Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard
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to a consequence which originally made him ridiculous; whereas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[30] 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 will either not become jealous, or he
will become ridiculous if he 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 fidelity, 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 when 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 by 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[31]"
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 all and, if one has
been lucky enough to find the right woman, in a trice one will have
a cantankerous authoress, whilst wonderingly shading one's eyes with
one's hand and duly admiring what the little black hen may yield
besides.[32] It is altogether incomprehensible why Socrates
did not choose this course of action instead of bickering with
Xanthippe--oh, well! to be sure he wished to acquire practice,
like the riding master who, even though he has the best trained
horse, yet knows how to tease him in such fashion that there is
good reason for breaking him in again.[33]
Let me be a little more concrete, in order to illustrate a particular
and highly interesting phenomenon. A great deal has been said about
feminine fidelity, but rarely with any discretion.[34] From a purely
æsthetic point of view this fidelity is to be regarded as a piece of
poetic fiction which steps on the stage to find her lover--a fiction
which sits by the spinning wheel and waits for her lover to come;
but when she has found him, or he has come, why, then æsthetics is
at a loss. Her infidelity, on the other hand, as contrasted with
her previous fidelity, is to be judged chiefly with regard to its
ethical import, when jealousy will appear as a tragic passion.
There are three possibilities, so the case is favorable for woman;
for there are two cases of fidelity, as against one of infidelity.
Inconceivably great is her fidelity when she is not altogether sure
of her cavalier; and ever so inconceivably great is it when he repels
her fidelity. The third case would be her infidelity. Now granted one
has sufficient intellect and objectivity to make reflections, one will
find sufficient justification, in what has been said, for my category
of "the joke." Our young friend whose beginning in a manner deceived
me seemed to be on the point of entering into this matter, but backed
out again, dismayed at the difficulty. And yet the explanation
is not difficult, providing one really sets about it seriously,
to make unrequited love and death correspond to one another, and
providing one is serious enough to stick to his thought--and
so much seriousness one ought to have--for the sake of the joke.
Of course this phrase of unrequited love being death originated
either with a woman or a womanish male. Its origin is easily made out,
seeing that it is one of those categorical outbursts which, spoken with
great bravado, on the spur of the moment, may count on a great and
immediate applause; for although this business is said to be a
matter of life and death, yet the phrase is meant for immediate
consumption--like cream-puffs. Although referring to daily experience
it is by no means binding on him who is to die, but only obliges
the listener to rush post-haste to the assistance of the dying
lover. If a man should take to using such phrases it would not be
amusing at all, for he would be too despicable to laugh at. Woman,
however, possesses genius, is lovable in the measure she possesses it,
and is amusing at all times. Well, then, the languishing lady dies of
love--why certainly, for did she not say so herself? In this matter
she is pathetic, for woman has enough courage to say what no man would
have the courage to do--so then she dies! In saying so I have
measured her by ethical standards. Do ye likewise, dear fellow-banqueters,
and understand your Aristotle aright, now! He observes very correctly
that woman cannot be used in tragedy.[35] And very certainly, her
proper sphere is the pathetic and serious divertissement, the
half-hour face, not the five-act drama. So then she dies. But should
she for that reason not be able to love again? Why not?--that is,
if it be possible to restore her to life. Now, having been restored
to life, she is of course a new being--another person, that is, and
begins afresh and falls in love for the first time: nothing remarkable
in that! Ah, death, great is thy power; not the most violent emetic
and not the most powerful laxative could ever have the same purging
effect!