First Love: Either/Or, Part I
Day 2 of notes from my lectures on Kierkegaard and Dostoevsky… posting these continues to be a work in progress!
For Friheden kæmper jeg derfor... for den tilkommende Tid, for enten — eller. Det er den Skat, jeg agter at efterlade dem, jeg elsker i Verden. Ja dersom min lille Søn i dette Øieblik var i den Alder, at han ret kunde forståemig, og min sidste Time var kommen, da vilde jeg sige til ham: jeg efterladerDig ikke Formue, ikke Titler og Værdigheder; men jeg ved, hvor der ligger en Skat begraven, der kan gjøre Dig rigere end hele Verden, og denne Skat tilhører Dig, og Du skal end ikke takke mig for den, at Du ikke skal tageSkade på Din Sjæl ved at skylde et Menneske Alt.
Denne Skat er nedlagt i Dit eget Indre: der er et enten — eller, der gjøret Menneske større end Englene.
It is for freedom, therefore, that I am fighting... for the time to come, for Either/Or. This is the treasure I intend to leave to those I love in this world. Indeed, if my little son at this moment were old enough to be able to understand me rightly and my last hour had come, I would say to him: I am not leaving you a fortune, nor title or honors, but I know where a treasure is buried that can make you richer than the whole world, and this treasure belongs to you, and you must not even thank me for it, lest you damage your soul by owing everything to a human being.
This treasure is stored in your own inner being. There is an Either/Or there that makes a human being greater than the angels.
— Kierkegaard, Either/Or Part II, 176.
Revisiting the theme of dialogism, note that Victor Eremita, Kierkegaard’s pseudonymous editor of the fortuitously discovered writings of A (a young man) and B (Judge William), is tempted to consider them as the work of a single author; Kierkegaard frequently hints that whatever schematization of human experience may be entertained in one of his works, the schema merely hints at the rich contradictions and complexities of an actual human consciousness — just as, for example, Dostoevsky’s vividly realized Karamazov brothers, born of one father, can be said to merely illustrate the various movements experienced by a single human person. This fundamental awareness of the depths of personal experience accounts for the radically dialogic form of both authors’ bodies of work.
Under den idelige Beskaeftigelse med disse Papierer gik der et Lys op for mig, at man kunde afvinde dem en ny Side ved at betragte dem som tilhørende et Menneske.
Det var da et Menneske, der i sit Liv havde gjennemgået begge Bevaegelser, eller overveiet begge Bevaegelser. As Papirer indeholdenemlig en Mangfoldighed af Tilløb til en aesthetisk Livs-Anskuelse. En sammenhaengende aesthetisk Livs-Anskuelse lader sig vel neppeforedrage. Bs Papirer indeholde en ethisk Livs-Anskuelse.
In my continual preoccupation with these papers, it dawned on me that they might take on a new aspect if they were regarded as belonging to one person.
So, then, there was a person who in his lifetime had experienced both movements or had reflected upon both movements. A’s papers contain a multiplicity of approaches to an aesthetic view of life. A coherent aesthetic view of life can hardly be presented. B’s papers contain an ethical view of life.
— Kierkegaard, Either/Or Part I, 13
The Inner / the Outer: Hegel and Christ
Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel
(1770-1831)
If Hegel had written his entire Logic and said in the preface that it was merely a thought-experiment in which he had even shirked things in various places, he would no doubt have been the greatest thinker that ever lived. As it is he is comical.
Philosophy's concept is mediation — Christianity’s is the paradox.
— Kierkegaard, Journals
Hegel insists on the absolute unity of form and content, essence and appearance; each presupposes the other and must be thought of as a unity. This marks a fundamental distinction between Hegel and Kant.
Das Innere ist als die Form der reflektierten Unmittelbarkeit oder des Wesens gegen das Äußere als die Form des Seins bestimmt, aber beide sind nur eine Identität. – Diese Identität ist erstens die gediegende Einheit beider als inhaltsvolle Grundlage oder die absolute Sache, an der die beiden Bestimmungen gleichgültige, äußerliche Momente sind. Insofern ist sieInhalt und die Totalität, welche das Innere ist, das ebensosehr äußerlich wird, aber darin nicht ein Gewordenes oder Übergegangenes, sondern sich selbst gleich ist. Das Äußere ist nach dieser Bestimmung dem Inneren, dem Inhalte nach nicht nur gleich, sondern beide sind nur eine Sache.
The inner is determined as the form of reflected immediacy or of essence over against the outer as the form of being, but the two are only one identity. This identity is first, the substantial unity of both as a substrate pregnant with content, or the absolute fact, in which the two determinations are indifferent, external moments. By virtue of this, it is a content and that totality which is the inner that equally becomes external, but in this externality is not the result of becoming or transition but is identical with itself. The outer, according to this determination, is not only identical with the inner in respect of content but both are only one fact.
— Hegel, Science of Logic, 3.C.
Was Etwas ist, das ist es daher ganz in seiner Äußerlichkeit; seine Äußerlichkeit ist seine Totalität, sie ist ebensosehr seine in sich reflektierte Einheit. Seine Erscheinung ist nicht nur die Reflexion in Anderes, sondern in sich, und seine Äußerlichkeit daher die Äußerung dessen, was es an sichist; und indem so sein Inhalt und seine Form schlechthin identisch sind, so ist es nichts an und für sich als dies, sich zu äußern. Es ist das Offenbarenseines Wesens, so daß dies Wesen eben nur darin besteht, das sichOffenbarende zu sein.
Das wesentliche Verhältnis hat sich in dieser Identität der Erscheinung mit dem Inneren oder dem Wesen zur Wirklichkeit bestimmt
What something is, therefore, it is wholly in its externality; its externality is its totality and equally is its unity reflected into itself. Its Appearance is not only reflection-into-an-other but reflection-into-self, and its externality is, therefore, the expression or utterance of what it is in itself; and since its content and form are thus utterly identical, it is, in and for itself, nothing but this, to express or manifest itself. It is the manifesting of its essence in such a manner that this essence consists simply and solely in being that which manifests itself.
The essential relation, in this identity of Appearance with the inner or with essence, has determined itself into actuality.
— Hegel, Science of Logic, 3.C.
Was vernünftig ist, das ist wirklich; und was wirklich ist, das ist vernünftig.
The real is the rational and the rational is the real.
— Hegel, Elements of the Philosophy of Right.
A note on “mediation”
This word is the focus of Kierkegaard’s attacks on Hegel, although his use of it often suggests not so much mediation itself (German “Vermittlung,” mediation — as opposed to immediacy) as ”Aufhebung” (“sublation”), the process in Hegelian dialectics by which two seemingly contradictory ideas are reconciled in a higher synthesis. The German “Aufhebung” deliberately invokes two contradictory meanings: 1) “lifting up / elevating” and 2) “cancelling” — again, meaning that two terms are simultaneously abolished and transcendently preserved in the higher synthesis.
In Kierkegaard, “mediation” is always a dirty word, and is used in roughly two senses:
1) “Mediation” is a kind of pseudo-logical, magical word that brings motion (!) into Hegel’s logic, without ever really being explained. It covers over the paradox of the “leap,” making it seem easy, understandable, or dictated by necessity.
2) “Mediation” is any attempt to make indirect one’s direct relationship to God, to somehow reduce the passion of the leap to something else, something involving reflection or the aid of some third party (via ethics, knowledge, history, or whatever).
Enhver Uendelighedens Bevægelse skeer ved Lidenskab, og ingenReflexion kan tilveiebringe en Bevægelse.
Dette er det idelige Spring i Tilværelsen, der forklarer Bevægelsen, medens Mediationen er en Chimaire, som hos Hegel skal forklare Alt, og som tillige er det Eneste, han aldrig har forsøgt at forklare.
Every movement of infinity is carried out through passion, and no reflection can produce a movement.
This is the continual leap in existence that explains the movement, whereas mediation is a chimera, which in Hegel is supposed to explain everything and which is also the only thing he never has tried to explain.
— Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling, p. 42 (footnote)
A. Sein
Seyn, reines Seyn,—ohne alle weitere Bestimmung. In seiner unbestimmten Unmittelbarkeit ist es nur sich selbst gleich, und auch nichtungleich gegen Anderes, hat keine Verschiedenheit innerhalb seiner, nochnach Außen. Durch irgend eine Bestimmung oder Inhalt, der in ihmunterschieden, oder wodurch es als unterschieden von einem Anderengesetzt würde, würde es nicht in seiner Reinheit festgehalten. Es ist die reine Unbestimmtheit und Leere.—Es ist nichts in ihm anzuschauen, wenn von Anschauen hier gesprochen werden kann; oder es ist nur dießreine, leere Anschauen selbst. Es ist eben so wenig etwas in ihm zudenken, oder es ist ebenso nur dieß leere Denken. Das Seyn, das unbestimmte Unmittelbare ist in der That Nichts, und nicht mehr nochweniger als Nichts.
A. Being
Being, pure being, without any further determination. In its indeterminate immediacy it is equal only to itself. It is also not unequal relatively to an other; it has no diversity within itself nor any with a reference outwards. It would not be held fast in its purity if it contained any determination or content which could be distinguished in it or by which it could be distinguished from an other. It is pure indeterminateness and emptiness. There is nothing to be intuited in it, if one can speak here of intuiting; or, it is only this pure intuiting itself. Just as little is anything to be thought in it, or it is equally only this empty thinking. Being, the indeterminate immediate, is in fact nothing, and neither more nor less than nothing.
— Hegel, Science of Logic
B. Nichts
Nichts, das reine Nichts; es ist einfache Gleichheit mit sich selbst, vollkommene Leerheit, Bestimmungs- und Inhaltslosigkeit; Ununterschiedenheit in ihm selbst.—Insofern Anschauen oder Denken hiererwähnt werden kann, so gilt es als ein Unterschied, ob etwas oder nichtsangeschaut oder gedacht wird. Nichts Anschauen oder Denken hat also eine Bedeutung; beide werden unterschieden, so ist (existirt) Nichts in unserem Anschauen oder Denken; oder vielmehr ist es das leereAnschauen und Denken selbst; und dasselbe leere Anschauen oderDenken, als das reine Seyn.—Nichts ist somit dieselbe Bestimmung odervielmehr Bestimmungslosigkeit, und damit überhaupt dasselbe, was das reine Seyn ist.
B. Nothing
Nothing, pure nothing: it is simply equality with itself, complete emptiness, absence of all determination and content — undifferentiatedness in itself. In so far as intuiting or thinking can be mentioned here, it counts as a distinction whether something or nothing is intuited or thought. To intuit or think nothing has, therefore, a meaning; both are distinguished and thus nothing is (exists) in our intuiting or thinking; or rather it is empty intuition and thought itself, and the same empty intuition or thought as pure being. Nothing is, therefore, the same determination, or rather absence of determination, and thus altogether the same as, pure being.
— Hegel, Science of Logic
C. Werden
1. Einheit des Seyns und Nichts.
Das reine Seyn und das reine Nichts ist also dasselbe. Was die Wahrheitist, ist weder das Seyn, noch das Nichts, sondern daß das Seyn in Nichts, und das Nichts in Seyn,—nicht übergeht,—sondern übergegangen ist. Aber eben so sehr ist die Wahrheit nicht ihre Ununterschiedenheit, sondern daß sie nicht dasselbe, daß sie absolut unterschieden, aber ebenso ungetrennt und untrennbar sind, und unmittelbar jedes in seinem Gegentheil verschwindet. Ihre Wahrheit ist also diese Bewegung des unmittelbaren Verschwindens des einen in dem andern; das Werden; eineBewegung, worin beide unterschieden sind, aber durch einen Unterschied, der sich eben so unmittelbar aufgelöst hat.
C. Becoming
1. Unity of Being and Nothing.
Pure Being and pure nothing are, therefore, the same. What is the truth is neither being nor nothing, but that being — does not pass over but has passed over — into nothing, and nothing into being. But it is equally true that they are not undistinguished from each other, that, on the contrary, they are not the same, that they are absolutely distinct, and yet that they are unseparated and inseparable and that each immediately vanishes in its opposite. Their truth is therefore, this movement of the immediate vanishing of the one into the other: becoming, a movement in which both are distinguished, but by a difference which has equally immediately resolved itself.
— Hegel, Science of Logic
Theological notes on paradox and mystery in Christianity
1. God and man are separated by what Kierkegaard calls the “infinite qualitative difference.” There is an absolute distinction between divine nature and human nature. This is a bedrock principle of Christian theology.
2. God is absolute being, infinity, uncreated; man’s being is absolutely contingent; he is finite, created. This explains why man’s very being must remain, at bottom, a total mystery to him — not just in this life, but for all of eternity. This mystery speaks through our wonder at the fact that anything exists at all, and our awareness that the existence of anything whatsoever, including ourselves, is absolutely incomprehensible to us.
3. As a finite being, man cannot know God in His essence, and yet God creates man “in his image and likeness” — as a free (though finite!) being, a person (subject) capable of experiencing love, and sharing in the being of which God alone is the source.
4. If God is to reveal himself to man, this revelation must also be a concealment, since it must occur on finite human terms. In the Incarnation, Christ (God) ”empties” himself of his glory, “condescending” out of love for mankind to teach men in human form, in human language, through a human life. In uniting, in one person, the divine and human natures, Christ assumes all of human experience — except for sin, though he freely chooses to bear the consequences of human sin in order to show what divine love is, to the greatest extent to which it can be humanly conceived. In so doing, Christ reveals to man both what it is to be God and what it is to truly be a human being.
5. If man is to have a relationship with God, it must be via a “leap.” With regard to the incarnate Christ, the “leap” of faith is complicated by “offense” — by the incommensurability of inner and outer. This touches more broadly on the very possibility of meaning in human life, temporality, and history. Kierkegaard tends to speak of “offense” in two senses, and both involve faith in the possibility of contact between the divine and the human. First, the human being is offended when Christ, as an ordinary human being, claims to be God. Secondly, the human being is offended at the audacity of Christ’s invitation; just as a poor day-laborer would take offense if invited by an earthly emperor to his palace, or as a lowly young woman would be if courted by a prince (he develops such metaphors at length). God can only reveal himself to man within the limits of human understanding — by freely and lovingly “emptying” himself of his essential glory to appear in human form, in human language. This revelation in humility preserves human freedom, since the human response is not coerced by external ”glory” or objective ”proof.” Rather, a relationship with God is chosen freely, by faith. In both cases, in offense, the human being dares not believe that God wants something to do with him, nor that God would come to him in his own form, speaking his own language, telling of the Kingdom of God in the simplest human terms.
6. The genuine freedom (personhood, subjectivity) taught by Christ is both a blessing and a task (burden).
The teaching that the inner is not the outer is central to Christ’s message — indeed, to his very incarnation — and most certainly to Kierkegaard’s understanding of personal experience
Οὐαὶ ὑμῖν, γραμματεῖς καὶ Φαρισαῖοι ὑποκριταί, ὅτι παρομοιάζετε τάφοις κεκονιαμένοις, οἵτινες ἔξωθεν μὲν φαίνονται ὡραῖοι, ἔσωθεν δὲ γέμουσιν ὀστέων νεκρῶν καὶ πάσης ἀκαθαρσίας.
οὕτω καὶ ὑμεῖς ἔξωθεν μὲν φαίνεσθε τοῖς ἀνθρώποις δίκαιοι, ἔσωθεν δέ μεστοὶ ἐστε ὑποκρίσεως καὶ ἀνομίας.
“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs which indeed appear beautiful outwardly, but inside are full of dead men’s bones and all uncleanness.
Even so you also outwardly appear righteous to men, but insideyou are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness.
— Matthew 23:27-28
Καὶ ὅταν προσεύχῃ, οὐκ ἔσῃ ὡς οἱ ὑποκριταί· ὅτι φιλοῦσιν ἐνταῖς συναγωγαῖς καὶ ἐν ταῖς γωνίαις τῶν πλατειῶν ἑστῶτεςπροσεύχεσθαι, ὅπως ἄν φανῶσι τοῖς ἀνθρώποις· ἀμὴν λέγω ὑμῖν, ὅτι ἀπέχουσι τὸν μισθὸν αὐτῶν.
σὺ δὲ ὅταν προσεύχῃ, εἴσελθε εἰς τὸ ταμιεῖόν σου καὶ κλείσαςτὴν θύραν σου πρόσευξαι τῷ πατρί σου τῷ ἐν τῷ κρυπτῷ· καὶ ὁπατήρ σου ὁ βλέπων ἐν τῷ κρυπτῷ ἀποδώσει σοι ἐν τῷφανερῷ.
And when you pray, you shall not be like the hypocrites. For they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the corners of the streets, that they may be seen by men. Assuredly, I say to you, they have their reward.
But you, when you pray, go into your room, and, having shut your door, pray to your Father, who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you openly.
— Matthew 6:5-6
(or, already in the Old Testament: For the Lord does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart. — I Samuel 16:7)
καὶ εἶπεν ὁ Θεός· ποιήσωμεν ἄνθρωπον κατ᾿ εἰκόνα ἡμετέρανκαὶ καθ᾿ ὁμοίωσιν
Then God said, “Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness.”
— Genesis 1:26 (Greek from the Septuagint)
εἰκών
ὁμοίωσις (ὁμοίωμα)
οὐσία
ὑπόστασις
“eikon” — image, icon
“homoiosis” (or “homoioma”) — likeness
“ousia” — nature (divine/human; uncreated/created, infinite/finite)
“hypostasis” — person
Καὶ ὁ Λόγος σὰρξ ἐγένετο καὶ ἐσκήνωσεν ἐν ἡμῖν, καὶἐθεασάμεθα τὴν δόξαν αὐτοῦ
And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory.
—John 1:14
ἀλλ’ ἑαυτὸν ἐκένωσε μορφὴν δούλου λαβών, ἐν ὁμοιώματιἀνθρώπων γενόμενος.
But he emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, and coming in the likeness of men.
— St. Paul, Philippians 2:7
εὑρίσκει Φίλιππος τὸν Ναθαναὴλ καὶ λέγει αὐτῷ· Ὃν ἔγραψεΜωϋσῆς ἐν τῷ νόμῳ καὶ οἱ προφῆται, εὑρήκαμεν, Ἰησοῦν τὸνυἱὸν τοῦ Ἰωσὴφ τὸν ἀπὸ Ναζαρέτ.
καὶ εἶπεν αὐτῷ Ναθαναήλ· Ἐκ Ναζαρὲτ δύναταί τι ἀγαθὸνεἶναι;
Philip found Nathanael and said to him, “We have found Him of whom Moses in the law, and also the prophets, wrote—Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.”
And Nathanael said to him, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”
— John 1:45-46
διὰ τοῦτο ἐν παραβολαῖς αὐτοῖς λαλῶ, ὅτι βλέποντες οὐ βλέπουσικαὶ ἀκούοντες οὐκ ἀκούουσι οὐδὲ συνιοῦσι, μήποτε ἐπιστρέψωσι·
καὶ τότε πληρωθήσεται αὐτοῖς ἡ προφητεία Ἡσαΐου ἡ λέγουσα· ἀκοῇ ἀκούσετε καὶ οὐ μὴ συνῆτε, καὶ βλέποντες βλέψετε καὶ οὐ μὴἴδητε·
ἐπαχύνθη γὰρ ἡ καρδία τοῦ λαοῦ τούτου, καὶ τοῖς ὠσὶ βαρέωςἤκουσαν, καὶ τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς αὐτῶν ἐκάμμυσαν, μήποτε ἴδωσιτοῖς ὀφθαλμοῖς καὶ τοῖς ὠσὶν ἀκούσωσι καὶ τῇ καρδίᾳ συνῶσι καὶἐπιστρέψωσι, καὶ ἰάσομαι αὐτούς.
Therefore I speak to them in parables, because seeing they do not see, and hearing they do not hear, nor do they understand.
And in them the prophecy of Isaiah is fulfilled, which says: ‘Hearing you will hear and shall not understand, And seeing you will see and not perceive;
For the hearts of this people have grown dull. Their ears are hard of hearing, And their eyes they have closed, lest they should see with their eyes and hear with their ears, lest they should understand with their hearts and turn, So that I should heal them.’
— Matthew 13:13
II. Kierkegaard: Biographical notes
Søren Kierkegaard
(1813-1855)
For me nothing is more dangerous than to recollect. As soon as I have recollected a life relationship, that relationship has ceased to exist... Recollection is more richly satisfying than all actuality, and it has a security that no actuality possesses...
— Kierkegaard, Either/Or, Part I, 32
Regine Olsen
(1822-1904)
I believe my relation to her can truly be called unhappy love—I love her—she is mine—her only wish is that I remain with her—the family implores me—it is my greatest wish—I must say no.
— Kierkegaard, Journals
Hvad er det, der binder mig? Hvoraf var den Laenke dannet, hvormed Fenris-Ulven blev bunden? Den var forfaerdiget af den Larm, Kattens Been gjør, når de gåer på Jorden...
Således er også jeg bunden i en Laenke, der er dannet af mørkeIndbildninger, af aengstende Drømme, af urolige Tanker, af bange Anelser, af uforklarede Angester.
Denne Laenke er “såre smidig, blød som Silke, giver efter den starkeste Anspaendelse, og kan ikke slides itu.”
What is it that binds me? From what was the chain formed that bound the Fenris wolf [from Norse mythology]? It was made of the noise of cats’ paws walking on the ground...
I, too, am bound in the same way by a chain formed of gloomy fancies, of alarming dreams, of troubled thoughts, of fearful presentiments, of inexplicable anxieties.
This chain is “very flexible, soft as silk, yields to the most powerful strain, and cannot be torn apart.”
— Kierkegaard, Either/Or Part I, 34
Mit einem Gefängnis hätte er sich abgefunden. Als Gefangenerenden — das wäre eines Lebens Ziel. Aber es war ein Gitterkäfig.
Gleichgültig, herrisch, wie bei sich zuhause strömte durch das Gitter aus und ein der Lärm der Welt, der Gefangene war eigentlich frei, er konnte an allem teilnehmen, nichts entgieng ihm draussen, selbstverlassen hätter er den Käfig können, die Gitterstangen standen ja meterweit auseinander, nicht einmal gefangen war er.
He could have made peace with a prison. To end as a prisoner — that too could serve as a life's purpose. But he was not in a prison; he was simply behind bars.
Indifferently, authoritatively, as if quite at home, the noise of the world streamed through the bars, in and out; the prisoner was actually free, he could take part in everything, nothing outside escaped him; he could even have left the cage, for the bars stood meters apart from each other; he was not even imprisoned.
Kafka, Diary, 13 January 1920
Ich kann schwimmen wie die andern, nur habe ich ein besseresGedächtnis als die andern, ich habe das einstige Nicht-schwimmen-können nicht vergessen. Da ich es aber nicht vergessen habe, hilfmir das Schwimmen-können nichts und ich kann doch nichtschwimmen.
I can swim just like the others, but I have a better memory than the others; I haven't forgotten how I was once unable to swim. But since I haven't forgotten it, my ability to swim is of no help, and indeed I cannot swim.
— Franz Kafka, a fragment
[Han] erindrer bestandig hvad han skulde haabe; thi det Tilkommende harhan allerede i Tanken taget op, i Tanken har han oplevet det, og detteOplevede erindrer han, istedetfor at han skulde haabe det. Det, han altsaahaaber, ligger bag ved ham, det, han erindrer, ligger foran. Hans Liv er ikkebaglænds, men i en dobbelt Retning bagvendt.
Han kan ikke blive gammel, thi han har aldrig været ung; han kan ikke bliveung, thi han er allerede bleven gammel; han kan paa en Maade ikke døe, thihan har jo ikke levet; han kan paa en Maade ikke leve, thi han er jo allerede220 død; han kan ikke elske, thi Kjærligheden er altid præsentisk, oghan har ingen nærværende Tid, ingen tilkommende, ingen forbigangen
He is continually recollecting that for which he should hope, because he has already encompassed the future in thought, has already experienced it in thought, and he recollects what he has experienced instead of hoping for it. Thus, what he is hoping for lies behind him; what he recollects lies ahead of him. His life is not backwards but is turned the wrong way in two directions.
He cannot grow old, for he has never been young; he cannot become young, for he has already grown old; in a sense he cannot die, for indeed he has not lived; in a sense he cannot live, for indeed he is already dead. He cannot love, for love is always present tense, and he has no present time, no future, no past…
— Kierkegaard, The Unhappiest One, p. 225-6
Du mit Hjertes Herskerinde, Regina, gjemt i mit Brysts dybeste Løndom, imin fyldigste Livstanke, der hvor der er lige langt fra til Himlen og til Helvede, — ubekjendte Guddom! O kan jeg virkleig troe Digternes Fortællinger, at man, når man første Gang seer den elskede Gjenstand, troer at have seethende længe iforveien, at al Kjærlighed som al Erkjenden er Erindring, at også Kjærligheden hos det enkelte Individ har sine Prophetier, sine Typer, sine Myther, sit Gamle Testamente... Du Elskovs blinde Gud! Du, der seer iLøndom, vil du give mig åbenbart? Skal jeg finde, hvad jeg søger, her idenne Verden, skal jeg opleve Conclusionen af alle mit Livs excentriskePræmisser, skal je slutte Dig i mine Arme, — eller:
lyder Ordren videre?
You, ruler of my heart, Regina, hidden in the deepest secret of my breast, in my fullest life-thought, equally distant from heaven and hell — unknown divinity! Oh, can I really believe what the poets say — that when you see the one you love for the first time, you believe to have seen her long before — that all love is recollection, that love in the single individual also has its prophecies, its types, its myths, its Old Testament... You blind god of love! You who see in secret, will you reward me openly? Shall I find what I seek here in this world, shall I experience the conclusion of all my life's eccentric premises, am I to conclude you in my embrace—or:
Do the orders say: march on?
— Kierkegaard, Letter to Regine, February 2, 1839.
Havde jeg haft Tro, da var jeg bleven hos Regine. Gud skee Lov og Tak det har jeg nu indseet. Jeg har været nærved at miste min Forstand i disse Dage.
If I had had faith I would have stayed with Regine. Thank and praise God, I’ve understood that now. I’ve been close to losing my mind in recent days.
— Kierkegaard, Journals, May 17, 1843
Kierkegaard would often speak of faith and love in terms of transparency; meanwhile, one reason he gave for breaking off the engagement was that marriage would have forced him to initiate Regine into his family’s melancholy, and to the “eternal night brooding within me.”
Jeg for mit Vedkommende vil kun nævne et Tilfælde, det er, når det individuelle Liv er således indviklet, at det ikke kan åbenbare sig. EierDin indre Udviklings-Historie et Uudsigeligt, eller har Dit Liv gjort Dig tilMedvider i Hemmeligheder, kort sagt har Du på en eller anden Mådeforslugt Dig på en Hemmelighed, som ikke kan drages ud af Dig uden at koste Dig Livet, så gift Dig aldrig.
Om der gives sådanne Hemmeligheder, om den Indesluttethed, som end ikke Kjærlighed kan opdirke, har Sandhed, vil jeg ikke afgjøre.
I shall mention only one circumstance — that is, when the individual life is so entangled that it cannot disclose itself. If the history of your inner life has something unspeakable in it or if your life has initiated you into secrets — in short, if in some way or another you have swallowed a secret that cannot be dragged out of you without costing your life — then never marry.
Whether there are such secrets, whether there is any truth to the inclosing reserve the lock of which not even love can pick, I shall not say.
— Kierkegaard, Either/Or Part II, 117
In Kierkegaard’s case, the “secret” seems — at least in part — to be connected with a strange incident in his father’s life, when, while herding cattle, he climbed a hill and cursed God. When later in life a string of deaths struck his family, including his wife, several children, and others, the superstition arose that he would outlive all his children, and none of them would live beyond Christ’s age on earth (33). When Kierkegaard and his older brother passed this age, it was therefore quite an event; but Kierkegaard admitted that the fear of this superstition continued to have power over him.
Da var det, at den store Jordrystelse indtraf, den frygtelige Omvæltning, derpludselig paanødte mig en ny ufeilbarlig Fortolkningslov af samtligePhænomener. Da anede jeg, at min Faders høie Alder ikke var enguddommelig Velsignelse men snarere en Forbandelse…
It was then that the great earthquake occurred, that terrible catastrophe that suddenly forced on me a new and infallible interpretation of all phenomena. It was then that it dawned on me that my father’s advanced age was not a divine blessing, but quite possibly a curse…
— Kierkegaard, Journal, 1835
It is tempting to read this folktale-inspired account from Fear and Trembling as partly biographical. Though Kierkegaard took great pains to distance his personal experience from his authorship — hence, the pseudonyms — it seems hard to deny that he derived much of his insights from brooding over his unhappy love, over the “demonic” dimension of human experience that he shares with A and with A’s “Seducer” (in “The Seducer’s Diary,” written in part to make Regine think him a scoundrel and thus make the breakup easier for her) — and over the kind of love, faith, passion, and commitment of which so many of his pseudonyms claim to be themselves incapable, even as they write of such things with incredible depth. Kierkegaard’s writings on marriage (mostly under the pseudonym of B — that is, Judge William) are particularly remarkable in this regard, given the fact that his failure to marry was perhaps the decisive fact of his biography.
Nu vil jeg lade en Skizze følge i Retning af det Dæmoniske. Dertilkan jeg bruge Sagnet om Agnete og Havmanden. Havmanden er enForfører, der skyder op fra Afgrundens Skjul, i vild Lyst griber ogbryder den uskyldige Blomst, der i al sin Ynde stod vedStrandbreden og tankefuldt bøiede sit Hoved efter Havets Susen.
Dette har hidtil været Digternes Mening. Lad os gjøre en Forandring.
Havmanden var en Forfører. Han har kaldt paa Agnete, han har vedsin sledske Tale lokket det Skjulte frem i hende, hun har i Havmandenfundet, hvad hun søgte, hvorefter hun stirrede ned paa Havsens Bund. Agnete vil følge ham. Havmanden har sat hende paa sin Arm, Agneteslynger sig om hans Hals; hun hengiver sig tillidsfuld af sin ganske Sjæltil den Stærkere; han staaer allerede ved Strandbreden, han bøier sig udover Havet for at styrte ned med sit Bytte – da seer Agnete endnu engang paa ham, ikke frygtsom, ikke tvivlende, ikke stolt af sin Lykke, ikke beruset i Lyst; men absolut troende, men absolut ydmygt somden ringe Blomst, hun tyktes sig selv at være, absolut tillidsfuldt betroer hun ham med dette Blik hele sin Skjebne.
Og see! Havet bruser ikke mere, dets vilde Røst forstummer, NaturensLidenskab, der er Havmandens Styrke, lader ham i Stikken, det bliver et Blikstille – og endnu seer Agnete saaledes paa ham. Da synker Havmanden sammen, han kan ikke modstaae Uskyldens Magt, hans Element bliver ham utro, han kan ikke forføre Agnete. Han fører hende hjem igjen, han forklarer hende, at han blot vilde vise hende, hvor skjøntHavet var, naar det er stille, og Agnete troer ham.
– Da vender han ene tilbage, og Havet stormer, men Fortvivlelsen iHavmanden stormer vildere. Han kan forføre Agnete, han kan forføre hundrede Agneter, han kan bedaare enhver Pige – men Agnete har seiret,og Havmanden har tabt hende.
Now I shall develop a sketch along the lines of the demonic, and for that I can use the legend about Agnes and the merman. The merman is a seducer who rises up from his hidden chasm and in wild lust seizes and breaks the innocent flower standing on the seashore in all her loveliness and with her head thoughtfully inclined to the soughing of the sea.
This has been the poets' interpretation until now. Let us make a change.
The merman was a seducer. He has called to Agnes and by his wheedling words has elicited what was hidden in her. In the merman she found what she was seeking, what she was searching for as she stared down to the bottom of the sea. Agnes is willing to go with him. The merman takes her in his arms. Agnes throws her arms around his neck; trusting with all her soul, she gives herself to the stronger one. He is already standing on the beach, crouching to dive out into the sea and plunge down with his booty — then Agnes looks at him once more, not fearfully, not despairingly, not proud of her good luck, not intoxicated with desire, but in absolute faith and in absolute humility, like the lowly flower she thought herself to be, and with this look she entrusts her whole destiny to him in absolute confidence.
And look! The sea no longer roars, its wild voice is stilled; nature's passion, which is the merman's strength, forsakes him, and there is a deadly calm-and Agnes is still looking at him this way. Then the merman breaks down. He cannot withstand the power of innocence, his natural element is disloyal to him, and he cannot seduce Agnes. He takes her home again, he explains that he only wanted to show her how beautiful the sea is when it is calm, and Agnes believes him.
Then he returns alone, and the sea is wild, but not as wild as the merman's despair. He can seduce Agnes, he can seduce a hundred Agneses, he can make any girl infatuated — but Agnes has won, and the merman has lost her.
— Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling, p. 94-95
III. Either/Or, Part I (the Writings of “A”)
Hva er det som gjør livet verdt å leve?
Ingen barn stiller det spørsmålet… Slik er det fordi de ikke ser verden, ikke betenker verden, men er så dypt i verden at de ikkeskiller mellon den og seg selv. Først når det skjer, når det oppståren avstand mellom det de er og det verden er, melder spørsmålet seg: hva er det som gjør livet verdt å leve?
What makes life worth living?
No child asks this question… This is so because they do not see the world, do not think about the world, but rather are so deep inside the world that they do not distinguish between it and themselves. Only when this has occurred, when a distance between the child and the world arises, does the question arise: what makes life worth living?
— Karl Ove Knausgård, On Autumn
Jeg var åtte år gammel den kvelden, min far trettito. Selv om jeg fortsatt ikke kan si at jeg forstår ham eller vet hva slags menneske han var, gjør det faktum at jeg nå er syv år eldre enn han var da, at enkelte ting blir lettere å begripe.
For eksempel hvor stor forskjellen var på dagene våre. Mens mine dager var tettpakket at mening, hvor hvert steg åpnet en mulighet, og hver mulighet fylte meg til randen, på en måte som nå egentlig er uforståelig, var hans dagers mening ikke samlet i enkeltstående begivenheter, men spredt utover flater så store at de ikke var mulige å fange opp med annet enn abstrakte begreper.
I was eight years old that evening, my father thirty-two. Even though I still can’t say that I understand him or what kind of person he was, the fact that I’m now seven years older than he was then makes certain things easier to understand.
For example, how great a difference there was in our days. While my days were jam-packed with meaning, where every step opened up a possibility, and every possibility filled me to the brim in a way that is now quite incomprehensible, his days’ meaning wasn’t gathered in isolated incidents, but was spread out over stretches so vast that it was impossible to handle them with anything other than abstract concepts.
— Karl Ove Knausgård, My Struggle, vol. 1, p. 13
Det er dog den skjønneste Tid Forelskelsens første Periode, når man vedenhver Sammenkomst, ethvert Øiekast henter noget Nyt hjem at glaede sig over.
The most beautiful time is the first period of falling in love, when, from every encounter, every glance, one fetches home something new to rejoice over.
— Kierkegaard, Either/Or Part I, 24
Da mindes jeg min Ungdom og min første Kjaerlighed — da laengtes jeg, nu laenges jeg kun efter min første Laengsel. Hvad er Ungdom? En Drøm. Hvad er Kjaerligheden? Drømmens Indhold.
Then I call to mind my youth and my first love — when I was filled with longing; now I long only for my first longing. What is youth? A dream. What is love? The content of the dream.
— Kierkegaard, Either/Or Part I, 42
