The Life and Thought of Kierkegaard For Everyman

OSMANU UNIVERSITY Call Na k Kierkegaard ha\ been, and will continue for many years to be. the definitive biography of hi...

Author: John A. Gates

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THE LIFE AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

THE LIFE AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

THE L I F E AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN by

John A. Gates

THE WESTMINSTER PRESS Philadelphia

THE L I F E AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN by

John A. Gates

THE WESTMINSTER PRESS Philadelphia

O W. 1 . ) F.N KIN'S MCMLX All rights reserved — n o part o f this bunk m a y b e r e p r o d u c e d in a n y f o r m w i t h o u t permission in w r i t i n g from the p u h l i i h r r , except b y a r e v i e w e r w h o w i i l m t o q u o t e brief pa Mage* i n c o n n e c t i o n with a review in m a g a z i n e o r n e w s p a p e r .

Ijbraiy

of C o n g r c H Catalog C a r d

N o , 60-7326

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

To My Wife confidence, co-operation, and gentle have made this book^ possible

urgency

Contents Preface

9

1. " Never a Child "

II

2. " My Going Astray "

19

3. " M y A w a k e n i n g "

27

4. " Sovereign of My Heart '*

37

5. *' Either/Or "

54

6. " Stages on Life's W a y *

74

7. " Poor Individual, Existing Man "

91

8 . " Trampled to Death by Geese "

107

9. " Thou and 1 Arc Sinners "

122

10. " A Poet's Heart Must Break "

139

Notes

159

Selected Bibliography

165

Index

169

Preface n p H i s SMALL BOOK is an attempt to bring Kicrkc_|_ gaard to those whom lie earnestly wanted to reach. H e was concerned lest his writings Ixrcomc the " property " of philosophers and theologians, discussed, argued about, anil learnedly expounded, but never heeded or appropriated for living. He wrote for the " plain man," the person to whom he referred as " that solitary individual," and whom he addressed in the Discourses as " my reader." Yet the earliest known reference to Kierkegaard by any writer in English (Andrew Hamilton in 1852) notes that while there is no Danish writer more earnest than Kierkegaard, there is also no one in whose way stand more things to prevent his becoming popular. This is an exaggeration, for much that he wrote is very readable. But he is wordy; his logic is sometimes difficult; and his thinking contrasts markedly with the climate of thought in our time. T o most English-speaking readers today he needs to be mediated. My effort in the present book is, therefore, to mediate Kierkegaard to American readers in such a way that many may read and understand. It is not a scholarly book, yet back of it, I hope, lies a sufficient grasp of Kierkegaard that I have avoided the pitfalls of misinterpretation and ovcrsimplifica-

9

in

PREFACE

lion. As over a period of years I have read and pondered the writings of this greatest of all ni net cent hk Kierkegaard ha\ been, and will continue for many years to be. the definitive biography of him in English. T o Dr. Lowric we are also indebted for his excellent translations of many of Kierkegaard's books, a task to which l'rof. David P. Swcnson. Mrs. Lillian Marvin Swcnson. Prof. Douglas V. Stecre, antl Mr. Alexander Dru have also made important contributions. Acknowledgment is herewith gratefully made to the Oxfort) University Press, the Princeton University Press, and Mrs, Walter l-owrie for permission to use copyrighted material. I wish to thank the editors of The Westminster Press, particularly Dr. Roland W . Tapp, for patience, counsel, and encouragement in the writing and preparation for publication of this book. Thanks are also due to Mrs. Iorctta Oestrcich, who typed the manuscript, and to Mrs. Jcanc Anderson and my wife, Iwth of whom, being appropriately devoid of any philosophical training, have read the entire manuscript and made many valuable suggestions. JOHN A.

Wettminsler College Fulton, Misiouri

GATES

CHAPTER 1

"Nevera

Child-

Si

ORFN A A B Y E KIERKEGAARD, who

died in 1 8 5 5 ,

has

had an amazing resurrection of influence in our time. He was unknown outside Denmark during his lifetime, and was little understood there or elsewhere for a generation or more after his death. Until 1914 Western civilization was characterized by middle-class complacency and evolutionary optimism, and did not know that it had within itself the seeds of its own destruction. Now a generation sobered by world wars, a world-wide depression, false ideologies, mass hysteria and brutality, the rebellion of exploited peoples, and the threat of atomic destruction is ready to listen lo Kierkegaard. A generation ago he was unknown and unavailable to English-speaking readers; now some twenty of his books are available in English translation. He is variously understood, and often misunderstood; he is generally agreed to be a controversial figure. Points of view as various as the novels of Albert Camus and the theology of neo-orthodoxy derive their inspiration, directly or indirectly, from Kierkegaard. His may not be the whole gospel, but it is a needed corrcclive to the distorted views of " popular " Christianity current among us. All we like sheep have gone astray, and this man II

12

THE LIFE AND THOUGHT OF K1ERKFGAAM) FOR F.VF.XYMAN

with the prophet voice and shepherd heart calls us hack to the way. No man in our generation, who would understand himself, or Christianity, or life, can atTord to be ignorant of Kierkegaard. I Ic was lx>rn in Copenhagen, May 5. 1813, the youngest of seven children. His father was fifty-six, and his mother was ncaring her forty-fifth birthday. Their home was one of wealth and leisure. The father, Michael P. Kierkegaard, had made a fortune as a wholesale dealer in woolens and general imports. Deeply interested in religion, he had retired from business at the age of forty to devote himself to study. From brooding over two traumatic experiences in his life, he bad become a very melancholy man. His boyhood had liccn one of poverty and hardship. One day, herding sheep on a barren I K .lib of Jutland, in loneliness, misery, and futile rebellion he bad lifted his face to a pitiless sky and cursed God. He was never able to for«ct this. More tangible, ami weighing even more Iteavily upon his conscience, was M. P. Kierkegaard's sin of sexual incontinence after the death of his first wife. Anne Lund, who was to become his second wife and the mother of his seven children, had been Ins housekeeper. He married her before 'be year of mourning was over, and five months later she gave birth to their first child. For this the elder Kierkegaard never forgave himself. He felt indeed that a curse lay ii|x»n his life — and that he deserved it. He was greatly interested in the rearing of his children, and especially in his youngest son. From the time Sorcn was a small boy, he anil his father spent much time together, and while absorbing bis father's deep religious faith, the son also absorbed his father's melancholy. Sorcn was later to say of himself that as a child be was already an old man.

• NEVER A C H I L D "

13

Yet life with father was not an altogether gloomy experience for young Sorcn. Years later he wrote many of his books under various pseudonyms, attributing to his pseudonymous authors autobiographical material he might otherwise have been reluctant to publish. In one such passage, introducing his favorite pseudonym, Johannes Climacus, there is this interesting description, applicable, we believe, to Kierkegaard's own boyhood: His father was a very severe man. . . . When occasionally Johannes asked his permission to go out, he generally refused to give it, though once in a while he proposed instead that Johannes should take his hand and walk up and down the room. . . . The proposition was accepted, and it was left entirely to Johannes to determine where they should go. So they went out of doors to a nearby castle in Spain, or out to the seashore, or about the streets, wherever Johannes wished to go, for his father was equal to anything. While they went up and down the room, his father described all that they saw; they greeted passers-by; carriages rattled past them and drowned his father's voice; the cake woman's cakes were more enticing than ever. He described so accurately, so vividly, so explicitly even to the least details, everything that W3s known to Johannes and so fully and perspicuously what was unknown to him, that after half an hour of such a walk with his father, he was as much overwhelmed and fatigued as if he had been 3 whole day out of doors. 1

There were times of real and active play also. It was on one such occasion that Sorcn fell from a tree and received an injury to his back to which he later attributed his spinal curvature and accompanying ill-health. T h e injury, says his niece Hcnricttc Lund, was " perhaps the first link in the chain of suffering which was to lead him on his lonely w a y . " " With this weakness of the back came the proverbial com-

M

THE LIFE AND TIIOUCHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

pcnsation, a strong mind. Sorcn was often a fascinated listener to discussions between his father and visitors in the home. M. P. Kierkegaard was a very intelligent man, and a master of dialectic argument. When there was a disagreement, he would urge the person with whom he disagreed to state his position and say all he could in its defense. Then, step by step, the elder Kierkegaard would win from his opponent concessions which finally pushed the poor man into a corner and left him with nothing more to say. Sorcn remembered these discussions with relish, and was to become in adult life a great controversialist and a master of dialectic. The father made a deep impression on his youngest son. Soren's mother, on the other hand, seems to have made Utile conscious impression on him. She is described by others as a nice little woman with a cheerful disposition. Sb'rcn Kierkegaard (often called S. K. by his friends and by his biographers) never mentions her in his writings. He entered the Borgcrsdydskolc (" School of Civic Virtue " ) in Copenhagen in 1821. H e began by taking his schoolwork very seriously. In Either/Or he was later to give us an example of his passionate earnestness even as a child: I made my appearance at school, was introduced to my teacher, and then was given my leuon for the following day. the first ten lines of Ballc'i Leuon Book^. which I was to learn by heart. . . . As a child I had a very good memory, so I had soon learned my lesson. My sister had heard mc rcciic it several times, and affirmed that 1 knew it. 1 went to bed. and before I fell asleep 1 catechized myself once more; 1 fell asleep with the firm purpose of reading the lesson over the following morning. I awoke at five o'clock, got drcucd, got hold of my lesson book, and read it again. . . . To mc it was as if heaven and earth might CflBapM if 1 did not learn my lesson, and on the other hand as if. even if

"rami

A CHILD"

15

heaven and canh wctc lo collapse, this would not exempt me from . . . learning my lesson-* Sorcn was at this lime a small, rather delicate child. In his home he had already developed a sharp tongue, and his father nicknamed him " the fork." In the early years of his school career his elderly parents dressed him in outmoded clothes, and his schoolmates tailed him " choirboy/* H e resented this, and soon discovered ib.it his sharp tongue and ready wit were useful weapons in turning the tables on his tormentors. This got him many a beating from older and larger boys, but it also won the respect of his schoolmates. S. K. had an independence of spirit which often got him into trouble, both with fellow students and with teachers. His brilliant mind would have enabled him to rank first in his classes, but because of other interests and a certain degree of perversity, he generally ranked second or third. He had great respect for the headmaster, Michael Nielsen; and Nielsen admired the brilliance and independence of his pupil, in whom he recognized intellectual maturity and emotional immaturity. T w o of his schoolmates have given interesting items of information about Sorcn's school life. One of them. Anger, who (by his own admission) was always first in the class, tells us that in spite of the many fights in which S. K. was involved, " it was always a question which of us two was the weakest in the class and the poorest in gymnastics."' Another classmate. Welding, gives us this incident from what we would call the high school years: Professor Mathicssen [teacher of German) was an exceedingly weak man who never had any authority over us. Once when the horseplay in his class had gone very far — it was quite wild in all

16

THE LIFE AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAABD FOR EVERYMAN

his hours — when (hey had made a complete meal, with butterbread, sandwiches, and beer, and had toasted one another with formal Prosit*!. Profe«nr Maihiessen was ahout lo go out and report the affair to Professor Nielsen. The rest of us surrounded Maihicucn with prayers and fair promises, but S. K said only, " Will you tell the Profcuor [ i * - Nielsen {that (his is always what goes on in your hour? " Whereupon Mathietsen sat down, and made no report.* When, after nine years in the Borgcrsdydskolc, young Kierkegaard was planning to enter the University of Copenhagen, Michael Nielsen wrote the customary letter of recommendation. S. K., he wrote, had " a good intelligence, open for everything that promises unusual interest, but for a long time . . . childish in a high degree and totally lacking in seriousness." T h e young man had, said Nielsen, " a desire for freedom and independence, which also shows itself in his conduct by a good-natured, sometimes comical saucincss."" Nielsen's impression of Sorcn Kierkegaard was shared by most of those who knew him. In the company of others he was gay, carefree, and witty. W e know from his writings that, even as a child, he sought to make this impression on others. Feeling himself to be different, he tried in bis social relationships to cover up this difference, not by mere conformity, but with imagination, cleverness, and wit. H e learned to conceal his conscientiousness with nonchalance, and to cover his unhappiness by being comical. But his father's melancholy was deep within him, and both father and son knew it. Years later, S. K. wrote in his Journals: Once upon a time there lived a father and son. Both were very gifted, both witty, particularly the father. Everyone who knew their house and frequented it certainly found it very entertaining.

" NEVER A CHILD "

17

But as a rule they simply talked together and amused one another like any two intelligent people, without behaving like father and son. On one rare occasion, when the father, looking upon his son, saw that he was deeply troubled, he stood before him and said: " Poor child, you go about in silent despair." (But he never questioned more closely, alas he could noi, for he himself was in silent despair.) Otherwise they never exchanged a word on the subject. But father and son were, perhaps, two of ihe most melancholy men in the memory of man.' Even in religion Sorcn was trained, not in the religion of a child, but in the religion of an adult. T h e only picture of Christ given him by his father was that of Christ upon the cross. T h e faith of the elder Kierkegaard was earnest and evangelical, with a strong conviction of sin. It was not a child's religion, but a child was burdened with it, and so was prevented from being a child. For him there was no picture of the Christ-child lying in a manger, only that of a strange God-man dying upon a cross for the sins of the world. So, in his growing up, S. K. became a strange mixture of childishness and maturity. He had playthings, but learned to prefer playing with ideas. All his life he was to enjoy playing with ideas, and was sometimes playful about things which he really regarded most seriously. It was, perhaps, a normal reaction to an abnormal lack of play experience in childhood. Some of it may also have come from the lighthcarted cheerfulness of his mother, who was amused and amazed by the seriousness of her menfolk. Though his father's melancholy was to dominate in S. K.'s character, his mother's humor was continually breaking through. From childhood on, therefore, he was a person of strange contradictions and sudden shifts of mood. Underneath the facade of gaiety and wit was an inward life of the spirit, a

18

T H E LIFE AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

deep seriousness with which he was burdened, even in childhood. His atleniion was centered, not on externa! relationships and the things of this world, but upon his own inner life — t h e life of the spirit. " My misfortune," he says, " was that virtually from birth . . . I was not a man . . . and when you are a child or young man, to be spirit is a terrible suffering, more terrible still if with the help of the imagination you understand ihc trick of appearing to be youngest of a l l : " H e was a child and not a child. This inner paradox of his own personality was to characterize the man be would become. " Everyone," he wrote later, " is essentially what they arc to be when they arc ten years old." * This child became the young man who wrote half humorously: One ought to be a mystery, not only to others, but also to oneself. 1 study myself; when I am weary of this, then for a pastime 1 light a cigar and think: the Lord only knows what he meant by mc, or what be would make of me. 10

CHAPTER 2

" My Going Astray" "T WAS M . P. KIERKEGAARD'S desire that his two younger sons prepare for the ministry of the state church of Denmark. Peter Christian Kierkegaard, the older of the two, was destined to have a respected career in the church and become a bishop. Sorcn began his preparation for such a career by entering the University of Copenhagen, where he passed his qualifying examination cum laude, and matriculated on October 30,1830. As a university student, his immediate task was to prepare for the " Second Examination," which was in arts and sciences. He passed the first section of this examination in April, 1831, and the second and final part in October of the same year. From this point on Sorcn was free to choose the courses of lectures he would attend, and to prepare for his examinations in theology at his own speed. This proved to be very deliberate speed: he was a student in the university for ten years! He cnlcred enthusiastically into the extracurricular life of the university as an active member of the Student Association. He had strong aesthetic interests and tastes, which his father and brother did not share. It was with their severe disapproval that he studied history, philosophy, and literature to the complete neglect of theology. H e began to dress fop19

20

T H E LIFE AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

pishly, and carried a cane. He was, as he says," dressed in the latest fashion, with a cigar in my mouth." There was in these years a surface gaiety about young Sorcn Kierkegaard, He was popular with his fellow students and in intellectual and literary circles in Copenhagen. He became known for his sarcastic wit and conversational brilliance. But the melancholy inherited from his father was still within him. He was " e n j o y i n g " the life of the university. He was certain of his intellectual superiority and proud of his social success; but inwardly he was miserable. This misery was to increase. M . P. Kierkegaard's oldest son and oldest daughter had died while Sorcn was still a child. Now there came to the old man a bitter succession of bereavements: a daughter died in September, 1832; a son, in September, 1833, his wife, in July, 1834; and another daughter (Soren's favorite sister), in December, 1834. A s Peter Kierkegaard later expressed it, " For two years we seemed to stand beside our family grave."' Sorrow in the home and tension between his own intellectual interests and his father's plans for him combined to produce serious inner conflicts for Soren. Peter Kierkegaard was obediently carrying out his father's plan for his theological studies. He looked with disapproval upon his younger brother's attitude and activities at this time, and remarked," Sdren does not seem to be reading at all for his examinations." He observed with some disgust that " Sorcn was mixing with poets and the l i k e - " ' T h e fact seems to be that S. K. was doing more than mixing with poets. He had begun to drink heavily, and was spending more time on the streets and in the taverns than at home. M. P. Kierkegaard sent Sorcn on a vacation to north See-

" MY GOING ASTRAY

21

land in the summer of 1835, apparently hoping that the change of environment anil getting away from the gloom of his home would do the young man good About a year earIter S. K. had begun to record his thoughts in an occasional and desultory way in notebooks. This was the beginning of his Journal/. Now, while staying at the inn in the north Seeland town of Gillclcic, his notebook entries became longer, more frequent, more interesting, and more revealing. It is here that, as Dru remarks," the Journali really b e g i n . " Here much that was later to be characteristic of his philosophy emerged in his thinking. He writes: 1

What I really lark it to be clear in my own mind what I am to do, not what I am to know, except in so far at a certain understanding must precede every action. The thing is to understand myself, to sec what God really wishes me to do; the thing is to find a truth which is true for me, to find the idea for which I can live and die. . . . What good would ii do me to be able to explain the meaning of Christianity if ii bail no deeper significance for me and my life? . . . I still recognize an imperative of understanding . . . but it must be taken up into my life, and that is what 1 now recognize as the important thing. . . . That is what I lack, and that is what 1 am striving after.* This passage ends with good resolutions: " I will work on with energy and not waste time. . . " " I will hurry up the path I have discovered . . . remembering that it is a hill up which we have to struggle." But his good resolutions were not sufficiently resolute to withstand the shock of an experience that lay just ahead. S. K . had sensed for some time that ihere must be specific reasons for his father's melancholy. T h e stern old man, in spite of his rigorous moral code and orthodox theology, had found no peace in Christian faith. He could not forgive him-

22

T H E LIFE AND THOUGHT OF KIEBKF.GAARD FOB EVERYMAN

self, and so could have no experience of God's forgiveness. It was, perhaps, in the fall of 1835 that S. K. ceased to be a child, and came to a man's knowledge of his father's sin. This realization of his parents' guilty secret came to him as " the great earthquake." His father's sin, he felt, was unconqucrcd, and unforgiven. A curse lay upon the whole family, and the old man, now in his eightieth year, was destined to outlive all his children. None of them had lived past the age of thirtyfour; Soren now believed that neither he nor his brother, Peter, would live longer than this. This melancholy obsession, which father and sons probably shared, was to them an " infallible law " : Then it was thai the great earthquake occurred, the frightful upheaval which suddenly forced upon me a new and infallible law for interpreting all the facts. Then I surmised thai my father's great age was not a divine blessing, bui rather a curse; that the distinguished talents of our family existed only 10 create mutual friction; then I fell the silence of death grow around me when in my father I saw an unhappy man who was to outlive us alt, a cross on the tomb of all his hopes. There must be guilt upon the whole family, the punishment of God musi be on it; it must disappear, wiped out by God's almighty hand, obliterated like an unsuccessful experiment. Only now and then did I find a liule relief in the thought that my father had accepted the heavy duty of consoling us with the comfort of religion, preparing us all so that a better world would be open to us if wc should lose all in this, even if thai punishment should fall upon us which the Jews devoutly wished for all their foes — that our remembrance should be cut off from ihc earth, and our name blotted out.* " T h e great earthquake" was for S. K. a deep emotional shock. His father was not a strong man, but a weak one who had been unable to control his base impulses in the presence

" MY GOINC A S T R A Y "

21

of physical temptation. It seems probable that M. P. Kierkegaard never felt the blessing of God upon his marriage. T h e sexual relation seems never to have become for him a relationship of pure love in which the physical is redeemed and ennobled by spiritual qualities of faith, tenderness, unselfishness, and mutuality. H e could only think of sex as evil and its legalization in marriage as a concession to the flesh. Years later S. K. was to write: Sometimes people are led astray as to what sin is, and the cause is perhaps some well-meaning person; for example, a man who has been very dissolute in order to frighten his son from anything of the same kind, might explain that sexual desire was itself sinf u l — forgetting that there was a difference between himself and the child — that the child was innocent and would therefore of necessity misunderstand him* So, infected with a distorted understanding of sex, shocked by his father's sinfulness, the sensitive young man of twentytwo was hilcd with revulsion and dread. T h e father whom he had idolized became the object of his bitter contempt. These two who had been so close were alienated. S. K. had already been in rebellion against his father's plans for him; he now moved from rebellion to resentful defiance. He rejected his father; he rejected his father's religion; and he rejected his father's God. It is clear from the journal entries of this period that S. K. no longer thinks of himself as a Christian. Under date of October 13, 1835, he wrote a long critique of Christianity. "Christianity and philosophy," he concludes, "cannot be reconciled." His purpose is " to show the acknowledged dc facto contradiction in the Christian life, in order to warn everybody whose breast is not enclosed in such spiritual corsets

24

Ha

L I F E AND THOUCHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR BVfcRVMAN

not to let themselves in (or it carelessly, in order to protect them against such narrow-chested, asthmatic notions." During his holiday at Gillelcic, the preceding summer, he had decided that his tastes and abilities were aesthetic and intellectual, and that he was not going on with the study of theology. H e had known that this decision would bring him into conflict with his father; but he would face this conflict with courage. So in a journal entry, rather melodramatically, he exclaims: " And so the die is cast — I cross the Rubicon." * He was, indeed, quite correct in appraising his abilities for aesthetic insight and literary expression. H e was a rarely gifted young man. H e intended to become a writer. His journal in this period is full of ideas which he noted down for possible future development. Three traditional themes fascinated him: Don Juan; Faust; and the Wandering Jew. All of these are figures of frustration. They represent respectively desire, doubt, and despair, and typify, as S. K. notes in a journal entry of March, 1836, the three possible directions in which men may move away from religion.* At this time S. K. was moving away in all three directions! As he was to sec later, he had set his feet on the " path of perdition." He was not committed to the good; neither had be deliberately chosen evil. H e was a dilettante, avidly pursuing the aesthetic life, which is a life of feeling. He lived for thrills; he wanted, colloquially speaking, to get a " bang " out of life. He was discovering, however, that not to choose the good is to choose the evil. Even refined sensuality is a morally irresponsible way of life. H e found this way of life unsatisfying; his sensitive conscience rebelled; and his melancholy deepened. So he plunged more deeply into the aesthetic way in an effort to 1

" M Y GOING ASTRAY "

25

escape himself. Drunkenness was a convenient " flight from reality," and he was often drunk. He was outwardly gay, debonair, witty, and cynical. At social affairs he was the life of the party. But inwardly he was miserable. In a brief Journal entry, dated April, 1836, he exclaims," I cannot even forget myself when I am asleep." I n another entry of approximately the same date he shows a macabre humor: " A man walked along contemplating suicide; at that very moment a slate fell and killed him, and he died with the words: God be praised." T h e next entry is even more explicit: I have just returned from a party of which 1 was the life and soul; wit poured from my lips; everyone laughed and admired me —but I went away — and the dash should be as long as the earth's orbit and wanted to shoot myself." Sometime in May, 1836, after a night of carousing, and in a state of complete inebriation, he was taken by his companions to a brothel, where he had relations with a prostitute. This, after he had sobered, was only a dim memory. T o some men it would have been a mere bagatelle. Years later he was able to explain it psychologically ('* It was dread that drove me to it " ) . But it was always to represent in Ins own thinking the low point of his degradation and the damning evidence of an eroticism which, conceal and suppress it as he might, lay deep within himself. H e now knew that he shared his father's guilt; but this was no comfort. It was an event in his life that he kept so secret that even in his Journals he makes only cryptic references to it. Eight years later he was to write, " A man in a state of intoxication may have done what he remembers only obscurely, yet

26

T H E L I F E AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

knows lhat it was so wild a thing that it is almost impossible for him to recognize himself." " There is a gap in the Journals from April 18 to June 6, 1836. S. K. was in a mood of extreme depression. T o have confessed his sin to his father or to some other person older and wiser than himself would have helped. But there was n o one to whom he could bear to make confession. In a Journal entry of June 10, he reveals his state of mind by indirection: " Situation: A man wants to make an important confession, but the man he wishes to unbosom himself to does not come at once, so he says something quite different." '* His lips were sealed by an unconquerable reticence — a secrctiveness which, so far as this one event is concerned, he was never to overcome.

CHAPTER 3

" My Awakening "

T

N APRIL, 1836, young Sorcn Kierkegaard was still hell-bent, and appeared likely 1 0 get there. When he resumed his Journal on June 6, he wanted to reform his life, and was trying to do so. fust when and how this change came will, perhaps, always be somewhat uncertain. W c know from the diary of his friend Hcnrik Hertz that S. K. was present on June 4 at a reception for J . L, Heiberg. Hcibcrg was the literary lion of his day in Denmark, and his wife was a famous actress. Among the other guests was Prof. Paul Martin Moller, who was Sorcn's favorite teacher in the university. As the conversation swirled about, S. K. was at his " wildest and wittiest." It was in this situation (or one very like it) that Moller said to his brilliant pupil, " You arc so through and through polemicalized that it is perfectly frightful."' T h e shot struck home, and it sank deeper as S. K. thought about it later. He was polemical, but for what? H e was a fighter without anything to fight for. He was, therefore, not serious in these discussions, and could as easily take one side as another. H e argued because he enjoyed it, not because he wanted to defend, much less discover, the truth. S. K . was always to be polemical, both superficially in the sense of being an ardent controversialist, and mote deeply in 27

28

T H E LIFE AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

the sense of being opposed to the accepted ways and outlook of the society of which he was a part. He was always a rebel, rebelling even against his own rebelliousness. This he could not change; but he could use it — and did, or we would not be writing and reading books about him now. Mollcr's chance remark docs not seem very important to us, but S. K. was later to attach great importance to it. Aside from his father and Regina Olsen, Mollcr is the only person to whom Kierkegaard ever dedicated a book. This was The Concept of Dread ( 1 8 4 4 ) . He made several attempts to phrase this dedication, and an unpublished version contains these words; To the late Professor Greece, the admirer of terpreter of Aristotle, mighty trumpet of my

Paul Martin Moller — the happy lover of Homer, the confident of Socrates, the in. . . the enthusiasm of my youth, the awakening}

S. K.. in spite of his faults, must have been the kind of student who is an inspiration and challenge to a teacher. Mollcr, with rare insight, saw the promise of genius in this conceited and cynical young man. So Mollcr took a keen interest in young Kierkegaard, and even on his deathbed, two years later, sent him a message of counsel and encouragement by a mutual friend, Professor Sibbern. It was typical of S. K. that Mollcr's " mighty trumpet" was not much heeded at first. T h e first reference to it in the Journals refers to it as a . cue." But it is a turning point; and from June, 1836, on there is abundant evidence in the Journals of S. K.'s desire to reform his life and, indeed, to become a Christian. H e had never had any deeply personal experience of God's presence and help. H e bad, in childhood, absorbed his fa-

29

" M Y AWAKENING

tbcr's faith; but he had never appropriated it. His tit si efforts to change his way of life were made, therefore, entirely on his own power. H e found this discouraging. On June 10 he wrote: Conversion it a tlow progress. As Franz Bader truthfully says, one hat to go back along the same road where one previously went forward. One easily grows impatient; if it cannot happen immediately, one might just as well give up. or begin tomorrow and enjoy today; that is temptation — Surely that is the meaning of the wordt; to lake the Kingdom of Heaven by storm — ? We are therefore told that wc should work for our salvation in fear and trembling, for it is never completed or perfect; but a relapse it passible — and that is certainly in part the unrest which made people desire martyrdom . . . so as to make the test as short and momentarily difficult as possible, which is alwayi easier than to endure a protracted one.* Having renounced his evil companions, S. K at first cut himself off from society. This, he found, was not good. " It is dangerous to isolate oneself too much, to evade the bonds of society."' So he returned to society; and, while he did not neglect his relationships at higher intellectual levels, he remarks that talking with Heibcrg and other intellectuals was n o recreation." Most of all," he says," I like to talk with old women who retail family gossip, after them with lunatics — least of all with very sensible people." Throughout his life he was to enjoy the society of common folk and of children. 1

Often in these hard months of transition he felt himself to be on the verge of insanity. T h e new year of 1837 seemed to give him a fresh start. His journals contained an outline for a sermon to be preached to himself. There is a long comment on the moral and spiritual decadence of Western Europe. " At the moment one is afraid of nothing so much as

30

THE LIFE AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

the complete bankruptcy toward which the whole of Europe seems to be going, and so wc forget what is far more dangerous, the apparently unavoidable spiritual bankruptcy which is at our doors."* He was concerned for Europe. He was even more concerned for himself. Through the spring and summer of 1837 it is clear that the " operation bootstrap by which he is trying to lift himself to a higher level of morals and achievement is not working very well. These are typical excerpts from the Journals: It seems as though I were a galley slave, chained to death; every time life moves the chains rattle, and death withers everything — and that happens every minulc. Everyone lakes their revenge on the world. Mine consists in bearing my troubles and sorrow shut deep within mc, while my laughter keeps everyone amused. . . . 1 am a Janus bifrons; 1 laugh wiih one face, I weep with the other.' On September 1, 1837, Sorcn left his father's home, and lived henceforth for several years in rented rooms, and had his meals in boardingbouscs. M. P. Kierkegaard gave his son an allowance which should have been quite ample for a student in those days — the equivalent of about $100 a month in terms of U.S. currency. There was now complete estrangement between them, though pride led the eighty-oneyear-old father to continue to provide for Sorcn financially. Four months later, perhaps at Peter Kierkegaard's intercession, their father paid Soren's accumulated debts. These had probably piled up over a two-year period; but the crisis came when Sorcn, who had been very active in the Student Association of the university, was posted for nonpayment of dues, and threatened with expulsion.

" M Y AWAKENING"

31

Some of the other debts arc interesting. T h e cafe which S. K. and his drinking companions had frequented had a bill for $560. H e owed " Madame F r c y " $105 for tobacco. There were large bills for clothing and haberdashery. T h e largest bill was for books, $794. Even though S. K. had led a dissolute life, he had never abandoned his intellectual interests! During the year 1837-1838, Sorcn attended a course of lectures in theology in the university, delivered by Prof. Hans Martcnsen. He also secured employment as a teacher of Latin in the Borgcrsdydskolc, and taught throughout the year. His teaching of Latin gave him some apt metaphors: " My life is, alas, all too conjunctive, would to God I had some indicative power." And again: " All other religions are oblique, the founder stands aside and introduces another speaker . . . Christianity alone is direct speech (I am the truth)."" His desire to become a Christian was deepening as bis appreciation of the meaning of Christian faith grew. H e still believed that Christianity and philosophy could not be reconciled ; but he was nearing the point of being willing to sacrifice philosophy. On December 8 he wrote, " 1 think that if ever 1 become seriously Christian, I shall be most ashamed of having wished to try everything else first."* There is another long gap in the Journals for the early months of 1838. S. K. was depressed, and his depression was deepened by the death of Professor Moller on March 13. T h e Journal is resumed three weeks later with this entry: Once again a long time has gone by in which I have not been able to concentrate upon the slightest thing — I will now try to get started again. Paul Moller U dead. 10

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THE LIFE AND THOUGHT O F KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

On April 2, S. K. went to hear his friend Rasmus Nielsen recite Mollcr's poem " Joy Over Denmark." In the Journals he says that he was unusually moved by the words, " Remember the traveler far away," and comments, " Yes, now he is far away — but I, at least, shall still remember h i m . " Mollcr's death sounded again that " mighty trumpet" of Kierkegaard's awakening; and sounded it, perhaps, more effectively because the traveler was now " far away." S. K . sometime in the next month, began a serious effort to find his way into a new relationship to God. In late April or early May, Michael Pcdcrsen Kierkegaard sought out his son and effected a reconciliation. T h e means by which the old man accomplished this cannot be surely known to us. It seems probable that he bared bis soul to his wayward and rebellious son, fully confessing the sins that S. K. had suspected. These sins (rebellion against God and sexual lust and incontinence) had separated father and son. T h e dread of them had driven the son into a reckless, dissolute life, in which he became guilty of the same sins. Now, by the father's act of humility and love, the sorrowing and repentant old man and the lonely and repentant young man were drawn together again. S. K. came to understand that it was a father's love that was expressed in his " c r a z y upbringing"; M. P. Kierkegaard now saw that it was the shattering of the idol of father-love that had driven his son into such excesses and such hostility. So they were reconciled. S. K. does not mention it in his Journals. Perhaps he felt it was an experience too deeply personal for this document which he believed would one day be (as indeed it has become) public property. It is clear, however, that reconciliation with his earthly father opened the way for reconciliation with his Heavenly Father. O n April 22 11

M Y AWAKENING

33

he had written. " K Christ is to come and take up his abode in me, it must happen according to the title of today's Gospel in the Almanac: Christ came in through locked d o o r s . " Psychologically S. K.'s estrangement from God had been linked with his estrangement from his father. Now the doors were opened. 11

T h e \ournd entry of May 19 was a significant one for Kierkegaard, as indicated by the fact that he pinpoints the very hour and minute: Half past ten in the morning. There is an indescribahle joy which enkindles us as inexplicably as the apostle's outburst comes gratuitously: " Rejoice I say unto you. and again 1 uy unto you, rejoice." Not a joy over this or that but the soul's mighty song . . . from the bottom of the heart: " 1 rejoice through my joy. in, at, with, over, by, and with ray joy " — a heavenly refrain, as it were, suddenly breaks off our other song; a joy which cools and refreshes us like a breath of wind, a wave of air, from the trade wind which blows from the plains of Mamre to the everlasting habitations." T h e mention of Mamre is symbolic. It was on the plains of Mamre that Abraham sat in the open door of his lent and welcomed the visitation from God. This experience of indescribable joy was Sorcn Kierkegaard's conversion experience. It was to be followed by other and deepening experiences in subsequent years; but from May 19, 1838, at half past ten in the morning, he knew that he was a Christian. T h e struggles of the soul were not over. Just when he had won this greatest of all victories — over self-will in complete surrender lo God's will — he encountered something he did not want to do. He had not been to Communion since the fall of 1815. Now he found that he had a strange dread of returning to the sacrament. This " dread of coming to the al-

J4

THE LIFE AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

tar " he was later to recognize as demonic. There was still a struggle for his soul. It is this dread that explains the next, cryptic entry in his Journal: " Idtes fixes arc like a cramp in the foot — the best cure is to stamp on i t . " From the parish register of the cathedral Church of Our Lady wc learn that Sorcn Aabye Kierkegaard on the same day (July 6 ) came alone to the church and received Holy Communion from the resident chaplain, E . V . Kalthoff. With both resoluteness and humility the prodigal had returned. O n the next day he wrote, " God creates out of nothing; wonderful, you say; yes, to be sure, but he does what is still more wonderful: he makes saints out of sinners." " A Journal entry of July 9 is a prayer, the first of many written prayers to appear in his works: 14

How I thank thec, Father in Heaven, that thou hast preserved to me here on earth, for a time like the present when I stand so greaily in need of it, an earthly father, who, as I hope, shall by thy help find more joy in being for a second time my father than he had the first time. ' 1

T h e three months following the experience of indescribable joy were a period of rare hopefulness in Sorcn Kierkegaard's life. This is clearly seen in the next two entries in the Journal: 9.1 mean IO labor to achieve a far more inward relation to Christianity; hitherto I have fought for its truth while in a sense standing outside it. In a purely outward sense I have carried Christ's cross, like Simon of Cyrcne. July 10.1 hope that where my satisfaction with life here at home is concerned, the same thing happens to mc that happened to the man I once read about who was also tired of his home — and

M Y AWAKENING

55

wanted to ride away; when be had gone a short distance his horse stumbled and fell and as he picked himself up again he saw his home, which now seemed so beautiful to him that he at once mounted his horse, rode home and remained there. If one only gets the right view of it. ' 1

S. K.'» first published articles had appeared in a Copenhagen newspaper in 1835 and 1836. H e was working on a critique of Hans Christian Andersen as a novelist, and this would be published in September. He had begun to think of himself as a man of letters. H e wrote to his friend Emil Bocscn, " What is more absurd than an homme de leitres preparing for an examination? " Absurd though it seemed, he felt it his duty to prepare for his long-ncglcctcd examinations in theology. This decision must have pleased M. P. Kierkegaard; but the eighty-two-year-old man was not to live to see his son pass the theological examination. H e died on August 9, 1838. In the Journals we find this entry for August 11: My father died on Wednesday (the 9th) at 2 A.M. I had so very much wished that he might live a few years longer, and look upon his death as the last sacrifice he made to his love for me; for he did not die from me, but died for mc in order thai if posublc I might still turn into something. * 1

Sorcn felt that the strain of making the sacrifices necessary to their reconciliation had hastened his father's death. In this he was very possibly correct. H e felt his loss deeply. His father's memory was to be one of the two truly deep influences in his life. It is typical of him that be made an exaggerated effort to conceal his sorrow. HeruTette Lund gives us this account:

36

T H E LIFE AND THOUGHT OF KTERKF.CAARD FOR EVERYMAN

In the autumn of 1838, Uncle Sorcn's father died. , . , Uncle Soren treated the whole thing as a bagatelle. How much he felt the last illness, and how deeply he fell the loss of his father, only became clear to me later. . . . He continued to all appearances to lead the same life, met his friends at the cafe" as usual, and walked about the streets with the same energy; only that from 7 till 11 o'clock in the evening he would receive no visitors. During those hours he studied sedulously; and in a very short time he prepared himself for the examination upon which grandfather set so much store.* 0

After seven years of dalliance and neglect, Kierkegaard's friends were convinced that he would never qualify for his examination in theology. But the memory of a dead father's earnest wish could not be argued with as could the often expressed wish of a living father. " When father died, Sibbern said to m e , ' Now you will never take your theological examination,' and it was precisely then that I took it; if father had lived I should never have taken i t . " " After nearly two years of assiduous study, he took the examination, and passed it cum laudc on July 3,1840. A year later, on July 16,1841, his thesis on " T h e Concept of Irony " was accepted by the faculty in completion of the requirements for the master's degree.

CHAPTER 4

" Sovereign of My Heart "

I

N THE MEANTIME young Sorcn Kierkegaard bad fallen in love. T o get the whole story we must retrace our steps briefly to the month of May, 1837. On a day in this month S. K. made a call on the Rordams, the family of a deceased clergyman, living in Frcdcriksbcrg, a Copenhagen suburb. Bolette Rordam, with whom he had a " platonic " friendship, was engaged to another theological student. This was in the period when S. K. was desperately struggling back toward decency. Because of his moral lapse a year earlier, he had made a penitential resolve that he would never marry. His resolution encountered a severe shock at the Rordams'. H e met Rcgina Olscn, and his life would never again be the same. His journals contain no explicit record of this first meeting. T w o entries, however, seem to express his inner thoughts on the occasion. T h e first is dated May 8 : Oh God, how easily one forgets such resolutions! . . . Today again I tried to forget myself . . . by going out to the Rordams and talking with Bolette and by trying (if possible) to get my demoniacal wit to remain at home, the angel which, as I deserve, stands with a sword of fire between me and every innocent girl — I thank thee, O Lord, that when thou overtookest me thou didst 37

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not let me go mad at once — I have never been so afraid of it — and I thank thee for having once more inclined thine car towards me1

T h e second entry, undated, was written sometime between May 8 and June 2, and is equally cryptic Regina, years later, believed this to be S . K.'s record of their first meeting: Again the same scene today — nevertheless 1 got out to the Rordams — merciful God, why should thai inclination awaken just now — Oh, how 1 feel that I am atone — Oh, cursed be that arrogant satisfaction in standing alone — all will despise mc now — but thou, O my God, take not thy hand ftom mc now — let mc live and better myself.* Regina was fourteen at the time. She was the youngest child in the large family of a prominent official in the Ministry of Finance. She had gone to the Rordams' to attend a party for an out-of-town guest, Thrinc Dahl, of Roskilde. S. K . fell in love with Regina at first sight. She cannot be said to have fallen in love at their first meeting, but he made " a very strong impression " on her. She, however, concealed this impression. She remembered after many years that at this first meeting " he talked coniinuously . . . and that his conversation was captivating in the highest degree." S. K. saw her only occasionally at first, usually at the Rordams', where he contrived to call at times when he knew she would be there. H e was at the Rordams' on July 9, and, in a journal entry, exclaims upon his loneliness. His loneliness and his love for Regina now battled within him against his resolution to lead a celibate life. He had never been more acutely aware of his aloneness. In December he wrote:

SOVEREIGN OF M Y HEART "

39

The oilier day 1 sat in a strange mood . . . and read an old folk song which told of a girl who waited for her lover one Saturday afternoon; hut he did not come — and she went to bed " and cried bitterly"; suddenly the scene widened out for me — I saw the heaths of Jutland in dieir indescribable loneliness and with their solitary larches — then one generation after another stood up before me, and their girls sang for me and cried so bitterly and sank back into the grave, and I cried with them.' A t this time he was still alienated from God, though he was seeking to return. He was also separated from his father. Added to these now was his seemingly hopeless love for a young girl. As we have seen, he found God and was reconciled with his father in the spring of 1838. In the summer he began to consider a return to his theological studies, which would mean a return to normalcy in general. On July 17 he wrote to his friend Emil Boesen: What do you think? Is it time, do you think, to land? Dare I leave my ark, or better still my badly manned smack (there is only one man on board, and that is I, and I am but weak, and like the sailor in Gtllelcic who had only an arm and a half but always sailed alone) ? * He began to think hopefully of the possibility of marriage. " Even before my father died," he wrote in his Journals, " I had decided upon her. . . . I read for the examination. During the whole of that time 1 let her being penetrate mine." * H e began to express his thoughts about her in the Journals, not frequently, but freely. O n October 11 (1838) he wrote, " Being in love is really the most interesting time, when after the first and completely magical impression, with each meeting and every look, . . . one carries something home like a bird which busily carries one piece after another to its nest, and yet always feels itself overwhelmed by such riches." *

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A Journal entry of February 2 , 1 8 3 9 , is rapturous: Thou sovereign of my heart (" Regina " ) treasured in the deepest fastness of my breast, in the fullness of my thought, there where it is equally far to heaven and to hell — unknown divinity! Oh, can 1 really believe the poets' talcs, that when one first sees the object of one's love, one imagines one has seen her long ago, that all love like all knowledge is remembrance, that love too has its prophecies in the individual, its types, its myths, its Old Testament. Everywhere, in the face of every girl I see traces of your beauty, but it seems to me ih3i 1 should have to possess ihc beauty of all girls in order to draw out a beauty equal to yours; that I should have to circumnavigate the world in order to find the e I lack and which the deepest mystery of my being points towards — and the next moment you arc so near to me, so present, filling my spirit so powerfully that 1 am transfigured for myself, and feel that it is good to be here. Thou blind god of love! Wilt ihou reveal to mc what thou sccst in secret? Shall I find what I am seeking, here in this world shall 1 experience the conclusion of my life's eccentric premises, shall I fold you in my arms — or: are the orders " F U R T H E R "? Hast thou gone before me, thou my yearning, dost thou beckon to mc, transformed, from another world? Or will 1 cast everything from mc in order to be light enough to follow t h e e ? 1

Kierkegaard was deeply in love, he longed for his beloved like any lover, but — he was already prepared to give her u p ! H e distrusted himself and doubted that happiness in love could ever be his. Obsessed with his own sinfulness, and possessed by his congenital melancholy, he doubted that he could change. He was sure of his love for Regina, but unsure of his ability to " cast everything " away in order to follow where love would lead. H e did not doubt his ability to woo and win the woman

" SOVEREIGN OF M Y

HEART"

-II

of his choice; bur. he believed thai his life was controlled by " governance." Specifically he believed it might not be God's plan for him to have Rcgina as his wife. He was still uncertain " what God meant by " him, but he was sure God had a plan in which all the " eccentric premises " of his life would be fulfilled. Were love and marriage a part of that plan? This was his question. God's plan for most men included love and marriage. This was the ordinary human point of view. There was no certainty, however, that the ordinary human point of view would be applicable to God's plan for Sorcn Kierkegaard. More than two years after he first met Rcgina, on June 5, 1839, he wrote, " Chrisiianity's point of view in relation to the ordinary human point of view is like the relation of church and state, it docs not deny the stale except in so far as the latter tries to interfere with i t . " ' If S. K.'s plan to woo and win Regina for his wife was not part of God's plan — if it interfered with God's plan — then it would come to nought. God's will be done! Even before he had begun to woo Rcgina, he suspected that " governance " would require him to give her up. During most of this time (i.e., 1838-1840) he was preparing for his theological examination. It required long hours of study, most of them at night. He made no effort to let R c gina know of his love for her. But he managed to see her frequently by various subterfuges. He tells of one of these in "Quidam's D i a r y " : Once a week she went to her singing lesson. . . . Now it chanced happily that in die same street there dwelt a pastry cook whose shop she passed as she went to and fro for her lessons. Here I had my post of observation. Here I sat and waited, here I saw her, myself unseen, here love's hidden growth waxed and devel-

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THE L I F E AND THOUGHT OF KIFJLK EGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

oped before my eyes to my great contentment. It was a secondclass coffeehouse where I could be prcuy sure not to be surprised. Nevertheless, some of my familiar friends took notice of it. 1 represented to them that the coffee was the best in the whole town, 1 even exhorted them with much pathos to try it. A few of them went there one day and tasted — naturally finding it very poor, as indeed it was. . . . T o my taste too the coffee was bad. . . . I drank . . . without giving much thought to it; but here it was I waited, here ii was 1 approached with longing the experience of love and refreshed it with the sight of her, and from here I took much home when the sight had vanished." 1 0

H e also contrived during this period to get acquainted with Regina's family, and became a family friend, whose occasional calls were both taken for granted antl welcomed. On these visits (as she reported years later) he paid no obvious attention to Regina beyond taking her an occasional gift of nuts. He also loaned her books to read. In July, 1840, after he had passed the theological examination, S. K. took a trip to his father's old home in Jutland. O n his return to Copenhagen, he began his courtship. In a loose paper (not, strictly speaking, a part of his Journals) simply headed " My relation to her," and written on August 24, 1849, Kierkegaard reviewed the story of his acquaintance with Regina, his courtship, and the events diat followed. In this account of the affair, having spoken of his trip to Jutland, he continues: In August I returned. The period from August 9 till the beginning of September I used in the strict sense to approach her. On September 8 I left my house with the firm purpose of deciding the matter. We met each other in the street outside their house. She said there was nobody at home. I was foolhardy enough to look upon that as an invitation, just the opportunity

" SOVEREIGN OP M Y HEART

I wanted. I wem in with her. She was a little uneasy. I asked her to play me something as she usually did. She did so; but that did not help me. Then suddenly I took the music away and closed it, not without a certain violence, threw it down on the piano and said: " Oh, what do I care about music now] It is you whom I haw sought after for two years" She was silent. I did nothing else to make an impression upon her; I even warned her against myself, against my melancholy. . . . She remained quite silent. At last I left, for I was anxious leu someone should come and find both of us and she so disturbed." Kierkegaard went immediately to see her father and asked for the hand of his daughter in marriage. Etatsraad Olsen gave the young man no definite answer; but il was clear to S. K. (hat the father was willing. On the afternoon of September 10, he was permitted to call on Rcgina and renew his proposal. She said yes. By the next day he saw that he had made a mistake. He loved Rcgina deeply, but felt that there were sirong reasons within himself why he should not marry her. Rightly or not, he believed himself to be " uncommonly erotic," an inheritance from his father. This eroticism had found the basest possible expression in his drunken visit to a brothel. All his life was to be spent as a penitent, not only for this single overt act, but for his continuing eroticism, of which he was deeply ashamed. H e was also, as he had warned Rcgina, a melancholy man. She was a child of laughter and sunshine. He felt that he would make her very unhappy in marriage, that his melancholy would always cast a pall of gloom over their life together. Specifically he faced the prospect of the marriage vows and the b t t r k r to his taking them with complete sincerity. T o do

44

THE L I F E AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

so would require previous confession to Regina of his visit to a prostitute. His natural reticence made it difficult for him to confess his sin even to Regina — o r , perhaps, especially to Regina. She was a young girl of great purity and innocence. He could not bear to shock and hurt her in this way. At the same time he could not bear to shock and hurt her by immediately breaking off the engagement. He loved her deeply, and so he went on with it, but he was very unhappy. He suffered unspeakably. But Regina noticed nothing. She was happy, gloriously and beautifully happy, in being loved by one who had previously been for her a teen-ager's idol. There was also a very natural pride in having for her own a man ten years her senior and one of the most eligible young bachelors in Copenhagen society. In the happy first days of their engagement she was in very high spirits. She told him tcasingly that she had accepted him out of pity. It seemed to S. K. that she was not so much in love with him as she was overwhelmed by the glamour of this new antl delightful relationship. This would have been his opportunity to break the engagement while it could still be done without wounding her too deeply. But he was proud too, and was a little nettled by her lightheadedness — " She vexed m c . " So, instead of breaking it off, he set himself to win her, drawing upon all the resources of his own dynamic personality. H e succeeded so well that, as he says, " she worshiped m c . " Then he was even more unhappy. H e was in a dilemma: it would be unethical to break the engagement and break her heart; it would be unethical to marry her and break her heart. It was not long before Regina began to notice his unhappiness. " You arc never happy," she said, " a n d it is all one to you whether I am with you or not." But she also told him

" SOVEREIGN OP M Y HEART "

45

that she would never ask him about anything ii only she might remain with him. In his later (1849) account of the affair, he writes: One thing is certain; that she gave herself to me, almost worshiping me, asking me to love her, which moved me to such an extent ihai I was willing to risk all for her. . . . If I had not been a penitent, had not had my vita ante acta, had not been melancholy, my union with her would have made me happier than I had ever dreamed of being." Rut he was all these things; and he was not happy. Kierkegaard was one of the most paradoxical of men. H e was happier in his unhappiness when he was away from her than he was in what should have been his happiness when he was with her. He could never, himself, be happy, and to marry Rcgina would be to impose his unhappiness on her. As he contemplated their marriage, he felt that he would have to hide so much from her that the whole relationship would be based upon falsehood. It could not be a truly Christian marriage. This, he believed, was God's judgment upon him, the punishment for his waywardness, arrogance, and gross sin. This thought was to him the deciding factor. God did not will him to marry Rcgina. " There was a divine protest," he says; " that is how I understood it." All this did not become clear to him at once. T h e engagement went on for nearly a year. He was a diligent student in the " Pastoral Seminary," but he must also have spent much time in making love. H e was often in the Olsen home, and between times he wrote her love letters. In these he could truly sign himself" thine forever " ; he would indeed love her always, but he could not marry her. So, on August 14, 1841,

46

mi

M i l . AND THOUGHT OF K11 H K FGA ADD FOR F.VERYMAN

he sen! back her ring, accompanying it with the following note: Not to put often to the test a thing which must be done, and which when once it is done will supply the strength that is needed — 1 0 let it be done. Above all forget him who write* this; forgive a man who, though he may be capable of something, is not capable of making a girl happy.** T h e first sentence may have been quite difficult for Regina to interpret; but, accompanied by the ring, the general import of the note was quite clear. Regina, however, did not give up easily: What did she do? In her womanly despair she overstepped the boundary. She . . . knew that 1 was melancholy; she intended that anxiety should drive mc to extremes. The reverse happened. She certainly brought me to the point at which anxiety drove mc to extremes; hut then with gigantic strength I constrained my whole nature so as to repel her. There was only one thing to do and that was to repel her with all my power. During those two momhs of deceit 1 observed a careful caution in what I said to her from time to time: G i v e in, let mc go; you cannot hear it. Thereupon she answered passionately thjt she would bear anything rather than let mc go. 1 also suggested giving the appearance that i( was the who broke of! the engagement, « i that she might be spared all offense. That she would no* have. She answered: tf she could bear the other she could hear this too. And not uniocratically she said: In her presence no one would let anything be noticed, and what people said in her absence remained a matter of indifference. It was a time of terrible suffering to have to be so cruel and at the same time to love as I did. She fought like a tigress. If 1 had not believed that God had lodged a veto she would have been victorious.

''SOVEREIGN OV MY H E A R T "

47

And so about two months later it broke. She grew desperate. For the first time in my life I scolded. It was the only thing to do. When I left her I went immediately to the Theater because I wanted to meet Emit Boesen. . . . The act was finished. As I left the stalls Etatsraad Olsen came up to me and said. " May I speak with y o u ? " We went together to his house. " I t will be her death, she is in absolute despair." I said. " 1 shall calm her down; but everything is settled." He said," I am a proud man and 1 find it difficult to say. but I beg you, do not break with her." He was indeed a nohlehearted man; I was deeply moved. But 1 did not let myself be persuaded. I remained with the family to dinner. I spoke to her as I left. The following morning I received a letter from him saying she had not slept all night, and asking me to go and see her. I went and tried to persuade her. She asked me: " Are you never going to marry?" I answered, " Y e s , perhaps in ten years' time when I shall have sown my wild oats; then 1 shall need some young blood to rejuvenate me." That was a necessary cruelty. Then she said, " Forgive me for the pain I have caused you." I answered: " I t is for me to ask forgiveness." She said: " Promise to think of me." I did so. " Kiss me." she said. I did so, but without passion. Merciful Godl And so we parted. I spent the whole night crying on my bed. But the next day I behaved as usual, wittier and in better spirits than ever. That was necessary. My brother told me he wanted to go to the family and show them that I was not a scoundrel. " If you do so, I will put a bullet through your head," which is the best proof of how deeply concerned I was. . . . I suffered greatly. 1 thought of her every day. Until now I have kept my promise and have prayed for her at least once and often twice a day in addition to the other times I might think about her." T h e broken engagement created a furore in Copenhagen. Kierkegaard purposely acted the part of a scoundrel who had toyed with the affections of a young girl and then tossed her aside. Almost everyone believed this version of the affair.

48

THE L I F E AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

One story was circulated that while the Olscns were trying to discuss with him his reasons for breaking the engagement, he had looked at his watch, and said to the family that if they had anything else in their minds would they please say it, as he had to go to the theater. He had a few loyal friends, among them his own brother, Peter, and Emil Boesen. Regina's older sister Cordelia also expressed her faith in him: " I do not understand Magister Kierkegaard, but 1 believe he is a good man." " Kierkegaard facet) the storm of criticism for two weeks, then, on October 25,1841, he departed for Berlin. There he planned to pursue his studies, particularly to hear a course of lectures by the best-known of living German philosophers, Schelling, and do some writing. His brother and Emil Boesen saw him off at the pier, and Boesen engaged to keep him informed of Regina s activities and health. S. K. planned to spend a year and a half in Berlin. Henrictte Lund gives us an intimate insight into S. K.'s mood: I . . . did not know that Uncle Soren had broken off his engagement when, shortly after we had moved into town in the autumn, the message came that we were to go and see him. At that time he lived in the old house on Nytorv with Uncle Peter, who had just been married to Hermetic Glahn. . . . When we children . . . arrived that evening, she was very friendly to us, delighted that we had thought of visiting her on our own initiative; but she was soon put right about her mistake when, in the very same moment, Uncle Sorcn came to fetch us to his room. He looked very moved, and instead of the usual jokes he kissed me so gendy on the head that my heart was touched. A moment later he wanted to talk to us, but broke into tears and without knowing what there was to cry about — that at least was the cue with me — just moved by bis suffering, we were soon all crying together

SOVEREICN OK M Y HEART "

ai though in tome great sorrow. Hut Uncle Sdren soon pulled himself together and explained that he was going to Berlin . . . perhaps to remain away a long time; we roust therefore promise to write to bim regularly. . . . We gave our promises between our sobs. In the sitting room, to which we soon returned, we found Uncle Peter reading aloud to his wife; for our takes a game was played, and everything was done to distract us a little. . . . At tni| time 1 was twelve years old, and was not very happy writing letters, but nevertheless the promise was kept, and the answer* were just as regular.'* S. K. had been neglecting his Journals for some time. O n the day of his sailing for Berlin, he begins again, and the entries continue during the voyage and during his stay in Berlin. Most of them have to do with love and Rcgina. Some of them are rather incoherent; but they reveal his stale of mind: What I have lost, the only thing I loved; what 1 have lost, in the eyes of men my word of honor; what I have lost, what 1 still and always shall . . . stake my honor, my happiness, my pride in — being faithful. . . . Yet at the present m o m e n t as I write this, in a cabin shaken by the double movement of a steam packet, my soul is as shaken as my body. My tin it that 1 did not have faith, the faith that to God all things are possible; but where it the boundary between that and tempting God? but my sin has never been that I did not love her. Had she not given herself to me with such devotion, trusted herself to H i ' - , stopped living for herself in order to live for me, then the whole thing would have been an easy matter; to fool the whole world docs not weigh heavily upon me, but to deceive a young girl — Oh, if 1 dared return to her; and even though the did not believe that 1 was false, she certainly believed that once 1 was free I would never turn back. But . . . I will act firmly and

50

THR LIFE AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

clearly from ihc point of view which I conceive to be the right one. . . . And yet (here is still a fear which tortures me. Supposing she really becomes convinced that I deceived her, supposing she falls in love with someone else, which I must naturally wish for in many ways — supposing she then suddenly discovers that 1 really love her, that I had done so out of love for her . . . then the last would be worse than the first. . . . Again today I tried to give her some kind of account, to let her suspect thai I love her all the same. My mind is so inventive and there is something satisfying in thinking one has devised a shrewd plan. I should write a letter home to be printed. The title would be: My R — that would be enough for her. The letter itself would be full of subtle insinuations. But it must not be; I bow beneath God's hand. Every time a thought such as that occurs to me, and it usually happens many times a day, I transform it into a prayer for her, that all may truly be for the best for her, as I wish it. . . . The thing is settled now, once and for all, and yet 1 shall never have finished with it. She docs not know what an advocate she has within me. She was clever. In parting she asked me to think of her sometimes. She knew well that once 1 remembered her the fat would be in the fire. Yet even without her having asked me I should have done so. . . . There ii indeed a communion of suffering with God, a pact in tears, which in itself is very beautiful." Here we glimpse a life of inwardness in which love blends with resignation, wishfulncss is controlled by stern resolve, and loneliness and suffering find fellowship with God. Kierkegaard's genius was to find unique expression in the understanding and communication of inwardness. Outwardly, both in Copenhagen and Berlin, life went on in about the way one would expect. S. K.'s broken engagement was for months a favorite subject for gossip in Copen-

" SOVERF.ICN OF M Y HEART "

51

hagen, H e forbade Emil Bocsen lo counteract the rumors that S. K. had behaved quite dishonorably in breaking his engagement to Rcgina Olscn. He begged for news of Regina, and even suggested that Boesen station himself in the pastry cook's shop in order to study Rcgina's appearance as she passed by and report on how she was bearing up. One of Bocsen's reports was that Rcgina was having Kierkegaard's four nephews and two nieces visit her frequently (the beginning, incidentally, of a lifelong friendship). From this it appeared to Kierkegaard that Regina had not given up, that she might be planning to use these children of whom he was so fond in some kind of " flank attack " on his (inn resolution not to marry her. " She is clever," he wrote Boesen," and a year under my auspices has not exactly made her more simple-minded." " Kierkegaard suffered from severe headaches during the winter. He did not consult n physician because atl the Danes of the student group in Berlin would know it, and word of it might get back to Rcgina. Near the end of February, in a letter to Peter Kierkegaard, he indicated that he had had enough of Schelling's lectures, and did not intend to stay in Berlin much longer. His major accomplishment in Berlin was writing the second volume of his first important work, Euher/Or. It was Hearing completion, and he was eager to get back to Copenhagen to sec to Us publication. News from Emil Boesen that Rcgina was ill hastened S. K.'s departure from Berlin. H e wrote Bocsen, asking him to explain to people that his reason for returning to Copenhagen after only six months was that Schelling's lectures were nearly over. On March 6 (1842) he left Berlin on the return journey. Before her engagement to Kierkegaard, Rcgina had had an "understanding" of some sort with Fritz Schlcgcl, a

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T H E U P E AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR FVFRYMAN

young Danish civil servant. T h e developments which followed S. K.'s return to Berlin are best told in his own words: 1 only remained in Berlin six monihs. Actually my intention was to remain away a year and a half. The fact that I came Kick so soon must have attracted her attention. And indeed it did. and she waited for me after Mynster's sermon on the first Sunday after Easter. But I rejected her advances. My intention was to repel her. 1 did not want her to think that 1 had been thinking of her whilst 1 was away. Moreover I knew from Sibbcrn that she herself had said that she could not bear seeing me. Now that was not the case as I truly saw; but I was obliged to think she could not hear speaking to me. For the rest it would seem she took the most decisive step in her life under my auspices. Shortly before her engagement to Schlcgel she discovered me in a church. I did not avoid her look. She nodded to me twice. I shook my head. That meant. " Y o u mtisl give me up." She nodded again and 1 nodded in as friendly a manner as possible. That meant. " You have rciained my love." Then after she had become engaged to Schlcgel (1843) she met mc in the street and greeted me in as friendly and confiding a way at possible. I did not understand her. for I had not heard about the engagement. I only looked inquiringly at her and shook my head. She certainly thought I knew about the engagement and was asking for my approval. When the banns of marriage were published (1847) I was present in the church." Even though it was something he had wished for, Regina's engagement to Schlcgel was at first a severe blow to Kierkegaard. She had sworn that she would never marry — that she would renounce the world, and become a governess. He was not, at the time, emotionally prepared to accept the idea that the woman he loved so deeply had finally and irrevocably given him up, and was going to marry someone else.

55

" SOVP.RF.ICN OF M Y HEART "

But he did accept it, anil some years later (1855), when Schlcgcl was sent as governor to the Danish West Indies, S. K. could refer to Regina humorously as " my dear little governess." H e kept her letters in a rosewood pedestal; and he kept her in his heart. He believed that she had made him what he was — a poet at heart, and a writer of great originality and power. In 1851, his Two Discourses at the Communion on Fridays was published with the dedication: To One

Unnamed

whose name some day shall be is together the whole production

named

dedicated,

with this little work\, of the author from the very

In May, 1848, he wrote in his

beginning.

Journal;

How extraordinary, Socrates always spoke of having learnt from a woman. Oh, I can also say, I owe what is best in me to a girl; but I did not exactly learn it from her, I learnt through her.**

CHAPTER 5

"Either/Or"

K

M RKECAARD'S RETURN from Berlin was in part occasioned by bis desire to complete Either/Or and arrange for its publication. It was to be in two volumes. He arrived in Copenhagen in March, 1842, with the manuscript of the second volume virtually completed. By November he had finished the first, and had turned over to the printer the last additions and revisions. T h e book was published on February 20, 1843. It was his first notable work. Like all his " aesthetic writings," it was published pscudonymously. There seem to have been two reasons for this pscudonymity. One was that when he wrote these books he had already passed beyond them in his thinking, and they therefore did not say what he wished to say in his own name. T h e other reason was philosophical. H e believed that life is primarily a matter, not of what we think, but of what we feel. T h e more deeply we feel about things, the more we live and find the meaning of life. I n an age of science wc arc likely to become confused about meanings. T o describe a thing objectively in terms of dimensions, density, or weight, is to describe it abstractly. A certain young woman can, for instance, be accurately described as five feet, seven inches tall, with 36-23-36 girth and a cephalic 54

" EITHER/OR"

55

index of 80. But these statistics do not at all express what she means to her friends. Kierkegaard believed that all abstract descriptions and explanations fail to convey the real meaning of our deepest experiences and relationships. In a succession of books written between 1842 and 1848, he was trying to give his readers an authentic sense of the meaning of life. Direct communication, he thought, could never do this; it must be accomplished by indirection. H e must subtly beguile his readers into a grasp of truth. Therefore, he did not " lecture " them in his own name. This complexity of his approach is typical of the complexity of his own nature. In the pseudonymous works, the supposed authors through their fictitious characters hold a mirror up to life — a mirror in which every man may see himself, and so come to know himself. From the beginning of his authorship, Kierkegaard had a religious purpose: he wanted to confront men with Christianity. Yet his major efforts at the beginning were devoted to aesthetic expression. This was part of his strategy for making the true nature of Christianity clear to men. " If real success is to attend the effort to bring man to a definite position, one must first of all take pains to find him where he is and begin t h e r e . " When he wrote Either/Or and the other aesthetic works, S. K., having moved beyond the aesthetic level, had to express the thoughts and feelings of himself as a younger man through what he calls " recollection." Either/Or does not say what he would have said in 1843, but what he would have said in 1835-1836. Kierkegaard begins Either/Or with a " Dear Reader " sort of preface. Here the pseudonymous author of the whole work, Victor Eremita, tells of discovering, in a secret com1

56

THE L I F E AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

partmcnt of an antique desk, a mass of papers. These, when examined, turned out to be two separate manuscripts. They were in different handwriting, but bore a close relationship to each other, and, says the fictitious Eremita in his fictitious preface, arc now published as the two volumes of Either/Or. T h e supposed writer of the first volume is apparently a young man with an aesthetic philosophy of life. Like young Sorcn Kierkegaard in 1835-1836, he has not found himself. There is no seriousness in him; life to him is a dialogue in which only the " p u n c h l i n e s " are important. He is interested in many things, but concerned for nothing. His only problem is the boredom that results from his lack of seriousness about things thai oilier men take seriously. T h e writer of the second volume of Either/Or is an older man, though not an old man. His is an ethical philosophy of life, imparted in a series of three letters addressed to the younger man. T h e name of the first writer was not given anywhere in cither of the two documents, says Victor Eremita. T h e name of the second writer was given only as William. Since the first is completely unidentified, and the second only partially so, Eremita chooses to refer to his two writers as " A " and " B . " " A . is unmarried and seems to be a wealthy man about town without occupation. " B " is married, has children, and is a magistrate judge. " A " is more brilliant lhan " B " and a better thinker. Truth to " A " is merely something to be known. T o " B " truth is to be appropriated and lived. " B " therefore really exists, while " A " merely thinks. " A " is the dilettante, the intellectual, who plays with ideas and relationships. " B " is quietly committed to truth and right, having a responsible attitude toward all his concerns and relationships. T h e title, Either/Or, reflects both Kierkegaard's purpose

" E I T H E R /OR "

57

and his artistry. In the preface Victor Eremita suggests that the two writers ( " A " and " B " ) may be considered as the same man, one w h o had lived through, or thought about, the aesthetic and ethical phases of life. T h e reader may forget this title while reading the book. Then at the end he may ponder. H e will then realize that both characters in the hook mirror his own character. Every man has this choice between the aesthetic way of life, self-indulgent, uncommitted, detached, irresponsible — a m i the ethical way, which is committed, self-disciplined, and responsible. Nineteenth-century society in Western Europe was tremendously impressed by its intellectual and scientific achievements. It had !>ecomc fashionable for men to believe that only thinking that is detached and dispassionate is intellectually respectable. Everything that is true must be thought out and stated in general terms. This is the objective approach to truth; and it has been very useful for the advancement of science. But, Kierkegaard believed, man can't live scientifically or abstractly. Even the scientist doesn't live scientifically in his personal relationships. He, like any other man, loves his wife for purely personal reasons. H e is bound to her in love and committed to her in faith. His attitude toward her is not objective, but highly subjective, and quite rightly so. This aspect of human life is its most important and meaningful aspect. But it has been neglected by philosophy and held in contempt by pseudo science. Kierkegaard, in all his writings, was trying to make clear to his readers the importance of this subjective life. It is inward; it is committed; and it is passionately concerned. Either/Or was S. K.'s first attempt to summon men to existential living. Volume I presents a detached, uncommitted, nonexistcn-

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THE LIFE AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

tial view of life. T h e book begins with a collection of prose poems, the " Diapsalmata."' This term, borrowed from a liturgical version of The Psalms, may be taken to mean " interlude." T h e " Diapsalmata " of Either/Or express many moods, most of them ironical, or cynical, or melancholy. T h e first " diapsalm " is a poetic introspection: What is a poet? A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret suffering!, but whine l i p arc so strangely formed that when the sighs and cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music. His fate is like that of the unfortunate victims whom the tyrant Phalaris imprisoned in a brazen hull, and slowly tortured over a steady fire; their cries could not reach the tyrants ears so as to strike terror into his heart; when ihcy reached his ears they sounded like sweet music. And men crowd about the poet and say lo him, " Sing for us soon again "; that is as much as to say, " May new sufferings torment your soul, but may your lips be formed as before; for the cries would only frighten us, but the music is delicious." And the critics come, ion, and say, "Quite correct, and so it ought to he. according to the rules of aesthetics." Now it is understood that a critic resembles a poet to a hair; he only lacks the suffering in his heart, and the music upon his lips. Lo, therefore 1 would rather be a swineherd from Amagcr, and be understood by the swine, than be a poet and be misunderstood by men." T h e writer understands what it is to be a poet, but has no wish to be one. His attitude is one of detachment. It is all very well to be a poet, but all one can expect is to be admired and misunderstood. Some of the " Diapsalmata " express a biting sarcasm: 1 prefer to talk with children, for it is still possible to hope that they may become rational beings. But those who have already become so — good Lord!

"

EITHER/OR"

59

How absurd men arel They never use die liberties they have, they demand those they do not have. They have freedom of thought, they demand freedom of speech.* " A , " the young aesthete who is the supposed author of the " Diapsalmata," is, as we have noted, bored with life, and aptly describes his boredom: I do not C3rc for anything. I do not care to ride, for the exercise is too violent. I do not care to walk, walking is too strenuous. I do not care to lie down, for 1 should cither have to remain lying, and I do not care to do that, or I should have to get up again, and I do not care to do that either. . . . I do not care at all.* " A " is a contemplative character who is amused and bemused by the busyness of others. T h e activities and concerns of other people seem to him futile and absurd: Of all ridiculous ihings, it seems to me the most ridiculous is to be a busy man of affairs, prompt to meals, and prompt lo work. Hence when I sec a fly settle down in a crucial moment on the nose of a businessman, or sec him bespattered by a carriage which passes him by in even greater haste, or a drawbridge opens before him. or a tile from ihc roof falls down and strikes him dead, then I laugh heartily. And who could help laughing? What do they accomplish, these bustlers? Are they not like the housewife, when her house was on fire, who in her excitement saved the fire tongs? What more do they save from the great fire of life? • T o one who is merely interested in many things, but concerned for nothing, life can be seen in only two possible perspectives. One can laugh; or one can blow one's brains out. Since the former choice involves less courage and less effort, and is, on the whole, more convenient, it is better to laugh. This conclusion is deftly expressed in the last of the " Diapsalmata " :

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T H E LIFE AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

Something wonderful has happened to me. 1 was carried up into the seventh heaven. There all the gods sat assembled. By special grace I was granted the favor of a wish." Will you," said Mercury, " have youth, or beauty, or power, or a long life, or the most beautiful maiden, or any of the other glories we have in the chest? Choose, but only one thing." For a moment I was at a loss. Then I addressed myself to the gods as follows: " Most honorable contemporaries, 1 choose this one thing, that I may always have the laugh on my side." Not one of the gods said a word; on the contrary, they all began to laugh. Hence, I concluded that my request was granted, and found that the gods knew how to express themselves with taste; for it would hardly have been suitable for them to have answered gravely, " It is granted thee." 1

These had been young Sorcn Kierkegaard's attitudes before 1838. Volume I of Either/Or contains much that is brilliant and much that is beautiful. In a succession of essays, S. K. sets forth the aesthetic way of looking at life. T h e first essay after the " Diapsalmata " is on the immediate (or musical) erotic. It describes three stages of sensuality. All arc illustrated from Mozart's operas. T h e first stage is exemplified by the page, Cherubino, in Mozart's Marriage of Figaro. Sensuality here is erotic dreaming, a mere adolescent longing which contemplates no overt action, and is embarrassed in the presence of any person of the opposite sex. T h e second stage is represented by Papagcno in Mozart's The Magic Flute. Here the erotic or sensuous is expressed in seekjng that which it may desire. T h e third stage is found in Mozart's Don Juan {Don Giovanni). Here the erotic comes to full expression in desire. Don Juan's whole being is diffused and permeated by desire. Life for him is a succession of amorous conquests. So,

" EITHER/OR "

61

as Lcpotcllo points out to Donna Elvira in the opera, she should not feel so singularly bereft — Don Juan has already seduced 1,003 women in Spain alone! Mozart's characters arc idealized in " A ' s " interpretation, i.c., they arc fitted to the patterns of " A's " own thinking. There is no moral appraisal; " A " is enthusiastic about Mozart's artistry. He finds the situation, characters, and musical expression " interesting." In subsequent essays of Vol. I, Kierkegaard demonstrates many facets of the aesthetic outlook on life. Here we find the tragedy of the fate that visits the sins of the father, even unwitting sins, upon the child; psychological analyses of three fictional victims of faithless lovers (Goethe's Marie Bcaumarchais, Mozart's Donna Elvira, and Goethe's Marguerite); and essays on " T h e Unhappicst Man," and " T h e First Love." Though he had a wider public in mind, S. K. was, in a special sense, writing for Regina. Many would read, understand, enjoy, and discuss Either/Or; but, for Rcgina, each essay would have special meanings which only she would be aware of and appreciate. In the next to the last essay of Vol. I, on " T h e Rotation Method," the theory is presented that " Boredom is the root o f all evil."" This is why children misbehave — they arc bored. Sin came into human experience when Adam and Eve got bored with each other. Men en masse were bored by human limitations, and so tried to make themselves gods by building the Tower of Babel. T h e Roman populace demanded bread and circuses; and the decline and fall of Rome were due, not to the failure of the bread supply, but to the deplorable fact that the circuses got more and more boring. "A" suggests that the social unrest of his own time is also

62

T H E LIFE AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

due to boredom. People are demanding democracy and have various other fantastic ideas. T h e answer for Denmark is not to hold a constituent assembly and establish constitutional government, but to borrow fifteen million dollars and distribute it for people to spend. There is much more of this drollery: Never enjoy anything so much that you remember it. Make no close friends; never marry; never go into business; in short, take nothing seriously. Make all your choices and preferences whimsical and arbitrary, like the poet Baggesen, whose only objection to a certain famous man was that his name didn't rhyme with anything. Either/Or created a literary sensation in Copenhagen, and was widely read and discussed. T h e essay that really sold the book was the last in Vol. I, entitled " T h e Diary of the Seducer." Here, Kierkegaard had wished to go farther in depicting demonic sensuality than his fictitious young aesthete ( " A " ) could go and still remain in character. So he has " A " disclaim authorship, and attribute the diary to another man, of whose work " A " is merely the editor. This, as S. K. has Victor Eremita point out in the preface, makes the situation quite complicated, for each author is enclosed in another " like the parts of a Chinese puzzle box." Victor Eremita doubts • A's " sincerity, and suspects that he is really the Seducer, not merely an editor. This is, of course, a pscudo problem. It conveys to us, as S. K. intended, the basic dishonesty of the aesthetic view of life with its refusal to become committed to, or accept responsibility for, anything. " T h e Diary of a Seducer " makes interesting reading. T h e Seducer is a reflective man. His goal is not the same as Don Juan's, to seduce as many women as possible. Rather, the Seducer is interested in how he seduces. He is proud of his re-

• EITHER /OR "

fined techniques, which will infallibly seduce the purest and most virtuous young woman, and keep her quite happy and even proud of herself while he is doing it. Seduction has become with him not so much a passion as an art. Don Juan desires women as women. T h e Seducer ponders the amazing variety of feminine form and feature, and savors each attractive woman for herself: My eyes can never weary of surveying . . . these scattered emanations of feminine beauty. . . . Every woman has her share: the merry smile; the roguish glance; the yearning look; the drooping head; the exuberant spirits; the calm sadness; the deep foreboding; the melancholy; the earthly homesickness; the unhallowed movements; the beckoning brows; the questioning lips; the mysterious forehead; the ensnaring curls; the heavenly pride; the earthly modesty; the angelic purity; the secret hlush; the light step; the graceful airiness; the languishing posture; the dreamy yearning; the inexplicable sighs; the willowy form; the soft outlines; the luxuriant bosom; the swelling hips; the tiny foot; the dainty hand. Each woman has her own, and the one does not merely repeat the other.* T h e Seducer is a connoisseur; and this is an artistic catalogue of feminine charms. His attitude and enthusiasms arc demonic; but they arc expressed in perfect good taste. When he derides the bourgeois institutions of engagement and marriage, he does so with a delicacy which docs not offend. Even when he has seduced his Cordelia, and comments on the end of the affair, it is with philosophic detachment: Why cannot such a night be longer? . . . Still it ii over and I hope never to see her again. When a girl has given away everything, ihen she is weak, then she has lost everything; for a man guilt it a negative moment, for a woman it is the value of her being. Now all resistance is impossible, and only at long as

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that it present is il beautiful to love. . . . I will have no farewell v.uli her; nothing is more disgusting to me than a woman's tears. . . . I have loved her. but . . . she can no longer engross my soul. It was wonh-while to show . . . that one can make her so proud that she would imagine that it was she who tired of the relationship." All of this gives us a fair picture of young Sdren Kierkegaard before June, 1836. He was not himself a seducer, except in imagination; but he enjoyed the erotic-intellectual satisfaction of planning how a woman could be seduced without involving a man in any permanent or responsible relationship to her. He believed he could even avoid the unpleasantness of her tears, pleadings, and recriminations by clever and subtle psychology. T h e aesthetic view of life, which S. K. had chosen for his own during the summer vacation at Gillclcic in the summer of 1835, involved no obligations or commitments. Its only purpose was enjoyment, and this seemed irresponsible, perhaps, but harmless. T h e exploration of its possibilities in Vol. I of Either/Or reveals that it ends in frustration and l>orcdom for the aesthete, and that it involves the possibility of great harm for others who arc exploited by the aesthete for his own pleasure. Its beginning may seem harmless; but its end is demonic. Either/Or. Vol. II, reveals the ethical side of the dialectic that went on in the soul of Sorcn Kierkegaard in the two years of struggle to reform his life between Mollcr's" mighty trumpet" in 1836 and S. K.\ reconciliation with his father (and with G o d ) in 1838. In this volume," B , " or fudge William, speaks for S. K.'s better and more mature self. So Judge William writes to his younger f r i e n d , " A , " in an

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effort to persuade him to adopt those attitudes toward life which arc necessary for mature and responsible living. " A " has consistently ridiculed marriage as a relationship so prosaic and boresomc that it almost infallibly destroys romantic love. In his first letter, therefore. Judge William defends " the aesthetic validity of marriage." H e observes that popular novelists have produced one volume after another on the joys and anxieties of romantic love, and readers have vicariously enjoyed all these experiences, secure in the assurance that the lovers would get married in the last chapter and live happily ever after. T h e assumption of novelists, playwrights, and public has been that marriage is a happy state. But, says the judge, these works really do nothing to make clear the validity of married happiness. They end where they ought to begin. T h e lovers sink into each other's arms, the book ends (or the curtain falls), and the reader is no wiser. N o r has the cynicism about love and marriage characteristic of the romantic period helped any. Here a group of gifted writers, Byron among them, declare, in effect, that " love is heaven, marriage is hell.**" Yet, the judge points out, the institution of marriage goes on, even though many have ceased to believe in it as the culmination of romantic love. It is true that, in some marriages, love dies and marriage becomes an empty shell, a hollow mockery. Such a marriage is both tragic and comic, " tragic because it is perishing, comic because it goes on." Many husbands feel this. They arc prisoners who " sit like madmen, each one in his matrimonial partition, and shake the iron bars and rave about the sweetness of engagement and about the bitterness of marriage." " They congratulate every young man who becomes engaged with a certain malicious and sadistic joy. 1 1

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In an engagement, they say, love is voluntary; but the legal bonds of marriage make love difficult and eventually impossible. A man's fiancee is his heart's desire, but the same lovely girl as his wife becomes his ball and chain. Rut, says Judge William, an engagement has no meaning except as a preliminary to love's complete fulfillment in marriage. There are some engaged men who seek to prolong the engagement and |>ostponc marriage. They are like bathers who spend much lime walking up and down on the float instead of jumping in. They stick a foot or hand in the water to test its temperature, and put off plunging in as long as possible. Love must make the plunge. Its full joy can never be known except in complete and unreserved commitment. Love requires marriage for its fulfillment. Love is erotic, but if it is genuine love, it has also a spiritual quality by which lovers see in each other what others cannot see. Love is both finite and infinite. It is immediate; it lives in each moment, and so is temporal. But lovers feel that ihcy were meant for each other, and that their love has always been; they have only just now discovered it in discovering each other. They are convinced too that their love will always be; so the poets are right in saying that love is eternal. Marriage may be " arranged," but love never is. Isaac, who humbly and trustfully referred his choice of a wife to God, and then sent his servant to look for the girl God had chosen, missed both the freedom and the joyously erotic experience of first love. Christianity accepts the erotic as a meaningful and beautiful aspect of human love. T h e judge's illustration is an intriguing one: Imagine a little peasant girl, hiding behind her lashes a pair of eyes which are audacious and yet humble, a girl healthy and blooming, with something in her complexion which is not the

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flush of sickness but the sign of a superior health; imagine her on a Christmas Eve; she ii alone in her room, midnight is already passed, and yet sleep which usually visits her so faithfully now evades her; she is sensible of an agreeable, sweet disquietude; she throws the window ajar, she looks out into the infinite space, alone with the silent nan; a little sigh makes her feet so light; she shuts the window, and with a seriousness which yet has constantly the possibility of lapsing into roguishness she prays: Ye Three Kings of Orient wise, Disclose a vision to my eyes. Who is the man whose board I'll spread, Him for whom I shall make my bed? What his name is, be it said. Show me the man whom I shall wed. With that she springs joyfully into bed. Honestly, the Three Kings ought to be ashamed of themselves if they did not look out for her; and it's no use saying one doesn't know what man she wishes: one knows that very well, at least if all the signs of Yuletide do not fail, she knows it ptetty neady.'* In Christian marriage a man and a woman bring their love before the altar of God. This does not destroy their freedom. It frees them from hesitancy and irresolution so that each may give himself to the other with an abandonment of self-love and a wholeness of mutual devotion. Love is aesthetic in that it is both sensuous and spiritual, freedom and necessity, temporal ami eternal. In marriage these contradictions are not lost or destroyed, but resolved and fulfilled. So love is not lost in marriage. Marriage sustains and enhances the sensuous relationships of love. It is true that marriage can be defended and extolled for other reasons. It is a school for character; it is the basic institution of society for the begetting and rearing of children; and it provides lonely

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people with the comforts of a home. While it may even be true that some people marry for such reasons, this does not prove that all marriages, or even most marriages, arc loveless and dull. In the end the genuineness, depth, and meaning of married love arc to be validated by every man in his own experience. Judge William urges his young friend to abandon his detachment and skepticism so thai he may learn to love wholeheartcdly — and learn to live. A rich versatility of gifts may enable a man to mean all things to all men, but such a one has missed the most rewarding of all human relationships unless he also comes to mean everything to someone. In his second long " letter " in Either/Or, Judge William points out that this phrase (cither/or) is often on the lips of his young friend. B u : " A " does not use it to designate a real choice. He shrugs off the whole problem of choice. Here wc may turn back to one of the " Diapsalmata " for an illustration of what the judge means: If you marry, you will regret it; if you do not marry, you will regret it; if you marry, or do not marry, you will regret both. Laugh at the world's follies, you will regret it; weep over them, you will regret that; laugh at the world's follies or weep over them, you will regret both. . . . Hang yourself, you will regret it; do not hang yourself, and you will also regret that; hang yourself or do not hang yourself, you will regret both." " A ' s " attitude is that it is futile to make decisions, especially important decisions. N o matter what you decide, you'll be sorry! So he makes no decision he can avoid; he chooses nothing except on a flip-of-the-coin basis. His only goal is enjoyment; and no relationship or activity can be depended on to be permanently enjoyable. Occasionally a friend comes

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to him with a problem requiring a decision. " A " always treats the matter with characteristic flippancy. Says Judge William: You listen to their exposition of the case, and then you say: " Yes, 1 perceive perfectly that there arc two possibilities, one can do cither this or that. My sincere opinion and my friendly counsel is as follows: Do it/or don't do it — you will regret both." Hut he who mocks others mocks himself, and your rejoinder is not a mere nothing hut a profound mockery of yourself, a sorry proof of how limp your soul is, that your whole philosophy of life is concentrated in one single proposition," I say merely either/or." " T h e judge implores his friend to " stop this wild flight, this passion of annihilation which rages in you; for this is what you desire, you would annihilate everything, you would satiate the hunger of doubt at the expense of existence. . . . T h e only thing that gives you pleasure is to march seven times around existence and blow the trumpet and thereupon let ihc whole thing collapse." How then does one become something? A man's first choice, says Judge William, is to choose to recognize that there is a difference between good and evil and that he must be on one side or the other. T h e aesthetic view makes no such distinction, and so gives one no selfhood and no ground for ethical choice. Only when a man wills the good and, in doing this, recognizes the difference between good and evil, does he really begin to be someone. Then and so he becomes a man, a human being, having a commitment and a purpose. A man without this basic purpose is really nothing. He is not a man. Existentially speaking, he does not exist 1 Manhood is freedom of choice, to choose one's self respon-

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sibly is to be human, and to be human is to possess this freedom to choose, and to exercise it. Every man must first choose to be who he is, then decide to be what he is, and then he will do in order to reveal and express the self he has become by his own choice. One meets everywhere, says the good judge, people who have omitted the first choice (to be themselves) and arc trying to be normal people by ludicrous attempts at self-expression, when there is really no self to express. They arc comparable to that sect of Hussites " who thought that the most obvious way to become the normal man was to go naked like Adam and Eve in Paradise." Neither nakedness nor any other device men adopt — busyness, talkativeness, cynicism—can conceal the real truth about the man who is nothing. One who persists at the aesthetic level, and refuses to become himself at the ethical level, has made a choice, but it is a stupid one. Even if acceptance of the ethical were to mean the end of all aesthetic values, it would still be the Ixtter choice, says Judge William. But the aesthetic is not lost, it is taken up into the ethical. Aesthetic values arc transfigured and made more meaningful, more constant, and more durable. Indeed, says the judge, • only when one regards life ethically does it acquire beauty, truth, significance, firm consistence." " Either/Or concludes with a brief letter with which Judge William sends " A " a sermon by a country pastor. This last essay suggests by indirection that the ethical is not the final word in an existential view of life. This is a precaution against misunderstanding and a precursor of a level of living which transcends the ethical. Published in February, 1843, Either/Or created a literary sensation in Copenhagen. Its unknown author was immcdi-

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ately recognized as a literary genius. It was " much read and more talked about," but no one really understood it. Rcgina Olscn recognized that it was written for her, and learned much from it, but even she did not grasp its philosophy. Kierkegaard's motives in writing Either/Or were complex: It was written for Regina; it was written to make dear to his readers the futility of aesthetic and the importance of ethical living; and it was written to get the acsdietic " out of his system." It was, as he later describes it, an "expectoration," a necessary evacuation. In Either/Or and the other aesthetic writings (Repetition, Fear and Trembling, Stages on Life's Way) he accomplishes this. S. K. was not seeking popularity, and the popularity of " The Diary of a Seducer " was disconcerting. It was written to repel Rcgina. He believed the public would also find it repulsive. When they admired and praised it, he was confirmed in his low opinion of the public. He scorned the deceptive devices used by some authors for the sake of popularity. In the Journals he exclaims, ** I won't do that; I won't, I won't, I won't, to hell with the whole thing." " He wrote, not to please the public, but because he must write. On Easter Day, a few weeks after the publication of Either/Or, Rcgina nodded to him in church. As he look his walks, lie was continually meeting her on the streets. He still loved her deeply, and he suspected that these were not chance encounters, but that she contrived to be where she thought he would be. H e was tortured by these encounters, and he felt they kepi a false hope alive in her heart. This and ihe need to find undisturbed time for his writing probably motivated his second journey to Berlin. He sailed on May 8, 1843. He had apparently considered making a more extensive journey, but from Berlin he wrote Emil Boe-

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sen that he was not physically well and had decided nut to travel farther. He had been working on the materials of the book that would appear two years later as Stages on Life's Way. H e tells Boesen that in spite of physical weakness his mental " machinery is working at full speed," and his spirits are healthy. Despite this assurance to Boesen, S. K. seems to have been upset by the evidence of Regina's continuing love ami loyalty. " Had I had faith," he writes in the Journals." I should have remained with Regina." He had been working on a story, later to appear in the Stages, entitled " Guilty/Not Guilty." It was a complete, thinly fictionalized account of his love affair. He found that he could not complete it. T h e possibility of a resumption of his relationship with Regina was preying on his mind. So he turned to the writing of two books for her. T h e first of these, the first draft of which seems to have been begun and completed in Berlin, was Repetition. On May 25, he wrote Boesen that it was completed, and that he would soon be back in Copenhagen because he needed to be near his library and the printing presses. In Repetition (by " Constantinc Constantius"), S. K. writes poetically of a young man's desire to repeat his most cherished aesthetic expericnecs and of the impossibility of doing so because the aesthetic mood requires change and not repetition. It would be absurd, we may therefore conclude, for S. K. to resume his engagement to Regina. But the absurd is possible I It may have been with this hope in his heart that he returned to Copenhagen in June, only to encounter the announcement of Regina's engagement to Fritz Schlegel. This was a jarring experience, but only obscure references to it are found in the Journals. One is this: " T h e most terrible

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thing that can happen to a man is that he should become comic to himself in essentials, that he should discover that the content of his feelings is twaddle."" Ten pages or more were torn from the original manuscript of Repetition. Its original ending, by which he may, perhaps, have intended to say to Regina that all might be as before between them, was now quite foolish and irrelevant. S. K. wrote a new conclusion in which Constantinc Constantius finds repetition, not at an aesthetic, but at a religious level: " She is married, . . . I am again myself, . . . I have the repetition."" Like |ob of old, Constantinc has again everything double, but in Constantinc's case the repetition is of blessings that (God knows) are good for him, rather than of the blessings that he desired. Fear and Trembling apparently was written for the most part after the announcement of the engagement. Here, in obedience to God's will, Abraham in spirit gives up Isaac. So, in spirit, Sorcn Kierkegaard surrenders his beloved Regina — in response to what is now, clearly, God's command.

CHAPTER 6

"Stages on Life's Way" •" ire FOR SORES KIERKEGAARD was a scries of shock

I A treatments. A patient recovers from the shock, but not from the treatment. S o it was with Kierkegaard; God had again taken a decisive hand in his life. T h e announcement of Rcgina's engagement to Schlegel was, as he says, not merely an event; it was a fact. An event passes; a fact remains and must be lived with. Up to this time the poet within him had clung to the possibility that he might yet marry Rcgina. Now that it was no longer a possibility, he did not immediately cease to be a poet, but he found that being a poet was irrelevant. H e had already in part become, and was increasingly becoming, a religious personality. In many men poetry and religion would not be incompatible. In him they were. Again he must make a choice. H e recognized the religious man as being himself, and so chose himself. T h e poet did not completely disappear, but he was no longer at the controls. Indeed, the poet still wrote for publication, but he no longer directed editorial policy. Kierkegaard's movement away from the aesthetic in his writings is clear from this point on. Three aesthetic works already in preparation were to appear in print during the next two 14

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years. Repetition and Fear and Trembling were published simultaneously on October 16, 1843. Stages on Life's Way was not published till April 30,1845. In these works Kierkegaard gets the aesthetic completely out of his system and makes a subtle transition from the aesthetic life, through the ethical, to the religious. In Repetition, the pseudonymous author, Constantinc Constantius, makes an attempt to repeat enjoyments previously experienced. But Constantinc's second visit to Berlin, for instance, docs not bring the same pleasure as he had on the first visit. After various experiments, he concludes that while repetition of aesthetic pleasures is possible, it is impossible to make sure of this. There is no method of control by which the aesthete can guarantee that pleasures will be repeated. T h e ethical sphere, on the other hand, is constituted by rcpcatablc experiences. It is a daily renewal of the same commitments, loyalties, relationships, activities, and satisfactions. Its joys arc durable because its attitudes arc constant. Constantinc encounters a very interesting case of a young man who falls in love and becomes engaged. His love inspires this young man to poetry, but does not make him happy. H e discovers a melancholy in himself, which he believes unfits him for marriage. Marriage would only bring unhappincss to the young woman he loves. So the young man is in despair. Though he is guilty of no wrong intent, life has forced on him a situation in which there is no ethical way out. If he marries the young woman, he will be guilty of a great wrong; if he does not marry her, he will also be guilty of a great wrong. Either choice will bring undeserved suffering to the woman he loves. In this state of mind the young man reads T h e Book of Job. He admires Job's courage in protesting before God the

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injustice of life. Reading on, the young man finds that in the end God answers Job, and restores to him double for all he has lost. But when the thing a man has lost is his sense of moral integrity, can this ever be restored? As wc have seen, Kierkegaard destroyed the original ending of Repetition? As the book now stands, the central question really remains unanswered. Is there any escape from guilt? Is there any way in which a man can leave the old, guilty self behind him and be born again ? In Fear and Trembling, the pseudonymous author, Johannes de Sllcntio, gives four |>ossiblc interpretations of the story of Abraham's journey to Mount Moriah to sacrifice Isaac at God's command. In all four versions the command of God is clear, and Abraham's response does not vary. God, who has given him Isaac whom he loves better than life itself, now requires that he give thus son back in a human sacrifice. So Abraham proceeds with Isaac to Mount Moriah, fully resigned to obeying God's will, yet in the faith that this sacrifice will not be required of him. Faith, Johannes points out, begins with infinite resignation, but goes beyond it to believe and trust God to the point of absurdity. T h e man of faith is not only willing to accept at God's hand whatever God wills, he is also willing to believe in the possibility of the impossible. H e knows the pain of giving up everything; yet he also grasps by faith all his dearest hopes and plans for the finite future. Johannes admits that, while he can describe the movements of faith, he cannot make these movements. H e is like one who has studied the motions of swimming and can describe them accurately, but cannot swim. If a man has faith, he will never be plunged into despair, he can "swim" no matter how deep the water.

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While Kierkegaard declared thai nothing he wrote under a pseudonym should be regarded as expressing his own ideas, it seems inconceivable that he is not describing his own experience at this point. He thought he was resigned to giving Regina up. But the announcement of her engagement to Fritz Schlcgel revealed to him that he had not given her up. He was still unable to make the infinite double movement of faith, i.c., to achieve complete inner resignation to God's will, and to believe that God would restore to him, perhaps double, all he had lost. He writes: There was one who . . . believed thai he had made ihc movement; but. lo, time passed, the princess did something else, she married . . . then his soul lost the elasticity of resignation. Thereby he knew that he had noi made the movement rightly; for he who has made the act of resignation infinitely is sufficient unio himself. . . . What the princess does cannot disturb him. . . . If the princess is like-minded, . . . she will introduce herself into that order of knighthood into which one is not received hy balloting, but of which everyone is a member who has courage to introduce himself, that order of knighthood which proves its immortality hy the fact thai it makes no distinction between man and woman. The two will preserve their love young and sound, she will also have triumphed over her pains, even though she docs not. as is said in the ballad, " lie every night beside her lord." These two will remain in agreement to all eternity. . . . If ever the moment were to come which offered to give love its expression in time, then they will be capable of beginning precisely at the point where they would have begun if originally they had been united. 3

Regina and Fritz Schlcgel read and discussed Kierkegaard's books together. They must have found this an interesting passage. Doubtless Regina would have had some

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difficulty in recognizing herself as Isaac, but as a princess the reference to her relation to S. K. would have been inescapably clear. Kierkegaard's thought (in Fear and Trembling) moves on to express the broader interests of Johannes de Silentio. Even if a man is unable to attain to faith, he can make the preliminary movement of infinite resignation. This is possible to every man who has courage. But faith is harder. No one has a right to represent faith as being easy; it involves serious problems. One of these is what Johannes calls " the ideological suspension of the ethical." T h e ethical is universal, its principles arc binding upon everyone at all times. If the ethical is universally applicable, Abraham should not be praised as " the father of faith," he should be prosecuted for murder. It is a paradox of faith that the individual is above the universal. Here the individual man is obedient to God in a personal relationship. He is not bound by universal laws, and the olicdicncc of faith may involve him in an exception to the ethical. Johannes cites as an example the Virgin Mary, who was willing to be the handmaid of the Lord, even though she suffered the scandal, in the eyes of the world, of being an unwed mother. Though Kierkegaard docs not do so, he might with equal appropriateness have conjectured that Judas was not really a betrayer, but a man of faith who was willing to be used for ihc accomplishment of God's plan of redemption. T h e deceitful activities of a spy, serving a just cause, would also be an example. What Kierkegaard (through Johannes dc Silentio) is saying is this: W e cannot be men of faith without previously and fully accepting God's will. This resignation to God's will is not infinite so long as we set any emotional limits to

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it whatsoever. Many men arc not even willing with Saint Francis to be God's fools, to believe the absurd. They set human understanding (their own understanding) above God's truth. We need to go a big step farther in infinite resignation: to be willing to be God's sinners, ever, perhaps, God's criminals, if by our doing this God can accomplish his purpose through us. It is a hard thought, not so much because it is hard to understand, but because it is very very hard to accept. We must recognize that such an event or situation is an exception. Abraham and the Virgin Mary arc " elect figures," and none of us may in Christian humility rate himself as so important in the plan of God. Men sometimes do this, and the resulting mental condition is called a " Messiah complex." But every person who possesses the infinite resignation will be wrong for God if God requires this of him. He may proceed as Abraham did with the earnest and desperate faith that God will not require this thing of him, that he is merely being tested. We must remember also that the ethical is not ever abolished or abrogated; in even the most exceptional cases it would be, as Johannes says, merely suspended. To accept the possibility of such a suspension is one of the requirements of infinite resignation, and therefore a requirement of faith. The man who would attain to faith has other problems. Does he have an absolute duty toward God which takes precedence over any duty he may have toward men? Johannes quotes Luke 14:26: " If any one comes to me and docs not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple." " This is a hard saying," Johannes remarks; " who is able

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to hear it ? For this reason it is heard very seldom." Preachers don't preach on it. Commentaries, forced to say something about it, tastefully explain it away. But the ensuing verses in Luke make clear that this is the cost of discipleship. A man's duty to God is absolute, and contravenes his duly to wife and children, or parents, or any other member of his family. Here we encounter again the paradox of faith: the individual is higher than the universal. " Honor thy father and thy mother " is a universal commandment, but the individual's duty to honor God takes precedence over every human relationship. Love for one's neighbor is the second part of the great commandment and is a universal duty, but love for God comes first. Love for God and love for men are to be clearly distinguished from each other. Love for men is a corollary that follows from love for God. Indeed, many make the mislake of regarding love for men as a definition of love for God. Love for God is an absolute duty, and is so stated in the first half of the great commandment: " Thou shall love the Lord thy God " (Mark 12:30). It is a father's duty to love his children; this is universal. It was Abraham's duty to love Isaac, but Abraham's duty to love God was an absolute duty to which his duty to love his son was relative and subordinate. This paradox can be lived by Abraham, or by any man of faith, only by a willingness to sacrifice, not only one's own life, but also what one loves more than he loves his own life. Johannes points out that very, very few have the courage to live this way. We should still have the honesty to admit that it is the teaching of Scripture — and the nature of faith — that a man must accept his duty to God as an absolute duty. 1

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Another problem of faith is that an ultimate act of faith is always misunderstood. T h e man of faith not only suffers, he must suffer in silence because he cannot explain himself. So Abraham docs not reveal himself to Sarah, or to Eliczcr (his servant), or to Isaac, because he cannot. A man may talk uninterruptedly day and night, but unless he makes himself intelligible to others he docs not communicate. H e may utter everything, and say nothing. T h i s adds to the anguish of faith, that in such an exceptional case as the ideological suspension of the ethical or the unswerving performance of one's duty to God, the individual must stand alone, deprived of all human companionship and support. Yet only so can he truly be himself, and come into a relationship of faith toward God. Every person, indeed, has an inner life which only he himself knows. At the aesthetic level the individual cannot reveal his inner life, i.e., reveal himself, because he does not really W 3 n t to. T h e ethical, however, demands self-revelation, and at this sphere of existence we can and do understand each other. In the sphere of the religions, and at the level of faith, the individual in finding complete understanding before God must be willing to give up the satisfaction of being understood by men. Faith must therefore, Johannes concludes, be a passion of devotion. It is man's greatest passion. In its simplicity faith may be described as childlike. Rut far from being an ailment of childhood which one must wish to get over as soon as possible, faith is the passion of man's ultimate maturity. Kierkegaard's literary production in these years was amazing. While he was writing seven pseudonymous works for publication between 1843 and 1845, he was also writing seven collections of what he called " edifying discourses," which

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were published under his own name. These were authentic expressions of his own thinking at the time, while the pseudonymous writings represented points of view which he had outgrown, or which he had thought about but never shared. His mind was full of creative ideas which were crowding for expression; and he had an urgent purpose to reach the point in his literary career at which he could abandon pseudonyms because his authorship would then represent the sphere of existence to which he had attained. This does not justify the conclusion that S. K. meant nothing that he wrote under a pseudonym. He always was to regard the choice between responsibility and irresponsibility, between the aesthetic life of pleasure and the ethical life of commitment, as the basic choice that every man must make. It is the true " either/or." And in the sermon by the country pastor at the end of Either/Or, S. K. began the movement toward the religious sphere which was to gain momentum in subsequent "aesthetic works." T h e theme of the sermon, " As against God you are always in the wrong," suggests that no man ever really succeeds in his effort to l>c ethical. W e have seen that the other two pseudonymous publications of the year 1843, Repetition and Fear and Trembling, represent a continuing movement toward the religious. If we may summarize them, in Repetition, Constantinc Constantius seeks to repeat pleasurable experiences, and finds that repetition is unpredictable for aesthetic experience. Truly satisfying repetition can be achieved, and docs come quite surprisingly to the young man at the religious level. This repetition is a new birth, a beginning again, which is made possible, according to Johannes de Silentio in Fear and Trembling, by the negative movement of infinite resignation and the positive movement of a faith that grasps that which

" STACKS. ON LIFE'S WAY "

is not present. Infinite resignation is a human movement ami a necessary preliminary to faith. Faith is a transcendent movement, made possible only as God invades the human spirit and enables a man to transcend the limitations of the human by divine power. This is an awesome experience, and a man receives it always in fear and trembling. T h e next of ihc pseudonymous works, Philosophical Fragments, was published on July 13,1844. Here S. K. was coming very close to the level of his own thinking at the time. He Ijmbolisei this by the use of the pseudonym Johannes Climacus, and the addition of his own name: " Responsible for publication, S. Kierkegaard." Johannes Climacus was the author of an ancient and obscure work entitled " T h e l a d der of Heaven." T h e adoption of this pseudonym by Kierkegaard apparently symbolized the direction in which he was now moving. Philosophical Fragments discusses, with what seems to us a curious indirection, the twin questions: What is Christianity? and. How does one become a Christian ? But the setting of the book and its terminology arc Greek rather than Christian, and its prominent authority is Socrates. T h e name of Christ does not appear, and Christianity is mentioned only at the very end of the book. It can be understood only in the light of its sequel, Concluding Unscientific Postscript to the Philosophical Fragments, published in 1846. Kierkegaard's versatility as an author enabled him to keep several books in preparation continuously. Four days after the publication of Philosophical Fragments, on June 17, 1844, his book The Concept of Dread was placed on sale. It was a psychological study of original sin, and can also be better understood, or at least more logically related to the other books, by being discussed in connection with the Con-

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eluding Unscientific Postscript. In the meantime, Kierkegaard needed to clear his mind of some erotic-acsthctic-cthical-psychological remainders. These were only loosely related to each other, and his pseudonym Hilarius Bookbinder symbolizes this. T h e three " pieces " included were not originally planned as one book. T h e first two were intended for publication together in a book to be entitled " Right Hand/Left H a n d . " T h e third piece should have occupied the place taken by the sermon in Eit/ier/Or, but it is so intimate a description of his relationship to Regina that he could not bring himself to complete o r publish it in 1843. As published on April 30, 1845, this is one of his longest books, and its title is the only one that would appropriately unite and describe the three parts: Stages on IJfe's Way. T h e manuscripts included in the book, Hilarius Bookbinder tells us, had been lying around his shop for some time. They had been part of a larger group of manuscripts left with him to be bound. By some inadvertence these three had been missed, and were not bound with the others. T h e " litcratus " who had left them to be bound died suddenly, before the binding was done, and Hilarius delivered the bound volumes and received payment through the probate court. Some time later these three unbound manuscripts were discovered, and it was recalled by Mrs. Hilarius that they had belonged to the " literary gent." It seemed too late to deliver them to anyone, so Hilarius bound them together to preserve them. Since the handwriting was beautifully done, he used the bound volume as a copybook pattern in the instruction of his son. Later, a theological student whom he employed to tutor the boy advised Hilarius that these were works of great merit and should be

" STAGES ON LIFE'S WAY "

puMifhci). So wiih a mock-sty becoming a bumble bookliintlcr, and yet with a desire to benefit his fellow men, Hilarius bad them published. T h e first piece in the Stages, " In Vino Veritas " (" In Wine There Is Truth " ) , expresses the aesthetic stage. It describes a banquet at which the supposed author, William A!rum, was a silent participant and observer. On the theory of the adage that drunkards and little children tell the truth, it is required that each speaker at the banquet achieve a garrulous state of intoxication before he is permitted to speak. T h e theme of each speaker is the same," W o m a n , " and the speeches are interesting, if not edifying. They represent the logical extremes of irresponsible aestheticism. Woman is a puzzling enigma to the young man who speaks first. In the speeches that follow she is described as a joke, a negative influence, and an alluring temptation. T h e second piece of the Stages is entitled " Various Observations About Marriage by a Married Man." Here S. K.'s fudge William sets forth the case for chastity, the satisfactions of the monogamous marriage, and an appreciative respect for woman as a person. It is evident that these two sections, constituting about a third of the book, repeat with greater vividness the message of Either/Or. Irresponsible sensuality is the path of perdition; self-discipline and acceptance of responsibility may not lead directly to heaven, but thry lead away from hell. T h e third section, " Guilty/Not Guilty." by Frater Taciturnus, constitutes two thirds of the Stages. Frater Taciturnus begins with a story of his visit to Soeborg I-ake with a naturalist friend, who was collecting botanical specimens from the bottom of the lake. Quite surprisingly, their dredging apparatus brings up a rosewood box sealed in oilskins. T h e box

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contains a numl>cr of things, most of them of no great value. T w o valuable pieces of jewelry (one an engagement ring) will be returned to the owner, says Frater Taciturnus, if he will apply to F . T . through Rcitzcl's bookstore. As a psychologist, Frater Taciturnus is much interested in a manuscript contained in the box, a young man's account of his unhappy love affair. This unhappy love story, " Quidam's Diary," has a curious pattern of double entries. In the mornings the young man wrote his reminiscences of " today a year ago." At midnight each night he wrote about the day just ended. T h e diary describes two six-month periods, and covers a year and a half of Quidam's love affair. While it is a love story, its chief interest from the beginning is ethical and ultimately religious. In the first entry, the morning entry of January 3, Quidam raises the real question: " O u g h t a soldier of the advanced guard to be married? Dare a soldier on the frontier (spiritually understood) take a w i f e ? " * Quidam's spiritual struggle is not against " T u r k s and Scythians," the barbarians of this world, but against demonic forces within himself," the robber bands of an innate melancholy." Can a man so melancholy as he ho|>e for happiness in marriage for himself and the girl he loves? At limes he experiences the immediacy of first love, and hopes that in marriage to the girl he loves so deeply he will no longer be " an exception." " After all," he writes, " my father was married, and he was the most melancholy man I ever knew." * He therefore plans at first to conceal his melancholy and its causes. Being an expert at seeming cheerful when he is not, he will marry the girl, but spare her from ever knowing his inner suffering. He will be like " Simon the Leper," who has discovered a salve thai will conceal his leprosy and enable him to re-enter

" VI At.1A ON LIFE'S W A Y "

S7

society. But to do so would still expose others to the disease, and Simon chooses instead to remain an outcast and bear his fate. So Quidam decides that to conceal his melancholy indefinitely would be impossible. It would still be there, and would in the intimate relationships of marriage be infectious. T o expose the one he loves to this infection without her knowing would be unfair to her and unworthy of the marriage relationship. Such a relation demands complete honesty. " Lovers ought to have no differences between them." * So Quidam resolves to reveal himself to his fiancee. But to share and bear his melancholy with him she must be brought to a religious level of thinking and feeling. His attempt to do this fails. She is a child of sunshine, temperamentally incapable of living at any other level than pure aesthetic immediacy. She loves Quidam more than she loves God. Indeed she does not, properly speaking, love God or Quidam so much as she loves herself. Her love for him is passionately possessive. When he attempts to leach her, she affectionately appropriates the teacher, but not the teaching. So Quidam. in despair, writes her a note in which he attempts to break off the engagement. This does not work either. She visits his room in his absence, and leaves a note in which she says it will be her death if he leaves h e r . " She conjures m c for God's sake, and for the sake of my salvation."' Though he loves her deeply, Quidam feels that it is quite unfair for her to use the name of God in this way. God is, for her, obviously only a rich uncle. Quidam's only recourse now is a battle to destroy her love for him, and set her free. This he proceeds to do with a breaking heart, but with cleverness and firmness. But he finds that his own strength and courage arc unequal to the task. Only God can give a man the faithfulness for so des-

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pcrate a battle, not only with her, but with himself. T h e need for strength from God, and gratitude to God for strength given, bring to Quidam a new and deeper experience of religion. " G o d , " he writes, " is the only one who docs not grow tired of listening to a m a n . " Quidam admits that he had long cultivated an appearance of being cold and heartless before men. In fact, he had taken pride in his ability to do this. He was not really cold and heartless. Now he is caught, not just in the appearance of hcartlessness, but in the reality. H e writes: 1

I have been taken prisoner by the appearance I sought to conjure up. I have in fact treated a person shabbily. And although I have a different understanding of it. . . . 1 cannot make any man understand me. Providence has taken me captive. The idea I cherished of my existence was a proud one, now 1 am crushed. . . . I have lost the real pith of my existence, die secure stronghold behind the deceitful appearance. . . . Only religiously can 1 now understand myself before God My idea was lo reconstruct my life ethically . . . and to conceal this inwardness in the form of deceit. Now . . . my life is constructed for me religiously. . . . My situation is as if God has chosen me, not 1 God." Quidam feels that he is helpless in God's hands, and, though he is involved in a situation that is not of his own choosing, he humbly acknowledges that he is guilty: Am I guilty? Yes. How? By the fact that I began what I could not carry to completion. How is it that thou dost understand it now? I understand now why it was impossible for me. What then is thy guilt? That I did not understand it earlier. What is thy responsibility? Every possible consequence that may follow in her life.-

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After two months of struggle, Quidam convinces his fiancee that she must give him up. " So it is over," he writes. " If she chooses to cry, I choose the pain; and one grows tired of crying aloud, perhaps she already is; for me ihc turn of pain will come, and come again." " Every year on the third of January, he begins to relive the six-months period in which he accepted divine governance, gave up all hope of happiness, and broke the heart of the girl he loved. So ends the diary; and Quidam remarks bitterly," It deals with nothFrater Taciturnus ends his book (" Guilty/Not Guilty ") with an " Epistle to the Reader." He makes an extensive psychological analysis of Quidam's C 3 s e . The basic difficulty was that Quidam and his fiancee lived in two different existencespheres. He writes: There are ihrce existence-spheres: the aesthetic; the ethical; the religious. . . . The ethical sphere is only a transitional sphere, and hence its highest expression is repentance. . . . The aesthcuc sphere is that of immediacy, the ethical is that of requirement (and this requirement is so infinite that the individual always goes bankrupt), the religious sphere is that of fulfillment." Frater Taciturnus as a psychologist is merely a student of all this. He deliberately chooses not to become a participant, i.e., he is not a religious man, and he knows that he is not. One who imagines himself to be a religious man when he is not is a fool. One who sees what religion is without becoming religious is a sophist, and Frater Taciturnus admits that he is a sophist. For Kierkegaard, the writing of the Stages was the last expression of a self that was present in him, but was not the self he had chosen to be. He had many possibilities of self-

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hood. He was not so much a split personality as " a splintered personality."" Several characters in the Stages represented fractions of his personality. Rut he knew clearly in 1844 the kind of man he was in part and aspired to be completely — a religious man. He still had active aesthetic tastes and interests. He still felt himself to be " uncommonly erotic." This " other man " within himself was given the last opportunity for expression with the writing of " In Vino Veritas." There was yet another man within him who aspired to ethical self-sufficiency; he relied on himself, and did not need God. This man expressed himself for the last time in " Observations About Marriage." It is " Judge William's " last moralistic discourse. In "Guilty/Not Guilty," S. K. eliminated the ethically self-sufficient man by showing his impossibility in a crisis experience. T h e failure to find an ethical solution to his problem of guilt forced Quidam into a lonely understanding with God. Here Kierkegaard, the author, "catches u p " with Kierkegaard, the man, and from 1846 they struggle onward together. Pseudonymity is no longer necessary.

CHAPTER 7

"Poor Individual, Existing

Man"

0\

the publication of Stages on 'Life's Way, Kierkegaard had published a book under his own name, entitled Three Occasional Discourses. His prolific authorship in these years was due in part to the tremendous urge of his creative genius, and in part to his serious purpose to confront men with Christianity. Such productivity represented a vast amount of sheer, grinding hard work. He rose every morning, gave thanks to God, and then to work, with time off only for meals and his midday walk. Sometimes he interrupted work in the evening to appear at the theater for about ten minutes in order to maintain the fiction that he was a loafer. At a set time in the evening he stopped his work, again gave thanks to God, and so to bed and to sleep. «N THE DAY BEFORE

Writing had become his vocation, and he pursued it with single-minded devotion. Between February 20, 1843, the date of Hither/Or. and February 27, 1846, the date of the Postscript, he published in allfifteenbooks. Except for Either/Or, which was rewritten only once, all his publications were composed in an original draft and rewritten twice. Even his midday walks were periods of meditation in which he gained perspective and new ideas for his writing. 9!

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While he worked hard, he was not a recluse or an ascetic. He particularly enjoyed meeting ordinary people, and on his walks stopped often to chat with them. At the same time he lived in style! He had inherited a substantial sum from his father, and had also, with Peter Kierkegaard, inherited the family home. On October 16, 1844, S. K. moved from his rented apartment at 230 Norregade to the old home on the Nytorv where he had grown up. Here he lived an outwardly carefree bachelor existence, with no lack of anything he might want for his comfort or convenience. Israel Levin, who was for a time Kierkegaard's secretary, tells us that S. K. tried constantly to project himself into various ways of life and points of view. On one occasion, for instance, he lived like a miser for a week, just to learn how it feels to be a miser. He also admitted (to Levin) " that he had a tremendous desire to commit a real theft, and so live with a bad conscience in fear of discovery." Fortunately for his reputation, then and now, he wisely kept this desire under control. Doubtless, though it intrigued him, he could not fit such an experiment into his highly ethical perspective of life. In spite of the wide ranging of his imagination and all the possibilities opening before a man of genius, he lived a narrowly disciplined life. God had imposed on him a task which must be pursued in wholehearted obedience. He believed that, because of advancing ill-health, his life would be short and his time limited. He therefore wrote, urgently and incessantly, seeking to make clear to finite men the way to an infinite happiness. The climax of this period of prodigious effort has, appropriately, turned out to be his greatest work: Concluding Un1

scientific

Postscript

to the Philosophical

Fragments.

Though

he meant what he said in this book, and the principal reason

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for pscudonymity was past, he regarded the book as a sequel to the Fragments, and used the same pseudonym, Johannes CHmacus, with his own name as editor. As its title indicates, he intended that this book would be his last. It would complete his authorship. This done, he would seek an appointment in the Danish Lutheran Church, and spend the remaining years of his life as a country pastor. As we shall sec, . governance " was to change this plan, but that is a later development. The nineteenth century was a century of optimism. Its major philosophies and popular opinion combined to encourage man's confidence in his ability, by his own wisdom and cleverness, to move toward a perfect society. Reason and knowledge would vanquish ignorance, and all remaining problems would I K solved cither by evolution or revolution. Kierkegaard was one of the few who spoke out against this complacent optimism. He saw that man's deepest problems are not to be solved by catchwords, or armchair speculation, or legislative fiat. All human problems have their origin in the nature of human nature. Man is a sick soul, and there is no real solution for his problems except to find the cure for this sickness. Kierkegaard's diagnosis of man's illness in The Concept o\ Dread, and his search for a remedy in the Fragments and the Postscript, constitute a penetrating and illuminating analysis. The clue to understanding man is to recognize that every human individual lives in a state of dread. No other creature can know such a state—it is possible only for humans. It arises from an individual's awareness of himself. He is aware of himself as existing in time and having freedom of choice. As he realizes that he is free, the future becomes an awesome possibility. Being free, every individual must make choices;

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it is possible for him to choose good or evil, fortune or disaster. Every moment is a crisis of responsibility. In his inwardness man must face this crisis alone, and he is afraid. Being aware that he lives, he is also aware that he may die. This is dread, as Kierkegaard explains in The Concept of Dread: One may liken dread to dizziness. He whose eye chances to look down into the yawning abyss becomes dizzy. . . . Thus dread is the dizziness of freedom which occurs when . . . freedom gazes down into its own possibility. . . . In this dizziness freedom succumbs. That very instant everything is changed, and when freedom rises again it sees that it is guilty. Itctween these two instants lies the leap which no science can explain. He who becomes guilty in dread becomes as ambiguously guilty as it is possible to be." Dread is, then, the psychological state that precedes sin. In dread, the individual merely contemplates the wrong, and fears it. H e has made no choice, and committed no overt act, yet knowing that choice and action arc inevitably his, he dreads the wrong, and is at the same time fascinated by its possibility: The nature of original sin has often been examined, and yet the principal category has been missing — it is dread, . . . for dread is a desire for what one fears, a sympathetic antipathy, . . . an alien power which takes hold of the individual, and yet one cannot extricate oneself from it, docs not wish to, because one is afraid; but what one fears attracts one. Dread renders the individual powerless, and the first sin always happens in a moment of weakness; it therefore lacks any accoumableness, but that want is the real snare.*

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Genesis (chs. 2 and 3 ) pictures Adam living in unselfconscious innocence in the Garden of Eden. God has forbidden him to cat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and he is naively obedient. T h e n , through Eve, he becomes aware that he and the woman arc free to disobey G o d ; sin is a possibility. T h e temptation comes through the woman because woman is more perceptive than man, and therefore more prone to existential dread. Sexuality is not a sin; but awareness of its presence as a difference between man and woman — as the possibility of a relationship — causes shame, shyness, attraction and repulsion, and therefore dread. Dread leads to sin, and sexuality becomes sensuality. Sin came into the world by Adam's sin, as the theologians affirm, but only in the sense that sin comes into the world when any man sins. What happened, strictly speaking, was that sin came into Adam. His sin is unique in that it is the first, and is prior to all other sins, and therefore reveals and illustrates the sinful nature of man. In existential inwardness, every man is Adam, and every woman is Eve. It is human nature to sin. It is also human nature to judge, and to judge oneself. But so long as a man permits sin to absorb his attention, he cannot judge himself, and is lost in sin. If he will turn his attention from the evil to the good, this is the beginning of hope. Evil does not lose its power, but it is seen in the perspective of the good, and the individual knows that he is guilty even in the mere contemplation of evil. It is better to admit and accept one's guilt than merely to dread it. As S. K. points out: Dread maintains a sly intercourse with its object, cannot look away from it, indeed will noi. for if the individual wills this, then repentance sets in. . . . He who has the firmness to be . . . a

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prosecuting attorney for the Deity. . . . not with respect to others, but with respect to himself, wilt not find this saying difficult. . . . Guilt, like the eye of the serpent, has the power to fascinate spirit.* Dread can also be educative. It educates a man to the infinite possibilities of freedom. It has a negative function to reveal to each individual the sinful possibilities within himself: " T e r r o r , perdition, annihilation dwell next door to every man, and . . . every dread which alarms may the next instant become fact." * One is educated by dread whenever the infinite possibilities for evil within oneself are faced. One must be honest toward possibility. Honesty with oneself, however, is not enough. Its end would be despair were it not for faith. Honesty is a necessary condition of faith, but faith goes farther. Faith abandons the false security of finite respectability, and " assaults the infinite." T h e soul that accepts its own dread and guilt and seeks a remedy has not yet found the cure, but it has a " holy hypochondria," and this is hopeful if it leads to faith. Faith is the outreach of man's need. It is a man's firm grasp of the truth which edifies. At this point Kierkegaard ends his discussion in The Concept of Dread. It is a psychological study, as he has said, and psychology can go no farther. So psychology surrenders the discussion of the cure of sin to theology. In The Concept of Dread, Kierkegaard has faced man's predicament that he is sinful, but powerless to conquer sin; that he is guilty, but helpless to expiate his own guilt. In Philosophical Fragments and the Concluding Unscientific Potiscript, Kierkegaard looks at God's problem of helping man. One way would be for God to transfigure man by bringing him to a level with God. Man would then no longer be a prey to dread, which is a symptom of his finitcness. God

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and man would be equals. But this would be an artificial and magical solution which disregards the inescapable difference between God and man. It would not be a true expression of God's love. It would do violence to the nature of man, and man would be no longer himself. It would end man's life as man. T h e Hebrews expressed this in saying that no man can see God and live. If this were God's only possible solution, he would face the sorrowful dilemma that not to reveal himself would be the death of love, to reveal himself would be the death of the beloved. T h e alternative is for God to become man. This is, from the human viewpoint, unimaginable. Man can pridcfully imagine himself to be God or an equal with G o d ; but that God would make himself an equal with man is a " stupid thought" which would never have entered man's mind. Yet, when God docs just this, man stands in awe and worship before the miracle of divine grace. God becomes man, and takes upon himself the form of a servant. He actually has done this with convincing completeness: The servant-form was no mere outer garment, and therefore God must suffer all things, endure all things, . . . experience . . . all things. He must suffer hunger in the desert, . . . thirst in the time of his agony . . . be forsaken in death. . . . This entire life is a story of suffering." Indeed, it is not in the figure of an " omnipotent wonderworker " that God reveals his love, but in the figure of one who humbled himself to become man's equal. He was born as a man, lived as a man. And, since the servant-form is no mere outer garment to be lightly put off at will, " God must yield his spirit in death and again leave the earth." God has acted to save m a n ; but man is, typically, too stuT

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in. 1 and perverse lo accept the message and the means of salvation. He prefers his own way to God's way. He takes great pride in his intelligence, in his ability to diagnose his own illness and discover the cure. So instead of asking the important question, How can I avail myself of God's saving power and grace ? man asks such a question as. Is there a God ? This question is cither useless or silly. If God does not exist, it is useless to try to prove it; if he does exist, it is silly to attempt such a proof. S. K. remarks that he always reasons from existence, not toward it. He would not attempt to prove that a stone exists, but that something existing is a stone. T h e attempt of philosophers and theologians to prove God's existence is bad logic because it inevitably " begs the question." It also confuses two frames of reference: logic is abstract, faith is existential. Because of vastly increased knowledge in the modern world, men have forgotten what it means to exist. They have turned to objective knowledge, and so magnified its importance that they succeed in knowing more and more, but also in living less and less. Human existence cannot be experienced by abstract thought. It cannot be objectively understood by speculative philosophy. Therefore the attempts of philosophers to correlate Christian belief with objective knowledge and to " prove " the truth of Christianity result, not in faith, but in skepticism. Christianity is not speculative or abstract. It is the religion that makes man's eternal happiness dependent upon a particular historical event. God came into the world in the person of Jesus Christ. Christianity does not try to prove God's existence by pointing to the evidence of purpose and design in the universe, or by the logical necessity for a first cause. It

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says very simply; God was in Christ reconciling the world, i.e., men, to himself, Only in a personal relationship to God can man find the courage to be himself in spite of dread. Only in accepting by faith what God has done through Christ can man live in freedom from guilt, and master the sin which so easily besets him. Christianity has, as an intellectual necessity, a theology; but it is not itself theology, for theology moves toward abstraction. Christianity is a relationship of individual men to God and a way of life which this relationship reveals and sustains. Christianity lifts man above his finiteness; it is existence, moment by moment, in the perspective of eternity. T h e truth of Christianity is primarily subjective (personal) truth. Those who seek to support or defend it objectively arc therefore mistaken. They battle valiantly for the dependability of the Scriptures: " the canonicity of the individual books; their authenticity; their integrity; the trustworthiness of their authors; and a dogmatic guarantee . . . : Inspiration." * Kierkegaard speaks with great respect for scholars and their splendid talents and earnest labors. But no one is brought a step nearer faith by scholarly inquiry or conclusions. Christian scholars do not engender faith, any more than the enemies of Christianity can destroy faith by their destructive criticism of the Scriptures. Faith is a passionate commitment which does not need proofs and is not disturbed by hostile criticism. Those who would put the church in place of the Bible as the authentic source and support of faith are likewise mistaken. This results in reliance on the literal acceptance of a creed or in superstitious dependence on the sacraments as having some magical efficacy. Creeds have their place, and sacraments arc important symbols of Christian truth; but no

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one is saved by assenting to a creed, nor can anyone depend upon it that he is saved because he was baptized and attends the lord's Supper regularly. Equally mistaken is the man who would defend the truth of Christianity on the basis of its historical success: He confronts the poor sinner with innumerable hosts of past generations, with millions upon millions, and then says to him: " Now dare you be so insolent as to deny the truth? Dare you imagine that you are in possession of the truth, and that the eighteen centuries, the innumerable generations of men . . . have lived their lives in error? " * Christianity stresses the significance of the individual. It deals with the individual, and the individual alone. It is an unchristain use of the eighteen centuries to employ them for the purpose either of enticing or of threatening the individual to embrace Christianity. He will . . . never become a Christian in that manner; and if he docs become a Christian, it will be a matter of indifference whether he has the eighteen centuries for him or against him. 18

Christianity is a relation of subject to subject. Truth is subjectivity; and subjectivity in the existence-sphere of Christianity is a relationship of faith, a man's grateful acceptance of God's love and passionate commitment to love, trust, and obey God. Speculation deals with objective truth, and while this has its uses, it is quite irrelevant to faith. T h e speculative philosophy of Hegel and his followers was the currently popular " w o r l d v i e w " in both Germany and Denmark in Kierkegaard's day. S. K. hints that it would be difficult for a philosopher to hold a teaching position in a German university unless he subscribed to the " Hegelian system." " Alas," he exclaims, " what will not the Germans

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do for money, and the Danes do afterwards, when the Germans have done it first?"" Kierkegaard satirizes the tendency to conformity even in matters of belief, " now that travel goes by train, so that the entire art of keeping up with the times consists in jumping into the first coach that comes along." " No one can be a Christian by jumping on the first coach of an excursion train. Christianity is an individual way to G o d Christianity is also a religion of paradox. It begins with the paradox of the incarnation of God in human form. Man is man, a finite spirit; and God is God, the infinite Spirit. T h e two are separated by an infinite difference, a complete " otherness." It is absurd to suppose that God and man could become one. Yet, in Christ, God became man, in order that men might find a way to God. Dogmatism seeks to remove the paradox from Christianity by explaining everything. T o accept a paradox as true is difficult for the human mind, and intellectual pride therefore rejects the paradoxical. Speculative thinkers rationalize by saying " that there is no paradox when the matter is viewed eternally, divinely, theocratically." This is equivalent to saying that all a man needs to do is to achieve the perspective of God, and he will see that seemingly contradictory truths fit together neatly! There are no contradictions, and therefore there is no paradox. There is no room for faith in a " system " that claims complete knowledge of the true nature of everything, that does not need to believe anything because it knows all on the basis of a series of approximations and probabilities: Or suppose a man who says thai he has faith, but desires to make his faith dear to himself, so as to understand himself in his faith. Now the comedy again begins. The object of faith be-

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comes . i l m r . M probable, as good as probable, extremely and cmpliatically piobahle. He has complcicd his investigations, and he ventures to claim for himself that he does not believe as shoemakers and tailors and other simple folk believe, but thai he has also understood himself in his believing." This is not Christianity, nor is it of any real help to a man. In attempting to eliminate the paradox from Christian faith the speculative philosopher has not only lost the faith, but he has become more absurd than the truth he sought to avoid. No evasion is possible here: Christianily has declared itself to be the etetnal essential truth which has come into being in time. It has proclaimed itself as ihc paradox, and it has required of ihe individual the inwardness of faith in relation to thai which stamps itself as an offense to (he Jews and a stumbling block to the Greeks —an absurdity to the understanding. * 1

Christianity is then 3 religion of the individual, a religion of inwardness, of subjectivity, of faith, of paradox. Its truth is subjectively known by individual Christians. It cannot be objectively " proved " or understood. It is not intended to be understood, it is intended to be lived. Still unanswered is the question that Johannes Climacus propounds in the " Introduction " to the Postscript: " How may I, Johannes Climacus, participate in the happiness promised by Christianily? " * * How docs one become a Christian cxistentially? T h e answer is, in part, clearly implied in Kierkegaard's description of the nature of Christianity. One must find the way into Christianity for himself. It is an individual matter, and faith is an individual relationship. Every person begins in the loneliness of existential dread.

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T o exist is to be afraid. T h e lonely individual first seeks to resolve dread in the sphere of the aesthetic. Here the effort is to escape responsibility. T h e aesthete covers up any feelings of guilt he may have by seeking to make his life a continuous round of pleasurahlc activities and relationships. He does not have to be a " Seducer " or a Don Juan. His enjoyments may be of the kind that society docs not condemn. But the last thing he wants is to encounter himself. His only principle of choice is to seek the pleasant and avoid the unpleasant. He never achieves selfhood, he never knows who he is cxistcntially because he never chooses firmly to become someone. He lives at the level of the first immediacy, with no true inwardness, no subjectivity. If he thinks of God, it is (like Regina) as a " rich uncle." If he chooses to do so, an individual can escape the aesthetic stage and achieve a responsible level of existence. When he does this, lie becomes an ethical individual. This is the true " c i t h c r / o r " choice. It is the major choice of every person's life, for hy it he becomes an authentic, existential self. He commits himself to ideas and ideals; he adopts responsible relationships to other people; he seeks to do his duty toward God and man. But he discovers that such responsibility is infinite, its standard is a standard of perfection, and no man can attain it. Yet this man is an authentic existential individual. Outwardly he lives a useful, respected life. Inwardly his life may be one o f " quiet despair." Here we find Kierkegaard's " Judge William " : I am the humbled man, conscious of my guilt; I have only one expression for what I suffer — guilt, one expression for my pain — repentance, one hope before my eyes — forgiveness, and if 1 find this difficult . . . 1 have only one prayer, 1 would cast myself upon the ground and implore of the eternal Power who guides

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the world . . . that sooner or later it might be granted me to repent.'* By its very nature the ethical stage is transitional. It drives a man who is truly existential (serious about himself) onward to the religious stage. He is keenly aware of his moral bankruptcy, of the wide gap between finite ability and infinite responsibility. He needs, and if he is desperate enough, he seeks, God. Kierkegaard describes religion as existential at two levels. Religion A is the religion of immanence. If is Old Testament religion —perhaps Old Testament religion at its best. It is the faith of Abraham and Job. It is possible in any period of world history and in paganism as well as in Judaism, and in much that passes for Christianity. It knows the guilt and repentance of The Concept of Dread and the infinite resignation and faith of Fear and Trembling. It also knows suffering. Religious suffering, as Kierkegaard describes it in the Postscript, is not to be confused with physical suffering. It is a psychic tension in which the religious individual is pulled in two directions by conflicting forces within himself. He is a part of the culture in which he lives, and this culture is a part of him. This involves many commitments; but he must be absolutely committed to God, and so must renounce the world and all relative commitments. His suffering is that he must die to the world in order to live for God. There is also tension (and therefore suffering) in the fact that eternal happiness is not an immediate blessing but a future one. This requires patience; and patience involves suffering. A third tension is between man's experience of an absolute

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relation to God and his inability to find any adequate external expression for this relation. Says Kierkegaard, " Herein lies the profound suffering of true religiosity, . . . to stand related to God in an absolutely decisive manner, and to be unable to find any decisive external expression for this." " T w o human lovers, each with an absolute commitment to the other, can, in contrast, find a happy expression of their relation in their union with each other. Religion A, with its guilt and repentance, its resignation and faith, and its pathos of suffering, regards its own inwardness as the truth. God is immanent; he is within man. Religion A is a necessary approach to Religion B, or Christianity. Christianity is made possible in man only by the pathos of suffering. An individual who docs not know this suffering cannot become or be a Christian. T o want to bc-a Christian, a man must have in his heart the cry of Job: " O h , that I knew where 1 might find him! " In order to become a Christian, an individual of deep religious convictions must accept an added tension, the tension of the absurd. Christianity is a faith in the absolute paradox of a God who came in human form, and became man's servant. In Christ, Deity experienced all the religious suffering that men experience. For immanence, God is always and everywhere. In Christianity God does not lose this omnipresence, but he transcends it by acting decisively for man's salvation in a particular time and place. This is absurd —illogical — b u t it is not irrational to believe it. One must believe it if he is to become existentially a Christian. Through Jesus Christ, God has bridged the infinite gulf that separated man from God. This was a descent of Deity, an outreach of divine love. It cannot be explained or understood, but it can be received by any man who will

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accept it on God's terms. It requires a " leap " of faith, and this cannot be made for any man, it must be made by him. Therefore no one can " teach " Christianity to anyone else, except in an abstract sense. Kierkegaard expresses himself quiie pungently on this. " It requires a discipline of the spirit to honor every human being, so as not to venture directly to meddle with his God-relationship; partly because there is enough to think about in connection wiih one's own, and partly because God is no friend of impertinences." When it becomes possible for one man to communicate a God-relationship to another man, S. K. remarks, it will also be possible to accomplish that famous impossibility of antiquity: to paint Mars in the armor that made him invisible I Kierkegaard does not even claim that he has such a relationship to communicate, and he avoids all appearance of attempting such communication. He can only make clear what a Christian relationship to God is, and perhaps even more helpfully, what it is not. S. K. is far from professing to know all, but says rather," There is much that I do not know." " In an addendum at the end of the Postscript, Kierkegaard signed a statement in which he acknowledged that he was the author of all the pseudonymous works. He made it clear that none of the pseudonymous writers can be regarded as expressing the views of Soren Kierkegaard. For any damage he has done to much that is good in the established order of things, he is willing to make apology. His purpose has been only " to read solo the original text of the individual human existence-relationship, the old text, well known, handed down from the fathers —to read it through yet once more, if possible, in a more heartfelt way." w

CHAPTER 8

"Trampled to Death by Geese"

T

ira " TOWN TOPICS " type of publication in Copenhagen in that day was a weekly scandal sheet called The Corsair. Founded in 1840 by a talented young Jew, Meyer Cioldschmidt, this paper had within five years attained the largest circulation of any periodical in Denmark. Its popularity was built upon a facade of intellectual snobbery and a solid content of malicious gossip. No one of any prominence was safe from its pitiless assassination of character for profit. T h e " good people " of Denmark publicly condemned The Corsair, but privately these same good read it with avidity. All of Kierkegaard's friends and acquaintances in intellectual circles in Copenhagen had been pilloried in its pages. S. K., curiously enough, had been spared. Indeed he had been singled out for praise. In its issue of November 14, 1845, The Corsair had said of another author that Lchmann would die and be forgotten, but Victor Eremita ( " a u t h o r " of Either/Or) would never die, Kierkegaard wroie an immediate and sarcastic protest, but because he was busy with final copy for the Postscript, he did not publish it. S. K. had been uncommonly kind to Goldschmidt — had been the only gentleman of standing in Copenhagen society 107

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who accepted Goldschmidt as a person. He had praised Goldschmidt's novel, 77ie few, hut he did not like The Corsair, and had tried to persuade Goldschmidt to abandon it. Writers for The Corsair did not sign their names, but took cowardly refuge in anonymity. One of these, whose relationship to the paper was unsuspected, was the brilliant and talented P. L. Moller (not be confused with S. K. s great and good friend Paul Martin Moller who died in 1838). He was a year younger than S. K., and had been one of his drinking companions in student days. Though he had achieved some reputation as a writer, he was a completely irresponsible aesthete. Kierkegaard had written " The Diary of a Seducer " in a clever imitation of Moller s style, and probably had Moller in mind as the model for the Seducer. One of Denmark's well-known and respected poets had died in 1845, and Moller was hoping to succeed him as professor of aesthetics in the University of Copenhagen. In December of that year, Moller had an article in Goea, an " aesthetical annual " published as a New Year's gift book. Here he reviewed Kierkegaard's " Guilty/Not Guilty," and treated the characters as real. He praised the forthright and uninhibited " Seducer," and demeaned S. K.'s " Quidam." He praised Stages on Life's Way in general as a work of high literary merit. On December 27, S. K. responded in a letter published in The Fatherland, in which he expressed a wish to be attacked rather than praised in The Corsair, and exposed Moller s connection with that publication. The request to be attacked in the pages of The Corsair got immediate results. Moller replied in the issue of January 2,1846, with an article entitled " How the Itinerant Philosopher Found the Itinerant Virtual Editor of The Corsair." The article was accompanied by scv-

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cral cartoons caricaturing Kierkegaard. From that time on, in almost every issue, The Corsair had one or more articles ridiculing S. K., accompanied by numerous outrageous and insulting cartoons. Kierkegaard's name was not used, but the essays and the captions accompanying the cartoons ran the gamut of his various pseudonyms. His misshapen figure, his thin legs, the uneven length of his trousers, and his omnipresent umbrella were cruelly caricatured. One cartoon pictured a young woman on hands and knees with Kierkegaard astride her back, accompanied by the caption: " Frater Taciturnus chastises his girl." One of the witty little essays was a " prize-winning " discussion on the manufacture of cloth. Its main thesis was that a pair of trousers must cither have one leg shorter than the other, or both must be of equal length (either/or). The Corsair for the next eight months missed no opportunity to place Kierkegaard in the worst possible light before the Danish public: a selfish, snobbish aristocrat; a half-crazy eccentric; an ugly, ludicrous, misshapen monster. The Corsair's circulation, and Goldschmidt's profits, increased. Other papers took up the hue and cry. T h e public is always willing to believe the worst about a man, and Sorcn Kierkegaard could no longer appear in public without being derided and vilified by the very people with whom he had most enjoyed visiting — the common people. He was deeply hurt; and whatever remaining illusions he may have had about human nature were shattered beyond hope of repair. After one reply in The Fatherland of January 10, S. K. kept silence. A Literary Review was published on March 30. After that he published nothing for a year. But in the Journals he wrote voluminously. Here wc get his intimate reactions to the distressing situation in which he found himself:

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My life is wasted. If I had lived anywhere but in Copenhagen that would be understood to mean thai I had wasted the best years of my youth in frivolities. . . . Alas, no, the reverse is the truth. I have become something — and it is just for thai reason that my life must be looked upon as wasted in Copenhagen, where one can only live happily and very comfortably so long as one is nothing, here in Copenhagen where little but harm is talked of those who arc something, ( t o r n which it clearly follows that those who arc nothing can say with pride: nothing had is said of me. If one is a student or graduate, a notary or registrar, but nothing more, then when ihc heat is great and although it is not the fashion to carry an umbrella in the sun, one can freely do so — but if 1 . . . am so bold as to do so it is called pride. 1

These words were written in the midst of the attack. T w o years later he is able to view the situation more calmly, but still, quite judicially, he must condemn the land he loves: And even though Denmark were willing to do so, it is very questionable whether Denmark could make good the wrong that it has done me. Thai I am the author in whom Denmark will undoubtedly lake pride, is certain; that |asj author, I have lived, to all intents and purposes, at my own expense and without assistance from government or people, have borne a continuous literary production without the smallest literary support from a periodical because I saw how small the country was: and then to have had such treatment, my biggest work not even reviewed — the machinery of the whole plan hardly suspected: and then its author marked out by all that is vulgar and known by every shoemaker's boy who in the name of " public opinion " insults him on the street . . . : no, no, Denmark has condemned itself.* S. K. was a master of invective and sarcasm, and it is a pity that the following passage from the Journals did not see the light of day during his lifetime.

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In antiquity men demanded intclkctii.il gifts, an open mind, and passionate thought. Only compare the present limes; nowadays in Copenhagen ihey require that a philosopher should also have f.H calves or ai least a well-turned leg. and that his clothes should he fashionable, ll becomes more and more difhcull unless one is content wtih ihc last requirement and assumes thai anyone who has fat. or well-turned legs, and whose clothes arc fashionable is a philosopher.' Goldschmidr frequently met Kierkegaard in the streets, and to get some comment from him on The Corsair articles, hut without success. In S. K.\ opinion, Cohlschmidt was a filthy money-grabber. " T h e lack of independence," we read in the Journals. " is the ruin of everything, everything depends upon money; if it could be made to pay 1 am sure that one could get a man to edit a paper that was only intended to be read in lavatories." * Yet even in the Journals, Kierkegaard was kinder to Goldschmidt than that individual had any right to expect:

tried

Hcrr Goldschmidt . . . is an intelligent man. without a dominating idea, without education, without a philosophy, without self-control, hul not without a certain talent, and the strength of aesthetic despair. At a critical moment in his life he lurncd to mc; indirectly I sought to give him . . . support; I praise him for having made himself a position. He has succeeded, I believe, in what he desired. 1 had hoped that he would have chosen an honorable way of making himself a name; it frankly pains mc that as editor of The Corsair he continues to choose a contemptible way of making money. It was my wish to stop a man. who is after all gifted, from being the instrument of all that is vulgar; bui, in truth, it was not my wish to be disgracefully rewarded by being made immortal in a contemptible newspaper which ought never to exist— . I t suited mc as an author to be . . . a b u s e d . . . . I had hoped, at the same time, to profit others by thai step.'

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This rather long passage in the Journals concludes: " I f Herr Goldschmidt will reply in a respectable paper and sign his name to it, I will read what he writes; I no longer read The Corsair; 1 would not even order my servant to read it, since I do not think it lies within a master's authority to order his servant to go to an immoral place." On a day, probably in August or September (1846), Goldschmidt met Kierkegaard on the street and Kierkegaard passed him by with a bitter look, and would not speak. Goldschmidt wrote about the incident later: 4

There was something which fringed on the comic in that look of cmbittcrmcnt, as in everything about his outward appearance. But . . . there was room for all that was lofty and ideal in his personality . . . which I did not want to see. It accused and oppressed me. . . . A protest arose in my mind. I was not to be looked down upon in that way, and 1 could prove it. As I went through the streets on my way home, the thing was decided; I would give up The Corsair. 1

In this incident Goldschmidt sensed the essential moral worth of Kierkegaard's personality, and knew himself to be lower than low. As soon as it could be arranged, he closed out his interest in The Corsair, and on October 2 left Denmark for Germany and Italy. He was back in Copenhagen by December, 1847, became the publisher of a reputable paper, and took a leading part in the adoption of the measures that changed the government of Denmark from an absolute to a constitutional monarchy. There is no indication that P. L . Moller ever regretted his part in the vicious destruction of another man's reputation. From his point of view he had every reason to feel very bitter toward Kierkegaard. S. K.'s exposure of Moller's connection

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with The Corsair was quite damaging to a reputation already none too good. He did not receive the hoped-for appointment to the chair of aesthetics in the university, A short time later he left Denmark for France. From that time on he seems to have moved in the direction that Kierkegaard's Judge William had regarded as inevitable for such a man. He died miserably in Rouen a few years later, ironically dependent in his last weeks of life upon the love and loyalty of two women whom he had seduced. This did not end The Corsair affair, for things were never the same for Kierkegaard. Goldschmidt and Mollcr had started something they could not stop, and the evil they had done lived after them. Whatever hope Kierkegaard may have had of being taken seriously by his own generation in Denmark was gone. He was generally regarded as an absurd egotist, a comic figure — as he himself says, " t h e village idiot." When he walked about the streets of Copenhagen, he could no longer talk companionably with the common folk as he had loved to do. They looked at him askance. O n his carriage rides, he was often exposed to taunts and ridicule. All his life he had enjoyed the streets and parks of the city and the countryside around about. Now he dreaded to show himself. Students in Copenhagen University wrote and produced a play whose principal character was called " Sorcn K i r k . " It was actually intended to ridicule a few students who still took Kierkegaard seriously and tried to be " little Kicrkcgaards." S. K. remembered his own student days, and as a typical undergraduate activity accepted it in a spirit of good s|H>rtsmanship. Soon, however, the play was being produced all over the country. Eventually it was produced in Copenhagen at the Theater Royal, and also in Norway. There a

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newspaper account of the play openly referred to the play's principal character as Sorcn Kierkegaard. T h e name Sorcn had been the commonest name in Denmark, but fell into disfavor and disuse from this time on. There arc still many Sorcnscns in Denmark, but almost no Sorens. Kierkegaard's career as a writer was ruined. Some of his books had sold well, notably F.itlter/Or, which went into a second edition, and continued to be read. Ilut the Postscript, which S. K. with considerable justification regarded as his greatest work, sold only about fifty copies. Since he had no publisher, but had all his books printed at his own expense widi the hope of recovering his money from sales, this situation created a serious financial problem. S. K. was also hurt and disappointed that none of his literary contemporaries and none of the reputable newspapers came to his defense. Privately his friends anil acquaintances in his presence deplored his persecution by The Corsair. But he knew that they also rend the paper, and he suspected that they actually enjoyed seeing him lampooned. Yet the whole experience was one of the great formative influences in Kierkegaard's life and thinking. Christians have no cause to feel grateful to Judas Iscariot, and yet arc, in a sense, indebted to him. In the same sense we arc indebted to Meyer Goldschmidt and P. L. Moller. In retrospect, Kierkegaard was able to view the whole experience as a part of God's plan for him: I do not feel any bitterness at the thought of all the scorn that I have suffered, and the treachery that I have endured. . . . I feel quite sure that in eternity there will be time and place for jokes, I am certain that the thought of my thin legs and my ridiculed trousers will be the source of greatest amusement to me. . . . What I suffered in that respect 1 suffered in a good cause. . . . I

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did a good work humanly speaking, with disinterested sacrifice. . . . 1 have never been a Diogenes. I have never touched the frontiers of cynicism, I am properly and respectably dressed — 1 am not responsible for a whole country having become a madhouse. I feci a longing to say nothing more except Amen. I am overwhelmed by all that Providence has done for mc. . . . There is nothing which has happened in my life of which I cannot say, that this is the very thing which suiti my nature and disposition, . . . I was persecuted, . . . had that been wanting my life would not have been mine. There it melancholy in everything in my life, but then again an indescribable happiness. . . . In that way I became myself through God*» indescribable grace and support.' Through this experience, Kierkegaard saw that his plan to abandon his writing at what was then the height of his popularity, and become a country pastor, was prideful rather than humble, a temptation rather than an inspiration. By it all he was truly humbled and prepared to be guided by God's will. It became clear to him that God had given him something more to say, and he must resume his authorship: God be praised that the attack of all that is vulgar was made upon me. Now I have had time to learn from within and to assure myself that the desire to live in a country parsonage in otdcr to do penance, remote from the world and forgotten, was really a melancholy idea. Now 1 stand at my post, decided in quite a different way than 1 have ever been.* H e had acquired a whole new perspective of his task in life. Literary, social, political, and religious conditions required, as he wrote in his Journals, an exlraordinarius, a new Socrates. It was a task that his unmarried state made possible; no one was dependent upon him or close enough to him to

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be harmed or hurt when he was vilified and persecuted. It was a task for which he was, as he admits, properly endowed " by intellectual gifts and " cast of mind." It was a task in which he would be misunderstood, lonely, and friendless. It would take him along a road that led patently to disaster: Humanly speaking my actions will go unrewarded. Nor do I ask for anything else. The fact that at ihe moment a certain impatience may awaken in my soul proves nothing, for I am willing . . . to sacrifice everything and hope that God will give me the strength to bear it all. . . . From now on, humanly speaking, I must not only be said to be running into uncertainty, but to be going to certain destruction—and, in confidence in God, that is victory. 10

Heretofore S. K. had conceived of his vocation as the intellectual task of making clear to men what Christianity is. Henceforth it would be the existential task of suffering for Christ's sake in the midst of a generation that would only begin to understand him after his death. H e was to be a prophet who would be unrecognized, and indeed " unrecognizable." Making no pretensions and no claims for himself, he would be a witness for the only truth that is cxistcntially important — Christian truth. In February, 1846, in the midst of his persecution by The Corsair, Kierkegaard wrote a review of a book entitled The Two Ages. It was published on March 30. T h e second part of this long review, The Present Age, is a penetrating commentary on the society of his day. Prevailing social pressures in almost any age place a premium on conformity. Men tend to dislike and distrust an eccentric person, and arc intuitively opposed to new or different

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ideas. Kierkegaard was a nonconformist, not only in such nonessentials as umbrellas and trousers, but also in his whole perspective of life. T h e ideologies of the nineteenth century subordinated the individual and advocated a mass cqualitarianism in which the aim seemed to be to reduce all men to a level of mediocrity. S . K. was one of the few men of his generation who saw the danger and spoke his mind on the subject, both in The Present Age and in the journals: The thing thai makes my position in public life most difficult . . . is that people simply cannot grasp what 1 am fighting. T o make a stand against the masses is, in the opinion of the majority, complete nonsense; for the masses, . . . the public, are themselves the . . . lovers of liberty of whom salvation it to come from kings, popes, and officials who tyrannize over us. . . . That is the result of having fought for centuries against kings and popes and the powerful, and of having looked upon the masses as something holy. It docs not occur to people that historical categories change, that now the masses arc the . . . tyrant. . . . The antients understood the problem better, understood that the masses arc a dangerous power. . . . If mankind had not embedded itself, with the momentum of centuries, . . . in the idte fixe that a tyrant is one man, they would understand that to be persecuted by the mattes it the most grievous of all." Kierkegaard saw that the majority can be as often wrong as right, that the principle of the right of the people to rule contains no guarantee that the people will rule rightly, that there is indeed no virtue in government by the people as such. T h e rightness or wrongncss of any government depends upon its leadership. Political democracy, he reminds us, is good government only when men of good character choose leaden of superior ability and character. Democracy

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devoid of worthy leadership and divorced from morality easily becomes " monocracy." " When truth conquers with the help of 10,000 yelling m e n — e v e n supposing that that which is victorious is a truth: with the form and manner of the victory a far greater untruth is victorious." '* T h e present age, says Kierkegaard, is not committed to values; men do not live or work or sacrifice for their ideals, they merely think and talk about them. N o one lives passionately cither to serve or to sin. Men talk about revolution, but have no serious intention of actually revolting. S. K. writes: " A passionate, tumultuous age will overthrow everything, pull everything down; but a revolutionary age, that is at the same time reflective and passionless . . . leaves everything standing but cunningly empties it of significance." '* An age that docs not inspire men to great enthusiasms will inevitably provoke them to envious resentments. In such an age men do not act for the achievement of great ends; they brood over real or fancied wrongs. Even an enthusiastic age must have outlets for the expression of envy (caricature and other forms of humor, and the Greek ostracism). These arc relatively harmless as long as the common people have character values and, while envying the great man, can still admire his greatness. But, as Kierkegaard saw clearly, the envious equalitarian sentiments that infected European society in the nineteenth century, and found expression in the demand for a classless society, could only result in disaster for mankind. They called for a leveling process which exalts men in the mass and belittles man, the individual. T h e chosen authorities in such a society would not be leaders, but mediocre representatives of " s o and so m a n y " thousands of ordinary people. Their function would be, not to lead the common people,

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but to give ihcm what they want. T h e " p u b l i c " rules, and the little roan gets an exaggerated sense of his own importance. Rut such a society will strip the little man and the gifted man alike of all opportunity to be an individual. " Though the very abstraction of leveling gives the individual a momentary, selfish kind of enjoyment, he is at the same time signing the warrant for his own doom." " Kierkegaard believed that the only sense in which all men are equal is that God loves all men equally. T h e doctrine of human equality is true only in a context of religious faith. Only a religious individual has the sobering sense of his responsibility toward God, which can save him from arrogance and stupidity. Only man as an existing and responsible individual is real. " T h e public " is an abstraction — and a dangerous one, because it is mistakenly regarded as real: A public is everything and nothing, the most dangerous of all powers and the mast significant: one can speak to a whole nation in the name of the public, and still the public will be less than a single real man however unimportant. If 1 tried to imagine the public as a particular person, . . . I should perhaps think of one of the Roman emperors, a large wellfed figure, suffering from boredom, looking only for the sensual intoxication of laughter. . . . And so for a change he wanders about, indolent rather than bad, but with a negative desire to dominate." Men think they can make themselves significant by banding themselves together in associations or committees, or by signing petitions. " Twenty-five signatures make the most frightful stupidity into an opinion." Mere numerical strength is ethical weakness. F o r twenty-five men, or 25,000, to unite in support of something wrong docs not make it right:

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Ii is only after the individual has acquired an ethical outlook, in (he face of ihc whole world, that there can be any suggestion of really joining together. Otherwise the association of individuals who arc themselves weak is just as disgusting and harmful as the marriage of children. ' 1

Kierkegaard prophetically predicted that great changes would come in Western society. These changes would be due to three major factors: ( 1 ) an educational-scientific emphasis on facts to the neglect of meanings; ( 2 ) preoccupation with detached, reflective observation to the abandonment of creative enthusiasm and action; and ( 3 ) idealization of an abstraction, mass man, to the exclusion of real man, the responsible individual. There was, S. K. believed, no hope that these forces could be baited, or their logical consequences avoided. In retrospect, and in the circumstances of our own time, we sec that he was right. W e sec this most plainly in the collective schizophrenia of the totalitarian ideologies of fascism, nazism, and communism. W e can see it also in our own social order — and, if we will, in ourselves. Kierkegaard was a political conservative in his day, and a strong supporter of the Danish monarchy. In 1846 and 1847 King Christian VIII several times summoned S. K. to the palace because of his wise knowledge of the thinking of the Danish people. Coming in the midst of The Corsair affair, this was balm to the spirit of one who, to use his phrase, was being " trampled to death by geese." T h e king enjoyed S. K.'s independence of spirit and his humor. Few subjects of an absolute monarch would address to their sovereign such remarks as the following: I have often pondered what a king should be. In the first place, he can perfectly well be ugly; then he ought to be deaf and blind, or at least pretend to be so, for that gets over many difficulties; a

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tact leu or nupid re mark is best put ofT by an " I beg your pardon ~ — i x , the king has not heard iL Finally a king ought to have some expression which be can use on every occasion, and is consequently meaningless. . . . One thing more: the king must take care lo be ill every now and then, so as to arouse sympathy." In all his troubles, Kierkegaard had not lost his sense of humor. What he was saying whimsically to the king was that a monarch docs better by not appearing to his people to have too definite a pattern of special preferences or abilities. So it will be easier for him to become in popular thinking a symbol of all that people wish their ruler to be. Christian VIII would have liked to subsidize Kierkegaard's writing by a regular gratuity from the crown in recognition of his distinguished ability and contribution. But S. K. pointed out in their first interview that such a gratuity would place him under obligation. He did not want to sacrifice the independence that was his as a private, self-supporting individual, even though it would have relieved him of financial problems. He also wanted it clear that, while he was a loyal subject of the Danish monarchy, his absolute allegiance was to God alone. " I have the honor," he said to the king, " to serve a higher power for the sake of which I have staked my life." " S. K. had a great concern for the problems of society, and temporarily he assumed die role of a social prophet. But this was not the only or the most important outcome of his suffering in The Corsair persecution. H e was a religious man, this was his primary interest, and his relationship to God was his deepest concern. T h e year of silence (March, 1846, to March, 1847) brought an experience of deepening faith. When he spoke again, his witness had a new authenticity. He had acquired, as he says, a new string to his instrument.

CHAPTER 9

"Thou and I Are

Sinners"

K;

IERKF.CAARD did not. spend the " year of silence " .in idleness. He was bringing himself and Christianity into a new perspective, and was working hard at it. One result was that he wrote a big book which he didn't publish. It had been clear to him for a long time that he was an " ugly gosling " who had grown up unable to cackle with the other geese. In the unpublished " great work on Adler," though he was writing about another man, S. K. was really stretching his neck to " take a gander " at himself. T h e case of A. P. Adler is of little importance now. H e was a clergyman of the Danish Lutheran Church, who had been deposed for claiming to be divinely inspired. Kierkegaard had always been too sane to take such a view, or to make such claims for himself. What was wrong with Adler ? One of the Two Minor Ethico-Rcligious Essays, published in 1849 and entitled " Of the Difference Between a Genius and an Apostle," gives S. K.'s answer. Rare insight and artistry may stamp a man as a genius, even a religious genius perhaps, but these qualities don't make him an apostle. Genius is a matter of superior human ability; an apostle may be a very ordinary man — he is what he is by divine appointment and authority. S . K. claimed no authority for himself. From their begin122

" THOU AND I A M SINNERS "

ning in 1843, he had published his religious writings, as he says," withoul authority." His ideas were his own; he did not profess to be divinely inspired. Nor did he claim the authority of the church. He was not ordained to preach the gospel, and therefore wrote, not sermons, but " edifying discourses." The eighteen discourses of 1843-1844 had expressed the great Christian themes of gratitude, love, faith, spiritual need, sin, forgiveness, and eternal happiness. They quoted the Chrisiian Scriptures and interpreted them with true understanding. But they avoided the name of Christ and the distinctively Christian doctrines of the incarnation and the atonement. The Three

Discourses

on Imagined

Occasions

of 1845 was S. K.'s last expression of this true but limited perspective. He knew that the incarnation of God in Christ and the atoning death of Christ for man's salvation were essential Christianity, and he could expound this philosophically in the Postscript, but they were not yet part of his own Christian experience. He therefore could not speak of them directly in his discourses. The Corsair persecution drove him deeper. When he resumed publication in March, 1847, with Edifying Discourses in Various Spirits, a change is evident. The " key that explains all" is " God's Son, . . . revealed in human form, . . . crucified." The first joy of the Christian life is " The foy That Lies in the Thought of Following Christ."' He has a new and intriguing conception of the speakerhearer (or writer-reader) relationship. Both speaker and listener have a responsibility before God: 1

The foolishness of many is this, that they . . . look upon the speaker as an actor, and the listeners as theatergoers who are to pass judgment upon the artist. But the speaker is not die actor. . . . No, the speaker is the prompter. There are no theater-

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goers preseni, for each listener will be looking inio his own heart. The stage is eternity, and the listener, if he is ihc true listener, stands before God during the talk. The prompler whispers to the actor what he is lo say, but ihc actor's repetition of it is the main concern. . . . The address is not given for ihc speaker's sake, in order that men may praise or blame him. . . . If the speaker has a responsibility for what he whispers, ihcn the listener has an equally great responsibility not to fall short in his task. . . . In the most earnest sense, God is the critical theatergoer, who looks to sec how the lines arc spoken and how they are listened to. 1

Kierkegaard here turns the tables on the critical sermon tasters in every congregation. They are not there to be entertained. The speaker is responsible, not to the listeners, but before God. Each listener has, before God, an equal responsibility. He is to receive the spoken word into his own heart, and permit it to transform his attitudes and his life. Here, then, is S. K. s own conception of the nature of his task. He was a preacher of the Word of God without a pulpit. He was a prompter from the wings in the great drama of life. His own generation would not listen to him, but this was their responsibility. His responsibility before God was to speak; and speak he did. The result was a new period of productivity that pivoted upon his " second conversion " on Wednesday before Easter in 1848. Three of his great devotional works were written before this experience. Thefirstof these was Edifying

Discourses

in Various Spirits (now pub-

lished in English in two separate books, Purity of Heart and The Gospel of Suffering). The other two were Workj of Love (September, 1847) and Christian Discourses (April,

1848). The theme of the discourse entitled Purity of Heart is the

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quotation from Kierkegaard that is perhaps best known to English-speaking readers: " Purity of heart is to will one thing." H e writes: For only the pure in heart can see God, and therefore draw nigh to him; and only by God's drawing nigh to them can they maintain this purity. And he who in truth wills only one thing can will only the Good.* Doublc-mindedness, says Kierkegaard, is an attitude of willing the good for external reasons: desire of reward; fear of punishment; approval of others. Only the man who wills the good unreservedly and for itself alone really draws near to God and makes it possible for God to draw near to him. And only then, i.e., as God draws near to him, can a man, by God's power, become single-minded and pure in heart. In such a state of mind and bean one learns to be content with his crcaturclincss — with the limitations of being human. God's simpler creatures know this instinctively. Only man has forgotten it, and lives in dread and anxiety. Men may learn from the birds and the lilies to trust God completely. When a man trusts God completely, he also learns that joy which comes through suffering and prepares him for eternal happiness. This is the hard and narrow way, but it is the only way, and one must choose it and follow it if he would reach the g o a l . " It is not the way which is narrow, but the narrowness which is the way." * S. K.'s book Workj of Love discusses the attitudes of Christian love, rather than charitable deeds. He believed that the Lutheran ism of his day had set such an emphasis upon salvation by faith alone that men had lost sight of the necessity for love and good works. His basic text is Mark 12:31: " T h o u shall love thy neighbor as thyself."

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Christian love is noi a sentiment or an emotion, hut a duty, a response of the human will in obedience to a divine command: " T h o u thalt love thy neighbor as thyself." It is also a duty toward all m e n : " T h o u shalt love thy neighbor" One's neighbor may be quite unlovable or undeserving, may even be one's enemy; but the Christian must love all men without partiality and every man without exception. " If," says Kierkegaard, " a man . . . wishes to make an exception in the case of one man whom he does not wish to love, then such love is not . . . Christian l o v e . " T h e duty of Christian love is a command to each individual: " Thou shalt love thy neighbor." It is a personal responsibility. No man may properly question the sincerity of another man's good works. As S. K. quaintly points out, a tree must be known by its fruits, but this does not mean that any tree may be critical of the fruits of other trees. Workj of Love is a valuable contribution to the understanding of motivation in Christian social ethics, and of the reality and consistency of love in the inward life of the individual Christian. Cod is always the third party in this relationship. If 1 am truly to love my neighbor (S. K. would say), God's love for me must be the motive and source of my love; and it is possible for me to love my ncighlmr only by the power of God's grace in my life. In Christianity, faith, love, and the works of love are inseparably connected with each other. Faith without works is dead, and love without works is hypocrisy. Christian Discourses completed this trilogy of devotional Uterature, and here are to be found the recurrent themes of the lilies and the birds, and joy in suffering. Here also is an anticipation of a new and searching exposure of weaknesses, falsities, and hypocrisies of " popular " Christianity, under -

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ihe title " Thoughts Which Wound from B e h i n d . " ' Outwardly and inwardly S. K. was experiencing great changes while this book was being written. On May 5,1847, he observed his thirty-fourth birthday. It came as a surprise, for he had shared with Peter and their father the melancholy conviction that none of M. P. Kierkegaard's childcn would survive their thirty-fourth year. Peter, eight years older than Sorcn and in good health, had obviously been an exception to tins " infallible law." But Sorcn had still clung to the personal conviction that he would not live this long. H e had planned his life — a n d his finances — with this in mind. As a result, he stood on the threshold of his thirty-fifth year in no worse health than usual and facing the necessity of finding some adequate means of income. T h e capital inherited from his father was almost gone, and the income from the sale of his books was meager. His solution, to which Peter agreed, was to sell the house. So the old home on the Nytorv was put up for sale; and S. K. for some months was tied down by the necessity of being at home to deal with prospective buyers. In August he gave up a projected trip to Berlin for this reason. O n August 14 he wrote in the Journals: " Curiously enough the journey to Berlin is still in my thoughts. But I cannot go. A man has applied to me regarding the sale of my house." And again on August 16: " So the decision is taken; I remain at home. Tomorrow the manuscript goes to the printer."" T h e manuscript mentioned was Workj of Love. This passage in the Journals moves on to deeper matters:

I now fed die need of approaching nearer to myself in a deeper sense, by approaching nearer to God in ihc understanding of my-

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self. I must remain on the spot in Copenhagen and be renewed inwardly. . . . I must come to closer grips with melancholy. It has until now Iain deep down, and the tremendous intellectual strain has helped to keep it down. . . . My work has profited others, . . . God has approved it and helped me in every way. . . . Again and again 1 thank him for having done infinitely more for me than I ever expected. . . . Just because 1 began my literary activity with a heavy conscience I have taken the greatest care to make it so pure that it might be a small repayment of my debt. That puriiy, that integrity, that indusiry is what seems to be madness in the eyes of the world. . . . But now God wishes things otherwise. Something is stirring within me which points to a metamorphosis. . . . I dare not go to Berlin, for that would be to procure an abortion. I shall ihetefore remain quiet, in no way working too strenuously, . . . but try to understand myself, and really thinks out the idea of my melancholy together with God here and now. . . . I have defended myself against my melancholy with intellectual work, which keeps it away — now, in the faith that God has forgotten in forgiveness what guilt there may be, I must try to forget it myself, . . . not at a distance from it but in God, I must see to it that in thinking of God I learn to think that he has forgotten it, and thus myself . . . dare to forget it in forgiveness.* Kierkegaard had not yet achieved the feeling that God had forgiven and forgotten his sin, but he had begun to believe that this was possible. As a Christian he believed that God forgives and forgets the sin of a repentant sinner, but he had no sense of being forgiven, and so was not quite yet a Christian. His problem was paradoxical: How does one become a Christian when he already is one? So he waited, and while he waited things were happening in the world about him. Regina was married to Fritz Schlegel on November 3. In

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December, S . K. sold his house for Rd. 22,000 (ca. $53,000). T h e year 1848 was one of revolution and strife in many European countries, and Denmark did not escape this. Christian V I I I died on January 20. On March 2 1 , King Christian s successor, Frederick VII, met the leaders of a crowd which had marched on the palace, and promised a constitutional reform. This came about in orderly fashion, and Denmark became a constitutional monarchy. In the meantime the little country had other troubles. There was a rebellion in Schlcswig-Holstcin, followed by war with Germany. This taxed Danish resources severely, even though the little country was able at that time to retain control of the disputed provinces. In his Journals, S. K. makes only indirect references to these events. In April, just when he was about to move from the old house to rented rooms at 156 Tornebuskegadc in Copenhagen, his faithful servant, Anders, was drafted into the army, and S . K. had to make the move without his help. He had carefully invested the money from the sale of his house in government bonds. T h e events of the next few months caused the bonds to depreciate in value to the extent that Kierkegaard eventually lost about $1,700 of the capital on which lie had expected to live for the rest of his life. T h e Journals of 1848 are primarily concerned with his spiritual problems. He was approaching the " metamorphosis •• he had hoped and believed would come. From the Journal entry of April 19, 1848 (Wednesday of Holy W e e k ) , we read the brief but sweeping statement: " My whole being is changed. My reserve and self-isolation is broken — I must speak."'° This Wednesday before Easter experience has been referred to by some as his second conversion. It was a complex experience, which made him, as he says, indescribably

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THE LIFE AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

happy; and yet its results were somewhat disappointing to him. He resolved in the joy of the moment to abandon all his painful reticence and isolation, to reveal himself fully to others. Yet he found that a lifetime habit of concealing his deepest thoughts could not be broken in a moment. He did reveal himself quite fully to his doctor, and was advised not to make the heroic confession of sins which he had planned. Nor did the doctor think that the conflict between faith and melancholy in Kierkegaard's nature could be completely resolved. Faith had won many battles, but the doctor did not believe that, in S. K.'s earthly life, it could ever win the war. T h e melancholy was to remain; he would still be different from others, an exception. But the experience brought new resources of power and, even in the midst of his melancholy, a sort of joy which the world did not know and could not take away. He was now deeply sure that God had not only forgiven, but had also forgotten, his sins. This helped him to a greater openness and frankness before men. He no longer was guilty of the inverted hypocrisy of trying to appear before men to be a frivolous loafer. His religion would still be one of inwardness, but not of " hidden inwardness." He would not only write about faith, lie would show himself to be a man of faith. His next book, The Point of View for My Work\ as an Author, written between April and November, 1848, was a courageous revelation of himself, and provided the indispensable key by which we now understand much in him and his writings that would otherwise remain inexplicable. In the preface he wrote: In my career as an author, a point has now beco reached where it is permissible to do what I feel a strong impulse to do, and so

" THOU AND I ARE SINNERS "

131

regard as my duly—namely. 10 explain once for all, and as direcdy and frankly as possible . . . what 1 as an author declare myself to be. The moment . . . is now appropriate; partly because . . . this point has been reached, and partly because 1 am about to encounter . . . my first production, Either/Or, in its second edition, which 1 was not willing to have published earlier." T h e second edition of Either/Or was published (with a substantial financial return to its author) in May, 1849; but The Point of View was not published during Sorcn Kierkegaard's lifetime. Peter Kierkegaard had it posthumously published in 1859. S. K. had expected this. He was willing to make posterity his confidant, but not his contemporaries. In The Point of View, he wants it made clear that he has been a religious writer from the beginning. His purpose was to show men the true nature of Christianity. Most men identify Christianity with a culture pattern which they call Christendom. This, says S. K,, is " a prodigious illusion." Christianity is a personal faith, a unique relationship of individuals to God. Ir is the way that leads to life, and few arc they who find it. Most men to a greater or less extent live for pleasure. So, in an effort to find men where they are, Kierkegaard began his authorship with the aesthetic works. H e realized from the l>cginning that most men would not respond. T h e culture of a comfortable bourgeois society and the dogmatism of a stereotyped church were against him. But " even if a man will not follow where one endeavors to lead him, one thing it is still possible to do for him — compel him to take notice." Increasingly, after 1848, Kierkegaard's major effort was to confront men with the fact that what they called Christianity was not Christianity. H e continued to produce some searching devotional books; he even wrote an occasional aesthetic piece; but his main , ;

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THE LIFE AND THOUGHT OF KIERKFCAARD FOB EVERYMAN

drive in the writings of this last period of his authorship was controversial. His works were a series of sledge hammer blows, aimed at destroying the complacency of conventional Christianity. Three books, published in three successive years, set Christianity in sharp contrast to the pscudo Christianity of the contemporary church. These were The Sickness Unto Death (1849), Training in Christianity (1850), and For Selfexamination (1851). T h e first of these, like Fear and Trembling, is psychology cal. T h e thesis of that work had been that all sin has its origin in dread; the thesis of Sickness Unto Death is that all sin is a form of despair. Despair is I consequence of a man's failure to believe and to achieve. Failing to believe, he does not trust God, and so lacks faith. Failing to achieve the ethical, he becomes discouraged and frustrated, and so is without hope. H e is in despair about himself, about his real freedom to choose, about God's power to save, and about the hope of eternal life. So men retreat from reality, they will not face the truth about themselves. 1*hey live superficially, halfheartedly, or perhaps cynically or defiantly. They sin; and they despair of their sins being forgiven. All despair is sin. Yet a man must despair before he can be saved. He must be far removed from God in order to be near him. For despair about oneself, which leads a man to face his own helplessness and cast himself on the mercy of God, is the beginning of hope for that man. Far from encouraging man to do this, however, popular Christianity lulls man into a false sense of security. Christendom has obscured and belittled man's distance from God. It brings God so close, and makes him so familiar, thai men no longer utter his name with solemnity, or stand in awe of his presence, or fear his almighty power. " God

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" THOU AND I ARE SINNERS

. . . has become a personage all too well known by the whole population, to whom one renders an exceeding great service by going once in a while to church, where one is praised for it by the parson, who on God's behalf thanks one for the honor of the visit."" Christendom substitutes mere observance of the ordinances of the church for the fear and trembling in which a man's salvation must be worked out. It has substituted an easy optimism for rigorous ethical self-judgment. It falsely represents man as being already so dose to God that it provides an opiate for his despair and prevents him from seeking the radical cure of true Christianity. Man needs surgery; the church gives him a tranquilizer. The lives of most men are determined by " a dialectic of indifference." They underrate God, and overrate themselves. They become, not humble, but arrogant. This is hopeless sin and hopeless despair; but men do not know it. The

Sickness

Unto Death

and Training

in

Christianity

were published with Kierkegaard's name on the title page, but were ascribed to a new pseudonym, Anti-Climacus, as the ostensible author. This pseudonym it y was transparent; its purpose was not to conceal the author's identity, but to express his humility. Anti-Climacus was the opposite number for Johannes Climacus, the " author " of the Fragments and the Postscript, who knew what Christianity is, but was not a Christian. Anti-Climacus knows what Christianity is, and is a Christian. Kierkegaard felt that for him, in his own name, to make such criticisms of others as arc expressed in these books would show an unbecoming lack of humility. So he invents an author who would have a right to make such criticisms, but who could really never exist — the perfect Christian.

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T h e essential truths of Training in Christianity are not different from those of the Postscript. But there is a new hone s t y — a new earnestness — a new relevance to man's condition and concerns. Christ, says Kierkegaard, is a historical figure, but nineteenth-century Christianity overemphasized his historicity. He is not to be limited to a period in past history, but is the eternal contemporary of every generation. He still speaks to every man, not out of history, and not from his at the right hand of God, but from the cross. His call, " Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you r e s t " (Matt. 11:28), is the invitation of one who has known the ultimate in human suffering, and who is willing to bear our suffering with us and pay the price of our sin for us. He is the contemporary of every sinner. He is the helper of every man, and he is also the help. Standing beside the bed of pain of every sin-sick soul, he is the physician and the cure. T h e position of the church has been that it is hard to understand Christianity, but easy to be a Christian. T h e reverse is true. Christianity is essentially simple to understand, but to be a Christian is hard. Christendom is a grotesque distortion of Christianity. " T o be a Christian has become a thing of nought, mere tomfoolery, something which everyone is as a matter of course." '* Men are being deluded and victimized by " band wagon " Christianity. Sermons boast of how Christ's disciples " made a triumphal conquest of the whole world — i n short, one hears only sermons which might properly end with Hurrah! rather than with Amen." What happened in the fourth century was not that the pagan world became Christian, but that Christianity became a form of paganism. " Since that time Christendom has been increasing in numbers year by year —

" THOU AND I ARE SINNFJU "

135

and what wonder; for people are only too eager to take part when there is nothing whatever to do but to triumph and to enjoy the parade." " Christianity is a religion of suffering. This is an offense to many people, indeed, Christ was an offense to the lews. Every man today has this c h o k e : he may choose to be offended, or be may choose to accept Christ in faith. Christianity makes no apologies for itself and no defense. It is on the offensive, or it is not Christianity. Its would-be defenders, with their evidence of its triumphs and their proofs of its truth, are " betraying, denying, abolishing Christianity."" H e who s a i d , " And 1, if I be lifted up . . . , will draw all men unto mc " (John 12:32), docs from his cross draw all men. But not all men permit themselves to be drawn. Some are offended by the necessity of confessing that they are sinners, some by the demand for the surrender of all self-trust and self-will. These men do not become followers, yet they arc admirers of Christ. T h e church, in its zeal to count evcrylxxly, has accepted these admirers into its membership. So it includes the vast majority of people in every " Christian " nation. It has become the " established " church. It has valiantly overcome all opposition by callous compromise. It is " the church triumphant "1 And this triumphant church, or established Christendom, does not resemble the church militant any more than a quadrangle resembles a circle. Imagine a Christian of those ages when the church was truly militant — it would be perfectly impossible for him to recognize the church in its present perversion. He would hear Christianity preached, and would hear that what was said was quite true, but to his great amazement he would see that the actual conditions for being a Christian were exactly opposite to

136 THE LIFE AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN what they were in his time, so that to be a Christian now is no more like being a Christian in his time than walking on one's legs is like walking on one's head." W h e n Kierkegaard published For Self-examination, in September, 1851, he put his own name as author on the title page. He still wished, however, to avoid the appearance of preaching to others with any assumption that he was better than they. So, in a brief preface, he requested every reader to read the book aloud, thus gaining the impression that he was saying these things to himself. God's Word, says S. K., is meant 10 be a mirror in which each man sees himself. Protestantism has so stressed the importance of the Bible, and Protestant scholarship has labored so earnestly in examining it, that the Word of God has come to be regarded as an end in itself. It has become the fashion to look, not at one's reflection, but at rite mirror. Kierkegaard compares this situation to a kingdom in which the king issues a royal command which everyone is to obey. Immediately there arises a vast literature of interpretation: T h e command means this, and the command means that. Much learning is expended in determining the historical setting lying back of the king's command and the circumstances in which it was signed. Books and articles arc written on the structure of the king's sentences, the logic of his ideas, and the philology of his vocabulary. In all this hubbub, by which they think they honor the king, it does not occur to anyone .to obey the command. Christianity is a narrow way. Christ makes this very clear. It is also a hard way, and we may know that any way that is easy is not Christianity. But an apostate church in a cultured society cannot have it so. T h e kiss of Judas is still given the Master by his professed followers, but with greater refine-

" THOU AND I ARE SINNERS "

IS/

mcnt and good taste. Judas was a crude fellow who cmbraced the Lord with unwashed hands! When the disciples saw the risen Christ on the mountain in Galilee, they worshiped him. They were his followers. But some doubted. These were never heard from again. It was his followers who were persecuted, and who became the leaders of the early church. In modern times, Kierkegaard suggests, the situation has been reversed. T o be a " C h r i s tian " had become easy and commonplace: . . . so that there was nothing left to persecute — then in idleness and self-indulgence ihcre arose all sorts of doubt. And doubt assumed an air of importance (who could doubt it?), and people became self-important by doubting — just as once upon a lime . . . they became self-imponant by giving all their goods to feed the poor. . . . And while they doubled everything, there was yet one thing beyond all doubt. . . . they assured themselves . . . an exceedingly sure position in society, along with great honor and repute among men. . . . But again there were some who sought by reasons to refute doubt. . . . They sought by reasons to prove ihc truth of Christianity. And these reasons — they begat doubt, and doubt became the stronger. For the proof of Christianity really consists in " following." That they did away with. . . . They did not observe that the more reasons one adduces, the more one nourishes doubt and the stronger it becomes, thai to present doubt with reasons with the intent of slaying ii is like giving to a hungry monster one wants to be rid of, the delicious food it likes best." In 1851-1852, S. K . wrote a second part of Self-examination, entitled Judge for Yourselvesl Out of genuine concern for the feelings of Bishop Mynster, the venerable primate of the Danish Lutheran Church, he did not publish it. Mynster had been S. K.'s pastor all his life, and had been his father's

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T H E LIFE AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

pastor. While he disagreed with the whole interpretation of Christianity that Mynster represented, S. K. felt that he had gone as far as he should in opposing him. So except for occasional entries in the Journals. S. K. virtually quit writing. After the death of Etatsraad Olsen, Regina's father, in 1849, S. K. began to dream of the possibility of a brothersister friendship with Regina. He met her on the streets almost daily, and he saw her in church every Sunday; for another man it would have been easy to exploit these opportunities. But Kierkegaard could not do it this way. He wrote a letter to her husband, asking him, if he approved, to give Regina an enclosed letter addressed to her. Schlcgcl replied in an angry note, returning Rcgina's letter unopened. S. K. s response to this was to dedicate his Two Discourses at the Communion on Fridays " to one unnamed whose name some day shall be named." If S. K. could not have Regina as wife or as friend, at least no one could prevent him from taking her with him into history.

CHAPTER 10

"A Poet's Heart Must Break

T

i KIERKEGAARD'S surprise, the drastic criticisms of the Danish Church in his books of 1849-1851 attracted little attention. Bishop Mynster resented them but apparently felt that it was wiser to keep silent. Few people read these books at the time, and probably most of those who did decided that this was what might be expected from so eccentric a writer as S. Kierkegaard. Such neglect, oddly enough, was not a wholly unwelcome situation to S. K. He did not fear the anger of the public or the opposition of the church; but he had deep affection and respect for Mynster, anil dreaded an open break with him. For this reason S. K. did not publish fudge for Yourselves! and after June, 1852, lapsed into silence. But he realized also that a more violent attack than any he had yet made was necdetl, and must come, if he was to fulfill his task of being a witness for the truth. So he waited for guidance and opportunity. In the meantime he lived quietly and simply. He had entrusted his remaining capital to the keeping of his brotherin-law, Hcnrik Lund, and drew upon it from time to time for his living expenses. He lived abstemiously for the first time in his extravagant life. He discovered some of the values of

139

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disciplined self-denial, and became very humble about his previous extravagance. T h e Journals of this period give us limited but interesting information about his thinking and activities. W e learn that he met Regina in the streets almost daily. On his birthday (May 3 ) in 1852 he met her just outside his door. H e writes: As has so often happened lately I cannot help smiling when I see her — oh, how important she has become!—she smiled back, and thereupon bowed to me, I went a step past her, thereupon I took my hat off and went on. 1

On the following Sunday, Regina took a seat near him in church. The sermon was on James 1:17, " E v e r y good gift and every perfect gift." This had been one of S. K.'s first texts in the Two Edifying Discourses of May, 1843, and he knew from Sibbern that Regina had read these. W h e n the text was announced, she turned her head and looked at him, " a heartfelt look." She was obviously quite affected by the announcement of the text and by the preacher's opening statement: " These words are implanted in your souls." S. K. was moved and deeply gratified: It must have been overwhelming for her. I have never exchanged a word with her, . . . but here it seemed as though a higher power was saying to her what I had been unable to say. . , . In the meanwhile I think that impression was so strengthening that she can now maintain her position. 2

S. K. had long since " died " to love, and given Regina up for the sake of giving himself completely to God. By doing this, he had found himself, and had, in his own terminology, " become something." In the governance of God he saw that this was the better way for him, but he had never ceased be-

Ml

" A POET'S HEART MUST BREAK

ing concerned for Regina. Now he was comforted by the thought that she also had, in her own way, found a sustaining faith. She was still very much in his thoughts. T h e task that lay before him would involve a complete break with the established church. As he realized that Regina would not understand his doing this, he had an additional reason for his reluctance to make such a break: There is one thing which prevents me: her. She has no notion of thai kind of Christianity. If I grasp at it, if I go through with it, then there is a religious difference between us. 1

Kierkegaard remarks in the Journals that Christianity is not a collection of teachings, but the development of character. T o be a Christian is to become what God wills one to be. S. K. W 3 s still being shaped by God, and reluctantly he realizes that there is one more step that must be taken: There is something quite definite I have to say. But indeed I am not eager to say it. On the contrary, I would infinitely prefer that another should say it — which, however, would not help mc, since (as I understand it) it was and remains my task. But I am not eager to say it; on the contrary, I have wished and desired and sometimes almost hoped thut I might be dispensed from saying it. For it is not a cheerful message, . . . and there arc several persons dear to mc to whom I cannot but think it would be unwelcome to hear it said. Above all there is among us a right revetend old man, . . . which has constantly held mc back, . . . a consideration for the church's highest dignitary, a man to whom by the memory of a deceased father I felt myself drawn with an almost melancholy affection — and I must think that to him especially it would be very unwelcome if this were said.'

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THE LIFE AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

So S. K. waited, not at all impatiently, content to have his final break with the church postponed: God is infinite love in (his too, thai he does not suddenly and all at once fall upon a man, and demand that he should be spirit — for then a man must perish. No, he takes hold so gently, it is a long operation, an education; sometimes there is a breathing space, when God strengthens the patient in finite ways.* Kierkegaard had learned that to love God and be loved by God is to suffer. Happy indeed is the man who, through suffering, has learned to love God. He knows that God's best gifts are not those of prosperity and good fortune, but of suffering. Yet it would be presumptuous of a man to pray to God for suffering. Kierkegaard's prayer, therefore, has for a time been a silent surrendering of everything to God. Beyond this, it was not clear to him how he should pray. Acceptance of suffering as a gift from God had brought him an infinite happiness. In February, 1853, he wrote: " I now feci so happy, so rich, so indescribably rich; at the present time 1 am, had I to describe it, like a man who has received enormous riches, at the moment when he does not even want to think about the individual riches, but basks in the whole of it — indeed I a m infinitely richer."* H e was happy to be sacrificed, to be " a pinch of cinnamon " which loses itself in adding tastiness to the pudding. Having long since " d i e d to the world," whenever God called him S. K. was ready to die for Denmark: Christianity in these parts simply docs not exist, but before there can be any question of its being restored again " first a poet's heart must break, and 1 am that poet"; these words of mine about myself are only too true. . . . Denmark has need of a dead man/

" A POET'S HEART MUST BUEAK "

H3

Kierkegaard believed thai he would suffer martyrdom in some form in order that he might make the true nature of Christianity unmistakably clear to men. He was aware of all the dangers of mental aberration in this direction, and with remarkable self-discipline of thinking kept himself in perspective. Sometimes he wondered whether or not God would really single him out in this way. Certainly martyrdom was not a thing to be sought; it must come unsought. Humbly he wrote (in the Journals) that he would not approach " too near to God uncalled." He was therefore " brought to a standstill," and resigned himself to this while awaiting " a nearer understanding." T h e Danish Lutheran Church was a typical, seriously led, established church. Financially it was supported by the government from tax funds, and every minister was therefore, in a sense, a stale official. Creedally the church was earnestly Protestant. Ruhop Mynster was one of the better type of leaders who emerged in such a church. He was an effective preacher, a capable administrator, and a man of fine character and great moral earnestness. In the midst of the widespread confusion and skepticism of the times, he had given the Danish Church solid moorings in a deep pietistic faith. But, in Kierkegaard's view, it was a Sunday religion. At its best it was a one-sided expression of Christianity. It found expression in solemn worship without any adequate application in daily living. S. K. compared Mynster to a child's nurse who persuades a child to take unpleasant medicine by putting it up to her lips and pretending to take tome herself. So Mynster, with great eloquence, said to his congregations on Sundays, ** A h , Christianity tastes so good," and thought no one would notice that he didn't actually take the medicine he recommended.

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THE LIFE AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

Mynster was a practical man. H e regarded it as fanatical that anyone should require Christians to live according to the teachings of the New Testament. S. K. was not unreasonable about this. H e realized that a measure of practicality is necessary. Few men can live in the Kierkegaardian way as " exceptions." Most men must compromise. But Mynster's error was that he identified this compromising religion as true Christianity and defended it. Compromise must be recognized 3 s sin, and repented, not defended. A Christian must live in daily awareness of his disobedient way; only so can he be repentant, and humbly depend, not on his own righteousness, but on God's forgiving grace. This Mynster refused to acknowledge. He could not see, or would not admit, that his stereotype of religion was a watered-down version of Christianity. Yet Kierkegaard had no wish to attack personalities, least of all his old and respected friend Bishop Mynster. He could not bear to hurt the old man in this way. When the attack came, the man who bore the brunt of it was Hans Martcnsen, S. K.'s old teacher of theology in the Pastoral Seminary of the University of Copenhagen. Only five years older than S. K., he had achieved early success as a theologian and " apologist" for Christianity. A leading exponent in Denmark of the rationalistic philosophy of Hegel, Martcnsen had adapted Hegel's " system " to the needs of Lutheran orthodoxy. T h e result was a system of his own, which " explained " and defended all that Martcnsen regarded as essential in Christian belief. T o Kierkegaard, Christianity is not amenable to logic. It begins with the paradox of the incarnation of God in Christ. This is absurd, and must be accepted as an absurdity. It cannot be logically explained or defended. Martcnsen was there-

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fore not a defender, but a destroyer of true faith. Through the years, S. K. had satirized him in such barbed comments a s , " T a k e away the paradox from the thinker, and you have the professor." T h e outstanding characteristic of Christianity in Denmark, Kierkegaard believed, was its mediocrity. Protestantism tends to exalt mediocrity. Perhaps we cannot prevent this, but we should at least recognize that it is far removed from the radical faith of the New Testament. T h e clergy of the Danish Church were so far from being honest about this that they had sunk into a blase cynicism. This called forth typical Kierkegaardian sarcasm; the following is entitled " T h e Preaching of the Gospel Par/on: Thou shah die unto ihe world. The fee is one guinea. Neophyte; Well, if I must die unto the world 1 quite understand that 1 shall have to fork out more than one guinea; hut just one question: Who gets the guinea? Parian; Naturally I get it, it is my living, for 1 and my family have to live by preaching that one must die unto the world. It is really very cheap, and soon we shall have in ask for considerably more. If you are reasonable, you will easily understand that to preach that one must die unto the world, if it is done seriously and with zeal, takes a lot out of a man. And so I really have to spend ihe summer in the country with my family lo gel some recreation." Bishop Mynster died on January 30, 1854. On the following Sunday. Martcnscn, who hoped to succeed him, delivered a memorial address in which he eulogized Mynster as " one more link in the holy chain of witnesses for the Truth, stretching all the way from the days of the apostles to our own times." Mynster could no longer be hurt; and. in describing him as " a witness for the Truth," Martensen had

146

tm

U N AND THOUGHT CIV Kit. UK EGA AID FOB tWIYMAN

thrown out a direct challenge. Kierkegaard regarded it at the signal for the attack. He immediately wrote an article entitled " Was Bishop Mynster a Witness for the T r u t h ? " Rut because Martcnsen was a candidate for the hitliopric. and a public controversy might damage his chances of clcc< lion. S. K. did not immediately publish his protest. He waited for ten months until Martcnsen had hern clwnrn, ami Iris consecration was assured, as the bishop primate of Denmark. T h e article was published in The Fatherland on December 1 8 . 1 KM. Martcnsen published only one reply, but other men. most - ! ihcm writing anonymously, joined ihe controversy. Kierkegaard carried on his silk- of the argument, in its early stages, in a scries of twentyonc articles in The Fatherland. the last of these coming in the issue of May 26. 18*55. In midMay, S. K. shifted the form of his attack with a leaflet published independently, entitled This Must He Said. Late in ihe same month he Ixrgan publication of his own periodical, which he called The Instant. Nine numbers of this little pa per .i|>p< atcil between May 24 and ScpumU i 24. T h e tenth number was completed anal lying on his desk when hr died. Tlie opening shot in Kierkegaard's attack was that Bishop Mynster was not a witness for the truth, but that by word ami by life lie had witnessed to a pernicious error. What he had preached was not Christianity, anil the way in which lie had lived was even farther from Christianity. This shoe was not " heard round the world," but it was certainty heard in Denmark. Everyone was shocked, the clergy was outraged, anil the battle was on. S. K. gradually broadened his attack. The second number of The Instant staled the issue clearly: When Christianity came into the world the task was simply to explain Christianity. The same is the case wherever Christianity

" A POET'S HEART MUST BREAK "

147

it iniroduccd into a country ilic religion of which is noi Christianity. In "Christendom" the situation is a different one. What we have he-fore us is run Christianity, but a prodigious illusion, and the pic arc noi pagans but live in the blissful conceit that they arc Christians. So if in this situation Christianity is to be iniro duccd, first of all the illusion must lie disposed of. But since this . . . illusion is In the elTcct that they are Christians, it looks indeed as if introducing Christianity were taking Christianity away from men. Nevertheless this is the first thing to do. the illusion muu go.' Kierkegaard goes on to indicate that the task is twofold: ( I ) correcting the error in men's minds; and ( 2 ) destroying the established church, which has a vested interest in perpetuating the error. This church is indeed based on the erroneous theory that Christianity ami the state have been amalgamated. No church subservient to the state can be expected to represent Christianity, S. K. pointed out that the one thousand parish ministers of the Danish Lutheran Church were state functionaries, appointed and paid by the state. Their primary loyalty was not to Christ but to the established order of things. They had to maintain church mcml>crship and attendance at any cost, and keep Denmark "statistically Christian," or their jobs and their careers would be endangered. On the other hand, if they were ** successful " in the eyes of the world, their income would increase, and their careers would be advanced. N o man can serve two masters, and these men, professing to serve Christ, had become traitors to him. In fact, Judas was a mere piker in comparison. Judas betrayed Christ for thirty pieces of silver, and that was all he got; these men betrayed him daily for thousands of dollars a

148 THE LIFE AND THOUGHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN year. Judas betrayed Christ so honestly and obviously that he was disgraced; these men betrayed Christ so cleverly that they continued to be honored and praised as servants of Christ. At ordination each of them took an oath to interpret the Scriptures faithfully and with diligence; but the religion they preached was not the searching, demanding faith of the Bible, but rather a religion of bourgeois mediocrity that was careful to offend no one and calculated to please everyone. It is a mistaken notion that the state can supjxirt and " protect " Christianity. T h e best service ihe stale could render Christianity would be to cut off all funds for the church, and begin instead to persecute i t . " What Christianity needs is not the suffocating protection of the state; no. it needs fresh air, it needs persecution, and it needs . . . God's protection." Kierkegaard advises men who are really earnest about being Christians to sever all connection with a state-supported church: Whoever ihou an, whatever in other respects thy life may be. my friend, by ceasing to take pan (if ordinarily thou dost) in the public worship of God. as it now is (with the claim thai it is the < IK r : II •. of ihe New Testament), thou hasi constantly one guilt the less, and that a great one: thou dost not lake part in treating God at a fool by calling lhai the Christianity of the New Testament which is not ihe Christianity of the New Testament." Kierkegaard did not expect instantaneous or wholesale reformation in the church. He did not really expect that he could persuade the men of his generation lo abandon the idea of a state church. What he hoped for was an admission that this church did not represent New Testament Christianity. Men seemed to think that they could deceive God, and this was far worse than those sins which the church con-

" A POBT'S HEART MUST BREAK "

149

dcmncd. He e x c l a i m s , " I would rather gamble, carouse, fornicate, steal, murder, than take part in making a fool of God." " T o speak of Christendom, or to refer lo Denmark as " a Christian nation," indicates a belief that men can be Christians en masse. Christianity is a personal relationship, and only individuals can be Christians. But men are dazzled by numbers. S. K. uses as an illustration the story of an innkeeper who sold beer for a cent a bottle less than he paid for it, and yet insisted that his large volume of business made this operation profitable: When one has laughed at this story, one would do well to take to heart the lesson which w.irns against the power which number exercises over the imagination. For there can be no doubt that this innkeeper knew very well that one bottle of beer which he sold for i cents meant a loss of 1 cent when it cost him 4 cents. Also with regard to ten bottles ihc innkeeper will be able to hold fast that it is a loss. But 100.000 bottles! Here the big number stirs the imagination, that round number runs away with it and the innkeeper becomes dazed —it's a profit, says he, for the big number docs it. So also with the calculation which arrives at a Christian nation by adding up units which arc not Christian, getting the result by means of the notion that the big number does i t » T h e idea of Christendom, S. K. says, is a betrayal of Christianity, and the concept of a Christian nation or Christian world is apostasy. Luther had ninety-five theses; Kierkegaard has only one: The Christianity of the New Testament simply does not exist. Here there is nothing to reform; what has to be done is to throw light upon a criminal offense against Christianity, prolonged through centuries, perpetrated by millions . . . whereby they

150

THE LIFE AND THOUGHT OK KIERKEGAARD FOR EVERYMAN

have cunningly, under ihe guise of perfecting Christianity, sought little by little to cheat God out of Christianity, and have succeeded in making Christianity exactly the opposite of what it is in the New Testament. In order thai common Christianity here in our country . . . may be . . , related to the Christianity of the New Testament, we must make it known, as honestly . . . as possible how remote it is from the Christianity of the New Testament. So long as this is not done, so long as we make as if nothing were the matter, as if everything were all right, and what we call Christianity is the Christianity of the New Testament. . . , so long as this criminal offense continues, there can be no question of reforming, hut only of throwing light upon this . . . criminal offense.' 4

Kierkegaard regarded himself, therefore, not as a reformer, but as a detective ferreting out the evidence, and making known the collective crimes of a " Christian nation." Under Danish law, for instance, all businesses had to be licensed, and in order to secure a license a man must indicate that he was a member of some religious faith. So a man who operated a house of prostitution would register himself as a Lutheran, and acquire the status of " a Christian whoremonger I A young man who was an agnostic and " freethinker " must, to be socially respectable, have his child baptized. He must then for the emergency be a " Christian " : So they notify the priest, the midwife arrives with the baby, a young lady holds the infants bonnet coquettishly, several young men who also have no religion render the . . . father the service of having as godfathers the Evangelical Christian religion, and assume obligation for the Christian upbringing of the child, while a silken priest with a (graceful gesture sprinkles water three times

" A POET'S HEART MUST BREAK "

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on the dear linlc baby and dries bis hands gracefully with ihc I owe I — And ihis ihcy dare to present to God under the name of Christian baptism.'* When a child attains the age of fourteen, this baptismal farce is continued in the service of " confirmation." This, Kierkegaard says, is " a spendid invention, if one makes a double assumption: that divine worship is in the direction of making a fool of G o d ; ami that its principal aim is to provide an occasion for family festivities, parties, a jolly evening, and a banquet which differs in this respect from other banquets that this banquet (what a refinement!) has a religious significance." Marriage and the observance of the Lord's Supper arc also described with Kierkegaard's inimitable sarcasm. His attitude toward marriage was particularly extreme. In his effort to shock people, he departed from the teaching of the New Testament as a whole, and followed Paul's more extreme statements. Indeed, he went far beyond Paul. He advocated celibacy for the clergy as the only way to lift the minister above the earth-bound mediocrity of subservience to the needs and wishes of his wife. He also denied that there can be Christian marriage even among the laity. In all this he was exaggerating for the sake of shocking his own generation into paying attention to his message. T h e extremes to which he goes should not obscure the fact that basically his criticisms of the Danish Church were just, and that most of them apply to the church in our day also. Kierkegaard aroused the bitter opposition of the clergy as he hail expected. What he had not expected was that the common people heard him gladly. Suddenly he was a popular writer again. People subscribed to The Instant and read w

152

THE LIFE AND THOUCHT OF KIERKEGAARD FOR FVFRYMAN

it, and hit booki sold. It became necessary to issue Workj of Love in a second edition. H e was more popular than ever with students in the university. But the " Attack " made little visible change in the established church; and though Kierkegaard's books were read, they were little understood. This would not have worried him. Understanding and appreciation have come in the fullness of time. Unappreciated in the nineteenth century, he has become the most influential philosopher of the twentieth. T h e danger now is, as he feared, that he will become the " property " of philosophers and ihcologians. He wanted his message to reach " the individual." T o such a one he speaks today as he did in 1855: Thou plain man! 1 do not conceal from ihee ihe fact thai, according to my notion, the thing of being a Christian is infinitely high, thai at no lime are there more than a few who attain it, as Christ's own life attests, if one considers the generation in which He lived, and as also his preaching indicates, if OIK lakes it literally. Yet ncvcnhclcss it is possible for all.' :

On October 2, 1855, S. K. visited his banker brother-in-law, Hcnrik Lund, and drew the last installment of his remaining capital. T h e tenth and final number of The Instant lay completed on his desk. His money was nearly gone, but his task was completed. On the way home from the bank he collapsed on the street and was picked up and taken lo Fredcricks Hospital. In the hospital, he told them he had come to die. T h e intern who took his " case history " has left us this report: He considers his disease mortal; his death is necessary to the cause he has used all the powers of his spirit to further, for which he alone has lived, and which he considers himself especially

153

" A POET'S HEART MUST BREAK "

called and fined to serve; whence the great intellectual powers i n connection with so frail a body. If he lives, he must continue his religious struggle, but people will then tire of it; if he dies, on the contrary, the cause will maintain its strength and, as he thinks. its victory." When he arrived in the hospital, Kierkegaard was paralyzed from the waist down. T h e paralysis progressively affected other parts of his body, and he gradually grew weaker. But his spirit was triumphant. T h e Lund family havtcncd to the hospital as soon as they heard that Uncle Sorcn was there; and Hcnrictte has given us a vivid picture of him as she saw him on this visit: I received an impression that with this suffering and sadness there was murd a sense of victory as I went into the little room, where I was met by the light which seemed to radiate from his countenance. I have never seen the spirit break through it* earthly frame in that way and lend it such brilliance, as though it were the glorified body at the dawn of the resurrection. * 1

S. K.\ gentleness and cheerfulness made a deep impression on numbers of the hospital staff. His nephew, Henrik Lund, Jr., was an intern and was able to sec his uncle frequently. The supervising nurse, Froken Fibigcr, became greatly attached to this remarkable " old man of forty-two." She kept fresh flowers in his room, watched over him daily, and, said one nurse," What is more, she cries over you." His faithful friend Emil Boesen was often at his bedside, and has left us a record of their conversations. They talked of many things: of his continuing affection for Rcgina (then in the West Indies); of Peter Kierkegaard and their misunderstandings; of the state of his finances (enough left for the funeral); of the controversy with the established church; and

154

THE

[.ill-

AND THOUCHT OF KIERKEGAARD

FOB EVERYMAN

of the kindly care he received from the nurses. H e was convinced that his illness was more psychic than physical, and that if he believed he should live longer, he could do so. They would need only to give him a glass of water and his boots, and he could go home. Having lived as an exception, he was ready to die, and was quite content to die in the ordinary way. He desired Holy Communion, but would not receive it at the hands of a minister of the established church because they were " the king's officials" and not true representatives of Christ. Boesen asked if he had anything to say, i.e., any last message. H e replied: " No; yes, remember me 1 0 everyone, I was much attached to them all, and tell ihem that my life is a great, and to others unknown and unintelligible suffering. It all looked like pride and vanity, but it was not. 10

Boesen asked him if he could pray in peace. His reply was: Yes, that 1 can; first of all 1 pray that my sins may he forgiven me; . . . then I pray that 1 may lie free from dcsjwir in death, and the words often occur to me when ii is said that death should be pleasing to Cod; and so 1 pray for what 1 so much desire, which is that I may know a tittle beforehand when death is to come. 11

T h e last time Boesen saw Kierkegaard, he was lying completely helpless, and could hardly speak. He died on November 11, 1855. T h e funeral service was held in the Cathedral Church of Our Lady on the following Sunday. T h e large church was packed with sympathizers and opponents. A crowd of students fought their way into the church, and insisted on acting as a guard of honor. Peter Kierkegaard, who delivered

" A POET'S HEART MUST BREAK "

155

the funeral oration managed with great tact to maintain order. But at the cemetery, as the dean of the cathedral was about to conduct the committal service, he was interrupted by young Dr. Hcnrik Lund, Jr., who denounced the church for appropriating the earthly remains of a man who had so decisively rejected its ordinances. Young Lund read from Revelation 3 : H ff. the passage about the church in Laodicca (" I will spew you out of my mouth " ) , and matched this with quotations from The Instant. But he who had suffered so in this life was at peace. H e would be willing for us to forget him, if we will remember and ponder and profit by his message. As we leave him in peace, and turn each of us to his own way, we may appropriately join in the prayer that he once wrote to preface his Sickness Unto Death: Father in heaven, to thee the congregation often makes its petition for all who arc sick and sorrowful, and when someone among us lies ill, alas, of mortal sickness the congregation sometimes desires a special petition; grant that we may each one of us become in good time aware what sickness it is that is the sickness unto death, and aware that we arc all of us suffering from this sickness."

NOTES

NOTKS Chapter

I

1. fournali. p. ION Quoutmiu throughout arc u*d by permiuuxi uf iIn- publisher. 2. MM, p. 556. i . Volume II. pp. 22S-22*. 4. !,..• : . r . Kierkegaard, p. 58. (.K.'i.i: i throughout JIC u*ed by prrmmum uf the pubhihci JIH) M I V Wjlttr 1-owrnr. 5 . Hid-., p. 58. 6 . Ibid., p. 57 7. P. 112. 8. /ourmali, p. wt. 9. /f,.: p. UU. 10. FMher/Or, Vol. |. p. 21. Quotation* throughout are utcd by pcrrmuaon of the pubuAcr. Chapter

2

1. / . ' • - / . . p. xaiii. 2. H M , p. xxii. iw

L Ibid., p. 4. Ibid., p. 15. 5. Lownc. op. (i/.. pp. 68-69; »ee alio /onrnali. pp. 66-67. 6. Ibid. p. 145. 7. Ib,d.. p. 21. I / « . . p. 19. 9. Ibid., p. 26. 10. /*•*. p. 27. 11. Ibid., p. 27. 12. The Contepl of Dread, p. IK U. four null. p. 29. Chapter

i

Lowrie. op. nr.. p. 148. lourmMs. p. mine. M U , p. 28. / W , p. 28. Ibid., p. J8. MM, p. 32. Ibid., p. 47. /fc.f.. p. 52.

NOTES

9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21.

p, 54. p. 56. p. 57. pp. 57-58. p. 59. p. 59. p. 59. p. 59. pp. 59-60. p. 61. p. 62. /fcrf.. p. 557. MM. p. 137.

Ibid., Ibid., MA, /*»«/.. Ibid.,

Chapter

4

1. \oiitnah, p. 43. 2. MM, p. 44. 3. /*»*/., p. 44, footnote. 4. Ibul., p. 55. 5. /*.«/.. p. 60. 6. ibu/., p. n. 7. /*.,/., p. 64. 8. /fc
Journals, pp. 94-95. I • i ••' op. at., p. 224. \omnah, p. 557. lb,d., pp. 96-102.

18. Lnwric, op. tit., p. 228. 19. Journals, pp. 95-96. 20. MM, p. 242. Chapter

5

1. The Point of View for My Worl^ as an Author, p. 3. 2. Etther Or. Vol. I. pp. 1534. 3. Ibid., p. 15. 4. />.•.;. p. 15. 5. Ibid., p. 15 . 6. Ibid., pp. 19-20. 7. /*»«/.. p. 34. 8. Ibid., p. 234. 9. Ibid., p. 357. 10. /*///.. p. 371. 11. Either/Or, Vol. II. p. 19. 12. Ibid., p. 17. 13. Ibid., p. 28. 14. Ibid., p. 38. 15. Either/Or. Vol. I. pp. 3031. 16. Ibid.. Vol. II. p. 134. 17. Ibid., p. 136. 18. Ibid., p. 219. 19. Ibid., p. 227. 20. Journals, p. 117. 21. Ibid., p. 128. 22. Lowrie, op. tit., p. 258. Chapter

6

1. Ch. V. p. 73 2. Fear <W Trembling, 55-56.

pp.

161

NOIfS

3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14.

Ibid., p. 82. Stages, p. 188. lb,d.. p. 189. Ibid., p. 205. /A/,/., p. 304. Ibid., p. 320. Ibid., pp. 322-323. Ibid., p. 348. Ibid., p. 360. /*.
7

1. Journals, p. 502. 2. TAf Concept of Dread, p. 55. 3. Journals, p. 105. 4. The Concept of Dread, p. 92. 5. ibid., p. n o . 6. Philosophical Fragments, p. 25. 7. U f * , p. 26. 8. Postscript, p. 26. Quotations throughout arc used hy permission of the publisher. 9. Ibid., p. 46. 10. Ibid., p. 47. 11. Ibid., p. 129. 12. Ibid., p. 63. 13. Ibid., p. 189. 14. ibid., p. 191. 15. Ibid., p. 20. 16. Either/Or. Vol. II. p. 199.

17. 18. 19. 20.

Postscript, p. 440. Ibid., p. 73. Ibid., p. 550. Ibid., p. 554.

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18.

Journals, pp. 156-157. p. 252. /*/
Chapter

Chapter

8

9

1. /Wry o/ Heart, p. 115. 2. 7'Ae Gorpc/ of Suffering, p. 5. 3. Purity of Heart, pp. 163164. 4. Ibid., p. 25. 5. The Goipel of Suffering, p. 97. 6. l C ^ o / L o i / e . p . 4 1 .

162

NOTTS

7. Christian Discourses, pp. 171-250. 8. journals, pp. 216-217. 9. Ibid., pp. 217-218. 10. Ibid., p. 235. 11. The Point of View. p. 5. 12. Ibid., p. 34. 13. The Sickness Vmo Death, p. 247. 14. Training in Christianity, p. 71. 15. /*/
Journals, /#«/.. p. /«
7. / * « . , p. 467. S. p. 471. 9. Attack, Upon " Christendom," p. 97. Quotations throughout are used by permission of the publisher. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18.

Ibid., p. 140. Ibid., p. 59. Ibid., p. 20. Ibid., pp. 30-31. Ibid., pp. 32-33. Ibid., p. 205. Ibid., p. 217. Ibid., pp. 287-288. David F . Swenson. Something About Kierkegaard, p. 25. Augsburg Publishing House. 1945.

19. 20. 21. 22.

fournals.p. 561. Ibid., p. 550. Ibid., loc. cit. Sickness Unto Death, Doubledav Anchor edition, pp. 133-134.

10

p. 459. 460. 492. 493. 456. 487.

SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Selected Bibliography Attack. Upon " Christendom!' tr. by Walter Lowric. Princeton University Press, 1944. Christian Discourses (with The Lilies of the Field and Three Discourses at the Communion on Fridays), tr. by Walter Lowrie. Oxford University Press, 1939. The Concept of Dread, tr. by Walter Lowtie. Princeton University Press, 1946. Concluding Unscientific Postscript, tr. hy David F . Swcnson and Walter Lowrie. Princeton University Press, 1941. Edifying Discourses, four volumes, ir. by David F . Swcnson and Lillian Marvin Swcnson. Augsburg Publishing House, 19431946. Edifying Discourses: A Selection, cd. by Paul Holmcr. A Harper Torchbook, Harper t* Brothers, 1958. Either/Or; A Fragment of Life, Vol. I tr. by David F. Swcnson and Lillian Marvin Swcnson, Vol. 11 tr. by Walter Lowrie. Princeton University Press, 1944. Fear and Trembling, tr. by Walter Lowric. Princeton University Press, 1941. Fear and Trembling and Sickness Unto Death, tr. by Walter Lowric. A Doublcday Anchor Book, Doublcday & Co., Inc., 1954. For Self-examination and fudge for Yourselves! tt. by Walter Lowrie. Princeton University Press, 1944. 165

166

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

The Gospel of Suffering, tr. by D.ivid F. Swcnson and Lillian Marvin Swcnson. Augsburg Publishing House, 1948. The journals of Soren Kierkegaard, cd. and tr. by Alexander Dru. Oxfoid University Press. 193°. Philosophical Fragments, tr. by David F. Swcnson. Princeton University Press, 1936. The Point of View for My Work^ as an Author (with Two Notes About " The Individual " and On My Work, as an Author), tr. by Walter Lowric. Oxford University Press. 1939. The Present Age (wilh Two Minor i-hi. Religious Treatises), ir. by Alexander Dru and Waller Lowric. Oxford University Press, 1940. Purity of Heart, tr. by Douglas V. Steerc. Harper & Brothers, 1938. Repetition: An Essay in Experimental Psychology, tr. hy Walter Lowric. Princeton University Press. 1941. The Sickness Unto Death, tr. by Walter Lowric. Princeton University Press. 1941. (Sec also Fear and Trembling, above.) Stages on Life's Way, tr. by Walter Lowric. Princeton University Press. 1940. Thoughts on Crucial Situations in Human IJfe: Three Discourses on Imagined Occasions, tr. by David F. Swouon. Augsburg Publishing House, 1941. Training in Christianity, tr. by Walter Lowrie. Oxford University Press, 1941; Princeton University Press, 1944. The Worlds of Love, ir. by Lillian Marvin Swcnson. Princeton University Press, 1946. Walter Lowric, Kierkegaard. Oxford University Press. 1938.

INDEX

/

rider

Ahraham. 71,76. 78-81. 104 Adam, 70, 95 Adlcr, A. P.. 122 Aesthetic, 24, 54-57, 62, 64. 65. 69-72, 74-75. 81. 82, 84. 85, 103, 108, HI Afham, William (p»eud.). 85 Andcncn. Hans Christian. 35 Anger, Pauor, 15 Anii-Ctimacus (pseud.), 133 Badcr. Franz, 29 Berlin. 48-52. 54. 71-72. 75. 127 llncscn. Emil. 39. 47, 48, 71-72, 153-154 Bookbinder. Hilarius (pseud.), 84-X5 Borgetidydikolc. 14 Ifc, 31 Byron, George Gordon, Lord, 65

Christendom, 132-135, 147-150 Christian Vlll, 120-121. 129 Christian Discourses, 124, 126 Christianity, 11. 21, 34. 41. 55, 66, 83. 91. 9 M 0 6 , 121. 126, 131-13S, 141-151 Climacm. Johannes (pseud.), 13. S3. 93. 102 Concept of Dread. The. 28. 83, 93-96, 104, 107 Concluding Unscientific Postscript to the Philoiophital Fragments. 81, 84, 91, 92, 93. 96-106, 114, 123, 134 Constantius. Comtaniinc (pieud.), 72. 73, 75. 76, 82 Copenhagen, 12. 14, 16. 19. 20. 35, 37. 42, 44. 47. 50-51. 54. 62. 70, 72, 107-113, 144 Corsair. The. 107-116. 121. 123

Camus, Albeit, II Christ, 17.33. 34. 83, 98-99,101. 105. 123. 134-137. 147-148

Denmark. I I . 27. 62. 100. 107114. 120. 121. 129, 142, 144147

170

MUX

Despair. 76, 103, 132 " Diapsalmata," 58-«>, 68 '* Diary of iKe Seducer." 62-64. 71,108 Don Juan. 24, 60-63, 103 Dread. 23. 93-96, 102-103, 125 Dru, Alexander, 21

QWlIlf Hcnricite, 48 Goethe. Johann Wolfgang von, 60 Guldschmidt, Meyer, 107-H4 Gospel of Suffering. The. 124 -Oudty/Noi Goihy.- 72, 8290. 108

Edifying Discourse! in Various Spints, 123-124 Either/Or, 14, 51. 54 71, 82. 85, 91. 114. 131 Ercmita, Victor (pseud.), 5557, 62, 107 Ethical, 69-70, 75, 78, 81. 84, 89-90.103-104,119-120.132 Eve, 70. 95 Existential (existing), 57, 6970,89,93,95,98,100-106,116, 119

Hegel. Q. W. F„ 100. 144 Hcibcrg. J . L , 27, 29 Hen*. Hcnnk, 27

Faith. 76-83, 96, 102, 106. 123, 130. 132,141 Fathcriand, The. 108, 109, 146 Faust. 24, 61 Fear and Trembling, 71, 73. 75, 76-82, 104, 132 Fibigcr, Frokcn, 153 For Self-examination, 132, 136, 137 France, 113 Frederick VII, 129 Germany, 100, 112. 129 Gillcleie, 21. 24

Infinite resignation. 76-79. 8283 Intiam. The. 146,151, 155 " In Vino Veritasr 85. 90 Isaac. 66, 73, 76, 78, 80. 81 Italy, 112 Job. 73, 75-76. 104, 105 Journals of Soren Kierkegaard, The. 16, 23-26, 27-35, 37-W, 42, 49, 50, 53, 72. 109-112, 115. 117. 127, 129, 138. 140. HI, 143 judas Iscariot. 78, 114, 136-137. 148 Judge for Your selves!. 137,139 Judge William (pseud.). 56, 64-70. 85. 90. 103, 113 Jutland. 12, 42 KalthorT, R V , 34 Kierkegaard, Anne Lund, 12, 17

171

INDEX Kierkegaard, Michael Pcdcr*cn. 12-14, 17. 19-23, 30, 32, 35. 127 Kierkegaard, Pcicr Christian, 19. 20, 22, 47-49, 51, 92, 127, 153. 154 Levin, Israel, 92 Literary Review, A. 109 Love (Christian). 80. 123. 125126. 142 Love (romantic), 65-68,77. 8687. 140 Lund. Henrietta 13, 35, 48, 153 Lund, Hcnrik. 139.152 Lund, Hcnrik, |r., 153, 155 Mature, 33 Martcnscn, Hans, 31, 144-146 Mary, ihe Virgin, 78, 79 Maihitwn. Profcisor, 15-16 Mollcr, P. L.. 108. 112-114 Mollcr. Paul Martin. 27. 28,31-

74,77, 84, 103, 128, 138, 140141, 153 Paradox. 18. 78, 80, 101-102. 105. 144-145 Paul, ihe apostle, 151 Philosophical Fragments, 83, 93,96-97, 133 Point of View for My Worb^ as an Author, 130-131 Present Age, The. 116-120 Purity of Heart. 124-125 " Quidam's Diary." 41, 86-90 Repetition, 71-73, 75. 76, 82 Rome, 61, 119 Rordam, Bolctic, 37-38

Nielsen, Michael, 15, 16 Nielsen, Rasmus, 32 Norway, 113

Schelling, P. W . U 48, 51 Schlegel, Fritz, 51-53, 72. 74. 77.128, 138 Sch les wig-Hoist ein, 129 Seeland, 20-21 Sibbcrn. F . C-, 28, 36. 52, 140 Sickness Unto Death. The, 132, 133, 155 Silentio, Johannes dc (pseud.), 76-82 Socrates, 28, 53,115 Stages on Ufe's Way. 71, 72, 75,84-90.91, 108 Subjectivity, 57, 102

Olsen, Etatsraad, 43, 47, 138 Olsen, Regina, 28,37-53,71-73,

Taciturnus, Frater 85-86, 89, 109

32, 64, 108 Mozart, Wolfgang Amadcus, 60,61 Mynster, Jacob Peter, 52, 137138,139. 143-146

(pseud.),

172

INDtlX

Three Diicouriet on Imagined Occasions. 91,123 Training in Christianity. 132136 Two Discourses at the Communion on Fridays. 53, 138 Two Edifying Discourses. 140

Two Minor Ethico-Religious Treatises. 122 Wandering Jew, 24 Welding, Dean, 15 Work} of Love. 124-127, 152