfashion, in the public advertiser. I hold that to be entirely proper,\nfor if proof is to be made in the public advertiser it must be made\nin a positive fashion. Thus: Mrs. Petersen, we learn, has lived a\nnumber of years, until in the night of the 24th it pleased Providence,\netc. . This produces in Mr. Petersen an attack of reminiscences from\nhis courting days or, to express it quite plainly, nothing but seeing\nher again will ever console him. For this blissful meeting he\nprepares himself, in the meanwhile, by taking unto himself another\nwife; for, to be sure, this marriage is by no means as poetic as the\nfirst--still it is a good imitation. This is the proof positive. Mr.\nPetersen is not satisfied with demanding a reply, no, he wants a\nmeeting again in the hereafter.\n\nAs is well known, a base metal will often show the gleam of precious\nmetal. This is the brief silver-gleam. With respect to the base\nmetal this is a tragic moment, for it must once for all resign itself\nto being a base metal. Not so with Mr. Petersen. The possession of\nideality is by rights inherent in every person--and now, if I laugh\nat Mr. Petersen it is not because he, being in reality of base metal,\nhad but a single silver-gleam; but, rather, because just this\nsilver-gleam betrays his having become a base metal. Thus does the\nphilistine look most ridiculous when, arrayed in ideality, he affords\nfitting occasion to say, with Holberg: \"What! does that cow wear a\nfine dress, too?[41]\"\n\nThe case is this: whenever a woman arouses ideality in man, and\nthereby the consciousness of immortality, she always does so\nnegatively. He who really became a genius, a hero, a poet, a saint\nthrough woman, he has by that very fact seized on the essence of\nimmortality. Now if the inspiring element were positively present\nin woman, why, then a man's wife, and only his wife, ought to\nawaken in him the consciousness of immortality. But the reverse\nholds true. That is, if she is really to awaken ideality in\nher husband she must die. Mr. Petersen, to be sure, is not affected,\nfor all that. But if woman, by her death, does awaken man's ideality,\nthen is she indeed the cause of all the great things poetry\nattributes to her; but note well: that which she did in a positive\nfashion for him in no wise roused his ideality. In fact, her\nsignificance in this regard becomes the more doubtful the longer\nshe lives, because she will at length really begin to wish to\nsignify something positive. However, the more positive the proof\nthe less it proves; for then Mr. Petersen's longing will be for\nsome past common experiences whose content was, to all intents\nand purposes, exhausted when they were had. Most positive of all\nthe proof becomes if the object of his longing concerns their\nmarital spooning--that time when they visited the Deer Park\ntogether! In the same way one might suddenly feel a longing for\nthe old pair of slippers one used to be so comfortable in; but\nthat proof is not exactly a proof for the immortality of the soul.\nOn the other hand, the more negative the proof, the better it is;\nfor the negative is higher than the positive, inasmuch as it\nconcerns our immortality, and is thus the only positive value.\n\nWoman's main significance lies in her negative contribution,\nwhereas her positive contributions are as nothing in comparison\nbut, on the contrary, pernicious. It is this truth which life keeps\nfrom her, consoling her with an illusion which surpasses all that\nmight arise in any man's brain, and with parental care ordering\nlife in such fashion that both language and everything else confirm\nher in her illusion. For even if she be conceived as the very opposite\nof inspiring, and rather as the well-spring of all corruption;\nwhether now we imagine that with her, sin came into the world, or\nthat it is her infidelity which ruined all--our conception of her\nis always gallant. That is, when hearing such opinions one might\nreadily assume that woman were really able to become infinitely\nmore culpable than man, which would, indeed, amount to an immense\nacknowledgment of her powers. Alas, alas! the case is entirely\ndifferent. There is a secret reading of this text which woman\ncannot comprehend; for, the very next moment, all life owns to the\nsame conception as the state, which makes man responsible for his\nwife. One condemns her as man never is condemned (for only a real\nsentence is passed on him, and there the matter ends), not with\nher receiving a milder sentence; for in that case not all of her\nlife would be an illusion, but with the case against her being\ndismissed and the public, i.e., life, having to defray the costs.\nOne moment, woman is supposed to be possessed of all possible\nwiles, the next moment, one laughs at him whom she deceived, which\nsurely is a contradiction. Even such a case as that of Potiphar's\nwife does not preclude the possibility of her having really been\nseduced. Thus has woman an enormous possibility, such as no man\nhas--an enormous possibility; but her reality is in proportion.\nAnd most terrible of all is the magic of illusion in which she\nfeels herself happy.\n\nLet Plato then thank the gods for having been born a contemporary\nof Socrates: I envy him; let him offer thanks for being a Greek:\nI envy him; but when he is grateful for having been born a man\nand not a woman I join him with all my heart. If I had been born\na woman and could under stand what now I can understand--it were\nterrible! But if I had been born a woman and therefore could not\nunderstand it--that were still more terrible!\n\nBut if the case is as I stated it, then it follows that one had\nbetter refrain from any positive relation with woman. Wherever she\nis concerned one has to reckon with that inevitable hiatus which\nrenders her happy as she does not detect the illusion, but which\nwould be a man's undoing if he detected it.\n\nI thank the gods, then, that I was born a man and not a woman;\nand I thank them, furthermore, that no woman by some life-long\nattachment holds me in duty bound to be constantly reflecting\nthat it ought not to have been.\n\nIndeed, what a passing strange device is marriage! And what makes\nit all the stranger is the suggestion that it is to be a step\ntaken without thought. And yet no step is more decisive, for nothing\nin life is as inexorable and masterful as the marriage tie. And now\nso important a step as marriage ought, so we are told, to be taken\nwithout reflection! Yet marriage is not something simple but something\nimmensely complex and indeterminate. Just as the meat of the turtle\nsmacks of all kinds of meat, so likewise does marriage have a taste\nof all manner of things; and just as the turtle is a sluggish animal,\nlikewise is marriage a sluggish thing. Falling in love is, at least,\na simple thing, but marriage--! Is it something heathen or something\nChristian, something spiritual or something profane, or something\ncivil, or something of all things? Is it an expression of an\ninexplicable love, the elective affinity of souls in delicate accord\nwith one another; or is it a duty, or a partnership, or a mere\nconvenience, or the custom of certain countries--or is it a duty,\nor a partnership, or a mere convenience, or the custom of certain\ncountries--or is it a little of all these? Is one to order the\nmusic for it from the town musician or the organist, or is one to\nhave a little from both? Is it the minister or the police sergeant\nwho is to make the speech and enroll the names in the book of\nlife--or in the town register? Does marriage blow a tune on a\ncomb, or does it listen to the whisperings \"like to those of the\nfairies from the grottoes of a summer night\"?[42]\n\nAnd now every Darby imagines he performed such a potpourri, such\nincomparably complex music, in getting married--and imagines that\nhe is still performing it while living a married life! My dear\nfellow-banqueters, ought we not, in default of a wedding present\nand congratulations, give each of the conjugal partners a demerit\nfor repeated inattentiveness? It is taxing enough to express a\nsingle idea in one's life; but to think something so complicated\nas marriage and, consequently, bring it under one head; to think\nsomething so complicated and yet to do justice to each and every\nelement in it, and have everything present at the same time--verily,\nhe is a great man who can accomplish all this! And still every\nBenedict accomplishes it--so he does, no doubt; for does he not\nsay that he does it unconsciously? But if this is to be done\nunconsciously it must be through some higher form of unconsciousness\npermeating all one's reflective powers. But not a word is said\nabout this! And to ask any married man about it means just wasting\none's time.\n\nHe who has once committed a piece of folly will constantly be\npursued by its consequences. In the case of marriage the folly\nconsists in one's having gotten into a mess, and the punishment,\nin recognizing, when it is too late, what one has done. So you will\nfind that the married man, now, becomes chesty, with a bit of\npathos, thinking he has done something remarkable in having entered\nwedlock; now, puts his tail between his legs in dejection; then\nagain, praises marriage in sheer self-defense. But as to a thought-unit\nwhich might serve to hold together the _disjecta membra_[43]\nof the most heterogeneous conceptions of life contained in marriage--for\nthat we shall wait in vain.\n\nTherefore, to be a mere Benedict is humbug, and to be a seducer is\nhumbug, and to wish to experiment with woman for the sake of \"the\njoke\" is also humbug. In fact, the two last mentioned methods will\nbe seen to involve concessions to woman on the part of man quite\nas large as those found in marriage. The seducer wishes to rise\nin his own estimation by deceiving her; but this very fact that\nhe deceives and wishes to deceive--that he cares to deceive, is\nalso a demonstration of his dependence on woman. And the same\nholds true of him who wishes to experiment with her.\n\nIf I were to imagine any possible relation with woman it would\nbe one so saturated with reflection that it would, for that very\nreason, no longer be any relation with her at all. To be an excellent\nhusband and yet on the sly seduce every girl; to seem a seducer and\nyet harbor within one all the ardor of romanticism--there would be\nsomething to that, for the concession in the first instance were\nthen annihilated in the second. Certain it is that man finds his\ntrue ideality only in such a reduplication. All merely unconscious\nexistence must be obliterated, and its obliteration ever cunningly\nguarded by some sham expression. Such a reduplication is incomprehensible\nto woman, for it removes from her the possibility of expressing man's\ntrue nature in one term. If it were, possible for woman to exist in\nsuch a reduplication, no erotic relation with her were thinkable. But,\nher nature being such as we all know it to be, any disturbance of the\nerotic relation is brought about by man's true nature which ever\nconsists precisely in the annihilation of that in which she has\nher being.\n\nAm I then preaching the monastic life and rightly called Eremita? By\nno means. You may as well eliminate the cloister, for after all it\nis only a direct expression of spirituality and as such but a vain\nendeavor to express it in direct terms. It makes small difference\nwhether you use gold, or silver, or paper money; but he who does not\nspend a farthing but is counterfeit, he will comprehend me. He\nto whom every direct expression is but a fraud, he and he only,\nis safeguarded better than if he lived in a cloister-cell--he\nwill be a hermit even if he travelled in an omnibus day and night.\n\nScarcely had Victor finished when the Dressmaker jumped to his feet\nand threw over a bottle of wine standing before him; then he spoke\nas follows:\n\n\n(The Dressmaker's Speech)\n\n\nWell spoken, dear fellow-banqueters, well spoken! The longer I hear\nyou speak the more I grow convinced that you are fellow-conspirators--I\ngreet you as such, I understand you as such; for fellow-conspirators\none can make out from afar. And yet, what know you? What does your\nbit of theory to which you wish to give the appearance of experience,\nyour bit of experience which you make over into a theory--what does\nit amount to? For every now and then you believe her a moment\nand--are caught in a moment! No, I know woman--from her weak side,\nthat is to say, I know her. I shrink from no means to make sure about\nwhat I have learned; for I am a madman, and a madman one must be to\nunderstand her, and if one has not been one before, one will become\na madman, once one understands her. The robber has his hiding place\nby the noisy high-road, and the ant-lion his funnel in the loose\nsand, and the pirate his haunts by the roaring sea: likewise have\nI may fashion-shop in the very midst of the teeming streets, seductive,\nirresistible to woman as is the Venusberg to men. There, in a\nfashion-shop, one learns to know woman, in a practical way and\nwithout any theoretical ado.\n\nNow, if fashion meant nothing than that woman in the heat of her\ndesire threw off all her clothing--why, then it would stand for\nsomething. But this is not the case, fashion is not plain sensuality,\nnot tolerated debauchery, but an illicit trade in indecency authorized\nas proper. And, just as in heathen Prussia the marriageable girl\nwore a bell whose ringing served as a signal to the men, likewise\nis a woman's existence in fashion a continual bell-ringing, not\nfor debauchees but for lickerish voluptuaries. People hold Fortune\nto be a woman--ah, yes it is, to be sure, fickle; still, it is fickle\nin something, as it may also give much; and insofar it is not a\nwoman. No; but fashion is a woman, for fashion is fickleness in\nnonsense, and is consistent only in its becoming ever more crazy.\n\nOne hour in my shop is worth more than days and years without, if\nit really be one's desire to learn to know woman; in my shop, for\nit is the only one in the capital, there is no thought of competition.\nWho, forsooth, would dare to enter into competition with one who\nhas entirely devoted himself, and is still devoting himself, as\nhigh-priest in this idol worship? No, there is not a distinguished\nassemblage which does not mention my name first and last; and\nthere is not a middle-class gathering where my name, whenever\nmentioned, does not inspire sacred awe, like that of the king;\nand there is no dress so idiotic but is accompanied by whispers\nof admiration when its owner proceeds down the hall--provided\nit bears my name; and there is not the lady of gentle birth who\ndares pass my shop by, nor the girl of humble origin but passes\nit sighing and thinking: if only I could afford it! Well, neither\nwas she deceived. I deceive no one; I furnish the finest goods\nand the most costly, and at the lowest price, indeed, I sell\nbelow cost. The fact is, I do not wish to make a profit. On the\ncontrary, every year I sacrifice large sums. And yet do I mean\nto win, I mean to, I shall spend my last farthing in order to\ncorrupt, in order to bribe, the tools of fashion so that I may\nwin the game. To me it is a delight beyond compare to unroll\nthe most precious stuffs, to cut them out, to clip pieces from\ngenuine Brussels-lace, in order to make a fool's costume--I sell\nto the lowest prices, genuine goods and in style.\n\nYou believe, perhaps, that woman wants to be dressed fashionably\nonly at certain times? No such thing, she wants to be so all the\ntime and that is her only thought. For a woman does have a mind,\nonly it is employed about as well as is the Prodigal Son's substance;\nand woman does possess the power of reflection in an incredibly high\ndegree, for there is nothing so holy but she will in no time\ndiscover it to be reconcilable with her finery--and the chiefest\nexpression of finery is fashion. What wonder if she does discover\nit to be reconcilable; for is not fashion holy to her? And there\nis nothing so insignificant but she certainly will know how to\nmake it count in her finery--and the most fatuous expression of\nfinery is fashion. And there is nothing, nothing in all her attire,\nnot the least ribbon, of whose relation to fashion she has not a\ndefinite conception and concerning which she is not immediately\naware whether the lady who just passed by noticed it; because,\nfor whose benefit does she dress, if not for other ladies!\n\nEven in my shop where she comes to be fitted out _\u00e0 la mode_,\neven there she is in fashion. Just as there is a special bathing\ncostume and a special riding habit, likewise there is a particular\nkind of dress which it is the fashion to wear to the dressmaker's\nshop. That costume is not _insouciant_ in the same sense as is\nthe neglig\u00e9e a lady is pleased to be surprised in, earlier in the\nforenoon, where the point is her belonging to the fair sex and\nthe coquetry lies in her letting herself be surprised. The dressmaker\ncostume, on the other hand, is calculated to be nonchalant and a\nbit careless without her being embarrassed thereby; because a\ndressmaker stands in a different relation to her from a cavalier.\nThe coquetry here consists in thus showing herself to a man who,\nby reason of his station, does not presume to ask for the lady's\nwomanly recognition, but must be content with the perquisites\nwhich fall abundantly to his share, without her ever thinking\nof it; or without it even so much as entering her mind to play\nthe lady before a dressmaker. The point is, therefore, that her\nbeing of the opposite sex is, in a certain sense, left out of\nconsideration, and her coquetry invalidated, by the superciliousness\nof the noble lady who would smile if any one alluded to any\nrelation existing between her and her dressmaker. When visited\nin her neglig\u00e9e she conceals herself, thus displaying her charms\nby this very concealment. In my shop she exposes her charms with\nthe utmost nonchalance, for he is only a dressmaker--and she is\na woman. Now, her shawl slips down and bares some part of her\nbody, and if I did not know what that means, and what she expects,\nmy reputation would be gone to the winds. Now, she draws herself\nup, _a priori_ fashion, now she gesticulates _a posteriori_;\nnow, she sways to and fro in her hips; now, she looks at herself\nin the mirror and sees my admiring phiz behind her in the glass;\nnow, she minces her words; now, she trips along with short steps;\nnow, she hovers; now, she draws her foot after her in a slovenly\nfashion; now, she lets herself sink softly into an arm-chair,\nwhilst I with humble demeanor offer her a flask of smelling salts\nand with my adoration assuage her agitation; now, she strikes\nafter me playfully; now, she drops her handkerchief and, without\nas much as a single motion, lets her relaxed arm remain in its\npendent position, whilst I bend down low to pick it up and return\nit to her, receiving a little patronizing nod as a reward. These\nare the ways of a lady of fashion when in my shop. Whether Diogenes[44]\nmade any impression on the woman who was praying in a somewhat\nunbecoming posture, when he asked her whether she did not believe\nthe gods could see her from behind--that I do not know; but\nthis I do know, that if I should say to her ladyship kneeling\ndown in church: \"The folds of your gown do not fall according\nto fashion,\" she would be more alarmed than if she had given\noffense to the gods. Woe to the outcast, the male Cinderella,\nwho has not comprehended this! _Pro dii immortales_,[45] what,\npray, is a woman who is not in fashion; _per deos obsecro_,[46]\nand what when she is in fashion!\n\nWhether all this is true? Well, make trial of it: let the swain,\nwhen his beloved one sinks rapturously on his breast, whispering\nunintelligibly: \"thine forever,\" and hides her head on his bosom--let\nhim but say to, her: \"My sweet Kitty, your coiffure is not at\nall in fashion.\"--Possibly, men don't give thought to this; but he\nwho knows it, and has the reputation of knowing it, he is the most\ndangerous man in the kingdom. What blissful hours the lover passes\nwith his sweetheart before marriage I do not know; but of the\nblissful hours she spends in my shop he hasn't the slightest\ninkling, either. Without my special license and sanction a marriage\nis null and void, anyway--or else an entirely plebeian affair. Let\nit be the very moment when they are to meet before the altar, let\nher step forward with the very best conscience in the world that\neverything was bought in my shop and tried on there--and now, if\nI were to rush up and exclaim: \"But mercy! gracious lady, your\nmyrtle wreath is all awry\"--why, the whole ceremony might be\npostponed, for aught I know. But men do not suspect these things,\none must be a dressmaker to know.\n\nSo immense is the power of reflection needed to fathom a woman's\nthought that only a man who dedicates himself wholly to the task\nwill succeed, and even then only if gifted to start with. Happy\ntherefore the man who does not associate with any woman, for she\nis not his, anyway, even if she be no other man's; for she is\npossessed by that phantom born of the unnatural intercourse of\nwoman's reflection with itself, fashion. Do you see, for this\nreason should woman always swear by fashion--then were there\nsome force in her oath; for after all, fashion is the thing she\nis always thinking of, the only thing she can think together with,\nand into, everything. For instance, the glad message has gone\nforth from my shop to all fashionable ladies that fashion decrees\nthe use of a particular kind of head-dress to be worn in church,\nand that this head-dress, again, must be somewhat different for\nHigh Mass and for the afternoon service. Now when the bells are\nringing the carriage stops in front of my door. Her ladyship\ndescends (for also this has been decreed, that no one can adjust\nthat head-dress save I, the fashion-dealer), I rush out, making\nlow bows, and lead her into my cabinet. And whilst she languishingly\nreposes I put everything in order. Now she is ready and has looked\nat herself in the mirror; quick as any messenger of the gods I\nhasten in advance, open the door of my cabinet with a bow, then\nhasten to the door of my shop and lay my arm on my breast, like\nsome oriental slave; but, encouraged by a gracious courtesy, I\neven dare to throw her an adoring and admiring kiss--now she\nis seated in her carriage--oh dear! she left her hymn book behind.\nI hasten out again and hand it to her through the carriage window,\nI permit myself once more to remind her to hold her head a trifle\nmore to the right, and herself to arrange things, should her\nhead-dress become a bit disordered when descending. She drives\naway and is edified.\n\nYou believe, perhaps, that it is only great ladies who worship\nfashion, but far from it! Look at my sempstresses for whose dress\nI spare no expense, so that the dogmas of fashion may be proclaimed\nmost emphatically from my shop. They form a chorus of half-witted\ncreatures, and I myself lead them on as high-priest, as a shining\nexample, squandering all, solely in order to make all womankind\nridiculous. For when a seducer makes the boast that every woman's\nvirtue has its price, I do not believe him; but I do believe that\nevery woman at an early time will be crazed by the maddening and\ndefiling introspection taught her by fashion, which will corrupt\nher more thoroughly than being seduced. I have made trial more\nthan once. If not able to corrupt her myself I set on her a few\nof fashion's slaves of her own station; for just as one may train\nrats to bite rats, likewise is the crazed woman's sting like that\nof the tarantula. And most especially dangerous is it when some\nman lends his help.\n\nWhether I serve the Devil or God I do not know; but I am right, I\nshall be right, I will be, so long as I possess a single farthing,\nI will be until the blood spurts out of my fingers. The physiologist\npictures the shape of woman to show the dreadful effects of wearing\na corset, and beside it he draws a picture of her normal figure.\nThat is all entirely correct, but only one of the drawings has the\nvalidity of truth: they all wear corsets. Describe, therefore,\nthe miserable, stunted perversity of the fashion-mad woman,\ndescribe the insidious introspection devouring her, and then\ndescribe the womanly modesty which least of all knows about\nitself--do so and you have judged woman, have in very truth\npassed terrible sentence on her. If ever I discover such a girl\nwho is contented and demure and not yet corrupted by indecent\nintercourse with women--she shall fall nevertheless. I shall\ncatch her in my toils, already she stands at the sacrificial\naltar, that is to say, in my shop. With the most scornful glance\na haughty nonchalance can assume I measure her appearance, she\nperishes with fright; a peal of laughter from the adjoining room\nwhere sit my trained accomplices annihilates her. And afterwards,\nwhen I have gotten her rigged up _\u00e0 la mode_ and she looks crazier\nthan a lunatic, as crazy as one who would not be accepted even\nin a lunatic asylum, then she leaves me in a state of bliss--no\nman, not even a god, were able to inspire fear in her; for is\nshe not dressed in fashion?\n\nDo you comprehend me now, do you comprehend why I call you\nfellow-conspirators, even though in a distant way? Do you now\ncomprehend my conception of woman? Everything in life is a matter\nof fashion, the fear of God is a matter of fashion, and so are\nlove, and crinolines, and a ring through the nose. To the utmost\nof my ability will I therefore come to the support of the exalted\ngenius who wishes to laugh at the most ridiculous of all animals.\nIf woman has reduced everything to a matter of fashion, then will\nI, with the help of fashion, prostitute her, as she deserves to\nbe; I have no peace, I the dressmaker, my soul rages when I think\nof my task--she will yet be made to wear a ring through her nose.\nSeek therefore no sweetheart, abandon love as you would the most\ndangerous neighborhood; for the one whom you love would also be\nmade to go with a ring through her nose.\n\nThereupon John, called the Seducer, spoke as follows:\n\n\n(The Speech of John the Seducer)\n\n\nMy dear boon companions, is Satan plaguing you? For, indeed, you\nspeak like so many hired mourners, your eyes are red with tears\nand not with wine. You almost move me to tears also, for an\nunhappy lover does have a miserable time of it in life. _Hinc illae\nlacrimae._[47] I, however, am a happy lover, and my only wish\nis to remain so. Very possibly, that is one of the concessions\nto woman which Victor is so afraid of. Why not? Let it be a\nconcession! Loosening the lead foil of this bottle of champagne\nalso is a concession; letting its foaming contents flow into my\nglass also is a concession; and so is raising it to my lips--now\nI drain it--_concedo._[48] Now, however, it is empty, hence I\nneed no more concessions. Just the same with girls. If some\nunhappy lover has bought his kiss too dearly, this proves to\nme only that he does not know, either how to take what is coming\nto him or how to do it. I never pay too much for this sort of\nthing--that is a matter for the girls to decide. What this signifies?\nTo me it signifies the most beautiful, the most delicious, and\nwell-nigh the most persuasive, _argumentum ad hominem_; but since\nevery woman, at least once in her life, possesses this argumentative\nfreshness I do not see any reason why I should not let myself be\npersuaded. Our young friend wishes to make this experience in\nhis thought. Why not buy a cream puff and be content with looking\nat it? I mean to enjoy. No mere talk for me! Just as an old song\nhas it about a kiss: _es ist kaum zu sehn, es ist nur f\u00fcr Lippen,\ndie genau sich verstehn_[49]--understand each other so exactly\nthat any reflection about the matter is but an impertinence and\na folly. He who is twenty and does not grasp the existence of the\ncategorical imperative \"enjoy thyself\"--he is a fool; and he who\ndoes not seize the opportunity is and remains a Christianfelder.[50]\n\nHowever, you all are unhappy lovers, and that is why you are not\nsatisfied with woman as she is. The gods forbid! As she is she\npleases me, just as she is. Even Constantin's category of \"the joke\"\nseems to contain a secret desire. I, on the other hand, I am gallant.\nAnd why not? Gallantry costs nothing and gives one all and is the\ncondition for all erotic pleasure. Gallantly is the Masonic language\nof the senses and of voluptuousness, between man and woman. It is a\nnatural language, as love's language in general is. It consists not\nof sounds but of desires disguised and of ever changing wishes. That\nan unhappy lover may be ungallant enough to wish to convert his\ndeficit into a draught payable in immortality--that I understand\nwell enough. That is to say, I for my part do not understand it;\nfor to me a woman has sufficient intrinsic value. I assure every\nwoman of this, it is the truth; and at the same time it is certain\nthat I am the only one who is not deceived by this truth. As to\nwhether a despoiled woman is worth less than man--about that I\nfind no information in my price list. I do not pick flowers already\nbroken, I leave them to the married men to use for Shrove-tide\ndecoration. Whether e. g. Edward wishes to consider the matter\nagain, and again fall in love with Cordelia,[51] or simply repeat\nthe affair in his reflection--that is his own business. Why\nshould I concern myself with other peoples' affairs! I explained\nto her at an earlier time what I thought of her; and, in truth,\nshe convinced me, convinced me to my absolute satisfaction, that\nmy gallantry was well applied.\n\n_Concedo. Concessi._[52] If I should meet with another Cordelia,\nwhy then I shall enact a comedy \"Ring number 2.[53]\" But you\nare unhappy lovers and have conspired together, and are worse\ndeceived than the girls, notwithstanding that you are richly\nendowed by nature. But decision--the decision of desire, is the\nmost essential thing in life. Our young friend will always remain\nan onlooker. Victor is an unpractical enthusiast. Constantin has\nacquired his good sense at too great a cost; and the fashion\ndealer is a madman. Stuff and nonsense! With all four of you busy\nabout one girl, nothing would come of it.\n\nLet one have enthusiasm enough to idealize, taste enough to join\nin the clinking of glasses at the festive board of enjoyment, sense\nenough to break off--to break off absolutely, as does Death, madness\nenough to wish to enjoy all over again--if you have all that you\nwill be the favorite of gods and girls.\n\nBut of what avail to speak here? I do not intend to make proselytes.\nNeither is this the place for that. To be sure I love wine, to be\nsure I love the abundance of a banquet--all that is good; but let\na girl be my company, and then I shall be eloquent. Let then\nConstantin have my thanks for the banquet, and the wine, and the\nexcellent appointments--the speeches, however, were but indifferent.\nBut in order that things shall have a better ending I shall\nnow pronounce a eulogy on woman.\n\nJust as he who is to speak in praise of the divinity must be\ninspired by the divinity to speak worthily, and must therefore\nbe taught by the divinity as to what he shall say, likewise he\nwho would speak of women. For woman, even less than the divinity,\nis a mere figment of man's brain, a day-dream, or a notion that\noccurs to one and which one may argue about pro et contra. Nay,\none learns from woman alone what to say of her. And the more\nteachers one has had, the better. The first time one is a disciple,\nthe next time one is already over the chief difficulties, just\nas one learns in formal and learned disputations how to use\nthe last opponent's compliments against a new opponent. Nevertheless\nnothing is lost. For as little as a kiss is a mere sample of good\nthings, and as little as an embrace is an exertion, just as little\nis this experience exhaustive. In fact it is essentially different\nfrom the mathematical proof of a theorem, which remains ever the\nsame, even though other letters be substituted. This method is\none befitting mathematics and ghosts, but not love and women,\nbecause each is a new proof, corroborating the truth of the\ntheorem in a different manner. It is my joy that, far from being\nless perfect than man, the female sex is, on the contrary, the\nmore perfect. I shall, however, clothe my speech in a myth; and I\nshall exult, on woman's account whom you have so unjustly maligned,\nif my speech pronounce judgment on your souls, if the enjoyment\nof her beckon you only to flee you, as did the fruits from Tantalus;\nbecause you have fled, and thereby insulted, woman. Only thus,\nforsooth, may she be insulted, even though she scorn it, and though\npunishment instantly falls on him who had the audacity. I, however,\ninsult no one. That is but the notion of married men, and a slander;\nwhereas, in reality, I respect her more highly than does the man\nshe is married to.\n\nOriginally there was but one sex, so the Greeks relate, and that\nwas man's. Splendidly endowed he was, so he did honor to the\ngods--so splendidly endowed that the same happened to them as\nsometimes happens to a poet who has expended all his energy on\na poetic invention: they grew jealous of man. Ay, what is worse,\nthey feared that he would not willingly bow under their yoke;\nthey feared, though with small reason, that he might cause their\nvery heaven to totter. Thus they had raised up a power they\nscarcely held themselves able to curb. Then there was anxiety\nand alarm in the council of the gods. Much had they lavished in\ntheir generosity on the creation of man; but all must be risked\nnow, for reason of bitter necessity; for all was at stake--so\nthe gods believed--and recalled he could not be, as a poet may\nrecall his invention. And by force he could not be subdued, or\nelse the gods themselves could have done so; but precisely of\nthat they despaired. He would have to be caught and subdued, then,\nby a power weaker than his own and yet stronger--one strong\nenough to compel him. What a marvelous power this would have to\nbe! However, necessity teaches even the gods to surpass themselves\nin inventiveness. They sought and they found. That power was woman,\nthe marvel of creation, even in the eyes of the gods a greater\nmarvel than man--a discovery which the gods in their na\u00efvet\u00e9 could\nnot help but applaud themselves for. What more can be said in her\npraise than that she was able to accomplish what even the gods\ndid not believe themselves able to do; and what more can be said in\nher praise than that she did accomplish it! But how marvelous\na creation must be hers to have accomplished it.\n\nIt was a ruse of the gods. Cunningly the enchantress was fashioned,\nfor no sooner had she bewitched man than she changed and caught him\nin all the circumstantialities of existence. It was that the gods\nhad desired. But what, pray, can be more delicious, or more entrancing\nand bewitching, than what the gods themselves contrived, when battling\nfor their supremacy, as the only means of luring man? And most\nassuredly it is so, for woman is the only, and the most seductive,\npower in heaven and on earth. When compared with her in this sense\nman will indeed be found to be exceedingly imperfect.\n\nAnd the stratagem of the gods was crowned with success; but not\nalways. There have existed at all times some men--a few--who\nhave detected the deception. They perceive well enough woman's\nloveliness--more keenly, indeed than the others--but they also\nsuspect the real state of affairs. I call them erotic natures and\ncount myself among them. Men call them seducers, woman has no name\nfor them--such persons are to her unnameable. These erotic natures\nare the truly fortunate ones. They live more luxuriously than do\nthe very gods, for they regale themselves with food more delectable\nthan ambrosia, and they drink what is more delicious than nectar;\nthey eat the most seductive invention of the gods' most ingenious\nthought, they are ever eating dainties set for a bait--ah, incomparable\ndelight, ah, blissful fare--they are ever eating but the dainties\nset for a bait; and they are never caught. All other men greedily\nseize and devour it, like bumpkins eating their cabbage, and are\ncaught. Only the erotic nature fully appreciates the dainties set\nout for bait--he prizes them infinitely. Woman divines this, and\nfor that reason there is a secret understanding between him and her.\nBut he knows also that she is a bait, and that secret he keeps\nto himself.\n\nThat nothing more marvelous, nothing more delicious, nothing more\nseductive, than woman can be devised, for that vouch the gods and\ntheir pressing need which heightened their powers of invention;\nfor that vouches also the fact that they risked all, and in shaping\nher moved heaven and earth.\n\nI now forsake the myth. The conception \"man\" corresponds to his\n\"idea.\" I can therefore, if necessary, think of an individual man\nas existing. The idea of woman, on the other hand, is so general\nthat no one single woman is able to express it completely. She is\nnot contemporaneous with man (and hence of less noble origin), but\na later creation, though more perfect than he. Whether now the gods\ntook some part from him whilst he slept, from fear of waking him by\ntaking too much; or whether they bisected him and made woman out\nof the one half--at any rate it was man who was partitioned. Hence\nshe is the equal of man only after this partition. She is a\ndelusion and a snarer, but is so only afterwards, and for him who\nis deluded. She is finiteness incarnate; but in her first stage\nshe is finiteness raised to the highest degree in the deceptive\ninfinitude of all divine and human illusions. Now, the deception\ndoes not exist--one instant longer, and one is deceived.\n\nShe is finiteness, and as such she is a collective: one woman\nrepresents all women. Only the erotic nature comprehends this and\ntherefore knows how to love many without ever being deceived, sipping\nthe while all the delights the cunning gods were able to prepare.\nFor this reason, as I said, woman cannot be fully expressed by one\nformula, but is, rather, an infinitude of finalities. He who wishes\nto think her \"idea\" will have the same experience as he who gazes\non a sea of nebulous shapes which ever form anew, or as he who is\ndazed by looking over the waves whose foamy crests ever mock one's\nvision; for her \"idea\" is but the workshop of possibilities. And to\nthe erotic nature these possibilities are the everlasting reason\nfor his worship.\n\nSo the gods created her delicate and ethereal as if out of\nthe mists of the summer night, yet goodly like ripe fruit;\nlight like a bird, though the repository of what attracts all\nthe world--light because the play of the forces is harmoniously\nbalanced in the invisible center of a negative relation;[54]\nslender in growth, with definite lines, yet her body sinuous\nwith beautiful curves; perfect, yet ever appearing  as if completed\nbut now; cool, delicious, and refreshing like new-fallen snow,\nyet blushing in coy transparency; happy like some pleasantry\nwhich makes one forget all one's sorrow; soothing as being the\nend of desire, and satisfying in herself being the stimulus of\ndesire. And the gods had calculated that man, when first beholding\nher, would be amazed, as one who sees himself, though familiar with\nthat sight--would stand in amaze as one who sees himself in the\nsplendor of perfection--would stand in amaze as one who beholds\nwhat he did never dream he would, yet beholds what, it would seem,\nought to have occurred to him before--sees what is essential to\nlife and yet gazes on it as being the very mystery of existence.\nIt is precisely tins contradiction in his admiration which nurses\ndesire to life, while this same admiration urges him ever nearer,\nso that he cannot desist from gazing, cannot desist from believing\nhimself familiar with the sight, without really daring to approach,\neven though he cannot desist from desiring.\n\nWhen the gods had thus planned her form they were seized with\nfear lest they might not have the wherewithal to give it existence;\nbut what they feared even more was herself. For they dared not\nlet her know how beautiful she was, apprehensive of having some\none in the secret who might spoil their ruse. Then was the crowning\ntouch given to their wondrous creation: they made her faultless;\nbut they concealed all this from her in the nescience of her\ninnocence, and concealed it doubly from her in the impenetrable\nmystery of her modesty. Now she was perfect, and victory certain.\nInviting she had been before, but now doubly so through her shyness,\nand beseeching through her shrinking, and irresistible through\nherself offering resistance. The gods were jubilant. And no\nallurement has ever been devised in the world so great as is woman,\nand no allurement is as compelling as is innocence, and no temptation\nis as ensnaring as is modesty, and no deception is as matchless as\nis woman. She knows of nothing, still her modesty is instinctive\ndivination. She is distinct from man, and the separating wall of\nmodesty parting them is more decisive than Aladdin's sword separating\nhim from Gulnare;[55] and yet, when like Pyramis he puts his head\nto this dividing wall of modesty, the erotic nature will perceive\nall pleasures of desire divined within as from afar.\n\nThus does woman tempt. Men are wont to set forth the most precious\nthings they possess as a delectation for the gods, nothing less\nwill do. Thus is woman a show-bread, the gods knew of naught\ncomparable to her. She exists, she is present, she is with us,\nclose by; and yet she is removed from us to an infinite distance\nwhen concealed in her modesty--until she herself betrays her\nhiding place, she knows not how: it is not she herself, it is\nlife which informs on her. Roguish she is like a child who in\nplaying peeps forth from his hiding place, yet her roguishness\nis inexplicable, for she does not know of it herself, she is\never mysterious--mysterious when she casts down her eyes, mysterious\nwhen she sends forth the messengers of her glance which no thought,\nlet alone any word, is able to follow. And yet is the eye the\n\"interpreter\" of the soul! What, then, is the explanation of this\nmystery if the interpreter too is unintelligible? Calm she is like\nthe hushed stillness of eventide, when not a leaf stirs; calm\nlike a consciousness as yet unaware of aught. Her heart-beats\nare as regular as if life were not present; and yet the erotic\nnature, listening with his stethoscopically practiced ear, detects\nthe dithyrambic pulsing of desire sounding along unbeknown.\nCareless she is like the blowing of the wind, content like the\nprofound ocean, and yet full of longing like a thing biding\nits explanation. My friends! My mind is softened, indescribably\nsoftened. I comprehend that also my life expresses an idea, even\nif you do not comprehend me. I too have discovered the secret\nof existence; I too serve a divine idea--and, assuredly, I do\nnot serve it for nothing. If woman is a ruse of the gods, this\nmeans that she is to be seduced; and if woman is not an \"idea,\"\nthe true inference is that the erotic nature wishes to love as\nmany of them as possible.\n\nWhat luxury it is to relish the ruse without being duped, only\nthe erotic nature comprehends. And how blissful it is to be\nseduced, woman alone knows. I know that from woman, even though\nI never yet allowed any one of them time to explain it to me,\nbut re-asserted my independence, serving the idea by a break\nas sudden as that caused by death; for a bride and a break are\nto one another like female and male.[56] Only woman is aware\nof this, and she is aware of it together with her seducer. No\nmarried man will ever grasp this. Nor does she ever speak with\nhim about it. She resigns herself to her fate, she knows that\nit must be so and that she can be seduced only once. For this\nreason she never really bears malice against the man who seduced\nher. That is to say, if he really did seduce her and thus expressed\nthe idea. Broken marriage vows and that kind of thing is, of\ncourse, nonsense and no seduction. Indeed, it is by no means so\ngreat a misfortune for a woman to be seduced. In fact, it is\na piece of good fortune for her. An excellently seduced girl\nmay make an excellent wife. If I myself were not fit to be a\nseducer--however deeply I feel my inferior qualifications in\nthis respect--if I chose to be a married man, I should always\nchoose a girl already seduced, so that I would not have to begin\nmy marriage by seducing my wife. Marriage, to be sure, also\nexpresses an idea; but in relation to the idea of marriage that\nquality is altogether immaterial which is the absolutely essential\ncondition for my idea. Therefore, a marriage ought never to be\nplanned to begin as though it were the beginning of a story of\nseduction. So much is sure: there is a seducer for every woman.\nHappy is she whose good fortune it is to meet just him.\n\nThrough marriage, on the other hand, the gods win their victory.\nIn it the once seduced maiden walks through life by the side of\nher husband, looking back at times, full of longing, resigned\nto her fate, until she reaches the goal of life. She dies; but\nnot in the same sense as man dies. She is volatilized and resolved\ninto that mysterious primal element of which the gods formed her--she\ndisappears like a dream, like an impermanent shape whose hour\nis past. For what is woman but a dream, and the highest reality\nwithal! Thus does the erotic nature comprehend her, leading her,\nand being led by her in the moment of seduction, beyond time--where\nshe has her true existence, being an illusion. Through her husband,\non the other hand, she becomes a creature of this world, and he\nthrough her.\n\nMarvelous nature! If I did not admire thee, a woman would teach\nme; for truly she is the _venerabile_ of life. Splendidly didst\nthou fashion her, but more splendidly still in that thou never\ndidst fashion one woman like another. In man, the essential is the\nessential, and insofar always alike; but in woman the adventitious\nis the essential, and is thus an inexhaustible source of differences.\nBrief is her splendor; but quickly the pain is forgotten, too, when\nthe same splendor is proffered me anew. It is true, I too am aware\nof the unbeautiful which may appear in her thereafter; but she is\nnot thus with her seducer.\n\n\nThey rose from the table. It needed but a hint from Constantin,\nfor the participants understood each other with military precision\nwhenever there was a question of face or turn about. With his\ninvisible baton of command, elastic like a divining rod in his hand,\nConstantin once more touched them in order to call forth in them a\nfleeting reminiscence of the banquet and the spirit of enjoyment\nwhich had prevailed before but was now, in some measure, submerged\nthrough the intellectual effort of the speeches--in order that the\nnote of glad festivity which had disappeared might, by way of\nresonance, return once more among the guests in a brief moment of\nrecollection. He saluted with his full glass as a signal of parting,\nemptying it, and then flinging it against the door in the rear wall.\nThe others followed his example, consummating this symbolic\naction with all the solemnity of adepts. Justice was thus done\nthe pleasure of stopping short--that royal pleasure which, though\nbriefer, yet is more liberating than any other pleasure. With a\nlibation this pleasure ought to be entered upon, with the libation\nof flinging one's glass into destruction and oblivion, and tearing\none's self passionately away from every memory, as if it were a\ndanger to one's life: this libation is to the gods of the nether\nworld. One breaks off, and strength is needed to do that, greater\nstrength than to sever a knot by a sword-blow; for the difficulty\nof the knot tends to arouse one's passion, but the passion required\nfor breaking off must be of one's own making. In a superficial\nsense the result is, of course, the same; but from an artistic\npoint of view there is a world of difference between something\nceasing or simply coming to an end, and it being broken off by\none's own free will--whether it is a mere occurrence or a passionate\ndecision; whether it is all over, like a school song, because\nthere is no more to it, or whether it is terminated by the C\u00e6sarian\noperation of one's own pleasure; whether it is a triviality every\none has experienced, or the secret which escapes most.\n\nConstantin's flinging his beaker against the door was intended\nmerely as a symbolic rite; nevertheless, his so doing was, in\na way, a decisive act; for when the last glass was shattered the\ndoor opened, and just as he who presumptuously knocked at Death's\ndoor and, on its opening, beheld the powers of annihilation, so\nthe banqueters beheld the corps of destruction ready to demolish\neverything--a memento which in an instant put them to flight\nfrom that place, while at the very same moment the entire surroundings\nhad been reduced to the semblance of ruin.\n\nA carriage stood ready at the door. At Constantin's invitation\nthey seated themselves in it and drove away in good spirits;\nfor that tableau of destruction which they left behind had given\ntheir souls fresh elasticity. After having covered a distance of\nseveral miles a halt was made. Here Constantin took his leave as\nhost, informing them that five carriages were at their disposal--each\none was free to suit his own pleasure and drive wherever he wanted,\nwhether alone or in company with whomsoever he pleased. Thus a\nrocket, propelled by the force of the powder, ascends at a single\nshot, remains collected for an instant, in order then to spread out\nto all the winds.\n\nWhile the horses were being hitched to the carriages the nocturnal\nbanqueters strolled a little way down the road. The fresh air of\nthe morning purified their hot blood with its coolness, and they\ngave themselves up to it entirely. Their forms, and the groups in\nwhich they ranged themselves, made a fantastic impression on me.\nFor when the morning sun shines on field and meadow, and on every\ncreature which in the night found rest and strength to rise up\njubilating with the sun--in this there is only a pleasing, mutual\nunderstanding; but a nightly company, viewed by the morning light\nand in smiling surroundings, makes a downright uncanny impression.\nIt makes one think of spooks which have been surprised by daylight,\nof subterranean spirits which are unable to regain the crevice\nthrough which they may vanish, because it is visible only in the\ndark; of unhappy creatures in whom the difference between day and\nnight has become obliterated through the monotony of their sufferings.\n\nA foot path led them through a small patch of field toward a garden\nsurrounded by a hedge, from behind whose concealment a modest\nsummer-cottage peeped forth. At the end of the garden, toward the\nfield, there was an arbor formed by trees. Becoming aware of people\nbeing in the arbor, they all grew curious, and with the spying\nglances of men bent on observation, the besiegers closed in about\nthat pleasant place of concealment, hiding themselves, and as eager\nas emissaries of the police about to take some one by surprise.\nLike emissaries of the police--well, to be sure, their appearance\nmade the misunderstanding possible that it was they whom the minions\nof the law might be looking for. Each one had occupied a point of\nvantage for peeping in, when Victor drew back a step and said to\nhis neighbor, \"Why, dear me, if that is not Judge William and his\nwife!\"\n\nThey were surprised--not the two whom the foliage concealed\nand who were all too deeply concerned with their domestic enjoyment\nto be observers. They felt themselves too secure to believe\nthemselves an object of any one's observation excepting the\nmorning sun's which took pleasure in looking in to them, whilst\na gentle zephyr moved the boughs above them, and the repose-fulness\nof the countryside, as well as all things around them girded the\nlittle arbor about with peace. The happy married couple was not\nsurprised and noticed nothing. That they were a married couple was\nclear enough; one could perceive that at a glance--alas! if one is\nsomething of an observer one's self. Even if nothing in the wide\nworld, nothing, whether overtly or covertly, if nothing, I say,\nthreatens to interfere with the happiness of lovers, yet they\nare not thus secure when sitting together. They are in a state\nof bliss; and yet it is as if there were some power bent on\nseparating them, so firmly they clasp one another; and yet it\nis as if there were some enemy present against whom they must\ndefend themselves; and yet it is as if they could never become\nsufficiently reassured. Not thus married people, and not thus\nthat married couple in the arbor. How long they had been married,\nhowever, that was not to be determined with certainty. To be\nsure, the wife's activity at the tea-table revealed a sureness\nof hand born of practice, but at the same time such almost childlike\ninterest in her occupation as if she were a newly married woman\nand in that middle condition when she is not, as yet, sure whether\nmarriage is fun or earnest, whether being a housewife is a calling,\nor a game, or a pastime. Perhaps she had been married for some\nlonger time but did not generally preside at the tea-table, or\nperhaps did so only out here in the country, or did it perhaps\nonly that morning which, possibly, had a special significance\nfor them. Who could tell? All calculation is frustrated to a\ncertain degree by the fact that every personality exhibits some\noriginality which keeps time from leaving its marks. When the\nsun shines in all his summer glory one thinks straightway that\nthere must be some festal occasion at hand--that it cannot be\nso for every-day use, or that it is the first time, or at least\none of the first times; for surely, one thinks, it cannot be\nrepeated for any length of time. Thus would think he who saw\nit but once, or saw it for the first time; and I saw the wife\nof the justice for the first time. He who sees the object in\nquestion every day may think differently; provided he sees the\nsame thing. But let the judge decide about that!\n\nAs I remarked, our amiable housewife was occupied. She poured\nboiling water into the cups, probably to warm them, emptied them\nagain, set a cup on a platter, poured the tea and served it with\nsugar and cream--now all was ready; was it fun or earnest? In\ncase a person did not relish tea at other times--he should have\nsat in the judge's place; for just then that drink seemed most\ninviting to me, only the inviting air of the lovely woman herself\nseemed to me more inviting.\n\nIt appeared that she had not had time to speak until then. Now\nshe broke the silence and said, while serving him his tea: \"Quick,\nnow, dear, and drink while it is hot, the morning air is quite\ncool, anyway; and surely the least I can do for you is to be a\nlittle careful of you. The least?\" the judge answered laconically.\n\"Yes, or the most, or the only thing.\" The judge looked at her\ninquiringly, and whilst he was helping himself she continued: \"You\ninterrupted me yesterday when I wished to broach the subject, but\nI have thought about it again; many times I have thought about\nit, and now particularly, you know yourself in reference to\nwhom: it is certainly true that if you hadn't married, you would\nhave been far more successful in your career.\" With his cup still\non the platter the judge sipped a first mouthful with visible\nenjoyment, thoroughly refreshed; or was it perchance the joy\nover his lovely wife; I for my part believe it was the latter.\nShe, however, seemed only to be glad that it tasted so good to\nhim. Then he put down his cup on the table at his side, took out\na cigar, and said: \"May I light it at your chafing-dish\"? \"Certainly,\"\nshe said, and handed him a live coal on a tea-spoon. He lit his\ncigar and put his arm about her waist whilst she leaned against\nhis shoulder. He turned his head the other way to blow out the\nsmoke, and then he let his eyes rest on her with a devotion such\nas only a glance can reveal; yet he smiled, but this glad smile\nhad in it a dash of sad irony. Finally he said: \"Do you really\nbelieve so, my girl? What do you mean?\" she answered. He was\nsilent again, his smile gained the upper hand, but his voice\nremained quite serious, nevertheless. \"Then I pardon you your\nprevious folly, seeing that you yourself have forgotten it so\nquickly; thou speakest as one of the foolish women speaketh[57]--what\ngreat career should I have had?\" His wife seemed embarrassed\nfor a moment by this return, but collected her wits quickly and\nnow explained her meaning with womanly eloquence. The judge\nlooked down before him, without interrupting her; but as she\ncontinued he began to drum on the table with the fingers of his\nright hand, at the same time humming a tune. The words of the\nsong were audible for a moment, just as the pattern of a texture\nnow becomes visible, now disappears again; and then again they\nwere heard no longer as he hummed the tune of the song: \"The\ngoodman he went to the forest, to cut the wands so white.\" After\nthis melodramatic performance, consisting in the justice's wife\nexplaining herself whilst he hummed his tune, the dialogue set\nin again. \"I am thinking,\" he remarked, \"I am thinking you are\nignorant of the fact that the Danish Law permits a man to castigate\nhis wife[58]--a pity only that the law does not indicate on\nwhich occasions it is permitted.\" His wife smiled at his threat\nand continued: \"Now why can I never get you to be serious when\nI touch on this matter? You do not understand me: believe me, I\nmean it sincerely, it seems to me a very beautiful thought. Of\ncourse, if you weren't my husband I would not dare to entertain\nit; but now I have done so, for your sake and for my sake; and\nnow be nice and serious, for my sake, and answer me frankly.\"\n\"No, you can't get me to be serious, and a serious answer you\nwon't get; I must either laugh at you, or make you forget it, as\nbefore, or beat you; or else you must stop talking about it, or I\nshall have to make you keep silent about it some other way. You\nsee, it is a joke, and that is why there are so many ways out.\"\nHe arose, pressed a kiss on her brow, laid her arm in his, and\nthen disappeared in a leafy walk which led from the arbor.\n\n\nThe arbor was empty; there was nothing else to do, so the hostile\ncorps of occupation withdrew without making any gains. Still, the\nothers were content with uttering some malicious remarks. The\ncompany returned but missed Victor. He had rounded the corner\nand, in walking along the garden, had come up to the country\nhome. The doors of a garden-room facing the lawn were open, and\nlikewise a window. Very probably he had seen something which\nattracted his attention. He leapt into the window, and leapt\nout again just as the party were approaching, for they had been\nlooking for him. Triumphantly he held up some papers in his hand\nand exclaimed: \"One of the judge's manuscripts![59] Seeing\nthat I edited his other works it is no more than my duty that\nI should edit this one too.\" He put it into his pocket; or,\nrather, he was about to do so; for as he was bending his arm\nand already had his hand with the manuscript half-way down in\nhis pocket I managed to steal it from him.\n\nBut who, then, am I? Let no one ask! If it hasn't occurred to you\nbefore to ask about it I am over the difficulty; for now the worst\nis behind me. For that matter, I am not worth asking about, for\nI am the least of all things, people would put me in utter confusion\nby asking about me. I am pure existence, and therefore smaller,\nalmost, than nothing. I am \"pure existence\" which is present\neverywhere but still is never noticed; for I am ever vanishing.\nI am like the line above which stands the summa summarum--who\ncares about the line? By my own strength I can accomplish nothing,\nfor even the idea to steal the manuscript from Victor was not my\nown idea; for this very idea which, as a thief would say, induced\nme to \"borrow\" the manuscript, was borrowed from him. And now,\nwhen editing this manuscript, I am, again, nothing at all; for\nit rightly belongs to the judge. And as editor, I am in my nothingness\nonly a kind of nemesis on Victor, who imagined that he had the\nprescriptive right to do so.\n\n\n[Footnote 1: _Cf._ Luke XIV, 19-20.]\n\n[Footnote 2: Words used in the banns.]\n\n[Footnote 3: Which in Latin means both \"from the temple\" and \"at once.\"]\n\n[Footnote 4: The omission of the negative particle in the original is\nno doubt unintentional.]\n\n[Footnote 5: Pious wish.]\n\n[Footnote 6: Kings 20, 1; Isaiah 38, 1.]\n\n[Footnote 7: An allusion to the plight of Aristophanes in Plato's\n_Symposion._]\n\n[Footnote 8: Haggai 1, 6 (inexact).]\n\n[Footnote 9: May it be fortunate and favorable.]\n\n[Footnote 10: _Symposion_, ch. 9.]\n\n[Footnote 11: This ironic sally refers, not to Descartes' principle\nof skepsis, but to the numerous Danish followers of Hegel and his\n\"method\"; _cf._ Fear and Trembling.]\n\n[Footnote 12: _Symposion_, ch. 24.]\n\n[Footnote 13: _Ibid._, ch. 15-16.]\n\n[Footnote 14: _Cf._ Matthew 13, 31 etc.]\n\n[Footnote 15: A quotation from Mus\u00e6us, _Volksm\u00e4rchen der Deutschen_,\nIII, 219.]\n\n[Footnote 16: The reference is to a situation in Richard Cumberland's\n(1732-1811) play of  \"The Jew,\" known to Copenhagen playgoers in an\nadaptation.]\n\n[Footnote 17: I relate what I have been told.]\n\n[Footnote 18: A character in the Danish playwright Overskou's vaudeville\nof \"Capriciosa\" (Comedies III, 184).]\n\n[Footnote 19: The glutton in Oehlenschl\u0153ger's vaudeville of\n\"Sovedrikken.\"]\n\n[Footnote 20: Supplied by the translator to complete the sense.]\n\n[Footnote 21: Dejection. _Cf._ the maxim: _omne animal post co\u00eftun\ntriste._]\n\n[Footnote 22: This statement is to be found, rather, in Aristotle's\nEthics II, 6.]\n\n[Footnote 23: There is a pun here in the original.]\n\n[Footnote 24: In Holberg's comedy of \"Erasmus Montanus,\" III, 6.]\n\n[Footnote 25: _Cf._ \"The Banquet.\"]\n\n[Footnote 26: \"Eccles, 3, 7.\"]\n\n[Footnote 27: \"Comical power.\"]\n\n[Footnote 28: \"In uncertain battle.\"]\n\n[Footnote 29: According to the development of these terms in Kierkegaard's\nprevious works, the \"absolute\" belongs to the ethic, the \"relative\"\nto the \u00e6sthetic sphere.]\n\n[Footnote 30: Heroine of Mozart's \"Don Juan.\"]\n\n[Footnote 31: Quotation from Wessel's famous comedy of \"Love without\nStockings,\" III, 3.]\n\n[Footnote 32: Viz besides the eggs she duly furnishes; Holberg, \"The\nBusy-body,\" II, 1.]\n\n[Footnote 33: This figure is said by Diogenes L\u00e6rtios II, 37 to have\nbeen used by Socrates himself about his relation to Xanthippe.]\n\n[Footnote 34: The following sentences are not as clear in meaning as\nis otherwise the case in Kierkegaard.]\n\n[Footnote 35: Poetics, chap. 15.]\n\n[Footnote 36: _Cf._ \"The Banquet\"]\n\n[Footnote 37: They are, that he had been created a man and not an\nanimal, a man and not a woman, a Greek and not a Barbarian (Lactantius,\nInstit. III, 19, 17).]\n\n[Footnote 38: Thales of Miletos (Diogenes L\u00e6rtios I, 33).]\n\n[Footnote 39: German poet of the Romantic School (1773-1853).]\n\n[Footnote 40: Reasoning against the rules of logic.]\n\n[Footnote 41: \"The Lying-in Room,\" II, 2.]\n\n[Footnote 42: A quotation from Oehlenschl\u00e4ager's \"Aladdin.\"]\n\n[Footnote 43: Scattered members.]\n\n[Footnote 44: See Diogenes L\u00e6rtios, VI, 37.]\n\n[Footnote 45: By the immortal gods.]\n\n[Footnote 46: I adjure you by the gods.]\n\n[Footnote 47: Therefore those tears.]\n\n[Footnote 48: I concede.]\n\n[Footnote 49: It can hardly be seen, it is but for lips which\nunderstand each other exactly.]\n\n[Footnote 50: Christiansfeld, a town in South Jutland, was the\nseat of a colony of Herrhutian Pietists.]\n\n[Footnote 51: The reference is to the \"Diary of the Seducer\"\n(in \"Either-Or,\" part I). Edward is the scorned lover of Cordelia\nwho is seduced by John.]\n\n[Footnote 52: I concede. I have conceded.]\n\n[Footnote 53: Reference to a comedy by Farquhar, which enjoyed a\nmoderate popularity in Copenhagen.]\n\n[Footnote 54: i.e., evidently, she docs not exist because of herself;\nhence she is in a \"negative\" relation to herself. The center of this\nrelation is \"what attracts all the world.\"]\n\n[Footnote 55: In Oehlenschl\u00e4ger's \"Aladdin.\"]\n\n[Footnote 56: In the Danish, a pun on the homonyms _en brud_ and _et\nbrud._]\n\n[Footnote 57: Job 2, 10.]\n\n[Footnote 58: According to the Jutland Laws (A. D. 1241) a man is\npermitted to punish his wife, when she has misbehaved, with stick and\nwith rod, but not with weapon. In the Danish Law (1683) this right is\nrestricted to children and servants. S. V.]\n\n[Footnote 59: Containing the second part of \"Stages on Life's Road,\"\nentitled \"Reflections on Marriage in Refutation of Objections.\"]\n\n\n\n\nFEAR AND TREMBLING\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION II\n\n\nNot only in the world of commerce but also in the world of ideas\nour age has arranged a regular clearance-sale. Everything may be\nhad at such absurdly low prices that very soon the question will\narise whether any one cares to bid. Every waiter with a speculative\nturn who carefully marks the significant progress of modern\nphilosophy, every lecturer in philosophy, every tutor, student,\nevery sticker-and-quitter of philosophy--they are not content with\ndoubting everything, but \"go right on.\" It might, possibly, be\nill-timed and inopportune to ask them whither they are bound; but\nit is no doubt polite and modest to take it for granted that they\nhave doubted everything--else it were a curious statement for them\nto make, that they were proceeding onward. So they have, all of\nthem, completed that preliminary operation and, it would seem, with\nsuch ease that they do not think it necessary to waste a word about\nhow they did it. The fact is, not even he who looked anxiously and\nwith a troubled spirit for some little point of information, ever\nfound one, nor any instruction, nor even any little dietetic\nprescription, as to how one is to accomplish this enormous task.\n\"But did not Descartes proceed in this fashion?\" Descartes, indeed!\nthat venerable, humble, honest thinker whose writings surely no\none can read without deep emotion--Descartes did what he said,\nand said what he did. Alas, alas! that is a mighty rare thing\nin our times! But Descartes, as he says frequently enough, never\nuttered doubts concerning his faith....\n\nIn our times, as was remarked, no one is content with faith,\nbut \"goes right on.\" The question as to whither they are proceeding\nmay be a silly question; whereas it is a sign of urbanity and\nculture to assume that every one has faith, to begin with, for\nelse it were a curious statement for them to make, that they are\nproceeding further. In the olden days it was different. Then,\nfaith was a task for a whole life-time because it was held that\nproficiency in faith was not to be won within a few days or weeks.\nHence, when the tried patriarch felt his end approaching, after\nhaving fought his battles and preserved his faith, he was still\nyoung enough at heart not to have forgotten the fear and trembling\nwhich disciplined his youth and which the mature man has under\ncontrol, but which no one entirely outgrows--except insofar as\nhe succeeds in \"going on\" as early as possible. The goal which\nthose venerable men reached at last--at that spot every one\nstarts, in our times, in order to \"proceed further.\"...\n\n\n\n\nPREPARATION\n\n\nThere lived a man who, when a child, had heard the beautiful Bible\nstory of how God tempted Abraham and how he stood the test, how\nhe maintained his faith and, against his expectations, received\nhis son back again. As this man grew older he read this same story\nwith ever greater admiration; for now life had separated what had\nbeen united in the reverent simplicity of the child. And the older\nhe grew, the more frequently his thoughts reverted to that story.\nHis enthusiasm waxed stronger and stronger, and yet the story grew\nless and less clear to him. Finally he forgot everything else in\nthinking about it, and his soul contained but one wish, which was,\nto behold Abraham: and but one longing, which was, to have been\nwitness to that event. His desire was, not to see the beautiful\nlands of the Orient, and not the splendor of the Promised Land,\nand not the reverent couple whose old age the Lord had blessed\nwith children, and not the venerable figure of the aged patriarch,\nand not the god-given vigorous youth of Isaac--it would have been\nthe same to him if the event had come to pass on some barren\nheath. But his wish was, to have been with Abraham on the three\ndays' journey, when he rode with sorrow before him and with Isaac\nat his side. His wish was, to have been present at the moment when\nAbraham lifted up his eyes and saw Mount Moriah afar off; to have\nbeen present at the moment when he left his asses behind and wended\nhis way up to the mountain alone with Isaac. For the mind of this\nman was busy, not with the delicate conceits of the imagination,\nbut rather with his shuddering thought.\n\nThe man we speak of was no thinker, he felt no desire to go beyond\nhis faith: it seemed to him the most glorious fate to be remembered\nas the Father of Faith, and a most enviable lot to be possessed of\nthat faith, even if no one knew it.\n\nThe man we speak of was no learned exegetist, he did not even\nunderstand Hebrew--who knows but a knowledge of Hebrew might have\nhelped him to understand readily both the story and Abraham.\n\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nAnd God tempted Abraham and said unto him: take Isaac, thine\nonly son, whom thou lovest and go to the land Moriah and sacrifice\nhim there on a mountain which I shall show thee.[1]\n\nIt was in the early morning, Abraham arose betimes and had his\nasses saddled. He departed from his tent, and Isaac with him;\nbut Sarah looked out of the window after them until they were\nout of sight. Silently they rode for three days; but on the fourth\nmorning Abraham said not a word but lifted up his eyes and beheld\nMount Moriah in the distance. He left his servants behind and,\nleading Isaac by the hand, he approached the mountain. But Abraham\nsaid to himself: \"I shall surely conceal from Isaac whither he is\ngoing.\" He stood still, he laid his hand on Isaac's head to bless\nhim, and Isaac bowed down to receive his blessing. And Abraham's\naspect was fatherly, his glance was mild, his speech admonishing.\nBut Isaac understood him not, his soul would not rise to him; he\nembraced Abraham's knees, he besought him at his feet, he begged\nfor his young life, for his beautiful hopes, he recalled the joy\nin Abraham's house when he was born, he reminded him of the sorrow\nand the loneliness that would be after him. Then did Abraham raise\nup the youth and lead him by his hand, and his words were full of\nconsolation and admonishment. But Isaac understood him not. He\nascended Mount Moriah, but Isaac understood him not. Then Abraham\naverted his face for a moment; but when Isaac looked again, his\nfather's countenance was changed, his glance wild, his aspect\nterrible, he seized Isaac and threw him to the ground and said:\n\"Thou foolish lad, believest thou I am thy father? An idol-worshipper\nam I. Believest thou it is God's command? Nay, but my pleasure.\"\nThen Isaac trembled and cried out in his fear: \"God in heaven,\nhave pity on me, God of Abraham, show mercy to me, I have no\nfather on earth, be thou then my father!\" But Abraham said softly\nto himself: \"Father in heaven, I thank thee. Better is it that\nhe believes me inhuman than that he should lose his faith in thee.\"\n\n\nWhen the child is to be weaned, his mother blackens her breast;\nfor it were a pity if her breast should look sweet to him when he\nis not to have it. Then the child believes that her breast has\nchanged; but his mother is ever the same, her glance is full of love\nand as tender as ever. Happy he who needed not worse means to wean\nhis child!\n\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nIt was in the early morning. Abraham arose betimes and embraced\nSarah, the bride of his old age. And Sarah kissed Isaac who had\ntaken the shame from her--Isaac, her pride, her hope for all\ncoming generations. Then the twain rode silently along their way,\nand Abraham's glance was fastened on the ground before him; until\non the fourth day, when he lifted up his eyes and beheld Mount\nMoriah in the distance; but then his eyes again sought the ground.\nWithout a word he put the fagots in order and bound Isaac, and\nwithout a word he unsheathed his knife. Then he beheld the ram God\nhad chosen, and sacrificed him, and wended his way home.... From\nthat day on Abraham, grew old. He could not forget that God had\nrequired this of him. Isaac flourished as before; but Abraham's\neye was darkened, he saw happiness no more.\n\n\nWhen the child has grown and is to be weaned, his mother will in\nmaidenly fashion conceal her breast. Then the child has a mother\nno longer. Happy the child who lost not his mother in any other sense!\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nIt was in the early morning. Abraham arose betimes; he kissed Sarah,\nthe young mother, and Sarah kissed Isaac, her joy, her delight for\nall times. And Abraham rode on his way, lost in thought--he was\nthinking of Hagar and her son whom he had driven out into the\nwilderness. He ascended Mount Moriah and he drew the knife.\n\nIt was a calm evening when Abraham rode out alone, and he rode to\nMount Moriah. There he cast himself down on his face and prayed to\nGod to forgive him his sin in that he had been about to sacrifice\nhis son Isaac, and in that the father had forgotten his duty toward\nhis son. And yet oftener he rode on his lonely way, but he found\nno rest. He could not grasp that it was a sin that he had wanted to\nsacrifice to God his most precious possession, him for whom he would\nmost gladly have died many times. But, if it was a sin, if he had\nnot loved Isaac thus, then could he not grasp the possibility that\nhe could be forgiven: for what sin more terrible?\n\n\nWhen the child is to be weaned, the mother is not without sorrow\nthat she and her child are to be separated more and more, that the\nchild who had first lain under her heart, and afterwards at any\nrate rested at her breast, is to be so near to her no more. So\nthey sorrow together for that brief while. Happy he who kept his\nchild so near to him and needed not to sorrow more!\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nIt was in the early morning. All was ready for the journey in\nthe house of Abraham. He bade farewell to Sarah; and Eliezer,\nhis faithful servant, accompanied him along the way for a little\nwhile. They rode together in peace, Abraham and Isaac, until\nthey came to Mount Moriah. And Abraham prepared everything for\nthe sacrifice, calmly and mildly; but when his father turned\naside in order to unsheathe his knife, Isaac saw that Abraham's\nleft hand was knit in despair and that a trembling shook his\nframe--but Abraham drew forth the knife.\n\nThen they returned home again, and Sarah hastened to meet them;\nbut Isaac had lost his faith. No one in all the world ever said\na word about this, nor did Isaac speak to any man concerning\nwhat he had seen, and Abraham suspected not that any one had seen it.\n\n\nWhen the child is to be weaned, his mother has the stronger food\nready lest the child perish. Happy he who has in readiness this\nstronger food!\n\n\nThus, and in many similar ways, thought the man whom I have mentioned\nabout this event. And every time he returned, after a pilgrimage to\nMount Moriah, he sank down in weariness, folding his hands and saying:\n\"No one, in truth, was great as was Abraham, and who can understand\nhim?\"\n\n\n\n\nA PANEGYRIC ON ABRAHAM\n\n\nIf a consciousness of the eternal were not implanted in man; if\nthe basis of all that exists were but a confusedly fermenting\nelement which, convulsed by obscure passions, produced all, both\nthe great and the insignificant; if under everything there lay\na bottomless void never to be filled--what else were life but\ndespair? If it were thus, and if there were no sacred bonds\nbetween man and man; if one generation arose after another, as\nin the forest the leaves of one season succeed the leaves of\nanother, or like the songs of birds which are taken up one after\nanother; if the generations of man passed through the world like\na ship passing through the sea and the wind over the desert--a\nfruitless and a vain thing; if eternal oblivion were ever greedily\nwatching for its prey and there existed no power strong enough to\nwrest it from its clutches--how empty were life then, and how\ndismal! And therefore it is not thus; but, just as God created\nman and woman, he likewise called into being the hero and the\npoet or orator. The latter cannot perform the deeds of the hero--he\ncan only admire and love him and rejoice in him. And yet he\nalso is happy and not less so; for the hero is, as it were, his\nbetter self with which he has fallen in love, and he is glad he\nis not himself the hero, so that his love can express itself in\nadmiration.\n\nThe poet is the genius of memory, and does nothing but recall\nwhat has been done, can do nothing but admire what has been\ndone. He adds nothing of his own, but he is jealous of what\nhas been entrusted to him. He obeys the choice of his own heart;\nbut once he has found what he has been seeking, he visits every\nman's door with his song and with his speech, so that all may\nadmire the hero as he does, and be proud of the hero as he is.\nThis is his achievement, his humble work, this is his faithful\nservice in the house of the hero. If thus, faithful to his love,\nhe battles day and night against the guile of oblivion which\nwishes to lure the hero from him, then has he accomplished his\ntask, then is he gathered to his hero who loves him as faithfully;\nfor the poet is at it were the hero's better self, unsubstantial,\nto be sure, like a mere memory, but also transfigured as is a\nmemory. Therefore shall no one be forgotten who has done great\ndeeds; and even if there be delay, even if the cloud of misunderstanding\nobscure the hero from our vision, still his lover will come some\ntime; and the more time has passed, the more faithfully will he\ncleave to him.\n\nNo, no one shall be forgotten who was great in this world. But\neach hero was great in his own way, and each one was eminent in\nproportion to the great things he loved. For he who loved himself\nbecame great through himself, and he who loved others became great\nthrough his devotion, but he who loved God became greater than\nall of these. Everyone of them shall be remembered, but each one\nbecame great in proportion to his trust. One became great by hoping\nfor the possible; another, by hoping for the eternal; but he who\nhoped for the impossible, he became greater than all of these.\nEvery one shall be remembered; but each one was great in proportion\nto the power with which he strove. For he who strove with the\nworld became great by overcoming himself; but he who strove with\nGod, he became the greatest of them all. Thus there have been\nstruggles in the world, man against man, one against a thousand;\nbut he who struggled with God, he became greatest of them all.\nThus there was fighting on this earth, and there was he who conquered\neverything by his strength, and there was he who conquered God by\nhis weakness. There was he who, trusting in himself, gained all;\nand there was he who, trusting in his strength sacrificed everything;\nbut he who believed in God was greater than all of these. There was\nhe who was great through his strength, and he who was great through\nhis wisdom, and he who was great through his hopes, and he who was\ngreat through his love; but Abraham was greater than all of\nthese--great through the strength whose power is weakness, great\nthrough the wisdom whose secret is folly, great through the hope\nwhose expression is madness, great through the love which is hatred\nof one's self.\n\nThrough the urging of his faith Abraham left the land of his\nforefathers and became a stranger in the land of promise. Ke left\none thing behind and took one thing along: he left his worldly\nwisdom behind and took with him faith. For else he would not have\nleft the land of his fathers, but would have thought it an unreasonable\ndemand. Through his faith he came to be a stranger in the land of\npromise, where there was nothing to remind him of all that had been\ndear to him, but where everything by its newness tempted his soul\nto longing. And yet was he God's chosen, he in whom the Lord was\nwell pleased! Indeed, had he been one cast off, one thrust out of\nGod's mercy, then might he have comprehended it; but now it seemed\nlike a mockery of him and of his faith. There have been others who\nlived in exile from the fatherland which they loved. They are not\nforgotten, nor is the song of lament forgotten in which they\nmournfully sought and found what they had lost. Of Abraham there\nexists no song of lamentation. It is human to complain, it is\nhuman to weep with the weeping; but it is greater to believe, and\nmore blessed to consider him who has faith.\n\nThrough his faith Abraham received the promise that in his seed\nwere to be blessed all races of mankind. Time passed, there was\nstill the possibility of it, and Abraham had faith. Another man\nthere was who also lived in hopes. Time passed, the evening of\nhis life was approaching; neither was he paltry enough to have\nforgotten his hopes: neither shall he be forgotten by us! Then\nhe sorrowed, and his sorrow did not deceive him, as life had\ndone, but gave him all it could; for in the sweetness of sorrow\nhe became possessed of his disappointed hopes. It is human to\nsorrow, it is human to sorrow with the sorrowing; but it is\ngreater to have faith, and more blessed to consider him who\nhas faith.\n\nNo song of lamentation has come down to us from Abraham. He did\nnot sadly count the days as time passed; he did not look at\nSarah with suspicious eyes, whether she was becoming old; he\ndid not stop the sun's course lest Sarah should grow old and\nhis hope with her; he did not lull her with his songs of lamentation.\nAbraham grew old, and Sarah became a laughing-stock to the people;\nand yet was he God's chosen, and heir to the promise that in his\nseed were to be blessed all races of mankind. Were it, then,\nnot better if he had not been God's chosen? For what is it to\nbe God's chosen? Is it to have denied to one in one's youth all\nthe wishes of youth in order to have them fulfilled after great\nlabor in old age?\n\nBut Abraham had faith and steadfastly lived in hope. Had Abraham\nbeen less firm in his trust, then would he have given up that hope.\nHe would have said to God: \"So it is, perchance, not Thy will,\nafter all, that this shall come to pass. I shall surrender my\nhope. It was my only one, it was my bliss. I am sincere, I conceal\nno secret grudge for that Thou didst deny it to me.\" He would not\nhave remained forgotten, his example would have saved many a one;\nbut he would not have become the Father of Faith. For it is great\nto surrender one's hope, but greater still to abide by it steadfastly\nafter having surrendered it; for it is great to seize hold of the\neternal hope, but greater still to abide steadfastly by one's worldly\nhopes after having surrendered them.\n\nThen came the fulness of time. If Abraham had not had faith, then\nSarah would probably have died of sorrow, and Abraham, dulled by\nhis grief, would not have understood the fulfillment, but would\nhave smiled about it as a dream of his youth. But Abraham had\nfaith, and therefore he remained young; for he who always hopes\nfor the best, him life will deceive, and he will grow old; and\nhe who is always prepared for the worst, he will soon age; but\nhe who has faith, he will preserve eternal youth. Praise, therefore,\nbe to this story! For Sarah, though advanced in age, was young\nenough to wish for the pleasures of a mother, and Abraham, though\ngrey of hair, was young enough to wish to become a father. In a\nsuperficial sense it may be considered miraculous that what they\nwished for came to pass, but in a deeper sense the miracle of\nfaith is to be seen in Abraham's and Sarah's being young enough\nto wish, and their faith having preserved their wish and therewith\ntheir youth. The promise he had received was fulfilled, and he\naccepted it in faith, and it came to pass according to the promise\nand his faith; whereas Moses smote the rock with his staff but\nbelieved not.\n\nThere was joy in Abraham's house when Sarah celebrated the day\nof her Golden Wedding.\n\nBut it was not to remain thus; for once more was Abraham to be\ntempted. He had struggled with that cunning power to which nothing\nis impossible, with that ever watchful enemy who never sleeps,\nwith that old man who outlives all--he had struggled with Time\nand had preserved his faith. And now all the terror of that fight\nwas concentrated in one moment. \"And God tempted Abraham, saying to\nhim: take now thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get\nthee into the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt\noffering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee off.[2]\"\n\nAll was lost, then, and more terribly than if a son had never\nbeen given him! The Lord had only mocked Abraham, then! Miraculously\nhe had realized the unreasonable hopes of Abraham; and now he wished\nto take away what he had given. A foolish hope it had been, but\nAbraham had not laughed when the promise had been made him. Now\nall was lost--the trusting hope of seventy years, the brief joy\nat the fulfillment of his hopes. Who, then, is he that snatches\naway the old man's staff, who that demands that he himself shall\nbreak it in two? Who is he that renders disconsolate the grey hair\nof old age, who is he that demands that he himself shall do it?\nIs there no pity for the venerable old man, and none for the\ninnocent child? And yet was Abraham God's chosen one, and yet\nwas it the Lord that tempted him. And now all was to be lost!\nThe glorious remembrance of him by a whole race, the promise of\nAbraham's seed--all that was but a whim, a passing fancy of the\nLord, which Abraham was now to destroy forever! That glorious\ntreasure, as old as the faith in Abraham's heart, and many, many\nyears older than Isaac, the fruit of Abraham's life, sanctified\nby prayers, matured in struggles--the blessing on the lips of\nAbraham: this fruit was now to be plucked before the appointed\ntime, and to remain without significance; for of what significance\nwere it if Isaac was to be sacrificed? That sad and yet blessed\nhour when Abraham was to take leave from all that was dear to him,\nthe hour when he would once more lift up his venerable head,\nwhen his face would shine like the countenance of the Lord, the\nhour when he would collect his whole soul for a blessing strong\nenough to render Isaac blessed all the days of his life--that\nhour was not to come! He was to say farewell to Isaac, to be\nsure, but in such wise that he himself was to remain behind;\ndeath was to part them, but in such wise that Isaac was to die.\nThe old man was not in happiness to lay his hand on Isaac's head\nwhen the hour of death came, but, tired of life, to lay violent\nhands on Isaac. And it was God who tempted him. Woe, woe to the\nmessenger who would have come before Abraham with such a command!\nWho would have dared to be the messenger of such dread tidings?\nBut it was God that tempted Abraham.\n\nBut Abraham had faith, and had faith for this life. Indeed, had\nhis faith been but concerning the life to come, then might he more\neasily have cast away all, in order to hasten out of this world\nwhich was not his....\n\nBut Abraham had faith and doubted not, but trusted that the\nimprobable would come to pass. If Abraham had doubted, then would\nhe have undertaken something else, something great and noble; for\nwhat could Abraham have undertaken but was great and noble! He\nwould have proceeded to Mount Moriah, he would have cloven the\nwood, and fired it, and unsheathed his knife--he would have cried\nout to God: \"Despise not this sacrifice; it is not, indeed, the\nbest I have; for what is an old man against a child foretold of\nGod; but it is the best I can give thee. Let Isaac never know\nthat he must find consolation in his youth.\" He would have plunged\nthe steel in his own breast. And he would have been admired\nthroughout the world, and his name would not have been forgotten;\nbut it is one thing to be admired and another, to be a lode-star\nwhich guides one troubled in mind.\n\nBut Abraham had faith. He prayed not for mercy and that he might\nprevail upon the Lord: it was only when just retribution was to\nbe visited upon Sodom and Gomorrha that Abraham ventured to beseech\nHim for mercy.\n\nWe read in Scripture: \"And God did tempt Abraham, and said unto\nhim, Abraham: and he said, Behold here I am.[3]\" You, whom I\nam now addressing did you do likewise? When you saw the dire\ndispensations of Providence approach threateningly, did you not\nthen say to the mountains, Fall on me; and to the hills, Cover\nme?[4] Or, if you were stronger in faith, did not your step\nlinger along the way, longing for the old accustomed paths, as\nit were? And when the voice called you, did you answer, then, or\nnot at all, and if you did, perchance in a low voice, or whispering?\nNot thus Abraham, but gladly and cheerfully and trustingly, and with\na resonant voice he made answer: \"Here am I.\" And we read further:\n\"And Abraham rose up early in the morning.[5]\" He made haste as\nthough for some joyous occasion, and early in the morning he was\nin the appointed place, on Mount Moriah. He said nothing to Sarah,\nnothing to Eliezer, his steward; for who would have understood him?\nDid not his temptation by its very nature demand of him the vow of\nsilence? \"He laid the wood in order, and bound Isaac his son, and\nlaid him on the altar upon the wood. And Abraham stretched forth\nhis hand, and took the knife to slay his son.[6]\" My listener!\nMany a father there has been who thought that with his child he\nlost the dearest of all there was in the world for him; yet\nassuredly no child ever was in that sense a pledge of God as\nwas Isaac to Abraham. Many a father there has been who lost his\nchild; but then it was God, the unchangeable and inscrutable\nwill of the Almighty and His hand which took it. Not thus with\nAbraham. For him was reserved a more severe trial, and Isaac's\nfate was put into Abraham's hand together with the knife. And\nthere he stood, the old man, with his only hope! Yet did he not\ndoubt, nor look anxiously to the left or right, nor challenge\nHeaven with his prayers. He knew it was God the Almighty who\nnow put him to the test; he knew it was the greatest sacrifice\nwhich could be demanded of him; but he knew also that no sacrifice\nwas too great which God demanded--and he drew forth his knife.\n\nWho strengthened Abraham's arm, who supported his right arm that\nit drooped not powerless? For he who contemplates this scene is\nunnerved. Who strengthened Abraham's soul so that his eyes grew\nnot too dim to see either Isaac or the ram? For he who contemplates\nthis scene will be struck with blindness. And yet, it is rare enough\nthat one is unnerved or is struck with blindness, and still more\nrare that one narrates worthily what there did take place between\nfather and son. To be sure, we know well enough--it was but\na trial!\n\nIf Abraham had doubted, when standing on Mount Moriah; if he\nhad looked about him in perplexity; if he had accidentally discovered\nthe ram before drawing his knife; if God had permitted him to\nsacrifice it instead of Isaac--then would he have returned home,\nand all would have been as before, he would have had Sarah and\nwould have kept Isaac; and yet how different all would have been!\nFor then had his return been a flight, his salvation an accident,\nhis reward disgrace; his future, perchance, perdition. Then\nwould he have borne witness neither to his faith nor to God's\nmercy, but would have witnessed only to the terror of going to\nMount Moriah. Then Abraham would not have been forgotten, nor\neither Mount Moriah. It would be mentioned, then, not as is Mount\nArarat on which the Ark landed, but as a sign of terror, because\nit was there Abraham doubted.\n\nVenerable patriarch Abraham! When you returned home from Mount\nMoriah you required no encomiums to console you for what you had\nlost; for, indeed, you did win all and still kept Isaac, as we\nall know. And the Lord did no more take him from your side, but\nyou sate gladly at table with him in your tent as in the life to\ncome you will, for all times. Venerable patriarch Abraham! Thousands\nof years have passed since those times, but still you need no\nlate-born lover to snatch your memory from the power of oblivion,\nfor every language remembers you--and yet do you reward your lover\nmore gloriously than any one, rendering him blessed in your\nbosom, and taking heart and eyes captive by the marvel of your\ndeed. Venerable patriarch Abraham! Second father of the race! You\nwho first perceived and bore witness to that unbounded passion\nwhich has but scorn for the terrible fight with the raging elements\nand the strength of brute creation, in order to struggle with God;\nyou who first felt that sublimest of all passions, you who found\nthe holy, pure, humble expression for the divine madness which was\na marvel to the heathen--forgive him who would speak in your praise,\nin case he did it not fittingly. He spoke humbly, as if it concerned\nthe desire of his heart; he spoke briefly, as is seemly; but he will\nnever forget that you required a hundred years to obtain a son of\nyour old age, against all expections; that you had to draw the knife\nbefore being permitted to keep Isaac; he will never forget that in\na hundred and thirty years you never got farther than to faith.\n\n\n\n\nPRELIMINARY EXPECTORATION\n\n\nAn old saying, derived from the world of experience, has it that\n\"he who will not work shall not eat.[7]\" But, strange to say, this\ndoes not hold true in the world where it is thought applicable; for\nin the world of matter the law of imperfection prevails, and we see,\nagain and again, that he also who will not work has bread to\neat--indeed, that he who sleeps has a greater abundance of it than\nhe who works. In the world of matter everything belongs to whosoever\nhappens to possess it; it is thrall to the law of indifference, and\nhe who happens to possess the Ring also has the Spirit of the Ring\nat his beck and call, whether now he be Noureddin or Aladdin,[8] and\nhe who controls the treasures of this world, controls them, howsoever\nhe managed to do so. It is different in the world of spirit. There,\nan eternal and divine order obtains, there the rain does not fall\non the just and the unjust alike, nor does the sun shine on the good\nand the evil alike;[9] but there the saying does hold true that he\nwho will not work shall not eat, and only he who was troubled shall\nfind rest, and only he who descends into the nether world shall\nrescue his beloved, and only he who unsheathes his knife shall be\ngiven Isaac again. There, he who will not work shall not eat, but\nshall be deceived, as the gods deceived Orpheus with an immaterial\nfigure instead of his beloved Euridice,[10] deceived him because\nhe was love-sick and not courageous, deceived him because he was\na player on the cithara rather than a man. There, it avails not\nto have an Abraham for one's father,[11] or to have seventeen\nancestors. But in that world the saying about Israel's maidens\nwill hold true of him who will not work: he shall bring forth\nwind;[12] but he who will work shall give birth to his own father.\n\nThere is a kind of learning which would presumptuously introduce\ninto the world of spirit the same law of indifference under which\nthe world of matter groans. It is thought that to know about great\nmen and great deeds is quite sufficient, and that other exertion\nis not necessary. And therefore this learning shall not eat, but\nshall perish of hunger while seeing all things transformed into\ngold by its touch. And what, forsooth, does this learning really\nknow? There were many thousands of contemporaries, and countless\nmen in after times, who knew all about the triumphs of Miltiades;\nbut there was only one whom they rendered sleepless.[13] There\nhave existed countless generations that knew by heart, word for\nword, the story of Abraham; but how many has it rendered sleepless?\n\nNow the story of Abraham has the remarkable property of always\nbeing glorious, in however limited a sense it is understood; still,\nhere also the point is whether one means to labor and exert one's\nhalf. Now people do not care to labor and exert themselves, but\nwish nevertheless to understand the story. They extol Abraham,\nbut how? By expressing the matter in the most general terms and\nsaying: \"the great thing about him was that he loved God so ardently\nthat he was willing to sacrifice to Him his most precious possession.\"\nThat is very true; but \"the most precious possession\" is an indefinite\nexpression. As one's thoughts, and one's mouth, run on one assumes,\nin a very easy fashion, the identity of Isaac and \"the most precious\npossession\"--and meanwhile he who is meditating may smoke his\npipe, and his audience comfortably stretch out their legs. If\nthe rich youth whom Christ met on his way[14] had sold all his\npossessions and given all to the poor, we would extol him as we\nextol all which is great--aye, would not understand even him\nwithout labor; and yet would he never have become an Abraham,\nnotwithstanding his sacrificing the most precious possessions he\nhad. That which people generally forget in the story of Abraham\nis his fear and anxiety; for as regards money, one is not ethically\nresponsible for it, whereas for his son a father has the highest\nand most sacred responsibility. However, fear is a dreadful thing\nfor timorous spirits, so they omit it. And yet they wish to speak\nof Abraham.\n\nSo they keep on speaking, and in the course of their speech the\ntwo terms Isaac and \"the most precious thing\" are used alternately,\nand everything is in the best order. But now suppose that among\nthe audience there was a man who suffered with sleeplessness--and\nthen the most terrible and profound, the most tragic, and at the\nsame time the most comic, misunderstanding is within the range of\npossibility. That is, suppose this man goes home and wishes to do\nas did Abraham; for his son is his most precious possession. If a\ncertain preacher learned of this he would, perhaps, go to him, he\nwould gather up all his spiritual dignity and exclaim: \"Thou\nabominable creature, thou scum of humanity, what devil possessed\nthee to wish to murder thy son?\" And this preacher, who had not\nfelt any particular warmth, nor perspired while speaking about\nAbraham, this preacher would be astonished himself at the earnest\nwrath with which he poured forth his thunders against that poor\nwretch; indeed, he would rejoice over himself, for never had he\nspoken with such power and unction, and he would have said to\nhis wife: \"I am an orator, the only thing I have lacked so far\nwas the occasion. Last Sunday, when speaking about Abraham, I\ndid not feel thrilled in the least.\"\n\nNow, if this same orator had just a bit of sense to spare, I\nbelieve he would lose it if the sinner would reply, in a quiet\nand dignified manner: \"Why, it was on this very same matter\nyou preached, last Sunday!\" But however could the preacher have\nentertained such thoughts? Still, such was the case, and the\npreacher's mistake was merely not knowing what he was talking\nabout. Ah, would that some poet might see his way clear to prefer\nsuch a situation to the stuff and nonsense of which novels and\ncomedies are full! For the comic and the tragic here run parallel\nto infinity. The sermon probably was ridiculous enough in itself,\nbut it became infinitely ridiculous through the very natural\nconsequence it had. Or, suppose now the sinner was converted\nby this lecture without daring to raise any objection, and this\nzealous divine now went home elated, glad in the consciousness\nof being effective, not only in the pulpit, but chiefly, and\nwith irresistible power, as a spiritual guide, inspiring his\ncongregation on Sunday, whilst on Monday he would place himself\nlike a cherub with flaming sword before the man who by his actions\ntried to give the lie to the old saying that \"the course of the\nworld follows not the priest's word.\"\n\nIf, on the other hand, the sinner were not convinced of his error\nhis position would become tragic. He would probably be executed,\nor else sent to the lunatic asylum--at any rate, he would become\na sufferer in this world; but in another sense I should think\nthat Abraham rendered him happy; for he who labors, he shall not\nperish.\n\nNow how shall we explain the contradiction contained in that\nsermon? Is it due to Abraham's having the reputation of being\na great man--so that whatever he does is great, but if another\nshould undertake to do the same it is a sin, a heinous sin? If\nthis be the case I prefer not to participate in such thoughtless\nlaudations. If faith cannot make it a sacred thing to wish to\nsacrifice one's son, then let the same judgment be visited on\nAbraham as on any other man. And if we perchance lack the courage\nto drive our thoughts to the logical conclusion and to say that\nAbraham was a murderer, then it were better to acquire that\ncourage, rather than to waste one's time on undeserved encomiums.\nThe fact is, the ethical expression for what Abraham did is\nthat he wanted to murder Isaac; the religious, that he wanted\nto sacrifice him. But precisely in this contradiction is contained\nthe fear which may well rob one of one's sleep. And yet Abraham\nwere not Abraham without this fear. Or, again, supposing Abraham\ndid not do what is attributed to him, if his action was an entirely\ndifferent one, based on conditions of those times, then let us\nforget him; for what is the use of calling to mind that past which\ncan no longer become a present reality?--Or, the speaker had\nperhaps forgotten the essential fact that Isaac was the son. For\nif faith is eliminated, having been reduced to a mere nothing,\nthen only the brutal fact remains that Abraham wanted to murder\nIsaac--which is easy for everybody to imitate who has not the\nfaith--the faith, that is, which renders it most difficult for\nhim....\n\n\nLove has its priests in the poets, and one hears at times a poet's\nvoice which worthily extols it. But not a word does one hear of\nfaith. Who is there to speak in honor of that passion? Philosophy\n\"goes right on.\" Theology sits at the window with a painted visage\nand sues for philosophy's favor, offering it her charms. It is\nsaid to be difficult to understand the philosophy of Hegel; but\nto understand Abraham, why, that is an easy matter! To proceed\nfurther than Hegel is a wonderful feat, but to proceed further than\nAbraham, why, nothing is easier! Personally, I have devoted a\nconsiderable amount of time to a study of Hegelian philosophy\nand believe I understand it fairly well; in fact, I am rash enough\nto say that when, notwithstanding an effort, I am not able to\nunderstand him in some passages, it is because he is not entirely\nclear about the matter himself. All this intellectual effort I\nperform easily and naturally, and it does not cause my head to\nache. On the other hand, whenever I attempt to think about Abraham\nI am, as it were, overwhelmed. At every moment I am aware of\nthe enormous paradox which forms the content of Abraham's life,\nat every moment I am repulsed, and my thought, notwithstanding\nits passionate attempts, cannot penetrate into it, cannot forge\non the breadth of a hair. I strain every muscle in order to\nenvisage the problem--and become a paralytic in the same moment.\n\nI am by no means unacquainted with what has been admired as great\nand noble, my soul feels kinship with it, being satisfied, in\nall humility, that it was also my cause the hero espoused; and\nwhen contemplating his deed I say to myself: \"_jam tua causa\nagitur._[15]\" I am able to identify myself with the hero; but I\ncannot do so with Abraham, for whenever I have reached his height\nI fall down again, since he confronts me as the paradox. It is\nby no means my intention to maintain that faith is something\ninferior, but, on the contrary, that it is the highest of all\nthings; also that it is dishonest in philosophy to offer something\nelse instead, and to pour scorn on faith; but it ought to understand\nits own nature in order to know what it can offer. It should take\naway nothing; least of all, fool people out of something as if\nit were of no value. I am not unacquainted with the sufferings\nand dangers of life, but I do not fear them, and cheerfully go\nforth to meet them.... But my courage is not, for all that, the\ncourage of faith, and is as nothing compared with it. I cannot\ncarry out the movement of faith: I cannot close my eyes and\nconfidently plunge into the absurd--it is impossible for me; but\nneither do I boast of it....\n\nNow I wonder if every one of my contemporaries is really able\nto perform the movements of faith. Unless I am much mistaken\nthey are, rather, inclined to be proud of making what they perhaps\nthink me unable to do, viz., the imperfect movement. It is repugnant\nto my soul to do what is so often done, to speak inhumanly about\ngreat deeds, as if a few thousands of years were an immense space\nof time. I prefer to speak about them in a human way and as though\nthey had been done but yesterday, to let the great deed itself\nbe the distance which either inspires or condemns me. Now if I,\nin the capacity of tragic hero--for a higher flight I am unable\nto take--if I had been summoned to such an extraordinary royal\nprogress as was the one to Mount Moriah, I know very well what I\nwould have done. I would not have been craven enough to remain\nat home; neither would I have dawdled on the way; nor would I\nhave forgot my knife--just to draw out the end a bit. But I\nam rather sure that I would have been promptly on the spot,\nwith every thing in order--in fact, would probably have been\nthere before the appointed time, so as to have the business\nsoon over with. But I know also what I would have done besides.\nIn the moment I mounted my horse I would have said to myself:\n\"Now all is lost, God demands Isaac, I shall sacrifice him, and\nwith him all my joy--but for all that, God is love and will\nremain so for me; for in this world God and I cannot speak together,\nwe have no language in common.\"\n\nPossibly, one or the other of my contemporaries will be stupid\nenough, and jealous enough of great deeds, to wish to persuade\nhimself and me that if I had acted thus I should have done something\neven greater than what Abraham did; for my sublime resignation\nwas (he thinks) by far more ideal and poetic than Abraham's\nliteral-minded action. And yet this is absolutely not so, for my\nsublime resignation was only a substitute for faith. I could not\nhave made more than the infinite movement (of resignation) to\nfind myself and again repose in myself. Nor would I have loved\nIsaac as Abraham loved him. The fact that I was resolute enough\nto resign is sufficient to prove my courage in a human sense,\nand the fact that I loved him with my whole heart is the very\npresupposition without which my action would be a crime; but\nstill I did not love as did Abraham, for else I would have hesitated\neven in the last minute, without, for that matter, arriving too\nlate on Mount Moriah. Also, I would have spoiled the whole business\nby my behavior; for if I had had Isaac restored to me I would\nhave been embarrassed. That which was an easy matter for Abraham\nwould have been difficult for me, I mean, to rejoice again in\nIsaac; for he who with all the energy of his soul _proprio motu\net propriis auspiciis_[16] has made the infinite movement of\nresignation and can do no more, he will retain possession of\nIsaac only in his sorrow.\n\nBut what did Abraham? He arrived neither too early nor too late.\nHe mounted his ass and rode slowly on his way. And all the while\nhe had faith, believing that God would not demand Isaac of him,\nthough ready all the while to sacrifice him, should it be demanded\nof him. He believed this on the strength of the absurd; for there\nwas no question of human calculation any longer. And the absurdity\nconsisted in God's, who yet made this demand of him, recalling his\ndemand the very next moment. Abraham ascended the mountain and whilst\nthe knife already gleamed in his hand he believed--that God would\nnot demand Isaac of him. He was, to be sure, surprised at the\noutcome; but by a double movement he had returned at his first\nstate of mind and therefore received Isaac back more gladly than\nthe first time....\n\nOn this height, then, stands Abraham. The last stage he loses\nsight of is that of infinite resignation. He does really proceed\nfurther, he arrives at faith. For all these caricatures of faith,\nwretched lukewarm sloth, which thinks: \"Oh, there is no hurry, it\nis not necessary to worry before the time comes\"; and miserable\nhopefulness, which says: \"One cannot know what will happen, there\nmight perhaps--,\" all these caricatures belong to the sordid view\nof life and have already fallen under the infinite scorn of infinite\nresignation.\n\nAbraham, I am not able to understand; and in a certain sense I\ncan learn nothing from him without being struck with wonder. They\nwho flatter themselves that by merely considering the outcome of\nAbraham's story they will necessarily arrive at faith, only deceive\nthemselves and wish to cheat God out of the first movement of\nfaith--it were tantamount to deriving worldly wisdom from the\nparadox. But who knows, one or the other of them may succeed in\ndoing this; for our times are not satisfied with faith, and not\neven with the miracle of changing water into wine--they \"go\nright on\" changing wine into water.\n\nIs it not preferable to remain satisfied with faith, and is it\nnot outrageous that every one wishes to \"go right on\"? If people\nin our times decline to be satisfied with love, as is proclaimed\nfrom various sides, where will we finally land? In worldly shrewdness,\nin mean calculation, in paltriness and baseness, in all that\nwhich renders man's divine origin doubtful. Were it not better\nto stand fast in the faith, and better that he that standeth\ntake heed lest he fall;[17] for the movement of faith must ever\nbe made by virtue of the absurd, but, note well, in such wise\nthat one does not lose the things of this world but wholly and\nentirely regains them.\n\nAs far as I am concerned, I am able to describe most excellently\nthe movements of faith; but I cannot make them myself. When a\nperson wishes to learn how to swim he has himself suspended in\na swimming-belt and then goes through the motions; but that does\nnot mean that he can swim. In the same fashion I too can go\nthrough the motions of faith; but when I am thrown into the\nwater I swim; to be sure (for I am not a wader in the shallows),\nbut I go through a different set of movements, to-wit, those\nof infinity; whereas faith does the opposite, to-wit, makes\nthe movements to regain the finite after having made those of\ninfinite resignation. Blessed is he who can make these movements,\nfor he performs a marvelous feat, and I shall never weary of\nadmiring him, whether now it be Abraham himself or the slave\nin Abraham's house, whether it be a professor of philosophy or\na poor servant-girl: it is all the same to me, for I have regard\nonly to the movements. But these movements I watch closely, and\nI will not be deceived, whether by myself or by any one else.\nThe knights of infinite resignation are easily recognized, for\ntheir gait is dancing and bold. But they who possess the jewel\nof faith frequently deceive one because their bearing is curiously\nlike that of a class of people heartily despised by infinite\nresignation as well as by faith--the philistines.\n\nLet me admit frankly that I have not in my experience encountered\nany certain specimen of this type; but I do not refuse to admit\nthat as far as I know, every other person may be such a specimen.\nAt the same time I will say that I have searched vainly for years.\nIt is the custom of scientists to travel around the globe to see\nrivers and mountains, new stars, gay-colored birds, misshapen\nfish, ridiculous races of men. They abandon themselves to a\nbovine stupor which gapes at existence and believe they have\nseen something worth while. All this does not interest me; but\nif I knew where there lived such a knight of faith I would journey\nto him on foot, for that marvel occupies my thoughts exclusively.\nNot a moment would I leave him out of sight, but would watch\nhow he makes the movements, and I would consider myself provided\nfor life, and would divide my time between watching him and\nmyself practicing the movements, and would thus use all my time\nin admiring him.\n\nAs I said, I have not met with such a one; but I can easily\nimagine him. Here he is. I make his acquaintance and am introduced\nto him. The first moment I lay my eyes on him I push him back,\nleaping back myself, I hold up my hands in amazement and say\nto myself: \"Good Lord! that person? Is it really he--why, he\nlooks like a parish-beadle!\" But it is really he. I become more\nclosely acquainted with him, watching his every movement to see\nwhether some trifling incongruous movement of his has escaped me,\nsome trace, perchance, of a signaling from the infinite, a glance,\na look, a gesture, a melancholy air, or a smile, which might\nbetray the presence of infinite resignation contrasting with\nthe finite.\n\nBut no! I examine his figure from top to toe to discover whether\nthere be anywhere a chink through which the infinite might be\nseen to peer forth. But no! he is of a piece, all through. And\nhow about his footing? Vigorous, altogether that of finiteness,\nno citizen dressed in his very best, prepared to spend his Sunday\nafternoon in the park, treads the ground more firmly. He belongs\naltogether to this world, no philistine more so. There is no\ntrace of the somewhat exclusive and haughty demeanor which marks\noff the knight of infinite resignation. He takes pleasure in all\nthings, is interested in everything, and perseveres in whatever\nhe does with the zest characteristic of persons wholly given to\nworldly things. He attends to his business, and when one sees\nhim one might think he was a clerk who had lost his soul in\ndoing double bookkeeping, he is so exact. He takes a day off\non Sundays. He goes to church. But no hint of anything supernatural\nor any other sign of the incommensurable betrays him, and if one\ndid not know him it would be impossible to distinguish him in\nthe congregation, for his brisk and manly singing proves only\nthat he has a pair of good lungs.\n\nIn the afternoon he walks out to the forest. He takes delight\nin all he sees, in the crowds of men and women, the new omnibuses,\nthe Sound--if one met him on the promenade one might think he\nwas some shopkeeper who was having a good time, so simple is\nhis joy; for he is not a poet, and in vain have I tried to lure\nhim into betraying some sign of the poet's detachment. Toward\nevening he walks home again, with a gait as steady as that of\na mail-carrier. On his way he happens to wonder whether his\nwife will have some little special warm dish ready for him,\nwhen he comes home--as she surely has--as, for instance, a roasted\nlamb's head garnished with greens. And if he met one minded\nlike him he is very likely to continue talking about this dish\nwith him till they reach the East Gate, and to talk about it\nwith a zest befitting a chef. As it happens, he has not four\nshillings to spare, and yet he firmly believes that his wife\nsurely has that dish ready for him. If she has, it would be\nan enviable sight for distinguished people, and an inspiring\none for common folks, to see him eat, for he has an appetite\ngreater than Esau's. His wife has not prepared it--strange,\nhe remains altogether the same.\n\nAgain, on his way he passes a building lot and there meets another\nman. They fall to talking, and in a trice he erects a building,\nfreely disposing of everything necessary. And the stranger will\nleave him with the impression that he has been talking with a\ncapitalist--the fact being that the knight of my admiration is\nbusy with the thought that if it really came to the point he\nwould unquestionably have the means wherewithal at his disposal.\n\nNow he is lying on his elbows in the window and looking over\nthe square on which he lives. All that happens there, if it be\nonly a rat creeping into a gutter-hole, or children playing\ntogether--everything engages his attention, and yet his mind\nis at rest as though it were the mind of a girl of sixteen. He\nsmokes his pipe in the evening, and to look at him you would\nswear it was the green-grocer from across the street who is\nlounging at the window in the evening twilight. Thus he shows\nas much unconcern as any worthless happy-go-lucky fellow; and\nyet, every moment he lives he purchases his leisure at the highest\nprice, for he makes not the least movement except by virtue of\nthe absurd; and yet, yet--indeed, I might become furious with\nanger, if for no other reason than that of envy--and yet, this\nman has performed, and is performing every moment, the movement\nof infinity... He has resigned everything absolutely, and then\nagain seized hold of it all on the strength of the absurd...\n\nBut this miracle may so easily deceive one that it will be best\nif I describe the movements in a given case which may illustrate\ntheir aspect in contact with reality; and that is the important\npoint. Suppose, then, a young swain falls in love with a princess,\nand all his life is bound up in this love. But circumstances are\nsuch that it is out of the question to think of marrying her, an\nimpossibility to translate his dreams into reality. The slaves of\npaltriness, the frogs in the sloughs of life, they will shout, of\ncourse: \"Such a love is folly, the rich brewer's widow is quite\nas good and solid a match.\" Let them but croak. The knight of\ninfinite resignation does not follow their advice, he does not\nsurrender his love, not for all the riches in the world. He is\nno fool, he first makes sure that this love really is the contents\nof his life, for his soul is too sound and too proud to waste\nitself on a mere intoxication. He is no coward, he is not afraid\nto let his love insinuate itself into his most secret and most\nremote thoughts, to let it wind itself in innumerable coils about\nevery fiber of his consciousness--if he is disappointed in his\nlove he will never be able to extricate himself again. He feels\na delicious pleasure in letting love thrill his every nerve, and\nyet his soul is solemn as is that of him who has drained a cup\nof poison and who now feels the virus mingle with every drop of\nhis blood, poised in that moment between life and death.\n\nHaving thus imbibed love, and being wholly absorbed in it, he\ndoes not lack the courage to try and dare all. He surveys the\nwhole situation, he calls together his swift thoughts which like\ntame pigeons obey his every beck, he gives the signal, and they\ndart in all directions. But when they return, every one bearing\na message of sorrow, and explain to him that it is impossible,\nthen he becomes silent, he dismisses them, he remains alone;\nand then he makes the movement. Now if what I say here is to\nhave any significance, it is of prime importance that the movement\nbe made in a normal fashion. The knight of resignation is supposed\nto have sufficient energy to concentrate the entire contents\nof his life and the realization of existing conditions into\none single wish. But if one lacks this concentration, this devotion\nto a single thought; if his soul from the very beginning is\nscattered on a number of objects, he will never be able to make\nthe movement--he will be as worldly-wise in the conduct of his\nlife as the financier who invests his capital in a number of\nsecurities to win on the one if he should lose on the other;\nthat is, he is no knight. Furthermore, the knight is supposed\nto possess sufficient energy to concentrate all his thought into\na single act of consciousness. If he lacks this concentration he\nwill only run errands in life and will never be able to assume\nthe attitude of infinite resignation; for the very minute he\napproaches it he will suddenly discover that he forgot something\nso that he must remain behind. The next minute, thinks he, it\nwill be attainable again, and so it is; but such inhibitions\nwill never allow him to make the movement but will, rather,\ntend to let him sink ever deeper into the mire.\n\nOur knight, then, performs the movement--which movement? Is he\nintent on forgetting the whole affair, which, too, would presuppose\nmuch concentration? No, for the knight does not contradict himself,\nand it is a contradiction to forget the main contents of one's\nlife and still remain the same person. And he has no desire to\nbecome another person; neither does he consider such a desire to\nsmack of greatness. Only lower natures forget themselves and become\nsomething different. Thus the butterfly has forgotten that it\nonce was a caterpillar--who knows but it may forget altogether\nthat it once was a butterfly, and turn into a fish! Deeper natures\nnever forget themselves and never change their essential qualities.\nSo the knight remembers all; but precisely this remembrance is\npainful. Nevertheless, in his infinite resignation he has become\nreconciled with existence. His love for the princess has become\nfor him the expression of an eternal love, has assumed a religious\ncharacter, has been transfigured into a love for the eternal being\nwhich, to be sure, denied him the fulfillment of his love, yet\nreconciled him again by presenting him with the abiding consciousness\nof his love's being preserved in an everlasting form of which no\nreality can rob him....\n\nNow, he is no longer interested in what the princess may do, and\nprecisely this proves that he has made the movement of infinite\nresignation correctly. In fact, this is a good criterion for\ndetecting whether a person's movement is sincere or just make-believe.\nTake a person who believes that he too has resigned, but lo!\ntime passed, the princess did something on her part, for example,\nmarried a prince, and then his soul lost the elasticity of its\nresignation. This ought to show him that he did not make the\nmovement correctly, for he who has resigned absolutely is sufficient\nunto himself. The knight does not cancel his resignation, but\npreserves his love as fresh and young as it was at the first\nmoment, he never lets go of it just because his resignation is\nabsolute. Whatever the princess does, cannot disturb him, for it\nis only the lower natures who have the law for their actions in\nsome other person, i.e. have the premises of their actions outside\nof themselves....\n\nInfinite resignation is the last stage which goes before faith,\nso that every one who has not made the movement of infinite\nresignation cannot have faith; for only through absolute resignation\ndo I become conscious of my eternal worth, and only then can\nthere arise the problem of again grasping hold of this world by\nvirtue of faith.\n\nWe will now suppose the knight of faith in the same case. He\ndoes precisely as the other knight, he absolutely resigns the\nlove which is the contents of his life, he is reconciled to the\npain; but then the miraculous happens, he makes one more movement,\nstrange beyond comparison, saying: \"And still I believe that I\nshall marry her--marry her by virtue of the absurd, by virtue of\nthe act that to God nothing is impossible.\" Now the absurd is not\none of the categories which belong to the understanding proper.\nIt is not identical with the improbable, the unforeseen, the\nunexpected. The very moment our knight resigned himself he made\nsure of the absolute impossibility, in any human sense, of his\nlove. This was the result reached by his reflections, and he had\nsufficient energy to make them. In a transcendent sense, however,\nby his very resignation, the attainment of his end is not impossible;\nbut this very act of again taking possession of his love is at\nthe same time a relinquishment of it. Nevertheless this kind of\npossession is by no means an absurdity to the intellect; for the\nintellect all the while continues to be right, as it is aware\nthat in the world of finalities, in which reason rules, his\nlove was and is, an impossibility. The knight of faith realizes\nthis fully as well. Hence the only thing which can save him is\nrecourse to the absurd, and this recourse he has through his\nfaith. That is, he clearly recognizes the impossibility, and\nin the same moment he believes the absurd; for if he imagined he\nhad faith, without at the same time recognizing, with all the\npassion his soul is capable of, that his love is impossible,\nhe would be merely deceiving himself, and his testimony would\nbe of no value, since he had not arrived even at the stage of\nabsolute resignation....\n\nThis last movement, the paradoxical movement of faith, I cannot\nmake, whether or no it be my duty, although I desire nothing\nmore ardently than to be able to make it. It must be left to\na person's discretion whether he cares to make this confession;\nand at any rate, it is a matter between him and the Eternal Being,\nwho is the object of his faith, whether an amicable adjustment\ncan be affected. But what every person can do is to make the\nmovement of absolute resignation, and I for my part would not\nhesitate to declare him a coward who imagines he cannot perform\nit. It is a different matter with faith. But what no person has\na right to, is to delude others into the belief that faith is\nsomething of no great significance, or that it is an easy matter,\nwhereas it is the greatest and most difficult of all things.\n\nBut the story of Abraham is generally interpreted in a different\nway. God's mercy is praised which restored Isaac to him--it\nwas but a trial! A trial. This word may mean much or little,\nand yet the whole of it passes off as quickly as the story is\ntold: one mounts a winged horse, in the same instant one arrives\non Mount Moriah, and _presto_ one sees the ram. It is not remembered\nthat Abraham only rode on an ass which travels but slowly, that\nit was a three days' journey for him, and that he required some\nadditional time to collect the firewood, to bind Isaac, and to\nwhet his knife.\n\nAnd yet one extols Abraham. He who is to preach the sermon may\nsleep comfortably until a quarter of an hour before he is to\npreach it, and the listener may comfortably sleep during the\nsermon, for everything is made easy enough, without much exertion\neither to preacher or listener. But now suppose a man was present\nwho suffered with sleeplessness and who went home and sat in a\ncorner and reflected as follows: \"The whole lasted but a minute,\nyou need only wait a little while, and then the ram will be shown\nand the trial will be over.\" Now if the preacher should find\nhim in this frame of mind, I believe he would confront him\nin all his dignity and say to him: \"Wretch that thou art, to\nlet thy soul lapse into such folly; miracles do not happen, all\nlife is a trial.\" And as he proceeded he would grow more and\nmore passionate, and would become ever more satisfied with himself;\nand whereas he had not noticed any congestion in his head whilst\npreaching about Abraham, he now feels the veins on his forehead\nswell. Yet who knows but he would stand aghast if the sinner\nshould answer him in a quiet and dignified manner that it was\nprecisely this about which he preached the Sunday before.\n\nLet us then either waive the whole story of Abraham, or else\nlearn to stand in awe of the enormous paradox which constitutes\nhis significance for us, so that we may learn to understand that\nour age, like every age, may rejoice if it has faith. If the\nstory of Abraham is not a mere nothing, an illusion, or if it\nis just used for show and as a pastime, the mistake cannot by\nany means be in the sinner's wishing to do likewise; but it is\nnecessary to find out how great was the deed which Abraham performed,\nin order that the man may judge for himself whether he has the\ncourage and the mission to do likewise. The comical contradiction\nin the procedure of the preacher was his reduction of the story of\nAbraham to insignificance whereas he rebuked the other man for\ndoing the very same thing.\n\nBut should we then cease to speak about Abraham? I certainly\nthink not. But if I were to speak about him I would first of\nall describe the terrors of his trial. To that end leech-like\nI would suck all the suffering and distress out of the anguish\nof a father, in order to be able to describe what Abraham suffered\nwhilst yet preserving his faith. I would remind the hearer that\nthe journey lasted three days and a goodly part of the fourth--in\nfact, these three and a half days ought to become infinitely\nlonger than the few thousand years which separate me from Abraham.\nI would remind him, as I think right, that every person is still\npermitted to turn about-before trying his strength on this formidable\ntask; in fact, that he may return every instant in repentance.\nProvided this is done, I fear for nothing. Nor do I fear to\nawaken great desire among people to attempt to emulate Abraham.\nBut to get out a cheap edition of Abraham and yet forbid every\none to do as he did, that I call ridiculous.[18]\n\n\n[Footnote 1: Freely after Genesis 22.]\n\n[Footnote 2: Genesis 20, 11 f.]\n\n[Footnote 3: Genesis 22, 1.]\n\n[Footnote 4: Luke 23, 30.]\n\n[Footnote 5: Genesis 22, 3.]\n\n[Footnote 6: Genesis 22, 9.]\n\n[Footnote 7: _Cf._ Thessalonians 3, 10.]\n\n[Footnote 8: In _Aladdin_, Oehlenschl\u00e4ger's famous dramatic poem,\nAladdin, \"the cheerful son of nature,\" is contrasted with Noureddin,\nrepresenting the gloom of doubt and night.]\n\n[Footnote 9: Matthew 5, 45.]\n\n[Footnote 10: _Cf._ not the legend but Plato's _Symposion._]\n\n[Footnote 11: Matthew 3, 9.]\n\n[Footnote 12: Isaiah 26, 18.]\n\n[Footnote 13: Themistocles, that is; see Plutarch, Lives.]\n\n[Footnote 14: Matthew 19, 16f.]\n\n[Footnote 15: Your cause, too, is at stake.]\n\n[Footnote 16: By his own impulse and on his own responsibility.]\n\n[Footnote 17: _Cf._ I Cor. 10, 12.]\n\n[Footnote 18: The above, with the omissions indicated, constitutes\nabout one-third of \"Fear and Trembling.\"]\n\n\n\n\nPREPARATION FOR A CHRISTIAN LIFE\n\n\n\n\nI[1]\n\n\n\"COME HITHER UNTO ME, ALL YE THAT LABOR AND ARE\nHEAVY LADEN, AND I WILL GIVE YOU REST.\"\n(MATTHEW 11, 28.)\n\n\n\n\nTHE INVITATION\n\n\n\"Come hither!\"--It is not at all strange if he who is in danger\nand needs help--speedy, immediate help, perhaps--it is not strange\nif he cries out: \"come hither\"! Nor it is strange that a quack\ncries his wares: \"come hither, I cure all maladies\"; alas, for\nin the case of the quack it is only too true that it is the\nphysician who has need of the sick. \"Come hither all ye who\nat extortionate prices can pay for the cure--or at any rate\nfor the medicine; here is physic for everybody--who can pay;\ncome hither!\"\n\nIn all other cases, however, it is generally true that he who\ncan help must be sought; and, when found, may be difficult of\naccess; and, if access is had, his help may have to be implored\na long time; and when his help has been implored a long time,\nhe may be moved only with difficulty, that is, he sets a high\nprice on his services; and sometimes, precisely when he refuses\npayment or generously asks for none, it is only an expression\nof how infinitely high he values his services. On the other hand,\nhe[2] who sacrificed himself, he sacrifices himself, here too;\nit is indeed he who seeks those in need of help, is himself the\none who goes about and calls, almost imploringly: \"come hither!\"\nHe, the only one who can help, and help with what alone is indispensable,\nand can save from the one truly mortal disease, he does not\nwait for people to come to him, but comes himself, without having\nbeen called; for it is he who calls out to them, it is he who\nholds out help--and what help! Indeed, that simple sage of antiquity[3]\nwas as infinitely right as the majority who do the opposite are\nwrong, in setting no great price, whether on himself or his\ninstruction; even if he thus in a certain sense proudly expressed\nthe utter difference in kind between payment and his services.\nBut he was not so solicitous as to beg any one to come to him,\nnotwithstanding--or shall I say because?--he was not altogether\nsure what his help signified; for the more sure one is that his\nhelp is the only one obtainable, the more reason has he, in a\nhuman sense, to ask a great price for it; and the less sure one\nis, the more reason has he to offer freely the possible help\nhe has, in order to do at least something for others. But he\nwho calls himself the Savior, and knows that he is, he calls\nout solicitously: \"come hither unto me!\"\n\n\n\"Come hither all ye!\"--Strange! For if he who, when it comes\nto the point, perhaps cannot help a single one--if such a one\nshould boastfully invite everybody, that would not seem so\nvery strange, man's nature being such as it is. But if a man\nis absolutely sure of being able to help, and at the same time\nwilling to help, willing to devote his all in doing so, and with\nall sacrifices, then he generally makes at least one reservation;\nwhich is, to make a choice among those he means to help. That\nis, however willing one may be, still it is not everybody one\ncares to help; one does not care to sacrifice one's self to\nthat extent. But he, the only one who can really help, and really\nhelp everybody--the only one, therefore, who really can invite\neverybody--he makes no conditions whatever; but utters the invitation\nwhich, from the beginning of the world, seems to have been reserved\nfor him: \"Come hither all ye!\" Ah, human self-sacrifice, even when\nthou art most beautiful and noble, when we admire thee most: this\nis a sacrifice still greater, which is, to sacrifice every provision\nfor one's own self, so that in one's willingness to help there is\nnot even the least partiality. Ah, the love that sets no price on\none's self, that makes one forget altogether that he is the\nhelper, and makes one altogether blind as to who it is one helps,\nbut infinitely careful only that he be a sufferer, whatever else he\nmay be; and thus willing unconditionally to help everybody--different,\nalas! in this from everybody!\n\n\"Come hither unto me!\" Strange! For human compassion also, and\nwillingly, does something for them that labor and are heavy laden;\none feeds the hungry, clothes the naked, makes charitable gifts,\nbuilds charitable institutions, and if the compassion be heartfelt,\nperhaps even visits those that labor and are heavy laden. But to\ninvite them to come to one, that will never do, because then all\none's household and manner of living would have to be changed.\nFor a man cannot himself live in abundance, or at any rate in\nwell-being and happiness, and at the same time dwell in one and\nthe same house together with, and in daily intercourse with, the\npoor and miserable, with them that labor and are heavy laden! In\norder to be able to invite them in such wise, a man must himself\nlive altogether in the same way, as poor as the poorest, as lowly\nas the lowliest, familiar with the sorrows and sufferings of life,\nand altogether belonging to the same station as they whom he invites,\nthat is, they who labor and are heavy laden. If he wishes to\ninvite a sufferer, he must either change his own condition to be\nlike that of the sufferer, or else change that of the sufferer to\nbe like his own; for if this is not done the difference will\nstand out only the more by contrast. And if you wish to invite\nall those who suffer--for you may make an exception with one of\nthem and change his condition--it can be done only in one way,\nwhich is, to change your condition so as to live as they do;\nprovided your life be not already lived thus, as was the case\nwith Him who said: \"Come hither unto me, all ye that labor and\nare heavy laden!\" Thus said he; and they who lived with him\nsaw him, and behold! there was not even the least thing in his\nmanner of life to contradict it. With the silent and truthful\neloquence of actual performance his life expresses--even though\nhe had never in his life said these words--his life expresses:\n\"Come hither, unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden\"!\nHe abides by his word, or he himself is the word; he is what he\nsays, and also in this sense he is the Word.[4]\n\n\n\"All ye that labor and are heavy laden.\" Strange! His only concern\nis lest there be a single one who labors and is heavy laden who\ndoes not hear this invitation. Neither does he fear that too many\nwill come. Ah, heart-room makes house-room; but where wilt thou\nfind heart-room, if not in his heart? He leaves it to each one how\nto understand his invitation: he has a clear conscience about\nit, for he has invited all those that labor and are heavy laden.\n\nBut what means it, then, to labor and be heavy laden? Why does\nhe not offer a clearer explanation so that one may know exactly\nwhom he means, and why is he so chary of his words? Ah, thou\nnarrow-minded one, he is so chary of his words, lest he be narrow-minded;\nand thou narrow-hearted one, he is so chary of his words lest\nhe be narrow-hearted. For such is his love--and love has regard\nto all--as to prevent any one from troubling and searching his\nheart whether he too be among those invited. And he who would\ninsist on a more definite explanation, is he not likely to be\nsome self-loving person who is calculating whether this explanation\ndoes not particularly fit himself; one who does not consider that\nthe more of such exact explanations are offered, the more certainly\nsome few would be left in doubt as to whether they were invited?\nAh man, why does thine eye see only thyself, why is it evil because\nhe is good?[5] The invitation to all men opens the arms of him\nwho invites, and thus he stands of aspect everlasting; but no\nsooner is a closer explanation attempted which might help one\nor the other to another kind of certainty, than his aspect would\nbe transformed and, as it were, a shadow of change would pass\nover his countenance.\n\n\"I will give you rest.\" Strange! For then the words \"come hither\nunto me\" must be understood to mean: stay with me, I am rest;\nor, it is rest to remain with me. It is not, then, as in other\ncases where he who helps and says \"come hither\" must afterwards\nsay: \"now depart again,\" explaining to each one where the help\nhe needs is to be found, where the healing herb grows which will\ncure him, or where the quiet spot is found where he may rest\nfrom labor, or where the happier continent exists where one is\nnot heavy laden. But no, he who opens his arms, inviting every\none--ah, if all, all they that labor and are heavy laden came\nto him, he would fold them all to his heart, saying: \"stay with\nme now; for to stay with me is rest.\" The helper himself is the\nhelp. Ah, strange, he who invites everybody and wishes to help\neverybody, his manner of treating the sick is as if calculated\nfor every sick man, and as if every sick man who comes to him\nwere his only patient. For otherwise a physician divides his\ntime among many patients who, however great their number, still\nare far, far from being all mankind. He will prescribe the medicine,\nhe will say what is to be done, and how it is to be used, and\nthen he will go--to some other patient; or, in case the patient\nshould visit him, he will let him depart. The physician cannot\nremain sitting all day with one patient, and still less can he\nhave all his patients about him in his home, and yet sit all\nday with one patient without neglecting the others. For this\nreason the helper and his help are not one and the same thing.\nThe help which the physician prescribes is kept with him by the\npatient all day so that he may constantly use it, whilst the\nphysician visits him now and again; or he visits the physician\nnow and again. But if the helper is also the help, why, then\nhe will stay with the sick man all day, or the sick man with\nhim--ah, strange that it is just this helper who invites all men!\n\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nCOME HITHER ALL YE THAT LABOR AND ARE HEAVY LADEN,\nAND I WILL GIVE YOU REST.\n\n\nWhat enormous multiplicity, what an almost boundless diversity,\nof people invited; for a man, a lowly man, may, indeed, try to\nenumerate only a few of these diversities--but he who invites\nmust invite all men, even if every one specially and individually.\n\n\nThe invitation goes forth, then--along the highways and the\nbyways, and along the loneliest paths; aye, goes forth where\nthere is a path so lonely that one man only, and no one else,\nknows of it, and goes forth where there is but one track, the\ntrack of the wretched one who fled along that path with his\nmisery, that and no other track; goes forth even where there is\nno path to show how one may return: even there the invitation\npenetrates and by itself easily and surely finds its way back--most\neasily, indeed, when it brings the fugitive along to him that\nissued the invitation. Come hither, come hither all ye, also\nthou, and thou, and thou, too, thou loneliest of all fugitives!\n\nThus the invitation goes forth and remains standing, wheresoever\nthere is a parting of the ways, in order to call out. Ah, just\nas the trumpet call of the soldiers is directed to the four\nquarters of the globe, likewise does this invitation sound wherever\nthere is a meeting of roads; with no uncertain sound--for who\nwould then come?--but with the certitude of eternity.\n\nIt stands by the parting of the ways where worldly and earthly\nsufferings have set down their crosses, and calls out: Come\nhither, all ye poor and wretched ones, ye who in poverty must\nslave in order to assure yourselves, not of a care-free, but of\na toilsome, future; ah, bitter contradiction, to have to slave\nfor--assuring one's self of that under which one groans, of that\nwhich one flees! Ye despised and overlooked ones, about whose\nexistence no one, aye, no one is concerned, not so much even as\nabout some domestic animal which is of greater value! Ye sick,\nand halt, and blind, and deaf, and crippled, come hither!--Ye\nbed-ridden, aye, come hither, ye too; for the invitation makes\nbold to invite even the bed-ridden--to come! Ye lepers; for the\ninvitation breaks down all differences in order to unite all,\nit wishes to make good the hardship caused by the difference\nin men, the difference which seats one as a ruler over millions,\nin possession of all gifts of fortune, and drives another one\nout into the wilderness--and why? (ah, the cruelty of it!) because\n(ah, the cruel human inference!) because he is wretched, indescribably\nwretched. Why then? Because he stands in need of help, or at\nany rate, of compassion. And why, then? Because human compassion\nis a wretched thing which is cruel when there is the greatest\nneed of being compassionate, and compassionate only when, at\nbottom, it is not true compassion! Ye sick of heart, ye who only\nthrough your anguish learned to know that a man's heart and an\nanimal's heart are two different things, and what it means to be\nsick at heart--what it means when the physician may be right in\ndeclaring one sound of heart and yet heart-sick; ye whom faithlessness\ndeceived and whom human sympathy--for the sympathy of man is\nrarely late in coming--whom human sympathy made a target for\nmockery; all ye wronged and aggrieved and ill-used; all ye noble\nones who, as any and everybody will be able to tell you, deservedly\nreap the reward of ingratitude (for why were ye simple enough\nto be noble, why foolish enough to be kindly, and disinterested,\nand faithful)--all ye victims of cunning, of deceit, of backbiting,\nof envy, whom baseness chose as its victim and cowardice left\nin the lurch, whether now ye be sacrificed in remote and lonely\nplaces, after having crept away in order to die, or whether ye\nbe trampled underfoot in the thronging crowds where no one asks\nwhat rights ye have, and no one, what wrongs ye suffer, and no\none, where ye smart or how ye smart, whilst the crowd with brute\nforce tramples you into the dust--come ye hither!\n\nThe invitation stands at the parting of the ways, where death\nparts death and life. Come hither all ye that sorrow and ye that\nvainly labor! For indeed there is rest in the grave; but to sit\nby a grave, or to stand by a grave, or to visit a grave, all that\nis far from lying in the grave; and to read to one's self again\nand again one's own words which one knows by heart, the epitaph\nwhich one devised one's self and understands best, namely, who\nit is that lies buried here, all that is not the same as to lie\nburied one's self. In the grave there Is rest, but by the grave\nthere is no rest; for it is said: so far and no farther, and so\nyou may as well go home again. But however often, whether in your\nthoughts or in fact, you return to that grave--you will never get\nany farther, you will not get away from the spot, and this is\nvery trying and is by no means rest. Come ye hither, therefore:\nhere is the way by which one may go farther, here is rest by\nthe grave, rest from the sorrow over loss, or rest in the sorrow\nof loss--through him who everlastingly re-unites those that are\nparted, and more firmly than nature unites parents with their\nchildren, and children with their parents--for, alas! they were\nparted; and more closely than the minister unites husband and\nwife--for, alas! their separation did come to pass; and more\nindissolubly than the bond of friendship unites friend with\nfriend--for, alas! it was broken. Separation penetrated everywhere\nand brought with it sorrow and unrest; but here is rest!--Come\nhither also ye who had your abodes assigned to you among the\ngraves, ye who are considered dead to human society, but neither\nmissed nor mourned--not buried and yet dead; that is, belonging\nneither to life nor to death; ye, alas! to whom human society\ncruelly closed its doors and for whom no grave has as yet opened\nitself in pity--come hither, ye also, here is rest, and here is\nlife!\n\nThe invitation stands at the parting of the ways, where the road\nof sin turns away from the inclosure of innocence--ah, come hither,\nye are so close to him; but a single step in the opposite direction,\nand ye are infinitely far from him. Very possibly ye do not yet\nstand in need of rest, nor grasp fully what that means; but still\nfollow the invitation, so that he who invites may save you from\na predicament out of which it is so difficult and dangerous to\nbe saved; and so that, being saved, ye may stay with him who is\nthe Savior of all, likewise of innocence. For even if it were\npossible that innocence be found somewhere, and altogether pure:\nwhy should not innocence also need a savior to keep it safe from\nevil?--The invitation stands at the parting of the ways, where\nthe road of sin turns away to enter more deeply into sin. Come\nhither all ye who have strayed and have been lost, whatever may\nhave been your error and sin: whether one more pardonable in the\nsight of man and nevertheless perhaps more frightful, or one\nmore terrible in the sight of man and yet, perchance, more pardonable;\nwhether it be one which became known here on earth or one which,\nthough hidden, yet is known in heaven--and even if ye found\npardon here on earth without finding rest in your souls, or\nfound no pardon because ye did not seek it, or because ye sought\nit in vain: ah, return and come hither, here is rest!\n\nThe invitation stands at the parting of the ways, where the\nroad of sin turns away for the last time and to the eye is lost\nin perdition. Ah, return, return, and come hither! Do not shrink\nfrom the difficulties of the retreat, however great; do not fear\nthe irksome way of conversion, however laboriously it may lead\nto salvation; whereas sin with winged speed and growing pace\nleads forward or--downward, so easily, so indescribably easy--as\neasily, in fact, as when a horse, altogether freed from having\nto pull, cannot even with all his might stop the vehicle which\npushes him into the abyss. Do not despair over each relapse which\nthe God of patience has patience enough to pardon, and which a\nsinner should surely have patience enough to humble himself under.\nNay, fear nothing and despair not: he that sayeth \"come hither,\"\nhe is with you on the way, from him come help and pardon on that\nway of conversion which leads to him; and with him is rest.\n\nCome hither all, all ye--with him is rest; and he will raise no\ndifficulties, he does but one thing: he opens his arms. He will\nnot first ask you, you sufferer--as righteous men, alas, are\naccustomed to, even when willing to help--\"Are you not perhaps\nyourself the cause of your misfortune, have you nothing with\nwhich to reproach yourself?\" It is so easy to fall into this\nvery human error, and from appearances to judge a man's success\nor failure: for instance, if a man is a cripple, or deformed,\nor has an unprepossessing appearance, to infer that therefore\nhe is a bad man; or, when a man is unfortunate enough to suffer\nreverses so as to be ruined or so as to go down in the world,\nto infer that therefore he is a vicious man. Ah, and this is\nsuch an exquisitely cruel pleasure, this being conscious of\none's own righteousness as against the sufferer--explaining his\nafflictions as God's punishment, so that one does not even--dare\nto help him; or asking him that question which condemns him\nand flatters our own righteousness, before helping him. But\nhe will not ask you thus, will not in such cruel fashion be\nyour benefactor. And if you are yourself conscious of your sin\nhe will not ask about it, will not break still further the bent\nreed, but raise you up, if you will but join him. He will not\npoint you out by way of contrast, and place you outside of himself,\nso that your sin will stand out as still more terrible, but he\nwill grant you a hiding place within him; and hidden within him\nyour sins will be hidden. For he is the friend of sinners. Let\nhim but behold a sinner, and he not only stands still, opening\nhis arms and saying \"come hither,\" nay, but he stands--and waits,\nas did the father of the prodigal son; or he does not merely\nremain standing and waiting, but goes out to search, as the\nshepherd went forth to search for the strayed sheep, or as the\nwoman went to search for the lost piece of silver. He goes--nay,\nhe has gone, but an infinitely longer way than any shepherd or\nany woman, for did he not go the infinitely long way from being\nGod to becoming man, which he did to seek sinners?\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\n\n\nCOME HITHER UNTO ME ALL YE THAT LABOR AND ARE HEAVY\nLADEN, AND I WILL GIVE YOU REST.\n\n\n\"Come hither!\" For he supposes that they that labor and are\nheavy laden feel their burden and their labor, and that they\nstand there now, perplexed and sighing--one casting about with\nhis eyes to discover whether there is help in sight anywhere;\nanother with his eyes fixed on the ground, because he can see\nno consolation; and a third with his eyes staring heavenward,\nas though help was bound to come from heaven--but all seeking.\nTherefore he sayeth: \"come hither!\" But he invites not him who\nhas ceased to seek and to sorrow.--\"Come hither!\" For he who\ninvites knows that it is a mark of true suffering, if one walks\nalone and broods in silent disconsolateness, without courage to\nconfide in any one, and with even less self-confidence to dare\nto hope for help. Alas, not only he whom we read about was possessed\nof a dumb devil.[6] No suffering which does not first of all\nrender the sufferer dumb is of much significance, no more than\nthe love which does not render one silent; for those sufferers\nwho run on about their afflictions neither labor nor are heavy\nladen. Behold, therefore the inviter will not wait till they\nthat labor and are heavy laden come to him, but calls them lovingly;\nfor all his willingness to help might, perhaps, be of no avail\nif he did not say these words and thereby take the first step;\nfor in the call of these words: \"come hither unto me!\" he comes\nhimself to them. Ah, human compassion--sometimes, perhaps, it is\nindeed praiseworthy self-restraint, sometimes, perhaps, even true\ncompassion, which may cause you to refrain from questioning him\nwhom you suppose to be brooding over a hidden affliction; but\nalso, how often indeed is this compassion but worldly wisdom which\ndoes not care to know too much! Ah, human'compassion--how often\nwas it not pure curiosity, and not compassion, which prompted\nyou to venture into the secret of one afflicted; and how burdensome\nit was--almost like a punishment of your curiosity--when he\naccepted your invitation and came to you! But he who sayeth\nthese redeeming words \"Come hither!\" he is not deceiving himself\nin saying these words, nor will he deceive you when you come to\nhim in order to find rest by throwing your burden on him. He\nfollows the promptings of his heart in saying these words, and\nhis heart follows his words; if you then follow these words,\nthey will follow you back again to his heart. This follows as\na matter of course--ah, will you not follow the invitation?--\"Come\nhither!\" For he supposes that they that labor and are heavy\nladen are so worn out and overtaxed, and so near swooning that\nthey have forgotten, as though in a stupor, that there is such\na thing as consolation. Alas, or he knows for sure that there\nis no consolation and no help unless it is sought from him; and\ntherefore must he call out to them \"Come hither!\"\n\n\n\"Come hither!\" For is it not so that every society has some\nsymbol or token which is worn by those who belong to it? When\na young girl is adorned in a certain manner one knows that she\nis going to the dance: Come hither all ye that labor and are\nheavy laden--come hither! You need not carry an external and\nvisible badge; come but with your head anointed and your face\nwashed, if only you labor in your heart and are heavy laden.\n\n\n\"Come hither!\" Ah, do not stand still and consider; nay, consider,\nconsider that with every moment you stand still after having\nheard the invitation you will hear the call more faintly and thus\nwithdraw from it, even though you are standing still.--\"Come\nhither!\" Ah, however weary and faint you be from work, or from\nthe long, long and yet hitherto fruitless search for help and\nsalvation, and even though you may feel as if you could not\ntake one more step, and not wait one more moment, without dropping\nto the ground: ah, but this one step and here is rest!--\"Come\nhither!\" But if, alas, there be one who is so wretched that\nhe cannot come?--Ah, a sigh is sufficient; your mere sighing\nor him is also to come hither.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PAUSE\n\n\nCOME HITHER UNTO ME ALL YE THAT LABOR AND ARE HEAVY\nLADEN, AND I SHALL GIVE YOU REST.\n\n\nPause now! But what is there to give pause? That which in the\nsame instant makes all undergo an absolute change--so that,\ninstead of seeing an immense throng ofthem that labor and are\nheavy laden following the invitation, you will in the end behold\nthe very opposite, that is, an immense throng of men who flee\nback shudderingly, scrambling to get away, trampling all down\nbefore them; so that, if one were to infer the sense of what\nhad been said from the result it produced, one would have to\ninfer that the words had been \"_procul o procul este profani_,\"\nrather than \"come hither\"--that gives pause which is infinitely\nmore important and infinitely more decisive: THE PERSON OF HIM\nWHO INVITES. Not in the sense that he is not the man to do what\nhe has said, or not God, to keep what he has promised; no, in\na very different sense.\n\n\nPause is given by the fact that he who invites is, and insists\non being, the definite historic person he was 1800 years ago,\nand that he as this definite person, and living under the conditions\nthen obtaining, spoke these words of invitation.--He is not, and\ndoes not wish to be, one about whom one may simply know something\nfrom history (i.e. world history, history proper, as against\nSacred History); for from history one cannot \"learn\" anything\nabout him, the simple reason being that nothing can be \"known\"\nabout him.--He does not wish to be judged in a human way, from\nthe results of his life; that is, he is and wishes to be, a\nrock of offense and the object of faith. To judge him after\nthe consequences of his life is a blasphemy, for being God, his\nlife, and the very fact that he was then living and really did\nlive, is infinitely more important than all the consequences of\nit in history.\n\n\n\n\n_A_ Who spoke these words of invitation?\n\n\nHe that invites. Who is he? Jesus Christ. Which Jesus Christ?\nHe that sits in glory on the right side of his Father? No. From\nhis seat of glory he spoke not a single word. Therefore it is\nJesus Christ in his lowliness, and in the condition of lowliness,\nwho spoke these words.\n\nIs then Jesus Christ not the same? Yes, verily, he is today, and\nwas yesterday, and 1800 years ago, the same who abased himself,\nassuming the form of a servant--the Jesus Christ who spake these\nwords of invitation. It is also he who hath said that he would\nreturn again in glory. In his return in glory he is, again, the\nsame Jesus Christ; but this has not yet come to pass.\n\nIs he then not in glory now? Assuredly, that the Christian believes.\nBut it was in his lowly condition that he spoke these words; he\ndid not speak them from his glory. And about his return in glory\nnothing can be known, for this can in the strictest sense be a\nmatter of belief only. But a believer one cannot become except\nby having gone to him in his lowly condition--to him, the rock\nof offense and the object of faith. In other shape he does not\nexist, for only thus did he exist. That he will return in glory\nis indeed expected, but can be expected and believed only by him\nwho believes, and has believed, in him as he was here on earth.\n\nJesus Christ is, then, the same; yet lived he 1800 years ago in\ndebasement, and is transfigured only at his return. As yet he\nhas not returned; therefore he is still the one in lowly guise\nabout whom we believe that he will return in glory. Whatever he\nsaid and taught, every word he spoke, becomes _eo ipso_ untrue\nif we give it the appearance of having been spoken by Christ in\nhis glory. Nay, he is silent. It is the lowly Christ who speaks.\nThe space of time between (i.e. between his debasement and his\nreturn in glory) which is at present about 1800 years, and will\npossibly become many times 1800--this space of time, or else\nwhat this space of time tries to make of Christ, the worldly\ninformation about him furnished by world history or church history,\nas to who Christ was, as to who it was who really spoke these\nwords--all this does not concern us, is neither here nor there,\nbut only serves to corrupt our conception of him, arid thereby\nrenders untrue these words of invitation.\n\nIt is untruthful of me to impute to a person words which he\nnever used. But it is likewise untruthful, and the words he used\nlikewise become untruthful, or it becomes untrue that he used\nthem, if I assign to him a nature essentially unlike the one\nhe had when he did use them. Essentially unlike; for an untruth\nconcerning this or the other trifling circumstance will not make\nit untrue that \"he\" said them. And therefore, if it please God\nto walk on earth in such strict incognito as only one all-powerful\ncan assume, in guise impenetrable to all men; if it please him--and\nwhy he does it, for what purpose, that he knows best himself;\nbut whatever the reason and the purpose, it is certain that\nthe incognito is of essential significance--I say, if it please\nGod to walk on earth in the guise of a servant and, to judge\nfrom his appearance, exactly like any other man; if it please\nhim to teach men in this guise--if, now, any one repeats his\nvery words, but gives the saying the appearance that it was\nGod that spoke these words: then it is untruthful; for it is\nuntrue that h e said these words.\n\n\n\n\n_B_ Can one from history[7] learn to know anything about Christ?\n\n\nNo. And why not? Because one cannot \"know\" anything at all about\n\"Christ\"; for he is the paradox, the object of faith, and exists\nonly for faith. But all historic information is communication of\n\"knowledge.\" Therefore one cannot learn anything about Christ\nfrom history. For whether now one learn little or much about him,\nit will not represent what he was in reality. Hence one learns\nsomething else about him than what is strictly true, and therefore\nlearns nothing about him, or gets to know something wrong about\nhim; that is, one is deceived. History makes Christ look different\nfrom what he looked in truth, and thus one learns much from history\nabout--Christ? No, not about Christ; because about him nothing\ncan be \"known,\" he can only be believed.\n\n\n\n\n_C_ Can one prove from history that Christ was God?\n\n\nLet me first ask another question: is any more absurd contradiction\nthinkable than wishing to prove (no matter, for the present,\nwhether one wishes to do so from history, or from whatever else\nin the wide world one wishes to prove it) that a certain person\nis God? To maintain that a certain person is God--that is, professes\nto be God--is indeed a stumbling block in the purest sense. But\nwhat is the nature of a stumbling block? It is an assertion\nwhich is at variance with all (human) reason. Now think of proving\nthat! But to prove something is to render it reasonable and real.\nIs it possible, then, to render reasonable and real what is at\nvariance with all reason? Scarcely; unless one wishes to contradict\none's self. One can prove only that it is at variance with all\nreason. The proofs for the divinity of Christ given in Scripture,\nsuch as the miracles and his resurrection from the grave exist,\ntoo, only for faith; that is, they are no \"proofs,\" for they are\nnot meant to prove that all this agrees with reason but, on the\ncontrary, are meant to prove that it is at variance with reason\nand therefore a matter of faith.\n\nFirst, then, let us take up the proofs from history. \"Is it not\n1800 years ago now that Christ lived, is not his name proclaimed\nand reverenced throughout the world, has not his teaching (Christianity)\nchanged the aspect of the world, having victoriously affected\nall affairs: has then history not sufficiently, or more than\nsufficiently, made good its claim as to who he was, and that\nhe was--God?\" No, indeed, history has by no means sufficiently,\nor more than sufficiently, made good its claim, and in fact\nhistory cannot accomplish this in all eternity. However, as\nto the first part of the statement, it is true enough that his\nname is proclaimed throughout the world--as to whether it is\nreverenced, that I do not presume to decide. Also, it is true\nenough that Christianity has transformed the aspect of the world,\nhaving victoriously affected all affairs, so victoriously indeed,\nthat everybody now claims to be a Christian.\n\nBut what does this prove? It proves, at most, that Jesus Christ\nwas a great man, the greatest, perhaps, who ever lived. But that\nhe was God--stop now, that conclusion shall with God's help fall\nto the ground.\n\nNow, if one intends to introduce this conclusion by assuming that\nJesus Christ was a man, and then considers the 1800 years of\nhistory (i.e. the consequences of his life), one may indeed\nconclude with a constantly rising superlative: he was great,\ngreater, the greatest, extraordinarily and astonishingly the\ngreatest man who ever lived. If one begins, on the other hand,\nwith the assumption (of faith) that he was God, one has by so\ndoing stricken out and car celled the 1800 years as not making\nthe slightest difference, one way or the other, because the\ncertainty of faith is on an infinitely higher plane. And one\ncourse or the other one must take; but we shall arrive at sensible\nconclusions only if we take the latter.\n\nIf one takes the former course one will find it impossible--unless\nby committing the logical error of passing over into a different\ncategory--one will find it impossible in the conclusion suddenly\nto arrive at the new category \"God\"; that is, one cannot make\nthe consequence, or consequences, of--a man's life suddenly\nprove at a certain point in the argument that this man was God.\nIf such a procedure were correct one ought to be able to answer\nsatisfactorily a question like this: what must the consequence\nbe, how great the effects, how many centuries must elapse, in\norder to infer from the consequences of a man's life--for such\nwas the assumption--that he was God; or whether it is really\nthe case that in the year 300 Christ had not yet been entirely\nproved to be God, though certainly the most extraordinarily,\nastonishingly, greatest man who had ever lived, but that a few\nmore centuries would be necessary to prove that he was God. In\nthat case we would be obliged to infer that people in the fourth\ncentury did not look upon Christ as God, and still less they\nwho lived in the first century; whereas the certainty that he\nwas God would grow with every century. Also, that in our century\nthis certainty would be greater than it had ever been, a certainty\nin comparison with which the first centuries hardly so much as\nglimpsed his divinity. You may answer this question or not, it\ndoes not matter.\n\nIn general, is it at all possible by the consideration of the\ngradually unfolding consequences of something to arrive at a\nconclusion different in quality from what we started with? Is\nit not sheer insanity (providing man is sane) to let one's judgment\nbecome so altogether confused as to land in the wrong category?\nAnd if one begins with such a mistake, then how will one be able,\nat any subsequent point, to infer from the consequences of something,\nthat one has to deal with an altogether different, in fact,\ninfinitely different, category? A foot-print certainly is the\nconsequence of some creature having made it. Now I may mistake\nthe track for that of, let us say, a bird; whereas by nearer\ninspection, and by following it for some distance, I may make\nsure that it was made by some other animal. Very good; but there\nwas no infinite difference in quality between my first assumption\nand my later conclusion. But can I, on further consideration\nand following the track still further, arrive at the conclusion:\ntherefore it was a spirit--a spirit that leaves no tracks? Precisely\nthe same holds true of the argument that from the consequences\nof a human life--for that was the assumption--we may infer that\ntherefore it was God.\n\nIs God then so like man, is there so little difference between\nthe two that, while in possession of my right senses, I may\nbegin with the assumption that Christ was human? And, for that\nmatter, has not Christ himself affirmed that he was God? On the\nother hand, if God and man resemble each other so closely, and\nare related to each other to such a degree--that is, essentially\nbelong to the same category of beings, then the conclusion \"therefore\nhe was God\" is nevertheless just humbug, because if that is all\nthere is to being God, then God does not exist at all. But if\nGod does exist and, therefore, belongs to a category infinitely\ndifferent from man, why, then neither I nor any one else can\nstart with the assumption that Christ was human and end with\nthe conclusion that therefore he was God. Any one with a bit\nof logical sense will easily recognize that the whole question\nabout the consequences of Christ's life on earth is incommensurable\nwith the decision that he is God. In fact, this decision is to\nbe made on an altogether different plane: man must decide for\nhimself whether he will believe Christ to be what he himself\naffirmed he was, that is, God, or whether he will not believe so.\n\nWhat has been said--mind you, providing one will take the time\nto understand it--is sufficient to make a logical mind stop\ndrawing any inferences from the consequences of Christ's life:\nthat therefore he was God. But faith in its own right protests\nagainst every attempt to approach Jesus Christ by the help of\nhistorical information about the consequences of his life. Faith\ncontends that this whole attempt is--blasphemous. Faith contends\nthat the only proof left unimpaired by unbelief when it did\naway with all the other proofs of the truth of Christianity,\nthe proof which--indeed, this is complicated business--I say,\nwhich unbelief invented in order to prove the truth of Christianity--the\nproof about which so excessively much ado has been made in Christendom,\nthe proof of 1800 years: as to this, faith contends that it\nis--blasphemy.\n\nWith regard to a man it is true that the consequences of his\nlife are more important than his life. If one, then, in order to\nfind out who Christ was, and in order to find out by some inference,\nconsiders the consequences of his life: why, then one changes\nhim into a man by this very act--a man who, like other men, is\nto pass his examination in history, and history is in this case\nas mediocre an examiner as any half-baked teacher in Latin.\n\nBut strange! By the help of history, that is, by considering\nthe consequences of his life, one wishes to arrive at the conclusion\nthat therefore, therefore he was God; and faith makes the exactly\nopposite contention that he who even begins with this syllogism\nis guilty of blasphemy. Nor does the blasphemy consist in assuming\nhypothetically that Christ was a man. No, the blasphemy consists\nin the thought which lies at the bottom of the whole business,\nthe thought without which one would never start it, and of whose\nvalidity one is fully and firmly assured that it will hold also\nwith regard to Christ--the thought that the consequences of his\nlife are more important than his life; in other words, that he\nis a man. The hypothesis is: let us assume that Christ was a\nman; but at the bottom of this hypothesis, which is not blasphemy\nas yet, there lies the assumption that, the consequences of a\nman's life being more important than his life, this will hold\ntrue also of Christ. Unless this is assumed one must admit that\none's whole argument is absurd, must admit it before beginning--so\nwhy begin at all? But once it is assumed, and the argument is\nstarted, we have the blasphemy. And the more one becomes absorbed\nin the consequences of Christ's life, with the aim of being able\nto make sure whether or no he was God, the more blasphemous is\none's conduct; and it remains blasphemous so long as this consideration\nis persisted in.\n\nCurious coincidence: one tries to make it appear that, providing\none but thoroughly considers the consequences of Christ's life,\nthis \"therefore\" will surely be arrived at--and faith condemns\nthe very beginning of this attempt as blasphemy, and hence the\ncontinuance in it as a worse blasphemy.\n\n\"History,\" says faith, \"has nothing to do with Christ.\" With\nregard to him we have only Sacred History (which is different\nin kind from general history), Sacred History which tells of\nhis life and career when in debasement, and tells also that he\naffirmed himself to be God. He is the paradox which history never\nwill be able to digest or convert into a general syllogism. He\nis in his debasement the same as he is in his exaltation--but\nthe 1800 years, or let it be 18,000 years, have nothing whatsoever\nto do with this. The brilliant consequences in the history of\nthe world which are sufficient, almost, to convince even a professor\nof history that he was God, these brilliant consequences surely\ndo not represent his return in glory! Forsooth, in that case it\nwere imagined rather meanly! The same thing over again: Christ\nis thought to be a man whose return in glory can be, and can become,\nnothing else than the consequences of his life in history--whereas\nChrist's return in glory is something absolutely different and a\nmatter of faith. He abased himself and was swathed in rags--he\nwill return in glory; but the brilliant consequences in history,\nespecially when examined a little more closely, are too shabby\na glory--at any rate a glory of an altogether incongruous nature,\nof which faith therefore never speaks, when speaking about his\nglory. History is a very respectable science indeed, only it must\nnot become so conceited as to take upon itself what the Father\nwill do, and clothe Christ in his glory, dressing him up with\nthe brilliant garments of the consequences of his life, as if\nthat constituted his return. That he was God in his debasement\nand that he will return in glory, all this is far beyond the\ncomprehension of history; nor can all this be got from history,\nexcepting by an incomparable lack of logic, and however incomparable\none's view of history may be otherwise.\n\nHow strange, then, that one ever wished to use history\nin order to prove Christ divine.\n\n\n\n\n_D_ Are the consequences of Christ's life more important than\nhis life?\n\n\nNo, by no means, but rather the opposite; for else Christ were\nbut a man.\n\nThere is really nothing remarkable in a man having lived. There\nhave certainly lived millions upon millions of men. If the fact\nis remarkable, there must have been something remarkable in a\nman's life. In other words, there is nothing remarkable in his\nhaving lived, but his life was remarkable for this or that. The\nremarkable thing may, among other matters, also be what he accomplished;\nthat is, the consequences of his life.\n\nBut that God lived here on earth in human form, that is infinitely\nremarkable. No matter if his life had had no consequences at all--it\nremains equally remarkable, infinitely remarkable, infinitely more\nremarkable than all possible consequences. Just try to introduce\nthat which is remarkable as something secondary and you will\nstraightway see the absurdity of doing so: now, if you please,\nwhatever remarkable is there in God's life having had remarkable\nconsequences? To speak in this fashion is merely twaddling.\n\nNo, that God lived here on earth, that is what is infinitely\nremarkable, that which is remarkable in itself. Assuming that\nChrist's life had had no consequences whatsoever--if any one\nthen undertook to say that therefore his life was not remarkable\nit would be blasphemy. For it would be remarkable all the same;\nand if a secondary remarkable characteristic had to be introduced\nit would consist in the remarkable fact that his life had no\nconsequences. But if one should say that Christ's life was remarkable\nbecause of its consequences, then this again were a blasphemy; for\nit is his life which in itself is the remarkable thing.\n\nThere is nothing very remarkable in a man's having lived, but it\nis infinitely remarkable that God has lived. God alone can lay\nso much emphasis on himself that the fact of his having lived\nbecomes infinitely more important than all the consequences\nwhich may flow therefrom and which then become a matter of history.\n\n\n\n\n_E_ A comparison between Christ and a man who in his life endured\nthe same treatment by his times as Christ endured.\n\n\nLet us imagine a man, one of the exalted spirits, one who was\nwronged by his times, but whom history later reinstated in his\nrights by proving by the consequences of his life who he was. I\ndo not deny, by the way, that all this business of proving from\nthe consequences is a course well suited to \"a world which ever\nwishes to be deceived.\" For he who was contemporary with him and\ndid not understand who he was, he really only imagines that he\nunderstands when he has got to know it by help of the consequences\nof the noble one's life. Still, I do not wish to insist on this\npoint, for with regard to a man it certainly holds true that\nthe consequences of his life are more important than the fact\nof his having lived.\n\nLet us imagine one of these exalted spirits. He lives among\nhis contemporaries without being understood, his significance\nis not recognized--he is misunderstood, and then mocked, persecuted,\nand finally put to death like a common evil-doer. But the consequences\nof his life make it plain who he was; history which keeps a record\nof these consequences re-instates him in his rightful position,\nand now he is named in one century after another as the great and\nthe noble spirit, and the circumstances of his debasement are\nalmost completely forgotten. It was blindness on the part of his\ncontemporaries which prevented them from comprehending his true\nnature, and wickedness which made them mock him and deride him,\nand finally put him to death. But be no more concerned about this;\nfor only after his death did he really become what he was, through\nthe consequences of his life which, after all, are by far more\nimportant than his life.\n\nNow is it not possible that the same holds true with regard\nto Christ? It was blindness and wickedness on the part of those\ntimes[8]--but be no more concerned about this, history has now\nre-instated him, from history we know now who Jesus Christ was,\nand thus justice is done him.\n\nAh, wicked thoughtlessness which thus interprets Sacred History\nlike profane history, which makes Christ a man! But can one, then,\nlearn anything from history about Jesus? (_cf. b_) No, nothing.\nJesus Christ is the object of faith--one either believes in him\nor is offended by him; for \"to know\" means precisely that such\nknowledge does not pertain to him. History can therefore, to be\nsure, give one knowledge in abundance; but \"knowledge\" annihilates\nJesus Christ.\n\nAgain--ah, the impious thoughtlessness!--for one to presume\nto say about Christ's abasement: \"Let us be concerned no more\nabout his abasement.\" Surely, Christ's abasement was not something\nwhich merely happened to him--even if it was the sin of that\ngeneration to crucify him; was surely not something that simply\nhappened to him and, perhaps, would not have happened to him in\nbetter times. Christ himself wished to be abased and lowly. His\nabasement (that is, his walking on earth in humble guise, though\nbeing God) is therefore a condition of his own making, something\nhe wished to be knotted together, a dialectic knot which no one\nshall presume to untie, and which no one will untie, for that\nmatter, until he himself shall untie it when returning in his glory.\n\nHis case is, therefore, not the same as that of a man who, through\nthe injustice inflicted on him by his times, was not allowed\nto be himself or to be valued at his worth, while history revealed\nwho he was; for Christ himself wished to be abased--it is precisely\nthis condition which he desired. Therefore, let history not trouble\nitself to do him justice, and let us not in impious thoughtlessness\npresumptuously imagine that we as a matter of course know who he\nwas. For that no one knows; and he who believes it must become\ncontemporaneous with him in his abasement. When God chooses to let\nhimself be born in lowliness, when he who holds all possibilities\nin his hand assumes the form of a humble servant, when he fares\nabout defenseless, letting people do with him what they list: he\nsurely knows what he does and why he does it; for it is at all\nevents he who has power over men, and not men who have power\nover him--so let not history be so impertinent as to wish to\nreveal who he was.\n\nLastly--ah the blasphemy!--if one should presume to say that\nthe percussion which Christ suffered expresses something accidental!\nIf a man is persecuted by his generation it does not follow\nthat he has the right to say that this would happen to him in\nevery age. Insofar there is reason in what posterity says about\nletting bygones be bygones. But it is different with Christ!\nIt is not he who by letting himself be born, and by appearing\nin Palestine, is being examined by history; but it is he who\nexamines, his life is the examination, not only of that generation,\nbut of mankind. Woe unto the generation that would presumptuously\ndare to say: \"let bygones be bygones, and forget what he suffered,\nfor history has now revealed who he was and has done justice by him.\"\n\nIf one assumes that history is really able to do this, then\nthe abasement of Christ bears an accidental relation to him;\nthat is to say, he thereby is made a man, an extraordinary man\nto whom this happened through the wickedness of that generation--a\nfate which he was far from wishing to suffer, for he would gladly\n(as is human) have become a great man; whereas Christ voluntarily\nchose to be the lowly one and, although it was his purpose to\nsave the world, wished also to give expression to what the \"truth\"\nsuffered then, and must suffer in every generation. But if this\nis his strongest desire, and if he will show himself in his\nglory only at his return, and if he has not returned as yet;\nand if no generation may be without repentance, but on the contrary\nevery generation must consider itself a partner in the guilt of\nthat generation: then woe to him who presumes to deprive him of\nhis lowliness, or to cause what he suffered to be forgotten, and\nto clothe him in the fabled human glory of the historic consequences\nof his life, which is neither here nor there.\n\n\n\n\n_F_ The Misfortune of Christendom\n\n\nBut precisely this is the misfortune, and has been the misfortune,\nin Christendom that Christ is neither the one nor the other--neither\nthe one he was when living on earth, nor he who will return in\nglory, but rather one about whom we have learned to know something\nin an inadmissible way from history--that he was somebody or other\nof great account. In an inadmissible and unlawful way we have\nlearned to know him; whereas to believe in him is the only permissible\nmode of approach. Men have mutually confirmed one another in the\nopinion that the sum total of information about him is available\nif they but consider the result of his life and the following\n1800 years, i.e. the consequences. Gradually, as this became\naccepted as the truth, all pith and strength was distilled out\nof Christianity; the paradox was relaxed, one became a Christian\nwithout noticing it, without noticing in the least the possibility\nof being offended by him. One took over Christ's teachings, turned\nthem inside out and smoothed them down--he himself guaranteeing\nthem, of course, the man whose life had had such immense consequences\nin history! All became plain as day--very naturally, since Christianity\nin this fashion became heathendom.\n\nThere is in Christendom an incessant twaddling on Sundays about\nthe glorious and invaluable truths of Christianity, its mild\nconsolation. But it is indeed evident that Christ lived 1800\nyears ago; for the rock of offense and object of faith has become\na most charming fairy-story character, a kind of divine good\nold man.[9] People have not the remotest idea of what it means\nto be offended by him, and still less, what it means to worship.\nThe qualities for which Christ is magnified are precisely those\nwhich would have most enraged one, if one had been contemporaneous\nwith him; whereas now one feels altogether secure, placing implicit\nconfidence in the result and, relying altogether on the verdict\nof history that he was the great man, concludes therefore that\nit is correct to do so. That is to say, it is the correct, arid\nthe noble, and the exalted, and the true, thing--if it is he who\ndoes it; which is to say, again, that one does not in any deeper\nsense take the pains to understand what it is he does, and that\none tries even less, to the best of one's ability and with the\nhelp of God, to be like him in acting rightly and nobly, and in\nan exalted manner, and truthfully. For, not really fathoming it\nin any deeper sense, one may, in the exigency of a contemporaneous\nsituation, judge him in exactly the opposite way. One is satisfied\nwith admiring and extolling and is, perhaps, as was said of a\ntranslator who rendered his original word for word and therefore\nwithout making sense, \"too conscientious,\"--one is, perhaps, also\ntoo cowardly and too weak to wish to understand his real meaning.\n\nChristendom has done away with Christianity, without being aware\nof it. Therefore, if anything is to be done about it, the attempt\nmust be made to re-introduce Christianity.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nHe who invites is, then, Jesus Christ in his abasement, it is he\nwho spoke these words of invitation. It is not from his glory\nthat they are spoken. If that were the case, then Christianity\nwere heathendom and the name of Christ taken in vain, and for\nthis reason it cannot be so. But if it were the case that he who\nis enthroned in glory had said these words: Come hither--as though\nit were so altogether easy a matter to be clasped in the arms of\nglory--well, what wonder, then, if crowds of men ran to him! But\nthey who thus throng to him merely go on a wild goose chase,\nimagining they know who Christ is. But that no one knows; and\nin order to believe in him one has to begin with his abasement.\n\nHe who invites and speaks these words, that is, he whose words\nthey are--whereas the same words if spoken by some one else are,\nas we have seen, an historic falsification--he is the same lowly\nJesus Christ, the humble man, born of a despised maiden, whose\nfather is a carpenter, related to other simple folk of the very\nlowest class, the lowly man who at the same time (which, to be\nsure, is like oil poured on the fire) affirms himself to be God.\n\nIt is the lowly Jesus Christ who spoke these words. And no word\nof Christ, not a single one, have you permission to appropriate\nto yourself, you have not the least share in him, are not in any\nway of his company, if you have not become his contemporary in\nlowliness in such fashion that you have become aware, precisely\nlike his contemporaries, of his warning: \"Blessed is he whosoever\nshall not be offended in me.[10]\" You have no right to accept\nChrist's words, and then lie him away; you have no right to accept\nChrist's words, and then in a fantastic manner, and with the aid\nof history, utterly change the nature of Christ; for the chatter\nof history about him is literally not worth a fig.\n\nIt is Jesus Christ in his lowliness who is the speaker. It\nis historically true that h e said these words; but so soon as\none makes a change in his historic status, it is false to say\nthat these words were spoken by him.\n\nThis poor and lowly man, then, with twelve poor fellows as his\ndisciples, all from the lowest class of society, for some time\nan object of curiosity, but later on in company only with sinners,\npublicans, lepers, and madmen; for one risked honor, life, and\nproperty, or at any rate (and that we know for sure) exclusion\nfrom the synagogue, by even letting one's self be helped by\nhim--come hither now, all ye that labor and are heavy laden!\nAh, my friend, even if you were deaf and blind and lame and\nleprous, if you, which has never been seen or heard before,\nunited all human miseries in your misery--and if he wished to\nhelp you by a miracle: it is possible that (as is human) you\nwould fear more than all your sufferings the punishment which\nwas set on accepting aid from him, the punishment of being cast\nout from the society of other men, of being ridiculed and mocked,\nday after day, and perhaps of losing your life. It is human\n(and it is characteristic of being human) were you to think\nas follows: \"no, thank you, in that case I prefer to remain deaf\nand blind and lame and leprous, rather than accept aid under\nsuch conditions.\"\n\n\"Come hither, come hither, all, ye that labor and are heavy\nladen, ah, come hither,\" lo! he invites you and opens his arms.\nAh, when a gentlemanly man clad in a silken gown says this in\na pleasant, harmonious voice so that the words pleasantly resound\nin the handsome vaulted church, a man in silk who radiates honor\nand respect on all who listen to him; ah, when a king in purple\nand velvet says this, with the Christmas tree in the background\non which are hanging all the splendid gifts he intends to distribute,\nwhy, then of course there is some meaning in these words! But\nwhatever meaning you may attach to them, so much is sure that\nit is not Christianity, but the exact opposite, something as\ndiametrically opposed to Christianity as may well be; for remember\nwho it is that invites!\n\nAnd now judge for yourself--for that you have a right to do;\nwhereas men really do not have a right to do what is so often\ndone, viz. to deceive themselves. That a man of such appearance,\na man whose company every one shuns who has the least bit of sense\nin his head, or the least bit to lose in the world, that he--well,\nthis is the absurdest and maddest thing of all, one hardly knows\nwhether to laugh or to weep about it--that he--indeed, that is\nthe very last word one would expect to issue from his mouth; for\nif he had said: \"Come hither and help me,\" or: \"Leave me alone,\"\nor: \"Spare me,\" or proudly: \"I despise you all,\" we could understand\nthat perfectly--but that such a man says: \"Come hither to me!\" why,\nI declare, that looks inviting indeed! And still further: \"All\nye that labor and are heavy laden\"--as though such folk were\nnot burdened enough with troubles, as though they now, to cap\nall, should be exposed to the consequences of associating with\nhim. And then, finally: \"I shall give you rest.\" What's that?--he\nhelp them? Ah, I am sure even the most good-natured joker who\nwas contemporary with him would have to say: \"Surely, that was\nthe thing he should have undertaken last of all--to wish to\nhelp others, being in that condition himself! Why, it is about\nthe same as if a beggar were to inform the police that he had\nbeen robbed. For it is a contradiction that one who has nothing,\nand has had nothing, informs us that he has been robbed; and\nlikewise, to wish to help others when one's self needs help\nmost.\" Indeed it is, humanly speaking, the most harebrained\ncontradiction, that he who literally \"hath not where to lay\nhis head,\" that he about whom it was spoken truly, in a human\nsense, \"Behold the man!\"--that he should say: \"Come hither unto\nme all ye that suffer--I shall help!\"\n\nNow examine yourself--for that you have a right to do. You have\na right to examine yourself, but you really do not have a right\nto let yourself without self-examination be deluded by \"the\nothers\" into the belief, or to delude yourself into the belief,\nthat you are a Christian--therefore examine yourself: supposing\nyou were contemporary with him! True enough he--alas! he affirmed\nhimself to be God! But many another madman has made that claim--and\nhis times gave it as their opinion that he uttered blasphemy.\nWhy, was not that precisely the reason why a punishment was\nthreatened for allowing one's self to be aided by him? It was\nthe godly care for their souls entertained by the existing order\nand by public opinion, lest any one should be led astray: it was\nthis godly care that led them to persecute him in this fashion.\nTherefore, before any one resolves to be helped by him, let him\nconsider that he must not only expect the antagonism of men,\nbut--consider it well!--even if you could bear the consequences\nof that step--but consider well, that the punishment meted out\nby men is supposed to be God's punishment of him, \"the blasphemer\"--of\nhim who invites!\n\nCome hither now all ye that labor and are heavy laden!\n\nHow now? Surely this is nothing to run after--some little pause\nis given, which is most fittingly used to go around about by way\nof another street. And even if you should not thus sneak out in\nsome way--always providing you feel yourself to be contemporary\nwith him--or sneak into being some kind of Christian by belonging\nto Christendom: yet there will be a tremendous pause given, the\npause which is the very condition that faith may arise: you are\ngiven pause by the possibility of being offended in him.\n\nBut in order to make it entirely clear, and bring it home to our\nminds, that the pause is given by him who invites, that it is he\nwho gives us pause and renders it by no means an easy, but a\npeculiarly difficult, matter to follow his invitation, because\none has no right to accept it without accepting also him who\ninvites--in order to make this entirely clear I shall briefly\nreview his life under two aspects which, to be sure, show some\ndifference though both essentially pertain to his abasement.\nFor it is always an abasement for God to become man, even if\nhe were to be an emperor of emperors; and therefore he is not\nessentially more abased because he is a poor, lowly man, mocked,\nand as Scripture adds,[11] spat upon.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIRST PHASE OF HIS LIFE\n\n\nAnd now let us speak about him in a homely fashion, just as\nhis contemporaries spoke about him, and as one speaks about\nsome contemporary--let him be a man of the same kind as we are,\nwhom one meets on the street in passing, of whom one knows where\nhe lives and in what story, what his business is, who his parents\nare, his family, how he looks and how he dresses, with whom he\nassociates, \"and there is nothing extraordinary about him, he\nlooks as men generally look\"; in short, let us speak of him as\none speaks of some contemporary about whom one does not make a\ngreat ado; for in living life together with these thousands upon\nthousands of real people there is no room for a fine distinction\nlike this: \"Possibly, this man will be remembered in centuries to\ncome,\" and \"at the same time he is really only a clerk in some\nshop who is no whit better than his fellows.\" Therefore, let us\nspeak about him as contemporaries speak about some contemporary.\nI know very well what I am doing; and I want you to believe that\nthe canting and indolent world-historic habit we have of always\nreverently speaking about Christ (since one has learned all about\nit from history, and has heard so much about his having been\nsomething very extraordinary, indeed, or something of that kind)--that\nreverent habit, I assure you, is not worth a row of pins but\nis, rather, sheer thoughtlessness, hypocrisy, and as such blasphemy;\nfor it is blasphemy to reverence thoughtlessly him whom one is\neither to believe in or to be offended in.\n\nIt is the lowly Jesus Christ, a humble man, born of a maiden\nof low degree, whose father is a carpenter. To be sure, his\nappearance is made under conditions which are bound to attract\nattention to him. The small nation among whom he appears, God's\nChosen People as they call themselves, live in anticipation of\na Messiah who is to bring a golden period to land and people.\nYou must grant that the form in which he appears is as different\nas possible from what most people would have expected. On the\nother hand, his appearance corresponds more to the ancient prophecies\nwith which the people are thought to have been familiar. Thus\nhe presents himself. A predecessor has called attention to him,\nand he himself fastens attention very decidedly on himself by\nsigns and wonders which are noised abroad in all the land--and\nhe is the hero of the hour, surrounded by unnumbered multitudes\nof people wheresoever he fares. The sensation aroused by him\nis enormous, every one's eyes are fastened on him, every one\nwho can go about, aye even those who can only crawl, must see\nthe wonder--and every one must have some opinion about him,\nso that the purveyors of ready-made opinions are put to it because\nthe demand is so furious and the contradictions so confusing.\nAnd yet he, the worker of miracles, ever remains the humble man\nwho literally hath not where to lay his head.\n\nAnd let us not forget: signs and wonders as contemporary events\nhave a markedly greater elasticity in repelling or attracting\nthan the tame stories generally re-hashed by the priests, or the\nstill tamer stories about signs and wonders that happened--1800\nyears ago! Signs and wonders as contemporary events are something\nplaguy and importunate, something which in a highly embarrassing\nmanner almost compels one to have an opinion, something which,\nif one does not happen to be disposed to believe, may exasperate\none excessively by thus forcing one to be contemporaneous with it.\nIndeed, it renders existence too complicated, and the more so, the\nmore thoughtful, developed, and cultured one is. It is a peculiarly\nticklish matter, this having to assume that a man who is contemporaneous\nwith one really performs signs and wonders; but when he is at some\ndistance from one, when the consequences of his life stimulate\nthe imagination a bit, then it is not so hard to imagine, in a\nfashion, that one believes it.\n\nAs I said, then, the people are carried away with him; they follow\nhim jubilantly, and see signs and wonders, both those which he\nperforms and those which he does not perform, and they are glad\nin their hope that the golden age will begin, once he is king.\nBut the crowd rarely have a clear reason for their opinions, they\nthink one thing today and another tomorrow. Therefore the wise\nand the critical will not at once participate. Let us see now\nwhat the wise and the critical must think, so soon as the first\nimpression of astonishment and surprise has subsided.\n\nThe shrewd and critical man would probably say: \"Even assuming\nthat this person is what he claims to be, that is, something\nextraordinary--for as to his affirming himself to be God I can,\nof course, not consider that as anything but an exaggeration for\nwhich I willingly make allowances, and pardon him, if I really\nconsidered him to be something extraordinary; for I am not a\npedant--assuming then, which I hesitate to do, for it is a matter\non which I shall at any rate suspend my judgment--assuming then\nthat he is really performing miracles: is it not an inexplicable\nmystery that this person can be so foolish, so weak-minded, so\naltogether devoid of worldly wisdom, so feeble, or so good-naturedly\nvain, or whatever else you please to call it--that he behaves\nin this fashion and almost forces his benefactions on men? Instead\nof proudly and commandingly keeping people away from himself at\na distance marked by their profoundest submission, whenever he\ndoes allow himself to be seen, at rare occasions: instead of\ndoing so, think of his being accessible to every one, or rather\nhimself going to every one, of having intercourse with everybody,\nalmost as if being the extraordinary person consisted in his\nbeing everybody's servant,[12] as if the extraordinary person\nhe claims to be were marked by his being concerned only lest\nmen should fail to be benefited by him--in short as if being\nan extraordinary person consisted in being the most solicitous\nof all persons. The whole business is inexplicable to me--what\nhe wants, what his purpose is, what end he has in mind, what he\nexpects to accomplish; in a word, what the meaning of it all\nis. He who by so many a wise saying reveals so profound an insight\ninto the human heart, he must certainly know what I, using but\nhalf of my wits, can predict for him, viz. that in such fashion\none gets nowhere in the world--unless, indeed, despising prudence,\none consistently, aims to make a fool of one's self or, perchance,\ngoes so far in sincerity as to prefer being put to death; but\nanyone, one desiring that must certainly be crazy. Having such\nprofound knowledge of the human heart he certainly ought to know\nthat the thing to do is to deceive people and then to give one's\ndeception the appearance of being a benefaction conferred on\nthe whole race. By doing so one reaps all advantages, even the\none whose enjoyment is the sweetest of all, which is, to be called\nby one's contemporaries a benefactor of the human race--for, once\nin your grave, you may snap your fingers at what posterity may\nhave to say about you. But to surrender one's self altogether,\nas he does, and not to think the least of one's self--in fact,\nalmost to beg people to accept these benefactions: no, I would\nnot dream of joining his company. And, of course, neither does he\ninvite me; for, indeed, he invites only them that labor and\nare heavy laden.\"\n\nOr he would reason as follows: \"His life is simply a fantastic\ndream. In fact, that is the mildest expression one can use about\nit; for, when judging him in this fashion, one is good-natured\nenough to forget altogether the evidence of sheer madness in his\nclaim to be God. This is wildly fantastical. One may possibly\nlive a few years of one's youth in such fashion. But he is now\npast thirty years. And he is literally nothing. Still further,\nin a very short time he will necessarily lose all the respect\nand reputation he has gained among the people, the only thing,\nyou may say, he has gained for himself. One who wishes to keep\nin the good graces of the people--the riskiest chance imaginable,\nI will admit--he must act differently. Not many months will\npass before the crowd will grow tired of one who is so altogether\nat their service. He will be regarded as a ruined person, a kind\nof outcast, who ought to be glad to end his days in a corner,\nthe world forgetting, by the world forgot; providing he does\nnot, by continuing his previous behavior, prefer to maintain\nhis present attitude and be fantastic enough to wish to be put\nto death, which is the unavoidable consequence of persevering\nin that course. What has he done for his future? Nothing. Has\nhe any assured position? No. What expectations has he? None.\nEven this trifling matter: what will he do to pass the time\nwhen he grows older, the long winter nights, what will he do\nto make them pass--why, he cannot even play cards! He is now\nenjoying a bit of popular favor--in truth, of all movable property\nthe most movable--which in a trice may turn into an enormous\npopular hatred of him.--Join his company? No, thank you, I am\nstill, thank God, in my right mind.\"\n\nOr he may reason as follows: \"That there is something extraordinary\nabout this person--even if one reserves the right, both one's own\nand that of common sense, to refrain from venturing any opinion\nas to his claim of being God--about that there is really little\ndoubt. Rather, one might be indignant at Providence's having\nentrusted such a person with these powers--a person who does\nthe very opposite of what he himself bids us do: that we shall\nnot cast our pearls before the swine; for which reason he will,\nas he himself predicts, come to grief by their turning about and\ntrampling him under their feet. One may always expect this of\nswine; but, on the other hand, one would not expect that he who\nhad himself called attention to this likelihood, himself would\ndo precisely[13] what he knows one should not do. If only there\nwere some means of cleverly stealing his wisdom--for I shall\ngladly leave him in undisputed possession of that very peculiar\nthought of his that he is God--if one could but rob his wisdom\nwithout, at the same time, becoming his disciple! If one could\nonly steal up to him at night and lure it from him; for I am\nmore than equal to editing and publishing it, and better than\nhe, if you please. I undertake to astonish the whole world by\ngetting something altogether different out of it; for I clearly\nsee there is something wondrously profound in what he says, and\nthe misfortune is only that he is the man he is. But perhaps,\nwho knows, perhaps it is feasible, anyway, to fool him out of\nit. Perhaps in that respect too he is good-natured and simple\nenough to communicate it quite freely to me. It is not impossible;\nfor it seems to me that the wisdom he unquestionably possesses,\nevidently has been entrusted to a fool, seeing there is so much\ncontradiction in his life.--But as to joining his company and\nbecoming his disciple--no, indeed, that would be the same as\nbecoming'a fool oneself.\" Or he might reason as follows: \"If\nthis person does indeed mean to further what is good and true\n(I do not venture to decide this), he is helpful at least, in\nthis respect, to youths and inexperienced people. For they will\nbe benefited, in this serious life of ours, by learning, the\nsooner the better, and very thoroughly--he opens the eyes even\nof the blindest to this--that all this pretense of wishing to\nlive only for goodness and truth contains a considerable admixture\nof the ridiculous. He proves how right the poets of our times\nare when they let truth and goodness be represented by some\nhalf-witted fellow, one who is so stupid that you can knock\ndown a wall with him. The idea of exerting one's self, as this\nman does, of renouncing everything but pains and trouble, to be\nat beck and call all day long, more eager than the busiest family\nphysician--and pray why? Because he makes a living by it? No, not\nin the very least; it has never occurred to him, as far as I\ncan see, to want something in return. Does he earn any money by\nit? No, not a red cent--he has not a red cent to his name, and\nif he did he would forthwith give it away. Does he, then, aspire\nto a position of honor and dignity in the state? On the contrary,\nhe loathes all worldly honor. And he who, as I said, condemns\nall worldly honor, and practices the art of living on nothing;\nhe who, if any one, seems best fitted to pass his life in a most\ncomfortable _dolce far niente_--which is not such a bad thing--:\nhe lives under a greater strain than any government official who\nis rewarded by honor and dignity, lives under a greater strain\nthan any business man who earns money like sand. Why does he\nexert himself thus, or (why this question about a matter not\nopen to question?) why should any one exert himself thus--in\norder to attain to the happiness of being ridiculed, mocked,\nand so forth? To be sure, a peculiar kind of pleasure! That one\nshould push one's way through a crowd to reach the spot where\nmoney, honor, and glory are distributed--why, that is perfectly\nunderstandable; but to push forward to be whipped: how exalted,\nhow Christian, how stupid!\"\n\nOr he will reason as follows: \"One hears so many rash opinions\nabout this person from people who understand nothing--and worship\nhim; and so many severe condemnations of him by those who, perhaps,\nmisunderstand him after all. As for me, I am not going to allow\nmyself to be accused of venturing a hasty opinion. I shall keep\nentirely cool and calm; in fact, which counts for still more, I\nam conscious of being as reasonable and moderate with him as is\npossible. Grant now--which, to be sure. I do only to a certain\nextent--grant even that one's reason is impressed by this person.\nWhat, then, is my opinion about him? My opinion is, that for the\npresent, I can form no opinion about him. I do not mean about his\nclaim of being God; for about that I can never in all eternity\nhave an opinion. No, I mean about him as a man. Only by the\nconsequences of his life shall we be able to decide whether\nhe was an extraordinary person or whether, deceived by his imagination,\nhe applied too high a standard, not only to himself, but also to\nhumanity in general. More I cannot do for him, try as I may--if\nhe were my only friend, my own child, I could not judge him more\nleniently, nor differently, either. It follows from this, to be\nsure, that in all probability, and for good reasons, I shall\nnot ever be able to have any opinion about him. For in order to\nbe able to form an opinion I must first see the consequences of\nhis life, including his very last moments; that is, he must be\ndead. Then, and perhaps not even then, may I form an opinion of\nhim. And even granting this, it is not really an opinion about\nhim, for he is then no more. No more is needed to say why it is\nimpossible for me to join him while he is living. The authority\nhe is said to show in his teaching can have no decisive influence\nin my case; for it is surely easy to see that his thought moves\nin a circle. He quotes as authority that which he is to prove,\nwhich in its turn can be proved only by the consequences of his\nlife; provided, of course, it is not connected with that fixed\nidea of his about being God, because if it is therefore he has\nthis authority (because he is God) the answer must be: yes--if!\nSo much, however, I may admit, that if I could imagine myself\nself living in some later age, and if the consequences of his\nlife as shown in history had made it plain that he was the extraordinary\nperson he in a former age claimed to be, then it might very well\nbe--in fact, I might come very near, becoming his disciple.\"\n\nAn ecclesiastic would reason as follows: \"For an impostor and\ndemagogue he has, to say the truth, a remarkable air of honesty\nabout him; for which reason he cannot be so absolutely dangerous,\neither, even though the situation looks dangerous enough while\nthe squall is at its height, and even though the situation looks\ndangerous enough with his enormous popularity--until the squall\nhas passed over and the people--yes, precisely the people--overthrow\nhim again. The honest thing about him is his claim to be the\nMessiah when he resembles him so little as he does. That is honest,\njust as if some one in preparing bogus paper-money made the bills\nso poorly that every one who knows the least about it cannot fail\nto detect the fraud.--True enough, we all look forward to a\nMessiah, but surely no one with any sense expects God himself\nto come, and every religious person shudders at the blasphemous\nattitude of this person. We look forward to a Messiah, we are all\nagreed on that. But the governance of the world does not go forward\ntumultuously, by leaps and bounds; the development of the world,\nas is indicated by the very fact that it is a development, proceeds\nby evolution, not by revolution. The true Messiah will therefore\nlook quite different, and will arrive as the most glorious flower,\nand the highest development, of that which already exists. Thus\nwill the true Messiah come, and he will proceed in an entirely\ndifferent fashion: he will recognize the existing order as the\nbasis of things, he will summon all the clergy to council and\npresent to them the results accomplished by him, as well as his\ncredentials--and then, if he obtain the majority of the votes\nwhen the ballot is cast, he will be received and saluted as the\nextraordinary person, as the one he is: the Messiah.[14]\n\n\"However, there is a duplicity in this man's behavior; he assumes\ntoo much the role of judge. It seems as if he wished to be, at\none and the same time, both the judge who passes sentence on the\nexisting order of things, and the Messiah. If he does not wish\nto play the role of the judge, then why his absolute isolation,\nhis keeping at a distance from all which has to do with the\nexisting order of things? And if he does not wish to be the\njudge, then why his fantastic flight from reality to join the\nignorant crowd, then why with the haughtiness of a revolutionary\ndoes he despise all the intelligence and efficiency to be found\nin the existing order of things? And why does he begin afresh\naltogether, and absolutely from the bottom up, by the help of--fishermen\nand artisans? May not the fact that he is an illegitimate child\nfitly characterize his entire relation to the existing order\nof things? On the other hand, if he wishes to be only the Messiah,\nwhy then his warning about putting a piece of new cloth unto an\nold garment.[15] For these words are precisely the watchwords\nof every revolution since they are expressive of a person's\ndiscontent with the existing order and of his wish to destroy\nit. That is, these words reveal his desire to remove existing\nconditions, rather than to build on them and better them, if\none is a reformer, or to develop them to their highest possibility,\nif one is indeed the Messiah. This is duplicity. In fact, it is\nnot feasible to be both judge and Messiah. Such duplicity will\nsurely result in his downfall.[16] The climax in the life of a\njudge is his death by violence, and so the poet pictures it\ncorrectly; but the climax in the life of the Messiah cannot\npossibly be his death. Or else, by that very fact, he would\nnot be the Messiah, that is, he whom the existing order expects\nin order to deify him. This duplicity has not as yet been recognized\nby the people, who see in him their Messiah; but the existing\norder of things cannot by any manner of means recognize him as\nsuch. The people, the idle and loafing crowd, can do so only\nbecause they represent nothing less than the existing order\nof things. But as soon as the duplicity becomes evident to them,\nhis doom is sealed. Why, in this respect his predecessor was\na far more definitely marked personality, for he was but one\nthing, the judge. But what confusion and thoughtlessness, to wish\nto be both, and what still worse confusion, to acknowledge his\npredecessor as the judge--that is, in other words, precisely to\nmake the existing order of things receptive and ripe for the\nMessiah who is to come after the judge, and yet not wish to\nassociate himself with the existing order of things!\"\n\nAnd the philosopher would reason as follows: \"Such dreadful\nor, rather, insane vanity, that a single individual claims to\nbe God, is a thing hitherto unheard of. Never before have we\nbeen witness to such an excess of pure subjectivity and sheer\nnegation. He has no doctrines, no system of philosophy, he knows\nreally nothing, he simply keeps on repeating, and making variations\non, some unconnected aphoristic sentences, some few maxims, and\na couple of parables by which he dazzles the crowd for whom he\nalso performs signs and wonders; so that they, instead of learning\nsomething, or being improved, come to believe in one who in a\nmost brazen way constantly forces his subjective views on us.\nThere is nothing objective or positive whatever in him and in\nwhat he says. Indeed, from a philosophical point of view, he\ndoes not need to fear destruction for he has perished already,\nsince it is inherent in the nature of subjectivity to perish.\nOne may in all fairness admit that his subjectivity is remarkable\nand that, be it as it may with the other miracles, he constantly\nrepeats his miracle with the five small loaves,[17] viz., by\nmeans of a few lyric utterances and some aphorisms he rouses\nthe whole country. But even if one were inclined to overlook\nhis insane notion of affirming himself to be God, it is an\nincomprehensible mistake, which, to be sure, demonstrates a\nlack of philosophic training, to believe that God could reveal\nhimself in the form of an individual. The race, the universal,\nthe total, is God; but the race surely is not an individual!\nGenerally speaking, that is the impudent assumption of subjectivity,\nwhich claims that the individual is something extraordinary.\nBut sheer insanity is shown in the claim of an individual to\nbe God. Because if the insane thing were possible, viz. that\nan individual might be God, why, then this individual would\nhave to be worshipped, and a more beastly philosophic stupidity\nis not conceivable.\"\n\nThe astute statesman would reason as follows: \"That at present\nthis person wields great power is undeniable--entirely disregarding,\nof course, this notion of his that he is God. Foibles like these,\nbeing idiosyncrasies, do not count against a man and concern no\none, least of all a statesman. A statesman is concerned only\nwith what power a man wields; and that he does wield great power\ncannot, as I have remarked, be denied. But what he intends to do,\nwhat his aim is, I cannot make out at all. If this be calculation\nit must be of an entirely new and peculiar order, not so altogether\nunlike what is otherwise called madness. He possesses points of\nconsiderable strength; but he seems to defeat, rather than to\nuse, it; he expends it without himself getting any returns. I\nconsider him a phenomenon with which--as ought to be one's rule\nwith all phenomena--a wise man should not have anything to do,\nsince it is impossible to calculate him or the catastrophe threatening\nhis life. It is possible that he will be made king. It is possible,\nI say; but it is not impossible, or rather, it is just as possible,\nthat he may end on the gallows. He lacks earnestness in all his\nendeavors. With all his enormous stretch of wings he only hovers\nand gets nowhere. He does not seem to have any definite plan of\nprocedure, but just hovers. Is it for his nationality he is fighting,\nor does he aim at a communistic revolution? Does he wish to establish\na republic or a kingdom? With which party does he affiliate\nhimself to combat which party, or does he wish to fight all\nparties?\n\n\"I have anything to do with him?--No, that would be the very\nlast thing to enter my mind. In fact, I take all possible precautions\nto avoid him. I keep quiet, undertake nothing, act as if I did\nnot exist; for one cannot even calculate how he might interfere\nwith one's undertakings, be they ever so unimportant, or at any\nrate, how one might become involved in the vortex of his activities.\nDangerous, in a certain sense enormously dangerous, is this\nman. But I calculate that I may ensnare him precisely by doing\nnothing. For overthrown he must be. And this is done most; safely\nby letting him do it himself, by letting him stumble over himself.\nI have, at least at this moment, not sufficient power to bring\nabout his fall; in fact, I know no one who has. To undertake the\nleast thing against him now, means to be crushed one's self. No,\nmy plan is constantly to exert only negative resistance to him,\nthat is, to do nothing, and he will probably involve himself\nin the enormous consequences he draws after him, till in the\nend he will tread on his own train, as it were, and thus fall.\"\n\nAnd the steady citizen would reason as follows (which would\nthen become the opinion of his family): \"Now, let us be human,\neverything is good when done in moderation, too little and too\nmuch spoil everything, and as a French saying has it which I\nonce heard a traveling salesman use: every power which exceeds\nitself comes to a fall--and as to this person, his fall is certainly\nsure enough. I have earnestly spoken to my son and warned and\nadmonished him not to drift into evil ways and join that person.\nAnd why? Because all people are running after him. That is to\nsay, what sort of people? Idlers and loafers, street-walkers and\ntramps, who run after everything. But mightily few of the men\nwho have house and property, and nobody who is wise and respected,\nnone after whom I set my clock, neither councillor Johnson, nor\nsenator Anderson, nor the wealthy broker Nelson--oh no! they\nknow what's what. And as to the ministry who ought to know most\nabout such matters--ah, they will have none of him. What was it\npastor Green said in the club the other evening? 'That man will\nyet come to a terrible end,' he said. And Green, he can do more\nthan preach, you oughtn't to hear him Sundays in church so much\nas Mondays in the club--I just wished I had half his knowledge\nof affairs! He said quite correctly, and as if spoken out of\nmy own heart: 'Only idlers and loafers are running after that\nman.' And why do they run after him? Because he performs some\nmiracles. But who is sure they are miracles, or that he can\nconfer the same power on his disciples? And, in any case, a\nmiracle is something mightily uncertain, whereas the certain\nis the certain. Every serious father who has grown-up children\nmust be truly alarmed lest his sons be seduced and join that\nman together with the desperate characters who follow him--desperate\ncharacters who have nothing to lose. And even these, how does\nhe help them? Why, one must be mad to wish to be helped in this\nfashion. Even the poorest beggar is brought to a worse estate\nthan his former one, is brought to a pass he could have escaped\nby remaining what he was, that is, a beggar and no more.\"\n\nAnd the mocker, not the one hated on account of his malice, but\nthe one who is admired for his wit and liked for his good nature,\nhe would reason as follows: \"It is, after all, a rich idea which\nis going to prove useful to all of us, that an individual who\nis in no wise different from us claims to be God. If that is\nnot being a benefactor of the race then I don't know what charity\nand beneficence are. If we assume that the characteristic of\nbeing God--well, who in all the world would have hit on that\nidea? How true that such an idea could not have entered into\nthe heart of man[18]--but if we assume that it consists in looking\nin no wise different from the rest of us, and in nothing else:\nwhy, then we are all gods. Q. E. D. Three cheers for him, the\ninventor of a discovery so extraordinarily important for mankind!\nTomorrow I, the undersigned, shall proclaim that I am God, and\nthe discoverer at least will not be able to contradict me without\ncontradicting himself. At night all cats are gray; and if to\nbe God consists in looking like the rest of us, absolutely and\naltogether like the rest of mankind: why, then it is night and\nwe all are..., or what is it I wanted to say: we all are God,\nevery one of us, and no one has a right to say he isn't as well\noff as his neighbor. This is the most ridiculous situation imaginable,\nthe contradiction here being the greatest imaginable, and a\ncontradiction always making for a comical effect. But this is\nin no wise my discovery, but solely that of the discoverer:\nthis idea that a man of exactly the same appearance as the rest\nof us, only not half so well dressed as the average man, that\nis, a poorly dressed person who, rather than being God, seems\nto invite the attention of the society for the relief of the\npoor--that he is God! I am only sorry for the director of the\ncharitable society that he will not get a raise from this general\nadvancement of the human race but that he will, rather, lose\nhis job on account of this, etc.\"\n\nAh, my friend, I know well what I am doing, I know my responsibility,\nand my soul is altogether assured of the correctness of my procedure.\nNow then, imagine yourself a contemporary of him who invites.\nImagine yourself to be a sufferer, but consider well to what you\nexpose yourself in becoming his disciple and following him. You\nexpose yourself to losing practically everything in the eyes of\nall wise and sensible and respected men. He who invites demands\nof you that you surrender all, give up everything; but the common\nsense of your own times and of your contemporaries will not give\nyou up, but will judge that to join him is madness. And mockery\nwill descend cruelly upon you; for while it will almost spare him,\nout of compassion, you will be thought madder than a march-hare\nfor becoming his disciple. People will say: \"That h e is a wrong-headed\nenthusiast, that can't be helped. Well and good; but to become--in\nall seriousness--his disciple, that is the greatest piece of\nmadness imaginable. There surely is but one possibility of being\nmadder than a madman, which is the higher madness of joining\na madman in all seriousness and regarding him as a sage.\"\n\nDo not say that the whole presentation above is exaggerated.\nAh, you know (but, possibly, have not fully realized it) that\namong all the respectable men, among all the enlightened and\nsensible men, there was but one--though it is easily possible\nthat one or the other of them, impelled by curiosity, entered\ninto conversation with him--that there was but one among them\nwho sought him in all seriousness.[19] And he came to him--in\nthe night! And as you know, in the night one walks on forbidden\npaths, one chooses the night to go to places of which one does\nnot like to be known as a frequenter. Consider the opinion of\nthe inviter implied in this--it was a disgrace to visit him,\nsomething no man of honor could afford to do, as little as to\npay a nightly visit to--but no, I do not care to say in so many\nwords what would follow this \"as little as.\"\n\nCome hither to me now all ye that labor and are heavy laden,\nand I will give you rest.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SECOND PHASE OF HIS LIFE\n\n\nHis end was what all the wise and the sensible, the statesmen and\nthe citizens and the mockers, etc., predicted it would be. And as\nwas later spoken to him, in a moment when, it would seem, the\nmost hardened ought to have been moved to sympathy, and the very\nstones to tears: \"He saved others; let him save himself,[20]\"\nand as it has been repeated thousands upon thousands of times,\nby thousands upon thousands: \"What was it he spoke of before,\nsaying his hour was not yet come[21]--is it come now, perchance?\"--It\nhas been repeated, alas, the while the single individual, the\nbeliever, shudders whenever considering--while yet unable to\nrefrain from gazing into the depth of what to men is a meaningless\nabsurdity--shudders when considering that God in human guise,\nthat his divine teaching, that these signs and wonders which\nmight have made a very Sodom and Gomorrha reform its ways, in\nreality produced the exact opposite, and caused the teacher\nto be shunned, hated, despised.\n\nWho he is, one can recognize more easily now when the powerful\nones and the respected ones, and all the precautionary measures\nof those upholding the existing order, have corrected any wrong\nconception one might have entertained about him at first--now\nwhen the people have lost their patience to wait for a Messiah,\nseeing that his life, instead of rising in dignity, lapsed into\never greater degradation. Who, pray, does not recognize that a\nman is judged according to the society in which he moves--and\nnow, think of his society! Indeed, his society one might well\ndesignate as equivalent to being expelled from \"human society\";\nfor his society are the lowest classes of the people, with sinners\nand publicans among them, people whom everybody with the slightest\nself-respect shuns for the sake of his good name and reputation--and\na good name and reputation surely are about the least one can\nwish to preserve. In his company there are, furthermore, lepers\nwhom every one flees, madmen who can only inspire terror, invalids\nand wretches--squalor and misery. Who, then, is this person\nthat, though followed by such a company, still is the object\nof the persecution of the mighty ones? He is one despised as\na seducer of men, an impostor, a blasphemer! And if any one\nenjoying a good reputation refrains from expressing contempt\nof him, it is really only a kind of compassion; for to fear\nhim is, to be sure, something different.\n\nSuch, then, is his appearance; for take care not to be influenced\nby anything that you may have learned after the event--as, how\nhis exalted spirit, with an almost divine majesty, never was\nso markedly manifest as just them. Ah, my friend, if you were\nthe contemporary of one who is not only himself \"excluded from\nthe synagogue\" but, as you will remember, whose very help meant\nbeing \"excluded from the synagogue\"--I say, if you were the\ncontemporary of an outcast, who in every respect answers to\nthat term, (for everything has two sides): then you will scarcely\nbe the man to explain all this in terms directly contrary to\nappearances;[22] or, which is the same thing, you will not be\nthe \"single individual\" which, as you well know, no one wants\nto be, and to be which is regarded as a ridiculous oddity, perhaps\neven as a crime.\n\nAnd now--for they are his society chiefly--as to his apostles!\nWhat absurdity; though not--what new absurdity, for it is quite\nin keeping with the rest--his apostles are some fishermen, ignorant\npeople who but the other day followed their trade. And tomorrow,\nto pile one absurdity on the other, they are to go out into the\nwide world and transform its aspect. And it is he who claims to\nbe God, and these are his duly appointed apostles! Now, is he to\nmake his apostles respected, or are perhaps the apostles to make\nhim respected? Is he, the inviter, is he an absurd dreamer?\nIndeed, his procession would make it seem so; no poet could\nhave hit on a better idea. A teacher, a sage, or whatever you\nplease to call him, a kind of stranded genius, who affirms himself\nto be God--surrounded by a jubilant mob, himself accompanied by\nsome publicans, criminals, and lepers; nearest to him a chosen\nfew, his apostles. And these judges so excellently competent as\nto what truth is, these fishermen, tailors, and shoe-makers,\nthey do not only admire him, their teacher and master, whose\nevery word is wisdom and truth: they do not only see what no\none else can see, his exaltedness and holiness, nay, but they\nsee God in him and worship him. Certainly, no poet could invent\na better situation, and it is doubtful if the poet would not\nforget the additional item that this same person is feared by\nthe mighty ones and that they are scheming to destroy him. His\ndeath alone can reassure and satisfy them. They have set an\nignominious punishment on joining his company, on merely accepting\naid from him; and yet they do not feel secure, and cannot feel\naltogether reassured that the whole thing is mere wrong-headed\nenthusiasm and absurdity. Thus the mighty ones. The populace\nwho had Idolized him, the populace have pretty nearly given\nhim up, only in moments does their old conception of him blaze\nforth again. In all his existence there is not a shred the most\nenvious of the envious might envy him to have. Nor do the mighty\nones envy his life. They demand his death for safety's sake, so\nthat they may have peace again, when all has returned to the\naccustomed ways, peace having been made still more secure by\nthe warning example of his death.\n\n\nThese are the two phases of his life. It began with the people's\nidolizing him, whereas all who were identified with the existing\norder of things, all who had power and influence, vengefully,\nbut in a cowardly and hidden manner, laid their snares for him--in\nwhich he was caught, then? Yes, but he perceived it well. Finally\nthe people discover that they had been deceived in him, that\nthe fulfillment he would bring them answered least of all to\ntheir expectations of wonders and mountains of gold. So the\npeople deserted him and the mighty ones drew the snare about\nhim--in which he was caught, then? Yes, but he perceived it\nwell. The mighty ones drew the snare together about him--and\nthereupon the people, who then saw themselves completely deceived,\nturned against him in hatred and rage.\n\nAnd--to include that too--compassion would say; or, among the\ncompassionate ones--for compassion is sociable, and likes to\nassemble together, and you will find spitefulness and envy keeping\ncompany with whining soft-headedness: since, as a heathen philosopher\nobserved long ago, no one is so ready to sympathize as an envious\nperson--among the compassionate ones the verdict would be: it is\nreally too bad that this good-hearted fellow is to come to such\nan end. For he was really a good sort of fellow. Granting it was\nan exaggeration to claim to be God, he really was good to the\npoor and the needy, even if in an odd manner, by becoming one of\nthem and going about in the company of beggars. But there is\nsomething touching in it all, and one can't help but feel sorry\nfor the poor fellow who is to suffer such a miserable death.\nFor you may say what you will, and condemn him as strongly as\nyou will, I cannot help feeling pity for him. I am not so heard-hearted\nas not to feel compassion.\n\nWe have arrived at the last phase, not of Sacred History, as\nhanded down by the apostles and disciples who believed in Christ,\nbut of profane history, its counterpart.\n\nCome hither now, all ye that labor and are heavy laden; that is,\nif you feel the need, even if you are of all sufferers the most\nmiserable--if you feel the need of being helped in this fashion,\nthat is, to fall into still greater suffering, then come hither,\nhe will help you.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\n\n\nTHE INVITATION AND THE INVITER\n\n\nLet us forget for a little while what, in the strictest sense,\nconstitutes the \"offense\"; which is, that the inviter claims\nto be God. Let us assume that he did not claim to be more than\na man, and let us then consider the inviter and his invitation.\n\n\nThe invitation is surely inviting enough. How, then, shall one\nexplain the bad relation which did exist, this terribly wrong\nrelation, that no one, or practically no one, accepted the invitation;\nthat, on the contrary, all, or practically all--alas! and was\nit not precisely all who were invited?--that practically all\nwere at one in offering resistance to the inviter, in wishing\nto put him to death, and in setting a punishment on accepting\naid from him? Should one not expect that after an invitation\nsuch as he issued all, all who suffered, would come crowding\nto him, and that all they who were not suffering would crowd\nto him, touched by the thought of such compassion and mercy,\nand that thus the whole race would be at one in admiring and\nextolling the inviter? How is the opposite to be explained?\nFor that this was the outcome is certain enough; and the fact\nthat it all happened in those remote times is surely no proof\nthat the generation then living was worse than other generations!\nHow could any one be so thoughtless as to believe that? For\nwhoever gives any thought to the matter will easily see that\nit happened in that generation only because they chanced to\nbe contemporaneous with him. How then explain that it happened--that\nall came to that terribly wrong end, so opposite to what ought\nto have been expected?\n\nWell, in the first place, if the inviter had looked the figure\nwhich purely human compassion would have him be; and, in the\nsecond place, if he had entertained the purely human conception\nof what constitutes man's misery--why, then it would probably\nnot have happened.\n\nIn the first place: According to this human conception of him\nhe should have been a most generous and sympathetic person, and\nat the same time possessed of all qualifications requisite for\nbeing able to help in all troubles of this world, ennobling the\nhelp thus extended by a profound and heartfelt human compassion.\nWithal (so they would imagine him) he should also have been a\nman of some distinction and not without a certain amount of\nhuman self-assertion--the consequence of which would be, however,\nthat he would neither have been able, in his compassion, to\nreach down to all sufferers, nor yet to have comprehended fully\nwhat constitutes the misery of man and of mankind.\n\nBut divine compassion, the infinite unconcern which takes thought\nonly of those that suffer, and not in the least of one's self,\nand which with absolute unconcern takes thought of all that suffer:\nthat will always seem to men only a kind of madness, and they will\never be puzzled whether to laugh or to weep about it. Even if\nnothing else had militated against the inviter, this alone would\nhave been sufficient to make his lot hard in the world.\n\nLet a man but try a little while to practice divine compassion,\nthat is, to be somewhat unconcerned in his compassion, and you\nwill at once perceive what the opinion of mankind would be.\nFor example: let one who could occupy some higher rank in society,\nlet him not (preserving all the while the distinction of his\nposition) lavishly give to the poor, and philanthropically (i.e.\nin a superior fashion) visit the poor and the sick and the wretched--no,\nlet him give up altogether the distinction of his position and\nin all earnest choose the company of the poor and the lowly,\nlet him live altogether with the people, with workmen, hodmen,\nmortar-mixers, and the like! Ah, in a quiet moment, when not\nactually beholding him, most of us will be moved to tears by\nthe mere thought of it; but no sooner would they see him in\nthis company--him who might have attained to honor and dignity\nin the world--see him walking along in such goodly company,\nwith a bricklayer's apprentice on his right side and a cobbler's\nboy on his left, but--well, what then? First they would devise\na thousand explanations to explain that it is because of queer\nnotions, or obstinacy, or pride, or vanity that he chooses this\nmode of life. And even if they would refrain from attributing\nto him these evil motives they will never be reconciled with\nthe sight of him--in this company. The noblest person in the\nworld will be tempted to laugh, the moment he sees it.\n\nAnd if all the clergymen in the world, whether in velvet or\nin silk or in broadcloth or in satin, contradicted me I would\nsay: \"You lie, you only deceive people with your Sunday sermons.\nBecause it will always be possible for a contemporary to say\nabout one so compassionate (who, it is to be kept in mind, is\nour contemporary): I believe he is actuated by vanity, and\nthat is why I laugh and mock at him; but if he were truly compassionate,\nor had I been contemporary with him, the noble one--why then!\"\nAnd now, as to those exalted ones \"who were not understood by\nmen\"--to speak in the fashion of the usual run of sermons--why,\nsure enough, they are dead. In this fashion these people succeed\nin playing hide and seek. You simply assume that every contemporary\nwho ventures out so far is actuated only by vanity; and as to\nthe departed, you assume that they are dead and that they, therefore,\nwere among the glorious ones.\n\nIt must be remembered, to be sure, that every person wishes\nto maintain his own level in life, and this fixed point, this\nsteady endeavor, is one of the causes which limit human compassion\nto a certain sphere. The cheese-monger will think that to live\nlike the inmate of a poorhouse is going too far in expressing\none's sympathy; for the sympathy of the cheese-monger is biased\nin one regard which is, his regard of the opinion of other cheese-mongers\nand of the saloon-keepers. His compassion is therefore not without\nits limitations. And thus with every class--and the journalists,\nliving as they do on the pennies of the poor, under the pretense\nof asserting and defending their rights, they would be the first\nto heap ridicule on this unlimited compassion.\n\nTo identify one's self wholly and literally with him who is\nmost miserable (and this, only this, is divine compassion),\nthat is to men the \"too much\" by which one is moved to tears,\nin a quiet Sunday hour, and about which one unconsciously bursts\ninto laughter when one sees it in reality. The fact is, it is\ntoo exalted a sight for daily use; one must have it at some\ndistance to be able to support it. Men are not so familiar with\nexalted virtue to believe it at once. The contradiction seen\nhere is, therefore, that this exalted virtue manifests itself\nin--reality, in daily life, quite literally the daily life.\nWhen the poet or the orator illustrates this exalted virtue,\nthat is, pictures it in a poetical distance from real life,\nmen are moved; but to see this exalted virtue in reality, the\nreality of daily life, here in Copenhagen, on the Market Square,\nin the midst of busy every-day life--! And when the poet or\nthe orator does touch people it is only for a short time, and\njust so long are men able to believe, almost, in this exalted\nvirtue. But to see it in real life every day--! To be sure,\nthere is an enormous contradiction in the statement that the\nmost exalted of all has become the most every-day occurrence!\n\nInsofar, then, it was certain in advance what would be the inviter's\nfate, even if nothing else had contributed to his doom. The\nabsolute,[23] or all which makes for an absolute standard, becomes\nby that very fact the victim. For men are willing enough to\npractice sympathy and self-denial, are willing enough to strive\nfor wisdom, etc.; but they wish themselves to determine the\nstandard and to have that read: \"to a certain degree.\" They do\nnot wish to do away with all these splendid virtues. On the\ncontrary, they want--at a bargain and in all comfort--to have\nthe appearance and the name of practicing them. Truly divine\ncompassion is therefore necessarily the victim so soon as it\nshows itself in this world. It descends on earth out of compassion\nfor mankind, and yet it is mankind who trample upon it. And\nwhilst it is wandering about among them, scarcely even the sufferer\ndares to flee to it, for fear of mankind. The fact is, it is\nmost important for the world to keep up the appearance of being\ncompassionate; but this it made out by divine compassion to\nbe a falsehood--and therefore: away with divine compassion!\n\nBut now the inviter represented precisely this divine compassion--and\ntherefore he was sacrificed, and therefore even those that suffered\nfled from him; for they comprehended (and, humanly speaking, very\nexactly), what is true of most human infirmities, that one is better\noff to remain what one is than to be helped by him.\n\nIn the second place: the inviter likewise had an other, and\naltogether different, conception than the purely human one as\nto what constitutes man's misery. And in this sense only he\nwas intent on helping; for he had with him neither money, nor\nmedicine, nor anything else of this kind.\n\nIndeed, the inviter's appearance is so altogether different\nfrom what human compassion wold imagine it that he is a downright\noffense to men. In a purely human sense there is something positively\ncruel--something outrageous, something so exasperating as to make\none wish to kill that person--in the fact of his inviting to\nhim the poor and the sick and the suffering, and then not being\nable to do anything for them, except to promise them remission\nof their sins. \"Let us be human, man is no spirit. And when a\nperson is about to die of starvation and you say to him: I promise\nyou the gracious remission of your sins--that is revolting cruelty.\nIn fact it is ridiculous, though too serious a matter to laugh about.\"\n\nWell (for in quoting these sentiments I wish merely to let offended\nman discover the contradiction and exaggerate it--it is not I who\nwish to exaggerate), well then, the real intention of the inviter\nwas to point out that sin is the destruction of mankind. Behold\nnow, that makes room, as the invitation also made room, almost\nas if he had said _procul, o procul este profani_, or as if,\neven though he had not said it, a voice had been heard which\nthus interpreted the \"come hither\" of the invitation. There\nsurely are not many sufferers who will follow the invitation.\nAnd even if there were one who, although aware that from this\ninviter no actual wordily help was to be expected, nevertheless\nhad sought refuge with him, touched by his compassion: now even\nhe will flee from him. For is it not almost a bit of sharp practice\nto profess to be here out of compassion, and then to speak about sin?\n\nIndeed, it is a piece of cunning, unless you are altogether\ncertain that you are a sinner. If it is tooth-ache which bothers\nyou, or if your house is burned to the ground, but if it has\nescaped you that you are a sinner--why, then it was cunning on\nhis part. It is a bit of sharp practice of him to assert: \"I\nheal all manner of disease,\" in order to say, when one approaches\nhim: \"the fact is, I recognize only one disease, which is sin--of\nthat I shall cure all them 'that labor and are heavy laden,' all\nthem that labor to work themselves free of the power of sin, that\nlabor to resist the evil, and to vanquish their weakness, but\nsucceed only in being laden.\" Of this malady he cures \"all\"\npersons; even if there were but a single one who turned to him\nbecause of this malady: he heals all persons. But to come to\nhim on account of any other disease, and only because of that,\nis about as useful as to look up an eye-doctor when you have\nfractured your leg.\n\n\n\n\nCHRISTIANITY AS THE ABSOLUTE; CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS WITH CHRIST\n\n\nWith its invitation to all \"that labor and are heavy laden\" Christianity\nhas entered the world, not--as the clergy whimperingly and falsely\nintroduce it--as a shining paragon of mild grounds of consolation;\nbut as the absolute. God wills it so because of His love, but it\nis God who wills it, and He wills it as He wills it. He does not\nchoose to have His nature changed by man and become a nice, that\nis to say, humane, God; but He chooses to change the nature\nof man because of His love for them. Neither does He care to\nhear any human impertinence concerning the why and wherefore\nof Christianity, and why it entered the world: it is, and is\nto be, the absolute. Therefore all the relative explanations\nwhich may have been ventured as to its why and wherefore are\nentirely beside the point. Possibly, these explanations were\nsuggested by a kind of human compassion which believes it necessary\nto haggle a bit--God very likely does not know the nature of\nman very well, His demands are a bit exorbitant, and therefore\nthe clergymen must haggle and beat Him down a bit.[24] Maybe\nthe clergy hit upon that idea in order to stand well with men\nand reap some advantage from preaching the gospel; for if its\ndemands are reduced to the purely human, to the demands which\narise in man's heart, why, then men will of course think well\nof it, and of course also of the amiable preacher who knows\nhow to make Christianity so mild--if the Apostles had been able\nto do that the world would have esteemed them highly also in\ntheir time. However, all this is the absolute. But what is it\ngood for, then--is it not a downright torment? Why, yes, you\nmay say so: from the standpoint of the relative, the absolute\nis the greatest torment. In his dull, languid, sluggish moments,\nwhen man is dominated by his sensual nature, Christianity is\nan absurdity to him since it is not commensurable with any definite\n\"wherefore?\" But of what use is it, then? Answer: peace! it is\nthe absolute. And thus it must be represented; that is, in a\nfashion which makes it appear as an absurdity to the sensual\nnature of man. And therefore is it, ah, so true and, in still\nanother sense, so true when the worldly-wise man who is contemporaneous\nwith Christ condemns him with the words: \"he is literally nothing\"--quite\ntrue, for he is the absolute. And, being absolute, Christianity\nhas come in the world, not as a consolation in the human sense:\nin fact, quite on the contrary, it is ever reminding one how\nthe Christian must suffer in order to become, or to remain, a\nChristian--sufferings which he may, if you please, escape by\nnot electing to be a Christian.\n\nThere is, indeed, an unbridgeable gulf fixed between God and\nman. It therefore became plain to those contemporary with Christ\nthat the process of becoming a Christian (that is, being changed\ninto the likeness of God) is, in a human sense, a greater torment\nand wretchedness and pain than the greatest conceivable human\nsuffering, and moreover a crime in the eyes of one's contemporaries.\nAnd thus will it always be; that is, if becoming a Christian in\nreality means becoming contemporaneous with Christ. And if becoming\na Christian does not have that meaning, then all your chatter\nabout becoming a Christian is a vanity, a delusion and a snare,\nand likewise a blasphemy and a sin against the Holy Ghost.\n\nFor with regard to the absolute there is but one time, viz. the\npresent. He who is not contemporaneous with the absolute, for\nhim it does not exist at all. And since Christ is the absolute,\nit is evident that in respect of him there is but one situation:\ncontemporaneousness. The three, or seven, or fifteen, or seventeen,\nor eighteen hundred years which have elapsed since his death do\nnot make the least difference, one way or the other. They neither\nchange him nor reveal, either, who he was; for his real nature\nis revealed only to faith.\n\nChrist, let me say so with the utmost seriousness, is not an\nactor; neither is he a merely historical personage since, being\nthe paradox, he is an extremely unhistorical personage. But\nprecisely this is the difference between poetry and reality:\ncontemporaneousness.[25] The difference between poetry and history\nis no doubt this, that history is what has really happened, and\npoetry, what is possible, the action which is supposed to have\ntaken place, the life which has taken form in the poet's imagination.\nBut that which really happened (the past) is not necessarily\nreality, except in a certain sense, viz., in contrast with poetry.\nThere is still lacking in it the criterion of truth (as inwardness)\nand of all religion, there is still lacking the criterion: the\ntruth FOR YOU. That which is past is not a reality--for me,\nbut only my time is. That which you are contemporaneous with,\nthat is reality--for you. Thus every person has the choice to\nbe contemporaneous with the age in which he is living--and also\nwith one other period, with that of Christ's life here on earth;\nfor Christ's life on earth, or Sacred History, stands by itself,\noutside of history.\n\nHistory you may read and hear about as a matter of the past.\nWithin its realm you can, if you so care, judge actions by their\nresults. But in Christ's life here on earth there is nothing\npast. It did not wait for the assistance of any subsequent results\nin its own time, 1800 years ago; neither does it now. Historic\nChristianity is sheer moonshine and un-Christian muddle-headedness.\nFor those true Christians who in every generation live a life\ncontemporaneous with that of Christ have nothing whatsoever to\ndo with Christians of the preceding generation, but all the\nmore with their contemporary, Christ. His life here on earth\nattends every generation, and every generation severally, as\nSacred History; his life on earth is eternal contemporaneousness.\nFor this reason all learned lecturing about Christianity, which\nhas its haunt and hiding-place in the assumption that Christianity\nis something which belongs to the past and to the 1800 years of\nhistory, this lecturing is the most un-Christian of heresies,\nas every one would readily recognize if he but tried to imagine\nthe generation contemporaneous with Christ as--lecturing! No,\nwe must ever keep in mind that every generation (of the faithful)\nis contemporaneous with him.\n\nIf you cannot master yourself so as to make yourself contemporaneous\nwith him and thus become a Christian; or if he cannot, as your\ncontemporary, draw you to himself, then you will never be a\nChristian. You may, if you please, honor, praise, thank, and\nwith all worldly goods reward, him who deludes you into thinking\nthat you are a Christian; nevertheless--he deceives you. You\nmay count yourself happy that you were not contemporaneous with\none who dared to assert this; or you may be exasperated to madness\nby the torment, like that of the \"gadfly,[26]\" of being contemporaneous\nwith one who says this to your face: in the first case you are\ndeceived, whereas in the second you have at least had a chance\nto hear the truth.\n\nIf you cannot bear this contemporaneousness, and not bear to see\nthis sight in reality--if you cannot prevail upon yourself to go\nout into the street--and behold! it is God in that loathsome\nprocession; and if you cannot bear to think that this will be\nyour condition also if you kneel and worship him: then you are\nnot essentially a Christian. In that case, what you will have\nto do is to admit the fact unconditionally to yourself, so that\nyou may, above all, preserve humility, and fear and trembling,\nwhen contemplating what it means really to be a Christian. For\nthat way you must proceed, in order to learn and to practice\nhow to flee to grace, so that you will not seek it in vain; but\ndo not, for God's sake, go to any one to be \"consoled.\" For to\nbe sure it is written: \"blessed are the eyes which see the things\nthat ye see,[27]\" which word the priests have on the tips of\ntheir tongues--curiously enough; at times, perhaps, even to\ndefend a worldly finery which, if contemporary with Christ,\nwould be rather incongruous--as if these words had not been\nsaid solely about those contemporaries of his who believed.\nIf his exaltation had been evident to the eyes so that every\none without any trouble could have beheld it, why then it would\nbe incorrect to say that Christ abased himself and assumed the\nguise of a servant, and it would be superfluous to warn against\nbeing offended in him; for why in the world should one take\noffense in an exalted one arrayed in glory? And how in the world\nwill you explain it that Christ fared so ill and that everybody\nfailed to rush up admiringly to behold what was so plain? Ah no,\n\"he hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him,\nthere is no beauty that we should desire him\" (Isaiah 53, 2[28]);\nand there was to all appearances nothing remarkable about him\nwho in lowly guise, and by performing signs and wonders, constantly\npresented the possibility of offense, who claimed to be God--in\nlowly guise; which therefore expresses: in the first place,\nwhat God means by compassion, and by one's self needing to be\nhumble and poor if one wishes to be compassionate; and in the\nsecond place, what God means by the misery of mankind. Which,\nagain, in both instances is extremely different from what men\nmean by these things and which every generation, to the end\nof time, has to learn over again from the beginning, and beginning\nin every respect at the same point where those who were contemporary\nwith Christ had to start; that is, to practice these things\nas contemporaries of Christ. Human impatience and unruliness\nis, of course, of no avail whatsoever. No man will be able to\ntell you in how far you may succeed in becoming essentially\na Christian. But neither will anxiety and fear and despair help\none. Sincerity toward God is the first and the last condition,\nsincerity in confessing to one's self just where one stands,\nsincerity before God in ever aiming at one's task. However slowly\none may proceed, and if it be but crawling--one is, at any rate,\nin the right position and is not misled and deceived by the\ntrick of changing the nature of Christ who, instead of being\nGod, is thereby made to represent that sentimental compassion\nwhich is man's own invention; by which men instead of being\nlifted up to heaven by Christianity, are delayed on their way\nand remain human and no more.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MORAL\n\n\n\"And what, then, does all this signify?\" It signifies that every\none, in silent inwardness before God, is to feel humility before\nwhat it means to be in the strictest sense a Christian; is to\nconfess sincerely before God what his position is, so that he\nmay worthily partake of the grace which is offered to every one\nwho is not perfect, that is, to every one. And it means no more\nthan that. For the rest let him attend to his work and find joy\nin it, let him love his wife, rejoicing in her, let him raise his\nchildren to be a joy to him, and let him love his fellow-men and\nenjoy life. God will surely let him know if more is demanded of\nhim, and will also help him to accomplish it; for in the terrifying\nlanguage of the law this sounds so terrible because it would\nseem as if man by his own strength were to hold fast to Christ,\nwhereas in the language of love it is Christ that holds fast\nto him. As was said, then, God will surely let him know if more\nis demanded of him. But what is demanded of every one is that he\nhumble himself in the presence of God under the demands of ideality.\nAnd therefore these demands should be heard, and heard again and\nagain in all their absoluteness. To be a Christian has become\na matter of no importance whatever--a mummery, something one\nis anyway, or something one acquires more readily than a trick.\nIn very truth, it is high time that the demands of ideality were\nheard.\n\n\"But if being a Christian is something so terrifying and awesome,\nhow in all the world can a man get it into his head to wish to\naccept Christianity?\" Very simply and, if you so wish, quite\naccording to Luther: only the consciousness of sin, if I may\nexpress myself so, can force one--from the other side, grace\nexerts the attraction--can force one into this terror. And in\nthe same instant the Christian ideal is transformed, and is\nsheer mildness, grace, love, and pity. Looking at it any other\nway, however, Christianity is, and shall ever be, the greatest\nabsurdity, or else the greatest terror. Approach is had only\nthrough the consciousness of sin, and to desire to enter by\nany other way amounts to a crime of l\u00e8se-majest\u00e9 against Christianity.\n\nBut sin, or the fact that you and I, individually, are sinners,\nhas at present either been done away with, or else the demands\nhave been lowered in an unjustifiable manner, both in life--the\ndomestic, the civic, as well as the ecclesiastic--and in science\nwhich has invented the new doctrine of sin in general. As an\nequivalent, one has hit upon the device of helping men into\nChristianity, and keeping them in it, by the aid of a knowledge\nof world-historic events, of that mild teaching, the exalted\nand profound spirit of it, about Christ as a friend, etc., etc.--all\nof which Luther would have called stuff and nonsense and which\nis really blasphemy, aiming as it does at fraternizing impudently\nwith God and with Christ.\n\nOnly the consciousness of being a sinner can inspire one with\nabsolute respect for Christianity. And just because Christianity\ndemands absolute respect it must and shall, to any other way of\nlooking at it, seem absurdity or terror; just because only thereby\ncan the qualitative and absolute emphasis fall on the fact that\nit is only the consciousness of being a sinner which will procure\nentrance into it, and at the same time give the vision which,\nbeing absolute respect, enables one to see the mildness and love\nand compassion of Christianity.\n\nThe poor in spirit who acknowledge themselves to be sinners,\nthey do not need to know the least thing about the difficulties\nwhich appear when one is neither simple nor humble-minded. But\nwhen this humble consciousness of one's self, i. e., the individual's,\nbeing a sinner is lacking--aye, even though one possessed all\nhuman ingenuity and wisdom, and had all accomplishments possible\nto man: it will profit him little. Christianity will in the same\ndegree rise terrifying before him and transform itself into\nabsurdity or terror; until he learns, either to renounce it,\nor else, by the help of what is nothing less than scientific\nprop\u00e6deutics, apologetics, etc., that is, through the torments\nof a contrite heart, to enter into Christianity by the narrow\npath, through the consciousness of sin.\n\n\n[Footnote 1: First Part; comprising about one-fourth of the whole book.]\n\n[Footnote 2: I. e. Christ; _cf._ Introduction for the use of small\nletters.]\n\n[Footnote 3: Socrates.]\n\n[Footnote 4: John I, 1.]\n\n[Footnote 5: Matthew 20, 15.]\n\n[Footnote 6: Luke 11, 14.]\n\n[Footnote 7: Kierkegaard's note: by history we mean here profane history,\nworld history, history as such, as against Sacred History.]\n\n[Footnote 8: _Cf._ the claim of the Pharisees, Matth. 23, 30: \"If we\nhad been in the days of our fathers, we would not have been partakers\nwith them in the blood of the prophets.\"]\n\n[Footnote 9: One is here irresistibly reminded of passages in Ibsen's\n\"Brand,\" e. g., Brand's conversation with Einar, in Act I. _Cf._ also\n\"The invitation and the inviter\" and Introduction]\n\n[Footnote 10: Matthew 11, 6.]\n\n[Footnote 11: Luke 18, 32.]\n\n[Footnote 12: Matthew 20, 27f.]\n\n[Footnote 13: The original here does not agree with the sense of the\npassage.]\n\n[Footnote 14: Bj\u00f6rnson's play of \"Beyond Human Power,\" Part I, Act 2,\nreads like an elaboration of these views.]\n\n[Footnote 15: Matthew 9, 16.]\n\n[Footnote 16: The following passage is capable of different\ninterpretations in the original.]\n\n[Footnote 17: Matthew 14, 17.]\n\n[Footnote 18: _Cf._ 1 Cor. 2, 9.]\n\n[Footnote 19: John 3, 1f.]\n\n[Footnote 20: Luke 23, 35.]\n\n[Footnote 21: John 2, 4, etc.]\n\n[Footnote 22: The passage is not quite clear. Probably, you will not be\nthe man to explain this phenomenon in the very opposite terms, viz., as\nthe divinity himself.]\n\n[Footnote 23: Here, the unreserved identification with human suffering\nabove referred to.]\n\n[Footnote 24: _Cf._ Footnote 8, in \"The Misfortune of Christendom.\"]\n\n[Footnote 25: As my friend, H. M. Jones, points out, the following passage\nis essentially Aristotelian: \"The true difference is that one (history)\nrelates what has happened, the other (poetry) what may happen\";\n\"Poetics,\" Chap. IX.]\n\n[Footnote 26: _Cf._ Plato's \"Apologia\" where Socrates is made to say of\nhimself that he is inflicted on the Athenians like a gadfly on a horse,\nin order to keep them awake.]\n\n[Footnote 27: Luke 10, 23.]\n\n[Footnote 28: Kierkegaard's own note.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRESENT MOMENT[1]\n\n\nBY WAY OF INTRODUCTION\n\n(No. I, 1)\n\n\nPlato says somewhere in his \"Republic\" that things will go well\nonly when those men shall govern the state who do not desire to\ngovern. The idea is probably that, assuming the necessary capability,\na man's reluctance to govern affords a good guarantee that he\nwill govern well and efficiently; whereas a man desirous of\ngoverning may very easily either abuse his power and become\na tyrant, or by his desire to govern be brought into an unforeseen\nsituation of dependence on the people he is to rule, so that\nhis government really becomes an illusion.\n\nThis observation applies also to other relations where much\ndepends on taking things seriously: assuming there is ability\nin a man, it is best that he show reluctance to meddle with\nthem. To be sure, as the proverb has it: \"where there is a will\nthere is a way\"; but true seriousness appears only when a man\nfully equal to his task is forced, against his will, to undertake\nit--against his will, but fully equal to the task.\n\nIn this sense I may say of myself that I bear a correct relation\nto the task in hand: to work in the present moment; for God knows\nthat nothing is more distasteful to me.\n\nAuthorship--well, I confess that I find it pleasant; and I may\nas well admit that I have dearly loved to write--in the manner,\nto be sure, which suits me. And what I have loved to do is precisely\nthe opposite of working in the present moment. What I have loved\nis precisely remoteness from the present moment--that remoteness\nin which, like a lover, I may dwell on my thoughts and, like an\nartist in love with his instrument, entertain myself with language\nand lure from it the expressions demanded by my thoughts--ah\nblissful entertainment! In an eternity I should not weary of\nthis occupation.\n\nTo contend with men--well, I do like it in a certain sense; for\nI have by nature a temperament so polemic that I feel in my\nelement only when surrounded by men's mediocrity and meanness.\nBut only on one condition, viz., that I be permitted to scorn\nthem in silence and to satisfy the master passion of my soul:\nscorn--opportunity for which my career as an author has often\nenough given me.\n\nI am therefore a man of whom it may be said truthfully that he\nis not in the least desirous to work in the present moment--very\nprobably I have been called to do so for that very reason.\n\nNow that I am to work in the present moment I must, alas! say\nfarewell to thee, beloved remoteness, where there was no necessity\nto hurry, but always plenty of time, where I could wait for\nhours and days and weeks for the proper expression to occur\nto me; whereas now I must break with all such regards of tender\nlove.[2] And now that I am to work in the present moment I find\nthat there will be not a few persons whom I must oblige by paying\nmy respects to all the insignificant things which mediocrity\nwith great self-importance will lecture about; to all the nonsense\nwhich mediocre people, by interpreting into my words their own\nmediocrity, will find in all I shall write; and to all the lies\nand calumnies to which a man is exposed against whom those two\ngreat powers in society: envy and stupidity, must of necessity\nconspire.\n\nWhy, then, do I wish to work in the present moment? Because I\nshould forever repent of not having done so, and forever repent\nof having been discouraged by the consideration that the generation\nnow living would find a representation of the essential truths of\nChristianity interesting and curious reading, at most; having\naccomplished which they will calmly remain where they are; that\nis, in the illusion that they are Christians and that the clergy's\ntoying with Christianity really is Christianity.\n\n\n\n\nA PANEGYRIC ON THE HUMAN RACE OR PROOF THAT THE NEW TESTAMENT IS\nNO LONGER TRUE.\n\n(No. II, 5)\n\n\nIn the New Testament the Savior of the World, our Lord Jesus\nChrist, represents the matter in this way: \"Strait is the gate,\nand narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be\nthat find it.[3]\"\n\n--Now, however, just to confine ourselves to Denmark, the way\nis as broad as a road can possibly be; in fact, the broadest in\nDenmark, for it is the road we all travel. At the same time it\nis in all respects a comfortable way, and the gate as wide as\nit is possible for a gate to be; for certainly a gate cannot\nbe wider than to let all men pass through _en masse_:\n\nTherefore, the New Testament is no longer true.\n\nAll credit is due to the human race! For thou, oh Savior of\nthe World, thou didst entertain too low an estimate of the human\nrace, so that thou didst not foresee the exalted plan which, in\nits perfectibility, it may reach by steadily continued endeavor!\n\nTo such an extent, then, is the New Testament no longer true: the\nway is the broadest possible, the gate the widest possible, and\nwe are all Christians. In fact, I may venture still further--I\nam enthusiastic about it, for you see I am writing a panegyric\non the human race--I venture to assert that the average Jew\nliving among us is, to a certain degree, a Christian just as\nwell as we others: to such an extent are we all Christians,\nand to such an extent is the New Testament no longer true.\n\nAnd, since the point is to find out all which may be adduced\nto extol the human race, one ought--while having a care not\nto mention anything which is not true--one ought to watch that\nnothing, nothing escape one which in this connection may serve\nas a proof or even as a suggestion. So I venture still further--without\nwishing to be too positive, as I lack definite information on this\nsubject and would like, therefore, to refer the matter to specialists\nin this line to decide--: whether there are not present among\nour domestic animals, or at any rate the nobler ones, such as\nthe horse, the dog and the cow, indications of a Christian\nspirit. It is not improbable. Consider what it means to live\nin a Christian state, among a Christian people, where everything\nis Christian and everybody is a Christian and where one, turn\nwhere one may, sees nothing but Christians and Christianity,\ntruth and martyrs for the truth--it is not at all unlikely that\nthis exerts an influence on the nobler domestic animals and\nthereby again--which is ever of the utmost importance, according\nto the opinion both of veterinarians and of clergymen--an influence\non their progeny. We have all read of Jacob's ruse, how in order\nto obtain spotted lambs he put party-colored twigs into the\nwatering troughs, so that the ewes saw nothing but mottled things\nand then brought forth spotted lambs. Hence it is not improbable--although\nI do not wish to be positive, since I do not belong to the profession,\nbut would rather have this passed on by a committee composed of both\nclergymen and veterinarians--I say, it is not improbable that\nthe result will finally be that the domestic animals living in\na Christian nation will produce a Christian progeny. The thought\nalmost takes away my breath. To be sure, in that case the New\nTestament will to the greatest possible extent have ceased to be true.\n\nAh, Thou Savior of the World, when Thou saidst with great concern:\n\"When the Son of man cometh, shall He find Faith on the earth?[4]\"--and\nwhen Thou didst bow Thy head in death, then didst Thou least of\nall think that Thy expectations were to be exceeded to such a\ndegree, and that the human race would in such a pretty and touching\nway render the New Testament no longer true, and Thy significance\nalmost doubtful; for such nice creatures certainly also needed a\nSavior![5]\n\n\n\n\nIF WE ARE REALLY CHRISTIANS--THEN WHAT IS GOD?\n\n(No. II, 8)\n\n\nIf it is not so--that all we mean by being \"Christians\" is a\ndelusion--that all this machinery, with a State Church and thousands\nof spiritual-worldly councillors of chancery, etc., is a stupendous\ndelusion which will not be of the least help to us in the life\neverlasting but, on the contrary, will be turned into an accusation\nagainst us--if this is not so; for if it is, then let us, for the\nsake of life everlasting, get rid of it, the sooner the better--\n\nIf it is not so, and if what we understand by being a Christian really\nis to be a Christian: then what is God in Heaven?\n\nHe is the most ridiculous being that ever existed, His Word is\nthe most ridiculous book which has ever appeared; for to move\nheaven and earth, as He does in his Word, and to threaten with\nhell and everlasting damnation--in order to obtain as His result\nwhat we understand by being Christians (and our assumption was\nthat we are true Christians)--well, now, has anything so ridiculous\never been seen before? Imagine that a fellow with a loaded pistol\nin his hand held up a person and said to him, \"I shall shoot you\";\nor imagine, what is still more terrible, that he said, \"I shall\nseize you and torture you to death in the most horrible manner,\nif\"--now watch, here's the point--\"if you do not render your\nlife here on earth as profitable and as enjoyable as you can\":\nwould not that be utterly ridiculous? For to obtain that effect\nit certainly is not necessary to threaten one with a loaded\npistol and the most painful torture; in fact, it is possible\nthat neither the loaded pistol nor the most painful torture\nwould be able to deter him from making his life as comfortable\nas he can. And the same is true when, by fear of eternal punishment\n(terrible threat!), and by hope of eternal salvation, He wishes\nto bring about--well, to make us what we are (for what we call\nChristian is, as we have seen, really being Christian), to make\nus--well, to make us what we are; that is, make men live as\nthey please; for to abstain from committing crimes is nothing\nbut common prudence!\n\nThe most terrible blasphemy is the one of which \"Christianity\"\nis guilty, which is, to transform the God of the Spirit into--a\nridiculous piece of nonsense. And the stupidest kind of worship,\nmore stupid than any idolatry ever was among the heathen, and\nmore stupid than to worship as a god some stone, or an ox, or\nan insect--more stupid than anything, is to adore as god--a fool!\n\n\n\n\nDIAGNOSIS\n\n(No. IV, 1)\n\n\nI\n\n\nEvery physician will admit that by the correct diagnosis of a\nmalady more than half the fight against it is won; also, that\nif a correct diagnosis has not been made, all skill and all\ncare and attention will be of little avail.\n\nThe same is true with regard to religion.\n\nWe are agreed to let stand the claim that in \"Christendom\" we are\nChristians, every one of us; and then we have laid and, perhaps,\nwill lay, emphasis now on this, now on that, side of the teachings\nof the Scriptures.\n\nBut the truth is: we are not only not Christians--no, we are not\neven the heathen to whom Christianity may be taught without\nmisgivings, and what is worse, we are prevented through a delusion,\nan enormous delusion (viz. \"Christendom,\" the Christian state,\na Christian country, a Christian world) from becoming Christians.\n\nAnd then the suggestion is made to one to continue untouched and\nunchanged this delusion and, rather, to furnish a new presentation\nof the teachings of Christ.[6]\n\nThis has been suggested; and, in a certain sense, it is altogether\nfitting. Just because one lives in a delusion (not to speak even\nof being interested in keeping up the delusion), one is bound\nto desire that which will feed the malady--a common enough observation\nthis--the sick man desiring precisely those things which feed his\nmalady.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nImagine a hospital. The patients are dying off like so many flies.\nThe methods are changed, now this way, now that: of no avail! What\nmay be the cause? The cause lies in the building--the whole\nbuilding is tainted. The patients are put down as having died,\nthe one of this, the other of that, disease, but strictly speaking\nthis is not true; for they all died from the taint which is in the\nbuilding.\n\nThe same is true in religion. That religious conditions are\nwretched, and that people in respect of their religion are in\na wretched condition, nothing is more certain. So one ventures\nthe opinion that if we could but have a new hymn-book; and another,\nif we could but have a new service-book; and a third, if we could\nbut have a musical service, etc., etc.--that then matters would\nmend.\n\nIn vain; for the fault lies in the edifice. The whole ramshackle\npile of a State Church which has not been aired, spiritually\nspeaking, in times out of mind--the air in it has developed\na taint. And therefore religious life has become diseased or\nhas died out; alas, for precisely that which the worldly mind\nregards as health is, in a Christian sense, disease--just as,\nvice versa, that which is healthy in a Christian sense, is regarded\nas diseased from a worldly point of view.\n\nThen let the ramshackle pile collapse, get it out of the way,\nclose all these shops and booths which are the only ones which\nare excepted from the strict Sunday regulations, forbid this\nofficial double-dealing, put them out of commission, and provide\nfor them, for all these quacks:--even though it is true that\nthe royally attested physician is the acceptable one, and he\nwho is not so attested is a quack: in Christianity it is just\nthe reverse; that is, the royally attested teacher is the quack,\nis a quack by the very fact that he is royally attested--and\nlet us worship God again in simplicity, instead of making a\nfool of him in splendid edifices; let us be in earnest again\nand stop playing; for a Christianity preached by royal officials\nwho are payed and insured by the state and who use the police\nagainst the others, such a Christianity bears about the same\nrelation to the Christianity of the New Testament as swimming\nwith the help of a cork-belt or a bladder does to swimming alone--it\nis mere play.\n\nYes, let that come about. What Christianity needs is not the\nstifling protection of the state--ah no, it needs fresh air,\nit needs persecution and--the protection of God. The state does\nonly mischief in averting persecution and surely is not the\nmedium through which God's protection can be conducted. Whatever\nyou do, save Christianity from the state, for with its protection\nit overlies Christianity like a fat woman overlying her child\nwith her carcass, beside teaching Christianity the most abominable\nbad habits--as, e.g., to use the police force and to call that\nChristianity.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nA person is growing thinner every day and is wasting away. What\nmay the trouble be? For surely he is not suffering want! \"No,\nsure enough,\" says the doctor, \"that is not the trouble. The\ntrouble is precisely with his eating, with his eating in season\nand out of season, with his eating without being hungry, with\nhis using stimulants to produce an appetite, and in this manner\nruining his digestion, so that he is wasting away as if he suffered\nwant.\"\n\nThe same is true in religion. The worst of all is to satisfy\na craving which has not as yet made its appearance, to anticipate\nit, or--worse still--by the help of stimulants to produce something\nwhich looks like a craving, which then is promptly satisfied. Ah,\nthe shame of it! And yet this is exactly what is being done in\nreligion where people are in very truth fooled out of the real\nmeaning of life and helped to waste their lives. That is in\nvery truth, the effect of this whole machinery of a state church\nand a thousand royal officials who, under the pretense of being\nspiritual guides for the people, trick them out of the highest\nthing in life, which is, the solicitude about one's self, and\nthe need which would surely of itself find a teacher or minister\nafter its own mind; whereas now the need--and it is just the\ngrowth of this sense, of a need which gives life its highest\nsignificance--whereas now this need does not arise at all, but\non the contrary is forestalled by being satisfied long before\nit can arise. And this is the way, they claim, this is the way\nto continue the work which the Savior of Mankind did begin--stunting\nthe human race as they do. And why is this so? Because there\nhappen to be a thousand and one royal officials who have to\nsupport their families by furnishing what is called--spiritual\nguidance for men's souls!\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHRISTIANITY OF THE NEW TESTAMENT; THE CHRISITANITY OF \"CHRISTENDOM\"\n\n(No. V, 4)\n\n\nThe intention of Christianity was: to change everything.\n\nThe result, the Christianity of \"Christendom\" is: everything,\nliterally everything, remained as it had been, with just the\ndifference that to everything was affixed the attribute \"Christian\"--and\nfor the rest (strike up, fiddlers!) we live in Heathendom--so\nmerrily, so merrily the dance goes around; or, rather, we live\nin a Heathendom made more refined by the help of Life Everlasting\nand by help of the thought that, after all, it is all Christian!\n\nTry it, point to what you will, and you shall see that I am right\nin my assertion.\n\nIf what Christianity demanded was chastity, then away with brothels!\nBut the change is that the brothels have remained just as they\ndid in Heathendom, and the proportion of prostitutes remained\nthe same, too; to be sure, they became \"Christian\" brothels! A\nbrothel-keeper is a \"Christian\" brothel-keeper, he is a Christian\nas well as we others. Exclude him from church membership? \"Why,\nfor goodness sake,\" the clergyman will say, \"what would things\ncome to if we excluded a single paying member?\" The brothel-keeper\ndies and gets a funeral oration with a panegyric in proportion\nto the amount he pays. And after having earned his money in a\nmanner which, from a Christian point of view, is as filthy and\nbase as can be (for, from a Christian point of view it would be\nmore honorable if he had stolen it) the clergyman returns home.\nHe is in a hurry, for he is to go to church in order to deliver\nan oration or, as Bishop Martensen would say, \"bear witness.\"\n\nBut if Christianity demanded honesty and uprightness, and doing\naway with this swindle, the change which really came about was\nthis: the swindling has remained just as in Heathendom, \"every\none (every Christian) is a thief in his own line\"; only, the\nswindling has taken, on the predicate \"Christian.\" So we now\nhave \"Christian\" swindling--and the \"clergyman\" bestows his\nblessing on this Christian community, this Christian state,\nin which one cheats just as one did in Heathendom, at the same\ntime that one pays the \"clergyman,\" that is, the biggest swindler\nof them all, and thus cheats one's self into Christianity.\n\nAnd if Christianity demanded seriousness in life and doing away\nwith the praise and approbation of vanity--why, everything has\nremained as before, with just this difference that it has assumed\nthe predicate \"Christian.\" Thus the trumpery business with decorations,\ntitles, and rank, etc. has become Christian--and the clergyman\n(that most indecent of all indecencies, that most ridiculous of\nall ridiculous hodgepodges), he is as pleased as Punch to be decorated\nhimself--with the \"cross.\" The cross? Why, certainly; for in the\nChristianity of \"Christendom\" has not the cross become something\nlike a child's hobby-horse and tin-trumpet?\n\nAnd so with everything. There is implanted in man no stronger\ninstinct, after that of self-preservation, than the instinct of\nreproduction; for which reason Christianity seeks to reduce its\nstrength, teaching that it is better not to marry; \"but if they\ncannot contain, let them marry; for it is better to marry than\nto burn.\" But in Christendom the propagation of the race has\nbecome the serious business of life and of Christianity; and\nthe clergyman--that quint-essence of nonsense done up in long\nclothes--the clergyman, the teacher of Christianity, of the\nChristianity of the New Testament, has his income adjusted to\nthe fact that the human race is active in propagating the race,\nand gets a little something for each child!\n\nAs I said, look about you and you will find that everything\nis as I told you: the change from Heathendom consists in everything\nremaining unchanged but having assumed the predicate \"Christian.\"\n\n\n\n\nMODERN RELIGIOUS GUARANTEES\n\n(No. V, 8)\n\n\nIn times long, long past people looked at matters in this fashion:\nit was demanded of him who would be a teacher of Christianity\nthat his life should be a guarantee for the teachings he proclaimed.\n\nThis idea was abandoned long ago, the world having become wiser\nand more serious. It has learned to set little store by these\nilliberal and sickly notions of personal responsibility, having\nlearned to look for purely objective ends. The demand is made\nnow of the teacher that his life should guarantee that what he\nhas to say is entertaining and dramatic stuff, amusing, and\npurely objective.\n\nSome examples. Suppose you wanted to speak about Christianity,\nthat is, the Christianity of the New Testament which expresses\npreference for the single state--and suppose you yourself are\nunmarried: why, my dear man! you ought not to speak on this\nsubject, because your congregation might think that you meant\nwhat you said and become disquieted, or it might feel insulted\nthat you thus, very improperly, mixed in your own affairs. No,\ndear sir, it will take a little longer before you are entitled\nto speak seriously on this matter so as really to satisfy the\ncongregation. Wait till you have buried your first wife and\nare well along with your second wife: then it will be time for\nyou to stand before your congregation to preach and \"bear witness\"\nthat Christianity prefers the single state--then you will satisfy\nthem altogether; for your life will furnish the guarantee that\nit is all tomfoolery and great fun, or that what you say is--interesting.\nIndeed, how interesting! For just as, to make it interesting,\nthe husband must be unfaithful to his wife and the wife to her\nhusband, likewise truth becomes interesting, intensely interesting,\nonly when one lets one's self be carried away by one's feelings,\nbe fascinated by them--but of course does the precise opposite\nand thus in an underhand manner is re-assured in persisting in\none's ways.\n\nDo you wish to speak about Christianity's teaching contempt\nfor titles and decorations and all the follies of fame--and\nshould you happen to be neither a person of rank nor anything\nof the kind: Why, my dear sir! You ought not to undertake to\nspeak on this subject. Why, your congregation might think you\nwere in earnest, or feel insulted by such a lack of tact in\nforcing your personality on their notice. No, indeed, you ought\nto wait till you have a lot of decorations, the more the merrier;\nyou ought to wait till you drag along with a rigmarole of titles,\nso many that you hardly know yourself what you are called: then\nis your time come to stand before your congregation to preach\nand \"bear witness\"--and you will undoubtedly satisfy them; for\nyour life will then furnish the guarantee that it is but a dramatic\ndivertissement, an interesting forenoon entertainment.\n\nIs it your intention to preach Christianity in poverty, and\ninsist that only thus it is taught in truth--and you happen\nto be very literally a poor devil: Why, my dear sir! You ought\nnot to venture to speak on this subject. Why, your congregation\nmight think you were in earnest, they might become afraid and\nlose their good humor, and they might be very unpleasantly affected\nby thus having poverty-thrust in on them. No indeed, first get\nyourself some fat living, and when you have had it so long that\nyour promotion to one still fatter is to be expected: then is\nyour time come to stand before your congregation and to preach\nand \"bear witness\"--and you will satisfy them; for your life\nthen furnishes the guarantee that it is just a joke, such as\nserious men like to indulge in, now and then, in theatre or\nin church, as a sort of recreation to gather new strength--for\nmaking money.\n\nAnd that is the way they honor God in the churches! And then\nthese silk and velvet orators weep, they sob, their voice is\ndrowned in tears! Ah, if it be true (and it is, since God Himself\nhas said so), if it be true that He counts the tears of the\nafflicted and puts them into His bottle,[7] then woe to these\norators, if God has counted also their Sunday tears and put\nthem into His bottle! And woe to us all if God really heeds\nthese Sunday tears--especially those of the speakers, but also\nthose of the listeners! For a Sunday preacher would indeed be\nright if he said--and, oratorically, this would have a splendid\neffect, especially if accompanied by his own tears and suppressed\nsobs--he would be right if he said to his audience: I shall\ncount all the futile tears you have shed in church, and with\nthem I shall step accusingly before you on the Day of Judgment--indeed,\nhe is right; only please not to forget that, after all, the\nspeaker's own dramatic tears are by far more dreadful than the\nthoughtless tears of his listeners.\n\n\n\n\nWHAT SAYS THE FIRE-MARSHAL\n\n(No. VI, 5)\n\n\nThat a man who in some fashion or other has what one calls a\n\"cause,\" something he seriously purposes to accomplish--and\nthere are other persons who make it their business to counteract,\nand antagonize, and hurt him--that he must take measures against\nthese his enemies, this will be evident to every one. But that\nthere is a well-intentioned kindness by far more dangerous,\nperhaps, and one that seems calculated to prevent the serious\naccomplishment of his mission, this will not at once be clear\nto every one.\n\nWhen a person suddenly falls ill, kindly-intentioned folk will\nstraightway rush to his help, and one will suggest this, another\nthat--and if all those about him had a chance to have their way\nit would certainly result in the sick man's death; seeing that\neven one person's well-meaning advice may be dangerous enough.\nAnd even if nothing is done, and the advice of neither the assembled\nand well-meaning crowd nor of any one person is taken, yet their\nbusy and flurried presence may be harmful, nevertheless, inasmuch\nas they are in the way of the physician.\n\nLikewise at a fire. Scarcely has the alarm of fire been sounded\nbut a great crowd of people will rush to the spot, good and kindly\nand sympathetic, helpful people, the one with a bucket, the other\nwith a basin, still another with a hand-squirt--all of them goodly,\nkindly, sympathetic, helpful persons who want to do all they can\nto extinguish the fire.\n\nBut what says the fire-marshal? The fire-marshal, he says--well,\nat other times the fire-marshal is a very pleasant and refined\nman; but at a fire he does use coarse language--he says or,\nrather, he roars out: \"Oh, go to hell with your buckets and\nhand-squirts!\" And then, when these well-meaning people feel\ninsulted, perhaps, and think it highly improper to be treated\nin this fashion, and would like at least to be treated respectfully--what\nsays the fire-marshal then? Well, at other times the fire-marshal\nis a very pleasant and refined gentleman who will show every\none the respect due him; but at a fire he is somewhat different--he\nsays: \"Where the devil is the police?\" And when the policemen\narrive he says to them: \"Rid me of these damn people with their\nbuckets and hand-squirts; and if they won't clear out, then club\nthem on their heads, so that we get rid of them and--can get at\nthe fire!\"\n\nThat is to say, in the case of a fire the whole way of looking\nat things is a very different one from that of quiet every-day\nlife. The qualities which in quiet every-day life render one\nwell-liked, viz., good-nature and kindly well-meaning, all this\nis repaid, in the case of a fire, with abusive language and\nfinally with a crack on the head.\n\nAnd this is just as it should be. For a conflagration is a serious\nbusiness; and wherever we have to deal with a serious business\nthis well-intentioned kindness won't do at all. Indeed, any\nserious business enforces a very different mode of behavior\nwhich is: either-or. Either you are able really to do something,\nand really have something to do here; or else, if that be not\nthe case, then the serious business demands precisely that you\ntake yourself away. And if you will not comprehend that, the\nfire-marshal proposes to have the police hammer it into your\nhead; which may do you a great deal of good, as it may help\nto render you a little serious, as is befitting so serious a\nbusiness as a fire.\n\nBut what is true in the case of a fire holds true also in matters\nof the spirit. Wherever a cause is to be promoted, or an enterprise\nto be seen through, or an idea to be served--you may be sure that\nwhen he who really is the man to do it, the right man, he who,\nin a higher sense has and ought to have command, he who is in\nearnest and can make the matter the serious business it really\nis--you may be sure that when he arrives at the spot, so to say,\nhe will find there a nice company of easy-going, addle-pated\ntwaddlers who pretending to be engaged in serious business,\ndabble in wishing to serve this cause, to further that enterprise,\nto promote that idea--a company of addle-pated fools who will\nof course consider one's unwillingness to make common cause\nwith them (which unwillingness precisely proves one's seriousness)--will\nof course consider that a sure proof of the man's lack of seriousness.\nI say, when the right man arrives he will find this; but I might\nalso look at it in this fashion: the very question as to whether\nhe is the right man is most properly decided by his attitude to\nthat crowd of fools. If he thinks they may help him, and that\nhe will add to his strength by joining them, then he is _eo ipso_\nnot the right man. The right man will understand at once, as\ndid the fire-marshal, that the crowd must be got out of the way;\nin fact, that their presence and puttering around is the most\ndangerous ally the fire could have. Only, that in matters of\nthe spirit it is not as in the case of the conflagration, where\nthe fire-marshal needs but to say to the police: rid me of these\npeople!\n\nThus in matters of the spirit, and likewise in matters of religion.\nHistory has frequently been compared to what the chemists call\na \"process.\" The figure is quite suggestive, providing it is\ncorrectly understood. For instance, in the \"process of filtration\"\nwater is run through a filter and by this process loses its\nimpurities. In a totally different sense history is a process.\nThe idea is given utterance--and then enters into the process\nof history. But unfortunately this process (how ridiculous a\nsupposition!) consists not in purifying the idea, which never\nis purer than at its inception; oh no, it consists in gradually\nand increasingly botching, bungling, and making a mess of, the\nidea, in using up the idea, in--indeed, is not this the opposite\nof filtering?--adding the impurer elements which it originally\nlacked: until at last, by the enthusiastic and mutually appreciative\nefforts of successive generations, the idea has absolutely disappeared\nand the very opposite of the original idea is now called the\nidea, which is then asserted to have arisen through a historic\nprocess by which the idea is purified and elevated.\n\nWhen finally the right man arrives, he who in the highest sense\nis called to the task--for all we know, chosen early and slowly\neducated for this business--which is, to throw light on the matter,\nto set fire to this jungle which is a refuge for all kinds of\nfoolish talk and delusions and rascally tricks--when he comes\nhe will always find a nice company of addle-pated fools and\ntwaddlers who, surely enough, do think that, perhaps, things\nare wrong and that \"something must be done about it\"; or who\nhave taken the position, and talk a good deal about it, that\nit is preposterous to be self-important and talk about it. Now\nif he, the right man, is deceived but a single instant and thinks\nthat it is this company who are to aid him, then it is clear\nhe is not the right man. If he is deceived and has dealings\nwith that company, then providence will at once take its hand\noff him, as not fit. But the right man will see at a glance,\nas the fire-marshal does, that the crowd who in the kindness\nof their hearts mean to help in extinguishing a conflagration\nby buckets and hand-squirts--the right man will see that the\nsame crowd who here, when there is a question, not of extinguishing\na fire, but rather of setting something on fire, will in the\nkindness of their hearts wish to help, with a sulphur match\nsans fire or a wet spill--he will see that this crowd must be\ngot rid of, that he must not have the least thing in common\nwith this crowd, that he will be! obliged to use the coarsest\npossible language against them--he who perhaps at other times\nis anything but coarse. But the thing of supreme importance\nis to be rid of the crowd; for the effect of the crowd is to\nhamstring the whole cause by robbing it of its seriousness while\nheartfelt sympathy is pretended. Of course the crowd will then\nrage against him, against his incredible arrogance and so forth.\nThis ought not to count with him, whether for or against. In\nall truly serious business the law of: either--or, prevails.\nEither, I am the man whose serious business this is, I am called\nto it, and am willing to take a decisive risk; or, if this be\nnot the case, then the seriousness of the business demands that\nI do not meddle with it at all. Nothing is more detestable and\nmean, and nothing discloses and effects a deeper demoralization,\nthan this lackadaisical wishing to enter \"somewhat\" into matters\nwhich demand an _aut--aut, aut C\u00e6sar aut nihil_,[8] this taking\njust a little part in something, to be so wretchedly lukewarm,\nto twaddle about the business, and then by twaddling to usurp\nthrough a lie the attitude of being better than they who wish\nnot to have anything whatever to do with the whole business--to\nusurp through a lie the attitude of being better, and thus to\nrender doubly difficult the task of him whose business it really\nis.\n\n\n\n\nCONFIRMATION AND WEDDING CEREMONY; CHRISTIAN--COMEDY--OR WORSE STILL\n\n(No. VII, 6)\n\n\nPricks of conscience (insofar as they may be assumed in this\nconnection)--pricks of conscience seem to have convinced \"Christendom\"\nthat it was, after all, going too far, and that it would not do--this\nbeastly farce of becoming a Christian by the simple method of\nletting a royal official give the infant a sprinkle of water over\nhis head, which is the occasion for a family gathering with a\nbanquet to celebrate the day.\n\nThis won't do, was the opinion of \"Christendom,\" for the opportunity\nought to be given the baptized individual to indorse personally his\nbaptismal vows.\n\nFor this purpose the rite of confirmation was devised--a splendid\ninvention, providing we take two things for granted: in the first\nplace, that the idea of divine worship is to make God ridiculous;\nand in the second place, that its purpose is to give occasion\nfor family celebrations, parties, a jolly evening, a banquet which\nis different from other banquets in that it--ah, exquisite--in\nthat it, \"at the same time\" has a religious significance.\n\n\"The tender child,\" thus Christendom, \"can of course not assume\nthe baptismal vow personally, for this requires a real personality.\"\nConsequently there was chosen--is this a stroke of genius or\njust ingenious?--there was chosen the age of 14 or 15 year's,\nthe schoolboy age. This real personality--that is all right,\nif you please--he is equal to the task of personally assuming\nresponsibility for the baptismal vow taken in behalf of the infant.\n\nA boy of fifteen! Now, if it were a matter of 10 dollars, his\nfather would probably say: \"No, my boy, I can't let you have\nall that money, you are still too green for that.\" But for a\nmatter touching his eternal salvation where the point is to\nassume, with all the seriousness one's personality is capable\nof, and as a personality, responsibility for what certainly\ncould not in any profounder sense be called serious--when a\nchild is bound by a vow: for that the age of fifteen is excellently\nfitting.\n\nExcellently fitting. Oh yes if, as was remarked above, divine\nworship serves a double purpose, viz., to render God ridiculous\nin a very adroit manner--if you may call it so--and to furnish\nthe occasion for graceful family celebrations. In that case it\nis indeed excellently fitting, as everything is on that occasion;\nas is, likewise, the customary biblical lesson for the day which,\nyou will remember, begins: \"Then the same day at evening, when\nthe doors were shut[9]\"--and this text is particularly suitable\nto a Confirmation Sunday. One is truly edified when hearing a\nclergyman read it on a Confirmation Sunday.\n\nAs is easily perceived, then, the confirmation ceremony is still\nworse nonsense than the baptism of infants, just because confirmation\npretends to supply what was lacking at the baptism, viz., a real\npersonality capable of making a vow in a matter touching one's\neternal salvation. In another sense this nonsense is, to be\nsure, ingenious enough, as serving the self-interest of the\nclergy who understand full well that if the decision concerning\na man's religion were reserved until he had reached maturity\n(which were the only Christian, as well as the only sensible,\nway), many might possess character enough to refuse to become\nChristians by an act of hypocrisy. For this reason \"the clergyman\"\nseeks to gain control of men in their infancy and their youth,\nso that they would find it difficult, upon reaching a more mature\nage, to break a \"sacred\" vow dating, to be sure, from one's\nboyhood, but which would, perhaps, still be a serious enough\nmatter to many a one. Hence the clergy take hold of the infants,\nthe youths, and receive sacred promises and the like from them.\nAnd what that man of God, \"the clergyman,\" does, why, that is,\nof course, a God-fearing action. Else, analogy might, perhaps,\ndemand that to the ordinance forbidding the sale of spirituous\nliquors to minors there should be added one forbidding the taking\nof solemn vows concerning one's eternal salvation from--boys;\nwhich ordinance would look toward preventing the clergy, who\nthemselves are perjurers, from working--in order to salve their\nown consciences--from working toward the greatest conceivable\nshipwreck which is, to make all society become perjured; for\nletting boys of fifteen bind themselves in a matter touching\ntheir eternal salvation is a measure which is precisely calculated\nto have that effect.\n\nThe ceremony of confirmation is, then, in itself a worse piece\nof nonsense than the baptism of infants. But in order to miss\nnothing which might, in any conceivable manner, contribute to\nrender confirmation the exact opposite of what it purports to\nbe, this ceremony has been connected with all manner of worldly\nand civil affairs, so that the significance of confirmation lies\nchiefly in the--certificate of character which the minister\nmakes out; without which certificate no boy or girl will be\nable to get on at all in life.[10]\n\nThe whole thing is a comedy; and perhaps something might be\ndone to add greater dramatic illusion to the solemnity; as e.g.,\npassing an ordinance forbidding any one to be confirmed in a\njacket, as not becoming a real personality; likewise, a regulation\nordering male candidates for confirmation to wear a beard during\nthe ceremony, which beard might, of course, be taken off for the\nfamily celebration in the evening, or be used in fun and merrymaking.\n\nI am not now attacking the community--they are led astray; they\ncannot be blamed for liking this kind of divine worship, seeing\nthat they are left to their own devices and deceived by their\nclergyman who has sworn an oath on the New Testament. But woe\nto these clergymen, woe to them, these sworn liars! I know there\nhave been mockers at religion, and I know how much they would\nhave given to be able to do what I do; but they were not able\nto, because God was not with them. It is different with me.\nOriginally as well disposed to the clergy as few have been,\nand very ready to help them. I have undergone a change of heart\nin the opposite direction, owing to their attitude. And the\nAlmighty is with me, and He knows how the whip is to be handled\nso that the blows take effect, and that laughter must be that\nwhip, handled with fear and trembling--therefore am I used.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WEDDING CEREMONY\n\n\nTrue worship of God consists, very simply, in doing God's will.\n\nBut that kind of divine service has never suited man's wishes.\nThat which occupies man's mind at all times, that which gives\nrise to science[11] and makes science spread into many, many\nsciences, and into interminable detail; that of which, and for\nwhich, thousands of clergymen and professors live, that which\nforms the contents of the history of Christendom, by the study\nof which the clergyman or the professor is to be trained--is\nto get a different kind of worship arranged, the main point of\nwhich would be: to do what one pleases, but in such fashion that\nthe name of God and the invocation of God be brought into connection\ntherewith; by which arrangement man imagines himself safeguarded\nagainst ungodliness--whereas, alas! just this procedure is the\nmost unqualified ungodliness.\n\nFor example: a man has the intention to make his living by killing\npeople. To be sure, he knows from the Word of God that this is\nnot permissible, that God's will is: thou shalt not kill! \"All\nright,\" thinks he, \"but this way of serving God will not serve\nmy purposes--at the same time I don't care to be among the ungodly\nones, either.\" So what does he do but get hold of some priest who\nin God's name blesses his dagger. Ah, _c'est bien autre chose!_\n\nIn the Scriptures the single state is recommended. \"But,\" says\nman, \"that kind of worship really does not serve my purposes--and\nsurely, you can't say that I am an ungodly person; and such an\nimportant step as marriage (which _nota bene_ God counsels against,\nHis opinion being, in fact, that the important thing is not to\ntake \"this important step\")--should I take such an important step\nwithout making sure of God's blessing?\" Bravo! \"That is what we\nhave the priest for, that man of God, he will bestow the blessing\non this important step (_nota bene_ concerning which the most\nimportant thing was not to take it at all) and so it will be\nacceptable to God\"--and so I have my own way; and my own way\nbecomes the way of worshipping God; and the priest has his own\nway and gets his ten dollars, which are not earned in such a\nsimple way as, for example, by brushing people's clothes, or\nby serving out beer and brandy--oh no! Was he not active on\nbehalf of God? To earn ten dollars in this fashion is: serving\nGod. Bravissimo!\n\nWhat depth of nonsense and abomination! If something is not\npleasing to God, does it perhaps become pleasing to Him by having--why,\nthat is aggravating the mischief!--by having a clergyman along\nwho--why, that is aggravating the mischief still more!--who gets\nten dollars for declaring it pleasant to God?\n\nLet us consider the marriage ceremony still further! In His\nword God recommends the single state. Now suppose two young\npeople want to be married. To be sure, they ought certainly\nto know, themselves, what Christianity is, seeing that they\ncall themselves Christians; but never mind that now. The lovers\nthen apply to--the clergyman; and the clergyman is, we remember,\npledged by his oath on the New Testament (which _nota bene_\nrecommends the single state). Now, if he is not a liar and a\nperjurer who makes his money in the very shabbiest fashion,\nhe would be bound to take the following course: at most he could,\nwith human compassion for this human condition of being in love,\nsay to them: \"Dear children, I am the one to whom you should\nturn last of all; to turn to me on this occasion is, indeed,\nas strange as if one should turn to the chief of police and\nask him how best to steal. My duty is to employ all means to\nrestrain you. At most, I can say, with the words of the Apostle\n(for they are not the words of Our Lord), I can say to you:\nwell, if it must be, and you cannot contain, why, then find\nsome way of getting together; for fit is better to marry than\nto burn.'[12] I know very well that you will be likely to shudder\nwhen I speak in this manner about what you think is the most\nbeautiful thing in life; but I must do my duty. And it is therefore\nI said to you that to me you should have applied last of all.\"\n\nIt is different in \"Christendom.\" The priest--oh dear me!--if\nthere are but two to clap together, why certainly! Indeed, if\nthe persons concerned turned to a midwife they would perhaps\nnot be as sure to be confirmed in their conviction that their\nintention is pleasing to God.\n\nAnd so they are married; i.e. man has his own way, and this\nhaving his own way strategically serves at the same time as\ndivine worship, God's name being connected with it. They are\nmarried--by the priest! Ah, for having the clergyman along is\njust what reassures one--the man who, to be sure, is pledged\nby his oath to preach the New Testament, but who for a consideration\nof ten dollars is the pleasantest company one could desire--that\nman he guarantees that this act is true worship of God.\n\nIn a Christian sense one ought to say: precisely the fact that\na priest is in it, precisely that is the worst thing about the\nwhole business. If you want to be married you ought, rather,\nbe married by a smith; for then--if it were admissible to speak\nin this fashion--then it might possibly escape God's attention;\nwhereas, if there is a priest along it can certainly not escape\nHis attention. Precisely the fact of the clergyman's being there\nmakes it as criminal an affair as possible--call to mind what\nwas said to a man who in a storm at sea invoked the gods: \"By\nall means do not let the gods notice that you are aboard!\" Thus\none might say here also: By all means try to avoid calling in\na priest. The others, the smith and the lovers, have not pledged\nthemselves by an oath on the New Testament, so matters are not\nas bad--if it be admissible to speak in this fashion--as when\nthe priest assists with his--holy presence.\n\n\n\n\nAN ETERNITY TO REPENT IN!\n\n(No. VIII, 3)\n\n\nLet me relate a story. I did not read it in a book of devotion\nbut in what is generally called light reading. Yet I do not\nhesitate to make use of it, and indicate its source only lest\nany one be disturbed if he should happen to be acquainted with\nit, or find out at some later time where it is from--lest he be\ndisturbed that I had been silent about this.\n\nOnce upon a time there lived somewhere in the East a poor old\ncouple. Utterly poor they were, and anxiety about the future\nnaturally grew when they thought of old age approaching. They\ndid not, indeed, constantly assail heaven with their prayers,\nthey were too God-fearing to do that; but still they were ever\npraying to God for help.\n\nThen one morning it happened that the old woman found an exceeding\nlarge jewel on the hearth-stone, which she forthwith showed to\nher husband, who recognized its value and easily perceived that\nnow their poverty was at an end.\n\nWhat a bright future for these old people, and what gladness!\nBut frugal and pious as they were they decided not to sell the\njewel just yet, since they had enough wherewithal to live still\none more day. But on the morrow they would sell it, and then a\nnew life was to begin for them.\n\nIn the following night the woman dreamed that she was transported\nto Paradise. An angel showed her about the splendors which only\nan Oriental imagination can devise. He showed her a hall in which\nthere stood long rows of arm-chairs gemmed all over with precious\nstones and pearls. These, so the angel explained, were the seats\nof the pious. And last of all he pointed out to her the one\ndestined for herself. When regarding it more closely she discovered\nthat a very large jewel was lacking in the back of the chair, and\nshe asked the angel how that might be. He--ah, watch now, for\nhere is the point! The angel answered: \"That was the jewel which\nyou found on your hearth-stone. It was given you ahead of time,\nand it cannot be put in again.\"\n\nIn the morning the woman told her husband this dream. And she\nwas of the opinion that it was better, perhaps, to endure in\npoverty the few years still left to them to live, rather than\nto be without that jewel in all eternity. And her pious husband\nwas of the same opinion.\n\nSo in the evening they laid the jewel on the hearth-stone and\nprayed to God to take it away again. And next morning it had\ndisappeared, for certain; and what had become of it the old\nfolks well knew: it was in its right place again.\n\nThis man was in truth happily married, and his wife a sensible\nwoman. But even if it were true, as is maintained so often,\nthat it is men's wives who cause them to lose sight of eternal\nvalues: even if all men remained unmarried, there would still\nbe in every one of us an impulse, more ingenious and more pressing\nand more unremitting than a woman, which will cause him to use\na wrong measure and to think a couple of years, or ten years,\nor forty years, so enormous a length of time that even eternity\nwere quite brief in comparison; instead of these years being\nas nothing when compared with the infinite duration of eternity.\n\nTherefore, heed this well! You may by worldly wisdom escape\nperhaps what it has pleased God to unite with the condition of\none's being a Christian, that is, sufferings and tribulations;\nyou may, and to your own destruction, by cleverly avoiding the\ndifficulties, perhaps, gain what God has forever made incompatible\nwith being a Christian, that is, the enjoyment of pleasures\nand all earthly goods; you may, fooled by your own worldly wisdom,\nperhaps, finally perish altogether, in the illusion that you\nare on the right way because you have gained happiness in this\nworld: and then--you will have an eternity to repent in! An\neternity to repent in; to repent that you did not employ your\ntime in doing what might be remembered in all eternity; that is,\nin truth to love God, with the consequence that you suffer the\npersecution of men in this life.\n\nTherefore, do not deceive yourself, and of all deceivers fear\nmost yourself! Even if it were possible for one, with regard\nto eternity, to take something ahead of time, you would still\ndeceive yourself just by having something ahead of time--and\nthen an eternity to repent in!\n\n\n\n\nA DOSE OF DISGUST WITH LIFE\n\n(No. IX, 3)\n\n\nJust as man--as is natural--desires that which tends to nourish\nand revive his love of life, likewise he who wishes to live with\neternity in mind needs a constant dose of disgust with life\nlest he become foolishly enamored of this world and, still more,\nin order that he may learn thoroughly to be disgusted and bored\nand sickened with the folly and lies of this wretched world. Here\nis a dose of it:\n\nGod Incarnate is betrayed, mocked, deserted by absolutely all\nmen; not a single one, literally not a single one, remains faithful\nto him--and then, afterwards, afterwards,--oh yes, afterwards,\nthere were millions of men who on their knees made pilgrimage\nto the places where many hundred years ago His feet, perhaps,\ntrod the ground; afterwards, afterwards--oh yes, afterwards,\nmillions worshipped a splinter of the cross on which He was crucified!\n\nAnd so it was always when men were contemporary with the great;\nbut afterwards, afterwards--oh yes, afterwards!\n\nMust one then not loathe being human?\n\nAnd again, must one not loathe being human? For these millions\nwho on their knees made pilgrimage to His grave, this throng of\npeople which no power on earth was able to overcome: but one\nthing were necessary, Christ's return--and all these millions\nwould quickly regain their feet to run their way, so that the\nwhole throng were as if blown away; or would, in a mass, and\nerect enough, rush upon Christ in order to kill him.\n\nThat which Christ and the Apostles and every martyr desires,\nand desires as the only thing: that we should follow in His\nfootsteps, just that is the thing which mankind does not like\nor does not find pleasure in.\n\nNo, take away the danger--so that it is but play, and then the\nbattallions of the human race will (ah, disgusting!) will perform\nastonishing feats in aping Him; and then instead of an imitation\nof Christ we get (ah, disgusting!), we get that sacred buffoonery--under\nguidance and command (ah, disgusting!) of sworn clergymen who do\nservice as sergeants, lieutenants, etc.--ordained men who therefore\nhave the Holy Spirit's special assistance in this serious business.\n\n[Footnote 1: Selections.]\n\n[Footnote 2: The following sentence is not clear in the original.]\n\n[Footnote 3: Matthew 7, 14.]\n\n[Footnote 4: Luke 18, 8.]\n\n[Footnote 5: The last line of this piece of bloody irony is not clear\nin the original (S. V. XIII, 128). It will make better sense if one\nsubstitutes \"da\" for the first \"de.\"]\n\n[Footnote 6: This suggestion had actually been made to Kierkegaard in the\ncourse of his attacks on Martensen.]\n\n[Footnote 7: Allusion to Psalm 56, 9; also, to a passage in one of Bishop\nMynster's sermons (S. V.).]\n\n[Footnote 8: Either-or; either C\u00e6sar or nothing (Cesare Borgia's slogan).]\n\n[Footnote 9: \"John 20, 19--where the disciples were assembled for\nfear of the Jews, came Jesus and stood in the midst, and saith unto\nthem. Peace be unto you.\"]\n\n[Footnote 10: This was, until very recently, the universal rule in\nProtestant Scandinavia and Germany.]\n\n[Footnote 11: It is to be borne in mind that Danish _videnskab_, like\nGerman _Wissenschaft_, embraces the humanities and theology as well.]\n\n[Footnote 12: I Cor. 7, 9.]","title":"Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":84937}