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Existentialism
Søren Kierkegaard (1813 - 1855)
IN VINO VERITAS (THE BANQUET)
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So
to be sick unto death is, not to be able to die--yet not as
though there were hope of life (the sickness unto death) |
It
was on one of the last days in July, at ten o'clock in the
evening, when the participants in that banquet assembled together.
Date and year I have forgotten; indeed this would be interesting
only to one's memory of details: and not to one's recollection
of the contents of what experience. The "spirit of the occasion"
and whatever impressions are recorded in one's mind under
that heading, concerns only one's recollections; and just
as generous wine gains in flavor by passing the Equator, because
of the evaporation of its watery particles, likewise does
recollection gain by getting rid of the watery particles of
memory; and yet recollection becomes as little a mere figment
of the imagination by this process as does the generous wine.
The
participants were five in number: John, with the epithet of
the Seducer, Victor Eremita, Constantin Constantius, and yet
two others whose names I have not exactly forgotten -which
would be a matter of small importance but whose names I did
not learn. It was as if these two had no proper names, for
they were constantly addressed by some epithet. The one was
called the Young Person. Nor was he more than twenty and some
years, of slender and delicate build, and of a very dark complexion.
His face was thoughtful; but more pleasing even was its lovable
and engaging expression which betokened a purity of soul harmonizing
perfectly with the soft charm, almost feminine, and the transparency
of his whole presence. This external beauty of appearance
was lost sight of, however, in one's next impression of him;
or, one kept it only in mind whilst regarding a youth nurtured
or to use a still tenderer expression- petted into being,
by thought, and nourished by the contents of his own soul
a youth who as yet had had nothing to do with the world, had
been neither aroused and fired, nor disquieted and disturbed.
Like a sleep walker he bore the law of his actions within
himself, and the amiable, kindly expression of his countenance
concerned no one, but only mirrored the disposition of his
soul.
The other person they called the Dressmaker, and that
was his occupation. Of him it was impossible toget a consistent
impression. He was dressed according to the very latest fashion,
with his hair curled and perfumed, fragrant with eau de cologne.
One moment his carriage did not lack self-possession, whereas
in the next it assumed a certain festive air, a certain hovering
motion which, however was kept in rather definite bounds by
the robustness of his figure. Even when he was most malicious
in his speech his voice ever had a touch of the smooth tonguedness
of the the shop, the suaveness of the dealer in fancy goods,
Which evidently was utterly disgusting to himself and only
satisfied his spirit of defiance. As I think of him now I
understand him better, to be sure, than when I first saw him
step out of his carriage and I involuntarily laughed. At the
same time there is some contradiction left still. He had transformed
or bewitched himself, had by the magic of his own will assumed
the appearance of one almost halfwitted, but had not thereby
entirely satisfied himself; and this is why his reflectiveness
now and then peered forth from beneath his disguise.
As I think of it now it seems rather absurd that five
such persons should get a banquet arranged. Nor would anything
have come of it, I suppose, if Constantin had not been one
of us. In a retired room of a confectioner's shop where they
met at times, the matter had been broached once before, but
had been dropped immediately when the question arose as to
who was to head the undertaking. The Young Person was declared
unfit for that task, the Dressmaker affirmed himself to be
too busy. Victor Eremita did not beg to be excused because
"he had married a wife or bought yoke of oxen which he needed
to prove", but, he said, even if he should make an exception,
for once, and come to the banquet, yet he would decline the
courtesy offered him to preside at it, and he therewith "entered
protest at the proper time. This, John considered a work spoken
in due season; because, as he saw it, there was but one person
able to prepare a banquet, and that was the possessor of the
wishing table which set itself with delectable things whenever
he said to it "Cover thyself!" He averred that to enjoy the
charms of a young girl in haste was not always the wisest
course; but as to a banquet, he would not wait for it, and
generally was tired of it a long while before it came off.
However, if the plan was to be carried into effect he would
make one condition, which was, that the banquet should be
so arranged as to be served in one course. And that all were
agreed on. Also, that the settings for it were to be made
altogether new, and that afterwards they were to be destroyed
entirely; ay, before rising from table one was to hear the
preparation for their destruction. Nothing was to remain;
"not even so much," said the Dressmaker, "as there is left
of a dress after it has been made over into a hat." "Nothing,"
said John, "because nothing is more unpleasant than a sentimental
scene, and nothing more disgusting than the knowledge that
somewhere or other there is an external setting which in a
direct and impertinent fashion pretends to be a reality."
When the conversation had thus become animated, Victor
Eremita suddenly arose, struck an attitude on the floor, beckoned
with his hand in the fashion of one commanding and, holding
his arm extended as one lifting a goblet, he said, with the
gesture of one waving a welcome: "With this cup whose fragrance
already intoxicates my senses, whose cool fire already inflames
my blood, I greet you, beloved fellow banqueters, and bid
you welcome; being entirely assured that each one of you is
sufficiently satisfied by our merely speaking about the banquet;
for our Lord satisfied the stomach before satisfying the eye,
but the imagination acts in the reverse fashion." Thereupon
he inserted his hand in his pocket, took from it a cigar case,
struck a match, and began to smoke. When Constantin Constantius
protested against this sovereign free way of transforming
the banquet planned into an illusory fragment of life, Victor
declared that he did not believe for one moment that such
a banquet could be got up and that, in any case, it had beena
mistake to let it become the subject of discussion in advance.
"Whatever is to be good must come at once; for 'at once' is
the divinest of all categories and deserves to be honored
as in the language of the Romans: ex templo, because it is the starting
point for all that is divine in life, and so much so that
what is not done at once is of evil." However, he remarked,
he did not care to argue this point. In case the others wished
to speak and act differently he would not say a word, but
if they wished him to explain the sense of his remarks more
fully he must have leave to make a speech, because he did
not consider it all desirable to provoke a discussion on the
subject.
Permission was given him; and as the others called on him
to do so at once, he spoke as follows: "A banquet is in itself
a difficult matter, because even if it be arranged with ever
so much taste and talent there is something else essential
to its success, to wit, good luck. And by this I mean not
such matters as most likely would give concern to an anxious
hostess, but something different, a something which no one
can make absolutely sure of: a fortunate harmonizing of the
spirit and the minutiae of the banquet, that fine ethereal
vibration of chords, that soul stirring music which cannot
be ordered in advance from the town musicians. Look you, therefore
is it a hazardous thing to undertake, beause if things do
go wrong, perhaps from the very start, one may suffer such
a depression and loss of spirits that recovery from it might
involve a very long time.
"Sheer habit and thoughtlessness are father and godfather
to most banquets, and it is only due to the lack of critical
sense among people that one fails to notice the utter absence
of any idea in them. In the first place, women ought never
to be present at a banquet. Women may be used to advantage
only in the Greek style, as a chorus of dancers. As it is
the main thing at a banquet that there be eating and drinking,
woman ought not to be present; she cannot do justice to what
is offered; or, if she can, it is most unbeautiful. Whenever
a woman is present the matter of eating and drinking ought
to be reduced to the very slightest proportions. At most,
it ought to be no more than some trifling feminine occupation,
to have something to busy one's hands with. Especially in
the country a little repast of this kind which, by the way,
should be put at other times than the principal meals- may
be extremely delightful; and if so, always owing to the presence
of the other sex. To do like the English, who let the fair
sex retire as soon as the real drinking is to start, is to
fall between two stools, for every plan ought to be a whole,
and the very manner with which I take a seat at the table
and seize hold of knife and fork bears a definite relation
to this whole. In the same sense a political banquet presents
an unbeautiful ambiguity inasmuch as one does not want to
cut down to a very minimum the essentials of a banquet, and
yet does not wish to have the speeches thought of as having
been made over the cups.
"So far, we are agreed, I suppose; and our number in case
anything should come of the banquet -is correctly chosen,
according to that beautiful rule: neither more than the Muses
nor fewer than the Graces. Now I demand the greatest superabundance
of everything thinkable. That is, even though everything be
not actually there, yet the possibility of having it must
be at one's immediate beck and call, aye, hover temptingly
over the table, more seductive even than the actual sight
of it. I beg to be excused, however, from banqueting on sulphur
matches or on a piece of sugar which all are to suck in turn.
My demands for such a banquet will, on the contrary, be difficult
to satisfy; for the feast itself must be calculated to arouse
and incite that unmentionable longing which each worthy participant
is to bring with him. I require that the earth's fertility
be at our service, as though everything sprouted forth at
the very moment the desire for it was born. I desire a more
luxurious abundance of wine than when Mephistopheles needed
but to drill holes into the table to obtain it. I demand an
illumination more splendid than have the gnomes when they
lift up the mountain on pillars and dance in a sea of blazing
light. I demand what most excites the senses, I demand their
gratification by deliciously sweet perfumes, more superb than
any in the Arabian Nights. I demand a coolness which voluptuously
provokes desire and breathes relaxation on desire satisfied.
I demand a fountain's unceasing enlivenment. If Maecenas could
not sleep without hearing the splashing of a fountain, I cannot
eat without it. Do not misunderstand me, I can eat stockfish
without it; but I cannot eat at a banquet without it; I can
drink water without it, but I cannot drink wine at a banquet
without it. I demand a host of servants, chosen and comely,
as if I sate at table with the gods; I demand that there shall
be music at the feast, both strong and subdued; and I demand
that it shall be an accompaniment to my thoughts; and what
concerns you, my friends, my demands regarding you are altogether
incredible. Do you see, by reason of all these demands -which
are as many reasons against it I hold a banquet to be a pium desideratum, and am so far from desiring
a repetition of it that I presume it is not feasible even
a first time."
The
only one who had not actually participated in this conversation,
nor in the frustration of the banquet, was Constantin. Without
him, nothing would have been done save the talking. He had
come to a different conclusion and was of the opinion that
the idea might well be realized, if one but carried the matter
with a high hand.
Then
some time passed, and both the banquet and the discussion
about it were forgotten, when suddenly, one day, the participants
received a card of invitation from Constantius for a banquet
the very same evening. The motto of the Party had been given
by him as: In Vino Veritas, because there was to
be speaking, to be sure, and not only conversation; but the
speeches were not to be made except in
vino, and no truth was to be uttered there excepting that
which is in vino--when the wine is a defense of
the truth and the truth a defense of the wine.
The
place had been chosen in the woods, some ten miles distant
from Copenhagen. The hall in which they were to feast had
been newly decorated and in every way made unrecognizable;
a smaller room, separated from the hall by a corridor, was
arranged for an orchestra. Shutters and curtains were let
down before all windows, which were left open. The arrangement
that the participants were to drive to the banquet in the
evening hour was to intimate to them and that was Constantin's
idea what was to follow. Even if one knows that one is driving
to a banquet, and the imagination therefore indulges for a
moment in thoughts of luxury, yet the impression of the natural
surroundings is too powerful to be resisted. That this might
possibly not be the case was the only contingency he apprehended;
for just as there is no power like the imagination to render
beautiful all it touches, neither is there any power which
can to such a degree disturb all misfortune conspiring if
confronted with reality. But driving on a summer evening does
not lure the imagination to luxurious thoughts, but rather
to the opposite. Even if one does not see it or hear it, the
imagination will unconsciously create a picture of the longing
for home which one is apt to feel in the evening hours one
sees the reapers, man and maid, returning from their work
in the fields, one hears the hurried rattling of the hay wagon,
one interprets even the far away lowing from the meadows as
a longing. Thus does a summer evening suggest idyllic thoughts,
soothing even a restless mind with its assuagement, inducing
even the soaring imagination to abide on earth with an indwelling
yearning for home as the place from whence it came, and thus
teaching the insatiable mind to be satisfied with little,
by rendering one content; for in the evening hour time stands
still and eternity lingers.
Thus they arrived in the evening hour: those invited;
for Constantin had come out somewhat earlier. Victor Eremita
who resided in the country not far away came on horseback,
the others in a carriage. And just as they had discharged
it, a light open vehicle rolled in through the gate caarrying
a merry company of four journeymen who were entertained to
be ready at the decisive moment to function as a corps of
destruction: just as firemen are stationed in a theatre, for
the opposite reason at once to extinguish a fire.
So
long as one is a child one possesses sufficient imagination
to maintain one's soul at the very top notch of expectation-
for a whole hour in the dark room, if need be; but when one
has grown older one's imagination may easily cause one to
tire of the Christmas tree before seeing it.
The
folding doors were opened. The effect of the radiant illumination,
the coolness wafting toward them, the beguiling fragrance
of sweet perfumes, the excellent taste of the arrangements,
for a moment overwhelmed the feelings of those entering; and
when, at the same time, strains ftom the ballet of "Don Juan"
sounded from the orchestra, their persons seemed transfigured
and, as if out of reverence for an unseen spirit about them,
they stopped short for a moment like men who have been roused
by admiration and who have risen to admire.
Whoever
knows that happy moment, whoever has appreciated its delight,
and has not also felt the apprehension lest suddenly something
might happen, some trifle perhaps, which yet might be sufficient
to disturb all! Whoever has held the lamp of Aladdin in his
hand and has not also felt the swooning of pleasure, because
one needs but to wish? Whoever has held what is inviting in
his hand and has not also learned to keep his wrist limber
to let go at once, if need be?
Thus they stood side by side. Only Victor stood alone,
absorbed in thought; a shudder seemed to pass through his
soul, he almost trembled; he collected himself and saluted
the omen with these words: "Ye mysterious, festive, and seductive
strains which drew me out of the cloistered seclusion of a
quiet youth and beguiled me with a longing as mighty as a
recollection, and terrible, as though Elvira had not even
been seduced but had only desired to be! Immortal Mozart,
thou to whom I owe all; but no! as yet I do not owe thee all.
But when I shall have become an old man if ever I do become
an old man; or when I shall have become ten years older if
ever I do; or when I am become old if ever I shall become
old; or when I shall die for that, indeed, I know I shall:
then shall I say: immortal Mozart, thou to whom I owe all
and then I shall let my admiration, which is my soul's first
and only admiration, burst forth in all its might and let
it make away with me, as it often has been on the point of
doing. Then have I set my house in order, then have
I remembered my beloved one, then have I confessed my love,
then have I fully established that I owe thee all, then am
I occupied no longer with thee, with the world, but only with
the grave thought of death."
Now
there came from the orchestra that invitation in which joy
triumphs most exultantly, and heaven storming soars aloft
above Elvira's sorrowful thanks; and gracefully apostrophizing,
John repeated: "Viva
la liberta" "et veritas," said the Young Person; "but
above all, in vino,"
Constantin interrupted them, seating himself at the table
and inviting the others to do likewise.
How
easy to prepare a banquet; yet Constantin declared that he
never would risk preparing another. How easy to admire; yet
Victor declared that he never again would lend words to his
admiration; for to suffer a discomfiture is more dreadful
than to become an invalid in war! How easy to express a desire,
if one has the magic lamp; yet that is at times more terrible
than to perish of want!
They were seated. In the same moment the little company
were launched into the very middle of the infinite sea of
enjoyment as if with one single bound. Each one had addressed
all his thoughts and all his desires to the banquet, had prepared
his soul for the enjoyment which was offered to overflowing
and in which their souls overflowed. The experienced driver
is known by his ability to start the snorting team with a
single bound and to hold them well abreast; the well trained
steed is known by his lifting himself in one absolutely
decisive leap: even if one or the other of the guests perhaps
fell short in some particular, certainly Constantin was
a good host.
Thus
they banqueted. Soon, conversation had woven its beautiful
wreaths about the banqueters, so that they sat garlanded.
Now, it was enamored of the food, now of the wine, and now
again of itself; now, it seemed to develop into significance,
and then again it was altogether slight. Soon, fancy unfolded
itself the splendid one which blows but once, the tender one
which straightway closes its petals; now, there came an exclamation
from one of the banqueters: "These truffles are superb," and
now, an order of the host: "This Chateau Margaux!" Now, the
music was drowned in the noise, now it was heard again. Sometimes
the servants stood still as if in pausa, in that decisive moment when
a new dish was being brought out, or a new wine was ordered
and mentioned by name, sometimes they were all a bustle. Sometimes
there was a silence for a moment, and then the re animating
spirit of the music went forth over the guests. Now, one with
some bold thought would take the lead in the conversation
and the others followed after, almost forgetting to eat, and
the music would sound after them as it sounds after the jubilant
shouts of a host storming on; now, only the clinking of glasses
and the clattering of plates was heard and the feasting proceeded
in silence, accompanied only by the music that joyously advanced
and again stimulated conversation. Thus they banqueted.
How
poor is language in comparison with that symphony of sounds
unmeaning, yet how significant, whether of a battle or of
a banquet, which even scenic representation cannot imitate
and for which language has but a few words! How rich is language
in the expression of the world of ideas, and how poor, when
it is to describe reality!
Only
once did Constantin abandon his omnipresence ill which one
actually lost sight of his presence. At the very beginning
he got them to sing one of the old drinking songs, "by way
of calling to mind that jolly time when men and women feasted
together," as he said a proposal which had the positively
burlesque effect he had perhaps calculated it should have.
It almost gained the upper hand when the Dressmaker wanted
them to sing the ditty: "When I shall mount the bridal bed,
hoiho!" After a couple of courses had been served Constantin
proposed that the banquet should conclude with each one's
making a speech, but that precautions should be taken against
the speakers' divagating too much. He was for making two conditions,
viz., there were to be no speeches until after the meal; and
no one was to speak before having drunk sufficiently to feel
the power of the wine else he was to be in that condition
in which one says much which under other circumstances one
would leave unsaid without necessarily having the connection
of speech and thought constantly interrupted by hiccoughs.
Before speaking, then, each one was to declare solemnly that
he was in that condition. No definite quantity of wine was
to be required, capacities differed so widely. Against this
proposal, John entered protest. He could never become intoxicated,
he averred, and when he had come to a certain point he grew
the soberer the more he drank. Victor Eremita was, of the
opinion that any such preparatory premeditations to insure
one's becoming drunk would precisely militate against one's
becoming so. If one desired to become intoxicated the deliberate
wish was only a hindrance. Then there ensued some discussion
about the divers influences of wine on consciousness, and
especially about the fact that, in the case of a reflective
temperament, an excess of wine may manifest itself, not in
any particular impetus but, on the contrary, in a noticeably
cool self possession. As to the contents of the speeches,
Constantin proposed that they should deal with love, that
is, the relation between man and woman. No love stories were
to be told though they might furnish the text of one's remarks.
The
conditions were accepted. All reasonable and just demands
a host may make on his guests were fulfilled: they ate and
drank, and "drank and were filled with drink," as the Bible
has it; that is, they drank stoutly.
The
desert was served. Even if Victor had not, as yet, had his
desire gratified to hear the splashing of a fountain, which,
for that matter, he had luckily forgotten since that former
conversation now champagne flowed profusely. The clock struck
twelve. Thereupon Constantin commanded silence, saluted the
Young Person with a goblet and the words quod
felix sit faustumque and bade him to speak first.
(The
Young Person's Speech)
The Young Person arose and declared that he felt the
power of the wine, which was indeed apparent to some degree;
for the blood pulsed strongly in his temples, and his appearance
was not as beautiful as before the meal. He poke as follows:
If there be truth in the words of the poets, dear fellow
banqueters, then unrequited love is, indeed, the greatest
of sorrows. Should you require any proof of this you need
but listen to the speech of lovers. They say that it is death,
certain death; and the first time they believe it for the
space of two weeks. The next time they say that it is death;
and finally they will die sometime as the result of unrequited
love. For that love has killed them, about that there can
obtain no doubt. And as to love's having to take hold three
times to make away with them, that is not different from the
dentist's having to pull three times before he is able to
budge that firmly rooted molar. But, if unrequited love thus
means certain death, how happy am I who have never loved and,
I hope, will only achieve dying some time, and not from unrequited
love! But just this may be the greatest misfortune, for all
I know, and how unfortunate must I then be!
The
essence of love probably (for I speak as does a blind man
about colors), probably lies in its bliss; which is, in other
words, that the cessation of love brings death to the lover.
This I comprehend very well as in the nature of a hypothesis
correlating life and death. But, if love is to be merely by
way of hypothesis, why, then lovers lay themselves open to
ridicule through their actually falling in love. If, however,
love is something real, why, then reality must bear out what
lovers say about it. But did one in real life ever hear of,
or observe, such things having taken place, even if there
is hearsay to that effect? Here I perceive already one of
the contradictions in which love involves a person; for whether
this is different for those initiated, that I have no means
of knowing; but love certainly does seem to involve people
in the most curious contradictions.
There
is no other relation between human beings which makes such
demands on one's ideality as does love, and yet love is never
seen to have it. For this reason alone I would be afraid of
love; for I fear that it might have the power to make me too
talk vaguely about a bliss which I did not feel and a sorrow
I did not have. I say this here since I am bidden to speak
on love, though unacquainted with it I say this in surroundings
which appeal to me like a Greek symposion; for I should otherwise
not care to speak on this subject as I do not wish to disturb
any one's happiness but, rather, am content with my own thoughts.
Who knows but these thoughts are sheer imbecilities and vain
imaginings perhaps my ignorance is explicable from the fact
that I never have learned, nor have wished to learn, from
any one, how one comes to love; or from the fact that I have
never yet challenged a woman with a glance which is supposed
to be smart but have always lowered my eyes, unwilling to
yield to an impression before having fully made sure about
the nature of the power into whose sphere I am venturing.
At
this point he was interrupted by Constantin who expostulated
with him because, by his very confession of never having been
in love, he had debarred himself from speaking. The Young
Person declared that at any other time he would gladly obey
an injunction to that effect as he had often enough experienced
how tiresome it was to have to make a speech; but that in
this case he would insist upon his right. Precisely the fact
that one had had no love affair, he said, also constituted
an affair of love; and he who could assert this of himself
was entitled to speak about Eros just because his thoughts
were bound to take issue with the whole sex and not with individuals.
He was granted permission to speak and continued.
Inasmuch
as my right to speak has been challenged, this may serve to
exempt me from your laughter; for I know well that, just as
among rustics he is not considered a man who does not call
a tobacco pipe his own, likewise among men folks he is not
considered a real man who is not experienced in love. If any
one feels like laughing, let him laugh my thought is, and
remains, the essential consideration for me. Or is love, perchance,
privileged to be the only event which is to be considered
after, rather than before, it happens? If that be the case,
what then if I, having fallen in love, should later on think
that it was too late to think about it? Look you, this is
the reason why I choose to think about love before it happens.
To be sure, lovers also maintain that they gave the matter
thought, but such is not the case. They assume it to be essential
in man to fall in love; but this surely does not mean thinking
about love but, rather, assuming it, in order to make sure
of getting one's self a sweetheart.
In
fact, whenever my reflection endeavors to pin down love, naught
but contradiction seems to remain. At times, it is true, I
feel as if something had escaped me, but I cannot tell what
it is, whereas my reflection is able at once to point out
the contradictions in what does occur. Very well, then, in
my opinion love is the greatest self contradiction imaginable,
and comical at the same time. Indeed, the one corresponds
to the other. The comical is always seen to occur in the category
of contradictions which truth I cannot take the time to demonstrate
now; but what I shall demonstrate now is that love is comical.
By love I mean the relation between man and woman. I am not
thinking of Eros in the Greek sense which has been extolled
so beautifully by Plato who, by the way, is so far from considering
the love of woman that he mentions it only in passing, holding
it to be inferior to the love of youths. I say, love is comical
to a third person more I say not. Whether it is for this reason
that lovers always hate a third person I do not know; but
I do know that reflection is always in such a relation the
third person, and for this reason I cannot love without at
the same time having a third person present in the shape of
my reflection.
This
surely cannot seem strange to any one, every one having doubted
everything, whereas I am uttering my doubts only with reference
to love. And yet I do think it strange that people have doubted
everything and have again reached certainty, without as much
as dropping a word concerning the difficulties which have
held my thought captive so much so that I have, now and then,
longed to be freed of them freed by the aid of one, note well,
who was aware of these difficulties, and not of one who in
his sleep had a notion to doubt, and to have doubted, everything,
and again in his sleep had the notion that he is explaining,
and has explained, all.
Let
me then have your attention, dear fellow banqueters, and if
you yourselves be lovers do not therefore interrupt me, nor
try to silence me because you do not wish to hear the explanation.
Rather turn away and listen with averted faces to what I have
to say, and what I insist upon saying, having once begun.
In the first place I consider it comical that every
one loves, and every one wishes to love, without any one ever
being able to tell one what is the nature of the lovable or
that which is the real object of love. As to the word "to
love" I shall not discuss it since it means nothing definite;
but as soon as the matter is broached at all we are met by
the question as to what it is one loves. No other answer is
ever vouchsafed us on that point other than that one loves
what is lovable. For if one should make answer, with Plato,
that one is to love what is good, one has in taking this single
step exceeded the bounds of the erotic.
The answer may be offered, perhaps, that one is to love
what is beautiful. But if I then should ask whether to love
means to love a beautiful landscape or a beautiful painting
it would be immediately perceived that the erotic is not,
as it were, comprised in the more general term of the love
of things beautiful, but is something entirely of its own
kind. Were a lover just to give an example to speak as follows,
in order to express adequately how much love there dwelled
in him: "I love beautiful landscapes, and my Lalage, and the
beautiful dancer, and a beautiful horse -in short, love all
that is beautiful," his Lalage would not be satisfied with
his encomium, however well satisfied she might be with him
in all other respects, and even if she be beautiful; and now
suppose Lalage is not beautiful and he yet loved her!
Again, if I should refer the erotic element to the bisection
of which Aristophanes tells us when he says that the gods
severed man into two parts as one cuts flounders, and that
these parts thus separated sought one another, then I again
encounter a difficulty I cannot get over, which is, in how
far I may base my reasoning on Aristophanes who in his speech
just because there is no reason for the thought to stop at
this point -goes further in his thought and thinks that the
gods might take it into their heads to divide man
into
three parts, for the sake of still better fun. For the sake
of still better fun; for is it not true, as I said, that love
renders a person ridiculous, if not in the eyes of others
others certainly in the eyes of the gods?
Now,
let me assume that the erotic element resides essentially
in the relation between man and woman what is to be inferred
from that? If the lover should say to his Lalage: I love you
because you are a woman; I might as well love any other woman,
as for instance, ugly Zoe: then beautiful Lalage would feel
insulted.
In
what, then, consists the lovable? This is my question; but
unfortunately, no one has been able to tell me, The individual
lover always believes that, as far as he is concerned, he
knows. Still he cannot make himself understood by any other
lover; and he who listens to the speech of a number of lovers
will learn that no two of them ever agree, even though they
all talk about the same thing. Disregarding those altogether
silly explanations which leave one as wise as before, that
is, end by asserting that it is really the pretty feet of
the beloved damsel, or the admired mustachios of the swain,
which are the objects of love disregarding these, one will
find mentioned, even in the declamations of lovers in the
higher style, first a number of details and, finally, the
declaration: all her lovable ways; and when they have reached
the climax: that inexplicable something I do not know how
to explain. And this speech is meant to please especially
beautiful Lalage. Me it does not please, for I don't understand
a word of it and find, rather, that it contains a double contradiction
first, that it ends with the inexplicable, second, that it
ends with the inexplicable; for he who intends to end with
the inexplicable had best begin with the inexplicable and
then say no more, lest he lay himself open to suspicion. If
he begin with the inexplicable, saying no more, then this
does not prove his helplessness, for it is, anyway, an explanation
in a negative sense; but if he does begin with something else
and lands in the inexplicable, then this does certainly prove
his helplessness.
So then we see: to love corresponds to the lovable;
and the lovable is the inexplicable. Well, that is at least
something; but comprehensible it is not, as little as the
inexplicable way in which love seizes on its prey. Who, indeed,
would not be alarmed if people about one, time and again,
dropped down dead, all of a sudden, or had convulsions, without
anyone being able to account for it? But precisely in this
fashion does love invade life, only with the difference that
one is not alarmed thereby, since the lovers themselves regard
it as their greatest happiness, but that one, on the contrary,
is tempted to laugh; for the comical and the tragical elements
ever correspond to one another. Today, one may converse with
a person and can fairly well make him out tomorrow, he speaks
in tongues and with strange gestures: he is in love.
Now,
if to love meant to fall in love with the first person that
came along, it would be easy to understand that one could
give no special reasons for it; but since to love means to
fall in love with one, one single person in all the world,
it would seem as if such an extraordinary process of singling
out ought to be due to such an extensive chain of reasoning
that one might have to beg to be excused from hearing
it -not so much because it did not explain anything as because
it might be too lengthy to listen to. But no, the lovers are
not able to explain anything at all. He has seen hundreds
upon hundreds of women; he is, perhaps, advanced in years
and has all along felt nothing -and all at once he sees her,
her the Only one, Catherine. Is this not comical? Is it not
comical that the relation which is to explain and beautify
all life, love, is not like the mustard seed from which there
grows a great tree, but being still smaller is, at bottom,
nothing at all; for not a single antecedent criterion can
be mentioned, as e.g., that the
phenomenon
occurred at a certain age, nor a single reason as to why be
should select her, her alone in all the world and that by
no means in the same sense as when "Adam chose Eve, because
there was none other."
Or is not the explanation which the lovers vouchsafe
just as comical; or, does it not, rather, emphasize the comical
aspect of love? They say that love renders one blind, and
by this fact they undertake to explain the phenomenon. Now,
if a Person who was going into a dark room to fetch something
should answer, on my advising him to take a light along, that
it was only a trifling matter he wanted and so he would not
bother to take a light along ah! then I would understand him
excellently well. If, on the other hand, this same person
should take me aside and, with an air of mystery, confide
to me that the thing be was about to fetch was of the very
greatest importance and that it was for this reason that he
was able to do it in the dark ah! then I wonder if my weak
mortal brain could follow the soaring flight of his speech.
Even if I should refrain from laughing, in order not to offend
him, I should hardly be able to restrain my mirth as soon
as he had turned his back. But at love nobody laughs; for
I am quite prepared to be embarrassed like the Jew who, after
ending his story, asks: Is there no one who will laugh? And
yet I did not miss the point, as did the Jew, and as to my
laughter I am far from wanting to insult any one. Quite on
the contrary, I scorn those fools who imagine that their love
has such good reasons that they can afford to laugh at other
lovers; for since love is altogether inexplicable, one lover
is as ridiculous as the other. Quite as foolish and haughty
I consider it also when a man proudly looks about him in the
circle of girls to find who may be worthy of him, or when
a girl proudly tosses her head to select or reject; because
such persons are simply basing their thoughts on an unexplained
assumption. No. What busies my thought is love as such, and
it is love which seems ridiculous to me; and therefore I fear
it, lest I become ridiculous in my own eyes, or ridiculous
in the eyes of the gods who have fashioned man thus. In other
words, if love is ridiculous it is equally ridiculous, whether
now my sweetheart be a princess or a servant girl; for the
lovable, as we have seen, is the inexplicable.
Look you, therefore do I fear love, and find precisely
in this a new proof of love's being comical; for my fear is
so seriously tragic that it throws light on the comical nature
love. When people wreck a building a sign is hung up to warn
people, and I shall take care to stand from under; when a
bar has been freshly painted a stone is laid in the road to
apprise people of the fact; when a driver is in danger of
running a man over he will shout "look out"; when there have
been cases of cholera in a house a soldier is set as guard;
and so forth. What I mean is that if there is somedanger,
one may be warned and will successfully escape it by heeding
the warning. Now, fearing to be rendered ridiculous by love,
I certainly regard it as dangerous; so whatshall I do to escape
it? In other words, what shall I do to escape the danger of
some woman falling in love with me? I am far from entertaining
the thought of being an Adonis every girl is bound to fall
in love with (relata
refero, for what this means I do not understand) goodness
no! But since I do not know what the lovable is I cannot,
by anymanners of means, know how to escape this danger.Since,
for that matter, the very opposite of beauty may constitute
the lovable; and, finally, since the inexplicable also is
the lovable, I am forsooth in the same situation as the man
Jean Paul speaks of somewhere who, standing on one foot, reads
a sign saying, "fox-traps here," and now does not dare,either
to lift his foot or to set it down. No, love any one I will
not, before I have fathomed what love is; but this I cannot,
but have, rather, come to the conclusion that it is comical.
Hence I will not love but alas! I have not thereby avoided
the danger, for, since I do not know what the lovable is and
how it seizes me, or how it seizes a woman with reference
to me, I cannot make sure Whether I have avoided the danger.
This is tragical and, in a certain sense, even profoundly
tragical, even if no one is concerned about it, or if no one
is concerned about the bitter contradiction for one who thinks
that a something exists which everywhere exercises its power
and yet is not to be definitely conceived by thought and which,
perhaps, may attack from the rear him who in vain seeks to
conceive it. But as to the tragic side of the matter it has
its deep reason in the comic aspects just pointed out. Possibly,
every other person will turn all this upside down and not
find that to be comical which I do, but rather that which
I conceive to be tragical; but this too proves that I am right
to a certain extent. And that for which, if so happens, I
become either a tragic or comic victim is plain enough, viz.,
my desire to reflect about all I do, and not imagine I am
reflecting about life by dismissing its every important circumstance
with an "I don't care, either way."
Man
has both a soul and a body. About this the wisest and best
of the race are agreed. Now, in case one assumes the essence
of love to lie in the relation between man and woman, the
comic aspect will show again in the face-about which is seen
when the highest spiritual values express themselves in the
most sensual terms. I am now referring to all those extraordinary
and mystic signals of love in short, to all the free masonry
which forms a continuation of the above mentioned inexplicable
something. The contradiction in which love here involves a
person lies in the fact that the symbolic signs mean nothing
at all or which amounts to the same that no one is able to
explain what they do signify. Two loving souls vow that they
will love each the other in all eternity; thereupon they embrace,
and with a kiss they seal this eternal pact. Now I ask any
thinking person whether he would have hit upon that! And thus
there is constant shifting from the one to the other extreme
in love. The most spiritual is expressed by its very opposite,
and the sensual is to signify the most spiritual.Let me assume
I am in love. In that case I would conceive it to be of the
utmost importance to me that the one I love belonged to me
for all time. This I comprehend; for I am now, really, speaking
only of Greek eroticism which has to do with loving beautiful
souls. Now when the person I love had vowed to return my love
I would believe her or, in as far as there remained any doubt
in me, try to combat my doubt. But what happens actually?
For if I were in love I would, probably, behave like all the
others, that is, seek to obtain still some other assurance
than merely to believe her I love; which, though, is plainly
the only assurance to *had.
When Cockatoo all at once begins to plume himself like
a duck which is gorged with food, and then emits the word
"Marian," everybody will laugh, and so will I.. I suppose
the spectator finds it comical that Cockatoo, who doesn't
love Marian at all, should be on such intimate terms with
her. But suppose, now, that Cockatoo does love Marian. Would
that be comical still? To me it would; and the comical would
seem to me to lie in love's having become capable of being
expressed in such fashion. Whether now this has been the custom
since the beginning of the world makes no difference whatsoever,
for the comical has the prescriptive right from all eternity
to be present in contradictions and here is a contradiction.
There is really nothing comisal in the antics of a manikin
since we see some one pulling the strings. But to be a manikin
at the beck of something inexplicable is indeed comical, for
the contradiction lies in our not seeing any sensible reason
why one should have to twitch now this leg and now that. Hence,
if I cannot explain what I am doing, I do not care to do it;
and if I cannot understand the power into whose sphere I am
venturing, I do not care to surrender myself to that power.
And if love is so mysterious a law which binds together the
extremest contradictions, then who will guarantee that I might
not, one day, become altogether confused? Still, that does
not concern me so much.
Again,
I have heard that some lovers consider the behavior of other
lovers ridiculous. I cannot conceive how this ridicule is
justified, for if this law of love be a natural law, then
all lovers are subject to it; but if it be the law of their
own choice, then those laughing lovers ought to be able to
explain all about love; which, however, they are unable to
do. But in this respect I understand this matter better as
it seems a convention for one lover to laugh at the other
because he always finds the other lover ridiculous, but not
himself. If it be ridiculous to kiss an ugly girl, it is also
ridiculous to kiss a pretty one; and the notion that doing
this in some particular way should entitle one to cast ridicule
on another who does it differently, is but presumptuousness
and a conspiracy which does not, for all that, exempt such
a snob from laying himself open to the ridicule which invariably
results from the fact that no one is able to explain what
this act of kissing signifies, whereas it is to signify all
to signify, indeed, that the lovers desire to belong to each
other in all eternity; aye, what is still more amusing, to
render them certain that they will. Now, if a man should suddenly
lay his head on one side, or shake it, or kick out with his
leg and, upon my asking him why he did this, should answer
"To be sure I don't know, myself, I just happened to do so,
next time I may do something different, for I did it unconsciously"
ah, then I would understand him quite well. But if he said,
as the lovers say about their antics, that all bliss lay therein,
how could I help finding it ridiculous just as I thought that
other man's motions ridiculous, to be sure in a different
sense until he restrained my laughter by declaring that they
did not signify anything. For by doing so he removed the contradiction
which is the basic cause of the comical. It is not at all
comical that the insignificant is declared to signify nothing,
but it is very much so if it be asserted to signify all.
As
regards involuntary actions, the contradiction arises at the
very outset because involuntary actions are not looked for
in a free rational being. Thus if one supposed that the Pope
had a coughing spell the very moment he was to place the crown
on Napoleon's head; or that bride and groom, in the most solemn
moment of the wedding ceremony should fall to sneezing these
would be examples of the comical, That is, the more a given
action accentuates the free rational being, the more comical
are involuntary actions. This holds true also in respect of
the erotic gesticulations, where the comical element appears
a second time, owing to the circumstance that the lovers attempt
to explain away the contradiction by attributing to their
gesticulations an absolute value. As is well known, children
have a keen sense of the ridiculous witness children's testimony
which can always be relied on in this regard. Now as a rule
children , will laugh at lovers, and if one makes them tell
what they have seen, surely no one can help laughing. This
is, perhaps, due to the fact that children omit the point.
Very strange! When the Jew omitted the point no one cared
to laugh. Here, on the contrary, every one laughs because
the point is omitted; since, however, no one can explain what
the point is why, then there is no point at all.
So
the lovers explain nothing; and those who praise love explain
nothing but are merely intent on as one is bidden in the Royal
Laws of Denmark on saying anent it all which may be pleasant
and of good report. But a man who thinks, desires to have
his logical categories in good order; and he who thinks about
love wishes to be sure about his categories also in this matter.
The fact is, though, that people do not think about love,
and a "pastoral science" is still lacking; for even if a poet
in a pastoral poem makes an attempt to show how love is born,
everything is smuggled in again by help of another person
who teaches the lovers how to love!
As
we saw, the comical element in love arose from the face about
whereby the highest quality of one sphere does not find expression
in that sphere but in the exactly opposite quality of another
sphere. It is comical that the soaring flight of love the
desire to belong to each other for all time lands ever, like
Saft, in the pantry; but still more comical is it that this
conclusion is said to constitute love's highest expression.
Wherever there is a contradiction, there the comical
element is present also. I am ever following that track. If
it be disconcerting to you, dear fellow banqueters, to follow
me in what I shall have to say now, then follow me with averted
countenances. I myself am speaking as if with veiled eyes;
for as I see only the mystery in these matters, why, I cannot
see, or I see nothing.
What
is a consequence? If it cannot, in some way or other, be brought
under the same head as its antecedent why, then it would be
ridiculous if it posed as a consequence. To illustrate: if
a man who wanted to take a bath jumped into the tank and,
coming to the surface again somewhat confused, groped for
the rope to hold on to, but caught the douche line by mistake,
and a shower now descended on him with sufficient motivation
and for excellent good reason why, then the consequence would
be entirely in order. The ridiculous here consisted in his
seizing the wrong rope; but there is nothing ridiculous in
the shower descending when one pulls the proper rope. Rather,
it would be ridiculous if it did not come; as for example,
just to show the correctness of my contention about contradictions,
if a man nerved himself with bold resolution in order to withstand
the shock and, in the enthusiasm of his decision, with a stout
heart pulled the line and the shower did not come.
Let
us see now how it is with regard to love. The lovers wish
to belong to each other for all time, and this they express,
curiously, by embracing each other with all the intensity
of the moment; and all the bliss of love is said to reside
therein. But all desire is egotistic. Now, to be sure, the
lover's desire is not egotistic in respect of the one he loves,
but the desire of both in conjunction is absolutely egotistic
in so far as they in their union and love represent a new
ego. And yet they are deceived; for in the same moment the
race triumphs over the individual, the race is victorious,
and the individuals are debased to do its bidding.
Now this I find more ridiculous than what Aristophanes thought
so ridiculous. The ridiculous aspect of his theory of bi-section
lies in the inherent contradiction (which theancient author
does not sufficiently emphasize, however). In considering
a person one naturally supposes him to be an entity, and so
one does believe till it becomes apparent that, under the
obsession of love, he is but a half which runs about looking
for its complement. There is nothing ridiculous in half an
apple. The comical would appear if a whole apple turned out
to be only half an apple. In thefirst case there exists no
contradiction, but certainly in the latter. If one actually
based one's reasoning on the figure of speech that woman is
but half a person she would not be ridiculous at all in her
love. Man, however, who has been enjoying civic rights as
a whole person, will certainly appear ridiculous when he takes
to running about (and looking for his other half); for he
betrays thereby that he is but half a person. In fact, the
more one thinks about the matter the more ridiculous it seems;
because if man really be a whole, why, then he will not become
a whole in love, but he and woman would make up one and a
half. No wonder, then, that the gods laugh, and particularly
at man.
But let me return to my consequence. When the lovers
have found each other, one should certainly believe that they
formed a whole, and in this should lie the proof of their
assertion that they wished to live for each other for all
time. But lo! instead of living for each other they begin
to live for the race, and this they do not even suspect.
What is a consequence? If, as I observed, one cannot
detect in it the cause out of which it proceeded, the consequence
is merely ridiculous, and he becomes a laughing stock to whom
this happens. Now, the fact that the separated halves have
found each other ought to be a complete satisfaction and rest
for them; and yet the consequence is a new existence. That
having found each other should mean a new existence for the
lovers, is comprehensible enough; but not, that a new existence
for a third being should take its inception from this fact.
And yet the resulting consequence is greater than that of
which it is the consequence, whereas such an end as the lovers'
finding each other ought to be infallible evidence of no other,
subsequent, consequence being thinkable.
Does the satisfaction of any other desire show an analogy
to this consequence? Quite on the contrary, the satisfaction
of desire is in every other case evinced by a period of rest;
and even if a tristitia21 does supervene indicating by the way, that every satisfaction
of an appetite is comical this tristitia is a straightforward consequence,
though no tristitia
so eloquently attests a preceding comical element as does
that following love. It is quite another matter with an enormous
consequence such as we are dealing with, a consequence of
which no one knows whence it comes, nor whether it will come;
whereas, if it does come, it comes as a consequence.
Who is able to grasp this? And yet that which for the
initiates of love constitutes the greatest pleasure is also
the most important thing for them so important that they even
adopt new names, derived from the consequence thereof which
thus, curiously enough, assumes retroactive force, The lover
is now called father, his sweetheart, mother; and these names
seem to them the most beautiful. And yet there is a being
to whom these names are even more beautiful; for what is as
beautiful as filial piety? To me it seems the most beautiful
of all sentiments; and fortunately I can appreciate the thought
underlying it. We are taught that it is seeming in a son to
love his father. This I comprehend, I cannot even suspect
that there is any contradiction possible here, and I acknowledge
infinite satisfaction in being held by the loving bonds of
filial piety. I believe it is the greatest debt of all to
owe another being one's life. I believe that this debt cannot
ever be wiped out, or even fathomed by any calculation, and
for this reason I agree with Cicero when he asserts that the
son is always in the wrong as against his father; and it is
precisely filial piety which teaches me to believe this, teaches
me not even to penetrate the hidden, but rather to remain
hidden in the father. Quite true, I am glad to be another
person's greatest debtor; but as to the opposite, viz., before
deciding to make another person my greatest debtor, I want
to arrive at greater clarity. For to my conception there is
a world of difference between being some person's debtor,
and making some person one's debtor to such an extent that
he will never be able to clear himself.
What filial piety forbids the son to consider, love
bids the father to consider. And here contradiction sets in
again. If the son has an immortal soul like his father, what
does it mean, then, to be a father? For must I not smile at
myself when thinking of myself as a father whereas the son
is most deeply moved when he reflects on the relation he bears
to his father? Very well do I understand Plato when he says
that an animal will give birth to an animal of the same species,
a plant, to a plant of the same species, and thus also man
to man . But this explains nothing, does not satisfy one's
thought, and arouses but a dim feeling; for an immortal soul
cannot be born. Whenever, then, a father considers his son
in the light of his son's immortality which is, indeed, the
essential consideration he will probably smile at himself,
for he cannot, by any means, grasp in their entirety all the
beautiful and noble thoughts which his son with filial piety
entertains about him. If, on the other hand, he considers
his son from the point of view of his animal nature he must
smile again, because the conception of fatherhood is too exalted
an expression for it.
Finally,
if it were thinkable that a father influenced his son in such
fashion that his own nature was a condition from which the
son's nature could not free itself, then the contradiction
would arise in another direction; for in this case nothing
more terrible is thinkable than being a father. There is no
comparison between killing a person and giving him life the
former decides his fate only in time, the other for all eternity.
So there is a contradiction again, and one both to laugh and
to weep about. Is paternity then an illusion even if not in
the same sense as is implied in Magdelone's speech to Jeronymus
or is it the most terrible thought imaginable? Is it the greatest
benefit conferred on one, or is it the sweetest gratification
of one's desire is it something which just happens, or is
it the greatest task of life ?
Look
you, for this reason have I forsworn all love, for my thought
is to me the most essential consideration. So even if love
be the most exquisite joy, I renounce it, without wishing
either to offend or to envy any one; and even if love be the
condition for conferring the greatest benefit imaginable I
deny myself the opportunity therefor but my thought I have
not prostituted. By no means do I lack an eye for what is
beautiful, by no means does my heart remain unmoved when I
read the songs of the poets, by no means is my soul without
sadness when it yields to the beautiful conception of love;
but I do not wish to becorne unfaithful to my thought. And
of what avail were it to be, for there is no happiness possible
for me except my thought have free sway. If it had not, I
would in desperation yearn for my thought, which I may
not desert to cleave to a wife, for it is my immortal part
and, hence, of more importance than a wife. Well do I comprehend
that if any thing is sacred it is love; that if faithlessness
in any relation is base, it is doubly so in love; that if
any deceit is detestable, it is tenfold more detestable in
love. But my soul is innocent of blame. I have never looked
at any woman to desire her, neither have I fluttered about
aimlessly before blindly plunging, or lapsing, into the most
decisive of all relations. If I knew what the lovable were
I would know with certainty whether I had offended by tempting
any one; but since I do not know, I am certain only of never
having had the conscious desire to do so.
Supposing I should yield to love and be made to laugh;
or supposing I should be cast down by terror, since I cannot
find the narrow path which lovers travel as easily as if it
were the broad highway, undisturbed by any doubts, which they
surely have bestowed thought on (seeing our times have, indeed,
reflected about all and consequently will comprehend me when
I assert that to act unreflectingly is nonsense, as one ought
to have gone through all possible reflections before acting)
supposing, I say, 1 should yield to love! Would I not insult
past redress my beloved one if I laughed; or irrevocably plunge
her into despair if I were overwhelmed by terror? For I understand
well enough that a woman cannot be expected to have thought
as profoundly about these matters; and a woman who found love
comical (as but gods and men can, for which reason woman is
a temptation luring them to become ridiculous) would both
betray a suspicious amount of previous experience and understand
me least. But a woman who comprehended the terror of love
would have lost her loveliness and still fail to understand
me she would be annihilated; which is in nowise my case, so
long as my thought saves me.
Is there no one ready to laugh? When I began by wanting
to speak about the comical element in love you perhaps, expected
to be made to laugh, for it is easy to make you laugh, and
I myself am a friend of laughter; and still you did not laugh,
I believe. The effect of my speech was a different one, and
yet precisely this proves that I have spoken about the comical.
If there be no one who laughs at my speech well, then laugh
a little at me, dear fellow-banqueters, and I shall not wonder;
for I do not understand what I have occasionally heard you
say about love. Very probably, though, you are among the initiated
as I am not.
Thereupon the Young Person seated himself. He had become
more beautiful, almost, than before the meal. Now.he sat quietly,
looking down before him, unconcerned about the others. John
the Seducer desired at once to urge some objections against
the Young Person's speech but was interrupted by Constantin
who warned against discussions and ruled that on this occasion
only speeches were in order. John said if that was the case,
he would stipulate that he should be allowed to be the last
speaker. This again gave rise to a discussion as to the order
in which they were to speak, which Constantin closed by offering
to speak forth with, against their recognizing his authority
to appoint the speakers in their turn.
(Constantin's
Speech)
Constantin spoke as follows:
There is a time to keep silence, and a time to speak,
and now it seems to be the time to speak briefly, for our
young friend has spoken much and very strangely. His vis
comica has made us struggle ancipiti proelio because his
speech was full of doubts, as he himself is, sitting there
now a perplexed man who knows not whether to laugh, or weep,
or fall in love. In fact, had I had foreknowledge of his speech,
such as he demands one should have of love, I should have
forbidden him to speak; but now it is too late. I shall bid
you then, dear fellow banqueters, "gladsome and merry to be,"
and even if I cannot enforce this I shall ask you to forget
each speech so soon as it is made and to wash it down with
a single draught.
And
now as to woman, about whom I shall speak. I too have pondered
about her, and I have finally discovered the category to which
she belongs. I too have sought, but I have found, too, and
I have made a matchless discovery which I shall now communicate
to you. Woman is understood correctly only when placed in
the category of "the joke."
It is man's function to be absolute, to act in an absolute
fashion, or to give expression to the absolute. Woman's sphere
lies in her relativity. Between beings so radically different,
no true reciprocal relation can exist. Precisely in this incommensurability
lies the joke. And with woman the joke was born into the world.
It is to be understood, however, that man must know how to
stick to his role of being absolute; for else nothing is seen
that is to say, something exceedingly common is seen, viz.,
that man and woman fit each other, he as a half man and she
as a halfman.
The
joke is not an ęsthetic, but an abortive ethical, category.
Its effect on thought is about the same as the impression
we receive if a man were solemnly to begin making a speech,
recite a comma or two with his pronouncement, then say "hm!"-dash"-and
then stop. Thus with woman. One tries to cover her with the
ethical category, one thinks of human nature, one opens one's
eyes, one fastens one's glances on the most excellent maiden
in question, an effort is made to redeem the claims of the
ethical demand; and then one grows ill at ease and says to
one's self: ah, this is undoubtedly a joke! The joke lies,
indeed, in applying that category to her and measuring her
by it, because it would be idle to expect serious results
from her; but just that is the joke. Because if one could
demand it of her it would not be a joke at all. A mighty poor
joke indeed it would be, to place her under the air pump and
draw the air out of her-indeed it were a shame; but to blow
her up to supernatural size and let her imagine herself to
have attained all the ideality which a little maiden of sixteen
imagines she has, that is the beginning of the game and, indeed,
the beginning of a highly entertaining performance. No youth
has half so much imaginary ideality as a young girl, but:
"We shall soon be even" as says the tailor in the proverb;
for her ideality is but an illusion.
If one fails to consider woman from this point of view
she may cause irreparable harm; but through my conception
of her she becomes harmless and amusing. For a man there is
nothing more shocking than to catch himself twaddling. It
destroys all true ideality; for one may repent of having been
a rascal, and one may feel sorry for not having meant a word
of what one said; but to have talked nonsense, sheer nonsense,
to have meant all one said and behold! it was all nonsense-that
is too disgusting for repentance incarnate to put up with.
But this is not the case with woman. She has a prescriptive
right to transfigure herself in less than 24 hours-in the
most innocent and pardonable nonsense; for far is it from
her ingenuous soul to wish to deceive one! indeed, she meant
all she said, and now she says the precise opposite, but with
the same amiable frankness, for now she is willing to stake
everything on what she said last. Now in case a man in all
seriousness surrenders to love he may be called fortunate
indeed if he succeeds in obtaining an insurance-if, indeed,
he is able to obtain it anywhere; for so inflammable a material
as woman is most likely to arouse the suspicions of an insurance
agent. Just consider for a moment what he has done in thus
identifying himself with her! If, some fine New Year's night
she goes off like some fireworks he will promptly follow suit;
and even if this should not happen he will have many a close
call. And what may he not lose! He may lose his all; for there
is but one absolute antithesis to the absolute, and that is
nonsense. Therefore, let him not seek refuge in some society
for morally tainted individuals, for he is not morally tainted-far
from it; only, he has been reduced in absurdum and beatified in nonsense; that
is, has been made a fool of.
This will never happen among men. If a man should sputter
off in this fashion I would scorn him. If he should fool me
by his cleverness I need but apply the ethical category to
him, and the danger is trifling. If things go too far I shall
put a bullet through his brain; but to challenge a woman what
is that, if you please? Who does not see that it is a joke,
just as when Xerxes had the sea whipped? When Othello murders
Desdemona, granting she really had been guilty, he has gained
nothing, for he has been duped, and a dupe he remains; for
even by his murdering her he only makes a concession with
regard to a consequence which originally made him ridiculous;
whereas Elvira may be an altogether pathetic figure when arming
herself with a dagger to obtain revenge. The fact that Shakespeare
has conceived Othello as a tragic figure (even disregarding
the calamity that Desdemona is innocent) is to be explained
and, indeed, to perfect satisfaction, by the hero being a
colored person. For a colored person, dear fellow banqueters,
who cannot be assumed to represent spiritual qualities-a colored
person, I say, who therefore becomes green in his face when
his ire is aroused (which is a physiological fact), a colored
man may, indeed, become tragic if he is deceived by a woman;
just as a woman has all the pathos of tragedy on her side
when she is betrayed by a man. A man who flies into a rage
may perhaps become tragic; but a man of whom one may expect
a developed mentality, he either not become jealous, or he
will become ridiculous if does; and most of all when he comes
running with a dagger in his hand.
A Pity that Shakespeare has not presented us with a
comedy of this description in which the claim raised by a
woman's infidelity is turned down by irony; for not every
one who is able to see the comical element in this situation
is able also to develop the thought and give it dramatic embodiment.
Let one but imagine Socrates surprising Xanthippe in the act-for
it would be un Socratic even to think of Socrates being particularly
concerned about his wife's infidelity, or still worse, spying
on her-imagine it, and I believe that the fine smile which
transformed the ugliest man in Athens into the handsomest,
would for the first time have turned into a roar of laughter.
It is incomprehensible why Aristophanes, who so frequently
made Socrates the butt of his ridicule, neglected to have
him run on the stage shouting: "Where is she, where is she,
so that I may kill her, i.e., my unfaithful Xanthippe." For
really it does not matter greatly whether or no Socrates was
made a cuckold, and all that Xanthippe may do in this regard
is wasted labor, like snapping one's fingers in one's pocket;
for Socrates remains the same intellectual hero, even with
a horn on his forehead. But if he had in fact become jealous
and had wanted to kill Xanthippe-alas! then would Xanthippe
have exerted a power over him such as the entire Greek nation
and his sentence of death could not-to make him ridiculous.
A cuckold is comical, then, with respect to his wife;
but he may be regarded as becoming tragical with respect to
other men. In this fact we may find an explanation of the
Spanish conception of honor. But the tragic element resides
chiefly in his not being able to obtain redress, and the anguish
of his suffering consists really in its being devoid of meaning-which
is terrible enough. To shoot the woman, to challenge her,
to despise her, all this would only serve to render the poor
man still more ridiculous; for woman is the weaker sex. This
consideration enters in everywhere and confuses all. If she
performs a great deed she is admired more than man, because
it is more than was expected of her. If she is betrayed, all
the pathos is on her side; but if a man is deceived one has
scant sympathy and little patience while he is present-and
laughs at him whell his back is turned.
Look you, therefore is it advisable betimes to consider
woman as a joke. The entertainment she affords is simply incomparable.
Let one consider her a fixed quantity, and one's self a relative
one; let one by no means contradict her, for that would simply
be helping her; let one never doubt what she says but, rather,
believe her every word; let one gallivant about her, with
eyes rendered unsteady unspeakable admiration and blissful
intoxication, and with the mincing steps of a worshipper;
let one languishingly fall on one's knees, then lift up one's
eyes up to her languishingly and heave a breath again; let
one do all she bids one, like an obedient slave. And now comes
the cream of the joke. We need no proof that woman can speak,
i.e., use words. Unfortunately, however, she does not possess
sufficient reflection for making sure against her in the long
run-which is, at most, eight days-contradicting herself; unless
indeed man, by contradicting her, exerts a regulative influence.
So the consequence is that within a short time confusion will
reign supreme. If one had not done what she told one to, the
confusion would pass unnoticed; for she forgets again as quickly
as she talks. But since her admirer has done all, and has
been at her beck and call in every instance, the confusion
is only too glaring.
The more gifted the woman, the more amusing the situation.
For the more gifted she is, the more imagination she will
possess. Now, the more imagination she possesses, the greater
airs she will give herself and the greater the confusion which
is bound to become evident in the next instant. In life, such
entertainment is rarely had, because this blind obedience
to a woman's whims occurs but seldom. And if it does, in some
languishing swain, most likely he is not qualified to see
the fun. The fact is, the ideality a little maiden assumes
in moments when her imagination is at work is encountered
nowhere else, whether in gods or man; but it is all the more
entertaining to believe her and to add fuel to the fire.
As
I remarked, the fun is simply incomparable-indeed, I know
it for a fact, because I have at times not been able to sleep
at night with the mere thought of what new confusions I should
live to see, through the agency of my sweetheart and my humble
zeal to please her. Indeed, no one who gambles in a lottery
will meet with more remarkable combinations than he who has
a passion for this game. For this is sure, that every woman
without exception possesses the same qualifications for being
resolved and transfigured in nonsense with a gracefulness,
a nonchalance, an assurance such as befits the weaker sex.
Being a right minded lover one naturally discovers every
possible charm in one's beloved. Now, when discovering genius
in the above sense, one ought not to let it remain a mere
possibility but ought, rather, to develop it into virtuosity.
I do not need to be more specific, and more cannot be said
in a general way, yet every one will understand me. Just as
one may find entertainment in balancing a cane on one's nose,
in swinging a tumbler in a circle without spilling a drop,
in dancing between eggs, and in other games as amusing and
profitable, likewise, and not otherwise, in living with his
beloved the lover will have a source of incomparable entertainment
and food for most interesting study. In matters pertaining
to love let one have absolute belief, not only in her protestations
of fidelity-one soon tires of that game-but in all those explosions
of inviolable Romanticism by which she would probably perish
if one did not contrive a safety valve through which the sighs
and the smoke, and "the aria of Romanticism" may escape and
make her worshipper happy. Let one compare her admiringly
to Juliet, the difference being only that no person ever as
much as thought of touching a hair on her Romeo's head. With
regard to intellectual matters, let one hold her capable of
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