Stages on Life’s Way

by Søren Kierkegaard

  So it was an indulgence that was offered to me, an attempt [VI 272] to evaluate my conduct. That one woman dares to insult another woman in this way, and in this case a girl whose shoelaces they are not worthy to untie!213 If I had been emperor, they would have been banished straightway to a desert island. It is also really a nemesis on my head that my external existence, even if unfamiliar to many, contributes its part to encouraging someone in this loathsome snobbish cleverness. If only I were free and did not have this consideration that an authentic conception of my situation can become a dangerous precedent for her; truly, if the girl who is grieving, or causes me my grief, if she desires to place a man in the field as her contingent for the good cause of falling in love, if she makes me free, I will pro virili [as a token of manliness] hold the banner up.

  Come on, then, you clever women with your devastating witticisms; a good cause stretches the bow tightest and hits the target most surely. That a love should not be held in honor in some other way! Indeed, I do feel that I could make use of an unhappy love affair; it is appropriate to my existence. If only I were free in my expression of my love, rejected but also the freeholder of my love, if only I did not fear that by admitting its meaning for me I would suddenly disturb her, who must be supported by the very opposite. Then I would say: Yes, I am the unmanly male (for I dare not be called a man), the poor manikin who could not manage to love more than once, the straitlaced bungler who was so narrow-minded as to take seriously that beautiful phrase about the first love and could not regard it as a coy cliché that experienced and at least half-experienced young women banteringly toss around among themselves at the supper table. But take a little pity on me. I myself feel what a sorry figure I cut these days when even the girls die as passionately of love as Falstaff passionately falls in the battle with Percy214—and then rise up again, vigorous and nubile enough to drink to a fresh love. Bravo [Peteheia]!215 —And by this kind of talk, or rather, by a life that justifies talking this way, I would think—provided that one person can benefit another at all—I would think that I have benefited my esteemed contemporaries more than by writing a paragraph in the system. What it depends upon is the positing of life’s pathological elements absolutely, clearly, legibly, and powerfully, so that life does not come to be like the system, a secondhand store where there is a little of everything, [VI 273] so that one does everything to a certain degree, even the most foolish thing of all, believing to a certain degree, so that one does not tell a lie but is ashamed of oneself, does not tell a lie and then, erotically speaking, romantically dies of love and is a hero, but does not stop at that or just lie there but gets up again and goes further and becomes a hero in novels of everyday life,216 and goes further yet and becomes frivolous, witty, a hero in Scribe.217 Imagine eternity in a confusion like that; imagine a man like that on Judgment Day; imagine hearing the voice of God, “Have you believed?” Imagine hearing the answer, “Faith is the immediate;218 one should not stop with the immediate as they did in the Middle Ages, but since Hegel one goes further;219 nevertheless one admits that it is the immediate and that the immediate exists but anticipates a new treatise.” My old schoolmaster was a hero, a man of iron. Woe, woe to the boy who could not answer yes or no to a direct question. And if on Judgment Day a person is no longer a boy, God in heaven can still pass for a schoolmaster. Just imagine that this paragraph-madness, this curriculum-craze, and this systematic sliding about have so taken over that eventually, to make a long story short, we want to brief our Lord on the most recent philosophy. —If God is unwilling, then I imagine the trumpet angel will take the trumpet and hit such an assistant professor on the head so that he is nevermore a man.

  But the person who bungles in one thing bungles in all, and the person who sins in one thing sins in all.220 If you only knew, you clever people, how comic the cleverness is that you admire. If you only knew, not how bad a seducer is, but how comic a character he is. If you only knew how loathsome but also how ludicrous it is that falling in love, the ultimate in earthly life, is supposed to be nothing more than an invention of sensuality, being in heat as the animals are, or a game of wittiness and a partnership of clever people! But you do not know that all this is nothing but themes for vaudeville and that your company is that of Pryssing and Klatterup.221 Assume that a woman as beautiful as the concubine of a god and as clever as the Queen of Sheba were willing to squander the summa summarum [sum of sums] of her hidden and manifest charms on my unworthy cleverness; assume that on the same evening one of my peers invited me to drink wine with him and clink the glasses and smoke tobacco in student fashion [VI 274] [studenticos]222 and enjoy the old classics together—I would not ponder very long. What prudery, they shout. Prudery? I do not think that is so. In my opinion, all this beauty and cleverness, together with love and the eternal, have infinite worth, but without that a relation between man and woman, which nevertheless essentially wants to express this, is not worth a pipe of tobacco. In my opinion, when falling in love is separated from this—please note, the eternal from falling in love—one can properly speak only of what is left over, which would be the same as talking like a midwife, who does not beat about the bush, or like a dead and departed one who, “seared to spirit,”223 does not feel stimulus. It is comic that the action in the vaudeville224 revolves around four marks and eight shillings, and it is the same here also. When falling in love—that is, the eternal in falling in love—is absent, then the erotic, despite all possible cleverness, revolves around less than four marks and eight shillings, revolves around what becomes nauseating because spirit qua spirit wants to have an ambiguous involvement with it. It is comic that a mentally disordered man picks up any piece of granite and carries it around because he believes it is money, and in the same way it is comic that Don Juan has 1,003 mistresses, for the number simply indicates that they have no value. Therefore one should stay within one’s means in the use of the word “love.” 225Language has but the one word and none more holy.226 When there is need, one should not shy away from using the descriptive terms that both the Bible and Holberg use, but neither should one be so superclever that one believes that cleverness is the constituting factor, for it constitutes anything but an erotic relationship.

  But to keep up an unhappy love affair, to become happy in the highest sense by means of it, to make meaningful what seemed so meaningless to me when in Prussia an order was established for those who participated in the War of Independence and an order also for those who stayed home,227 to make this rich in beautiful meaning so that the one who stayed home was happy in his order, happy in his love, even if one saw the cross more clearly in the star-insignia on his breast than in that of the fortunate one, even if he wore the order, as [VI 275] the Prussians say of the second order, more for the will than for the deed—I realize that it would indeed be an inspiring task for the person who knows how to be content with ideas, with himself, and the knowledge of heaven. Let them fall on his right-hand side, the individuals who collapsed during the battle for an unhappy love. They rest in honor, they deserve an epitaph and a tombstone, but he must not want to bury the dead228 lest he himself be disturbed. Let them rise up again, the apparently dead who are resuscitated by use of the customary means; let them amuse themselves by playing the ring game again and then again. Let them recover from everything now that they are plump mistresses of the house; let them ganz völlig hergestellte [most completely reestablished] feel happiness by being taken with the best of care into a third marriage. Let them munch in unison on the scraps of falling in love, and drool life away in a marital association, but he must not be willing to take time to watch it, lest he be delayed.

  My pledge to silence makes me strong on monologues, but even an excursion like this continually leads me all the more definitely back to her. It must be glorious, so it seems to me, if the fatherland is in the distress of war and a woman has the means to arm a ship. That will never be my lot, but she—she can launch a warship that will battle for a good cause.

 
April 7. Morning.

  A year ago today. She is unmanageable; she breaks off and breaks off and yet she does not break off. Damn blast it, if this is the way the match is going to be, if we come to blows—well, so we will start tomorrow.

  April 7. Midnight.

  How do things stand with the wish? Surely I am not about to wish for another, wish for compensation in a new love affair? Indeed, if someone holding a cane in his hand were as sure of actually holding it in his hand as I am sure that there is not a thought of that in my soul, he would be very sure. But is the [VI 276] passion of the wish completely unchanged? It is difficult to test oneself in possibility; it is like someone’s testing whether he has a strong voice without daring to use his voice. Hitherto I have frequently speculated in vain about finding a means for being able to check myself in possibility.

  Nevertheless, I do believe that the passion is the same, and if it should have changed, then I am sure that a hint, the slightest hint, of a more imminent possibility would be sufficient to make the wish more fervent than ever, for actually it is only with the breaking of the engagement that I can say of myself in every sense and every respect what is said of Phaedria: amare coepit perdite [he fell desperately in love].229

  230In a way, everything is ready; all that is lacking is the approval of the idea and the consent of the thought-context, although I privately have examined and am examining every version. Scarcely any stage manager can know more reliably than I do that the change of scene is all in order when he gives the signal. At my expense I have a complete set of furniture in readiness at a secondhand dealer’s, my apartment is arranged, everything is planned for a wedding—if only the moment arrives. I shall give the signal, and the change of scene is done in no time at all.

  Suspicious of myself, I have arranged my personal existence exactly like that of a married man. Punctuality and order prevail everywhere. Darius or Xerxes, no matter which one, had a slave who reminded him about waging war against the Greeks.231 Since I dare not confide in anyone, I must be satisfied with having my reminder within myself. In my whole existence, I produce a halfness that is a memento. Everything I buy, I buy double. My table is set for two; coffee is served for two; when I take a drive I always ride as if I had a lady beside me. Insofar as I live somewhat differently during these nighttime hours, it is not just because this life pleases me so very much.

  And if nothing comes of this whole affair, I regret 232nothing, I would not omit the least thing; for me it is 233a matter of integrity, which I take with the greatest earnestness, so that if it ever can be done my balance sheet must balance down to the last penny.

  [VI 277] April 8. Morning.

  A year ago today. War is declared. If there is going to be a wrangle, it is important to restrain oneself, and above all no impetuousness. Admission to a menagerie costs three marks at first; later it costs one mark. A deluxe edition of a book costs six rix-dollars;234 if one is not impetuous, later there comes the cheap edition, and it is still the same book. If there is going to be a quarrel, one must take care to use the opportunity and know where the opportunity is. From a secondhand dealer and in private sale one buys at half price. When a dancer steps out of a carriage, she carefully conceals her feet under her cloak lest someone admire these elegant feet. Not for ten rix-dollars would she do differently, and yet anyone knows, of course, that for only three marks—or for people of quality, eight marks—she dances before one in satin shoes etc.

  My mood disgusts me; she has forced all my icy common-sensicality into this relationship from which I had banished it forever. It will not last long.

  Today, meticulously dressed, I came in with a hop and a skip, stood hat in hand in an easy conversational stance, in passing kissed her hand obligingly and with polite stateliness, and hurried into the drawing room, where I knew there were guests, since it was a family festivity. It was very fortunate. Sarcasm, satire, and coolness do not show up to advantage at all under four eyes—if it is going to have any effect, some others must be present.

  A lady at the party was so good as to invite us for the following evening. As a rule I leave all such things up to her, but in this case I hastened to thank her most cordially for the invitation on behalf of both of us. It was quickly decided, and what I said had been so flattering that if my little confirmand had said a word against it she would have made a fool of herself. Nor did she do it.

  As I parted from her, having said good-bye and already gone halfway through the door, I suddenly turned around and said to her: Oh, by the way, you know what—shouldn’t we break up? Thereupon I swung around and waved good-bye.

  April 10. Morning.

  A year ago today. I was immeasurably bored last night; but what will one not do for one’s fiancée so that she can go out [VI 278] in society—and have her behave with a bit of manners.

  She understands me very well, I can certainly see. Now, if everything was all right with the announcement, then I would have it in optima forma [in the best form].

  Today we are to go to the exhibition, promenade the streets, and pay visits. Everything is going splendidly; although we are seen together more than usual, I keep her at a distance by being extremely polite. The advantage of being regarded as malicious is being utilized: I can be fairly sure of not being disregarded when we are out together; she easily comes to be one too many. Why has she baited me? Of course no third party notices her awkward position, for I continually slip in quotations from her, “It is just as my fiancée says—indeed, she said it just yesterday.” 235Just a look, and then, “Good Lord, my dear, can’t you remember? It was yesterday—no, wait a moment, I don’t want to be too insistent—it was four days ago, exactly four days ago—can’t you remember” etc. She knows very well why four days was mentioned.

  But my mood is gone; there is something ominous about the whole thing. An old man has said that it is never good that something which is supposed to be sacred appears in ludicrous form. A young girl, to be sure, is not the sacred, but yet she was something like that to me. I truly did not plague her with demands that she should behave as an ideal; I merely wished her to sit still while I concerned myself only much too earnestly with the relationship.

  Yet I hope that this childhood disease is soon over and there is still such a good understanding between us that I ventured to read aloud to her from a devotional book. This makes the whole affair even more strange. A third party would perhaps find it dubious that I can be as I am and also want to be a religious person. If one has nothing else, it is quite easy to disregard sagacity and anything else but simon-pure solemn earnestness. But such opinions are of little use to me. Spiritually it is with an individuality as it is grammatically with a sentence: a sentence that consists only of a subject and predicate is easier to construct than a periodic sentence with dependent and intermediate clauses. That there was someone who was unable to behave in this manner to his beloved does not [VI 279] thereby explain anything, but it certainly would if there were someone who could do so and in a situation similar to mine would not do so and for valid reasons. I stick to the idea; she is comic—that is really what I am expressing. And I do believe that she is receiving more justice than if in an erotic relationship I presumptuously wanted to be the one doing the admonishing. I must always have the redeeming equality; here it is the esthetic idea that judges between us.

  236But if this prompted a defiance in her, it could be costly enough for me. But I do not know how to act otherwise.

  April 10. Midnight.

  There once was a person who said to me, “I have suffered something so terrible that I have never dared speak of it to anyone.” 237Most people perhaps would be a little too quick to dispose of such a statement: It is an exaggeration. And while they would be right in saying that it is an exaggeration, yet in another way the man would be right. In other words, when the explanation was at hand, it would show that the object of terror was a sheer triviality; but that it had gripped him in this way, so that he dared not confide in anyone, can ind
eed have had the effect that he suffered terribly.

  238Yesterday I read in the newspaper about “a girl of distinguished parentage” who had ended her life by suicide. If the girl had just considered the mortal agony she can cause another person, I believe she would have refrained. 239But who could ever think of using precautionary care toward me! And then not to dare to question anyone but have to fish for information in the casual language of conversation, by means of innumerable beginnings, leaps, and turns! 240If my path is generally strewn with thorns, these random contacts are like a hawthorn hedge in which I am stuck. I am continually seeing ghosts: in random comments, in poetry, in mystifications. It is a nemesis upon me that I myself am so practiced.

  It is now fourteen days since she received my confidential communication. I have not seen her on Hauser Square since. —Even if the ocean is ever so stormy and wherever one looks there is ocean, the compass still points due north. But on the sea of possibility the compass itself is dialectical, and the deviation of the magnetic needle cannot be distinguished from the reliable pointing.

  April 12. Morning. [VI 280]

  A year ago today. She is rather reticent, not without perplexity; this is quite obvious to me. She would not be altogether unwilling to yield a bit, but she cannot prevail upon herself. Well, so be it. She has trumped too soon and altogether in the wrong place. After my behavior these last few days, what would have been a reasonably defensible accusation came as a completely unmotivated downpour. —It is true I am waging war for the sake of peace, and yet it pains me to think of the purpose of the war, the crisis when she gives up. It will pain me, for I do not want a victory over her. As long as we are in conflict it is, of course, undecided who is the stronger, but if she surrenders as the weaker one, I do not wish to be present. I myself am proud, and in my relationship with her I am prouder on her behalf than on mine.