 Section 1 of Envino Veritas from Stages on Life's Way by Soren Kierkegaard, translated by Lee M. Hollander, 1880 through 1972. This is a LibriVox recording. While LibriVox recordings are in the public domain, for more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Section 1. The Banquet. 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 aberration 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 Aramita, Constantine Constantinus, 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 in some years of slender and delicate build 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 has yet had nothing to do with the world, had been neither aroused and fired nor disquieted and disturbed. Like a sleepwalker, 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 to get a consistent impression. He was dressed according to the very latest fashion, with his hair curled and perfumed, fragrant with haute cologne. One moment his carriage did not lack self-possession, whereas in the next it assumed a certain dancing 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 shop, the suave-ness 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 half would it, 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 the five such persons should get a banquet arranged, nor would anything have come of it, I suppose if Constantine 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 it 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 Aramita did not beg to be excused because he had married a wife or bought a 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 and 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 aveered that to enjoy the charms of a young girl and 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. Aye, before rising from the 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 Aramita 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 goblin, he said, with a 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 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 Constantine Constantius protested against the sovereign freeway of transforming the banquet plan 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 would be a 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, extemplo, 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 that he did not care to argue at 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 assess, to it good luck. And by this I mean not such matters as most likely would give concern to an anxious hostess, but something different, something which no one can make absolutely sure of. The 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, because if things do go wrong perhaps from the very start one may suffer such a depression and lost the spirits that recovery from it might involve a very long time. Sure 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. Women ought not to be present, for 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 in as much 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 this 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 everyone's immediate beck and call. I hover temptingly over the table, more seductive even than the actual side of it. I beg to be excused however from banqueting on sulfur 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 the 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 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 this census. 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 as satisfied. I demand a fountains on ceasing and livening, and if Maysanis could not sleep without hearing the splashy 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 sayed 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 peum disiratum and 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 Constantine. Without him, nothing would have been done save the talking. He'd 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 imitation 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, accepting 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 separate from the hall by a corridor was arranged for an orchestra. Shudders 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 Constantine'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 at touchest, neither is there any power which can to such a degree disturb all. It is as if this fortune 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 loan 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 Constantine had come out somewhat earlier. Victor Aramita, who resided in the country not far away, came on horseback, the others in the carriage, and just as they had discharged it, a light open vehicle rolled in through the gate, carrying a merry company of four journeymen who were entertained to be ready at the decisive moment to function as a core of destruction, just as firemen are stationed in the theater for the opposite reason it wants to extinguish the 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 open, 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 overwhelm the feelings of those entering, and when at the same time strains from the ballet of Don Juan sounded from the orchestra, their person seemed transfigured. And as if out of reference 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, less 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. He mysterious, festive and seductive strange 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 know 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 whenever I 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, first forth in all that might 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 a world but only with a grave thought of death. Now there came from the orchestra that invitation in which joy triumphs most exultantly, and heaven-storming sores 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' interrupt at 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 discoffiture 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 infancy 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, and one absolutely decisively, 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 set 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 straight away closes its petals. Now there came an exclamation from one of the banqueters. These truffles are superb, and now in order of the host this chateau margot. Now the music was drowned in the noise, now it was heard again. Sometimes the servant 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 silence for a moment, and then the reanimating 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 it, almost forgetting to eat, and the music would sound after them as if 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 and meaning, 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 Constantine abandon his omnipresence, in 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 effects he had perhaps calculated it should have. It almost gained the upper hand when the dressmaker wanted them to sing the diddy, when I shall mount the bridal bed, hoy-ho. After a couple of courses had been served, Constantine proposed that the banquet should conclude with each one's making a speech, but that precaution should be taken against the speakers divocating too much. It was for making two conditions. These 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 when under other circumstances one would leave unsaid, without necessarily having the connection of speech and thought constantly interrupted by hiccups. 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 avowed, and when he had come to a certain point he grew the soberer the more he drank. Victor Aramita was of the opinion that any such preparatory premeditations to ensure one's becoming drunk would precisely mitigate 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 diver's influences of wine on consciousness, and especially about the fact that in the case of a reflective temperament, an excessive 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, Constantine 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. The ate and drank, and drank and were filled with drink, as the Bible has it, that is they drank stoutly. The dessert 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 Constantine, commanded silence, saluted the young person with a goblet, and the words, quote Felixit Vastumke, imbade him to speak first. End of section 1 Section 2 of Envino Veritas from Stages on Life's Way by Soren Kierkegaard Translated by Lee M. Hollander, 1880-1972 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Section 2 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 spoke as follows If there be truth in the words of the poet's dear fellow banqueteers, 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 some time as a result of unrequited love. For that love has killed them, about that they can obtain no doubt. And as to loves having to take hold three times to make away with them, that is not different from the dentist 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 sensation 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 to talk vaguely about a bliss which I did not feel, and a sorrow I did not have. I say this here since I am bitten to speak on love, though unacquainted with it. I say this in surroundings which appeal to me like a Greek symposium, for I should otherwise not care to speak on this subject, as I do not wish to disturb anyone's happiness but rather am content with my own thoughts. Who knows but that these thoughts are sheer imbecilities and vain imaginations? Perhaps my ignorance is inexplicable from the fact that I never have learned nor have wished to learn from anyone how one comes to love, or from the fact that I 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 fear I am venturing. At this point he was interrupted by Constantine, 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, 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 were 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 oneself a sweetheart. In fact, whenever my reflection endeavors to pin down love, not but contradiction seems to remain. Had 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 as beautiful 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 to 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 anyone, everyone having doubted everything, whereas I am uttering my doubts only with reference to love. And yet I do think it's 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 banqueteers, 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 everyone loves, and everyone wishes to love, without anyone having been 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 has 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 terms of the love of things beautiful, but is something entirely of its own kind. We're 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 lalodge, and the beautiful dancer, and the beautiful horse. In short, I love all that is beautiful. His lalodge 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 lalodge 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 God 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 is it not true, as I said, that love renders a person ridiculous, if not in the eyes of others, than 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 lalodge, I love you because you are a woman, I might as well love any other woman, as for instance, ugly zoo, then beautiful lalodge 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, and 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 the number of details, and finally the declaration in all her lovable ways, and when they have reached the climax, that inexplicable something I do not know how to explain. And the speech is meant to please especially beautiful lalodge. 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 eat 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, and 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 the 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 he 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. Where 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 he 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 would 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 do not miss the point, as did the Jew, and as to my laughter I am far from wanting to insult anyone. 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. Right as foolish and hardy I consider it also when a man probably looks about him in the circle of girls to find one who may be worthy of him, or when a girl probably 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 should 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 is 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 curiously tragic that it throws light on the comical nature of love. When people wreck a building a sign is hung up to warn people, and I take care to stand from under. When a bar has been freshly painted a stone is laid in the road to appraise 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 said as guard, and so forth. What I mean is that if there is some danger one may be warned and will successfully escape it by heeding the warning. Now fearing to be rendered ridiculous by love I certainly regarded as dangerous, so what shall 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, for what this means I do not understand. Goodness, no. But since I do not know what the lovable is I cannot, by any manners 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 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 anyone 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. It is my desire to reflect about all I do, and not imagine I am reflecting about life by dismissing its every important circumstance within. I don't care either way. Man has both a soul and a body, about this the wisest and the 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. To 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 be had. When a cockatoo all at once begins to plume himself like a duck which is gorged with food, and then he meets the word Marianne, everybody will laugh, and so will I. I suppose the spectator finds it conical that cockatoo, who doesn't love Marianne at all, should be on such intimate terms with her. But suppose now that cockatoo does love Marianne. Would that be comical still? To me it would, and the comical would seem to me to lie in loves 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 comical in the antics of a mannequin since we see someone pulling the strings. But to be a mannequin 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 explain 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 extremist 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. And 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 and 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 happen 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 may lay therein, how could I help finding it ridiculous, just as I thought the 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 to 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 respect. 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. That 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 everyone 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 bitten in the royal laws of Denmark, on saying, nint at 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 that people do not think about love, and a pastoral science is still lacking. But 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 banqueteers, to follow me in what I have to say now, then follow me with averted contenances. I myself am speaking as if with veil dies. 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, it would then be ridiculous if 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 lying 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 descended when one pulls on 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 now see how it is with regard to love. The lovers wished 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 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 bisection lies in the inherent contradiction, which the ancient 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 the first 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 would 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 tristitia 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 to 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 a father, his sweetheart mother, and his names seem to them the most beautiful, and yet there is a being to whom these names are even more beautiful. For what is so beautiful as filiopiety? 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 filiopiety. 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 against his father, and it is precisely filiopiety which teaches me to believe this. 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 filiopity 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 filiopiety 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 implied in Magdalene's speech to Geronimus? 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 anyone. And even if love be the condition for conferring the greatest benefit imaginable, I deny myself the opportunity therefore, 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 poet. By no means is my soul without sadness when it yields to the beautiful conception of love, but I do not wish to become 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 hints of more importance than a wife. Well, do I comprehend that if anything 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 for certain whether I had offended by tempting anyone. 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 commend 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 I should yield to love would I not insult past redress my beloved one if I laughed or irrevocably plunged 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 failed to understand me, she would be annihilated, which is in no wise 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 banquetiers, I shall not wonder, for I do not understand what I have occasionally heard you say about love. Very probably, though, you were among the initiated, and I am not. Thereupon the young person seated himself, and he had become more beautiful almost than before the meal. Now he sat quietly looking down before him, unconcerned about the other. Then the seducer desired at once to urge some objections against the young person's speech, but was interrupted by Constantine, who warned against discussions, and ruled that on this occasion only speeches were in order. John said that 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 Constantine closed by offering to speak forthwith against their recognizing his authority to appoint the speakers in their turn. End of Section 2. Section 3 of Envino Veritas from Stages on Life's Way by Soren Kierkegaard, translated by Lee M. Hollander, 1880-1972. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Section 3. Constantine's Speech. Constantine 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 viscomica has made a struggle and sepito proelio, because his speech was full of doubt, 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 banqueteers, 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 draft. 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 fear 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. It is that man and woman fit each other. He as a half-man, and she as a half-man. The joke is not an ascetic, 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 oneself, 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, 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 twenty-four 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 inflamable 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. But 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 Desmona, granting she really had been guilty, he has really gained nothing. For he has been duped, and a dup he remains. For even by his murdering her he only makes a concession with regard to a consequence which originally made him ridiculous. Whereas Alvira 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 does Desmona 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 everyone who is able to see the comical element in this situation is able also to develop the thought and to give it dramatic embodiment. Let us but imagine Socrates' surprising zanthopee in the act. For it would be unsocratic even to think of Socrates being particularly concerned about his wife's fatality, 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 zanthopee. For really, it does not matter greatly whether or no Socrates was made a cuckold. And all that zanthopee may do in this regard is wasted labor, like snapping one's fingers in one's pocket. For Socrates remains the intellectual hero even with a horn on his forehead. But if he had in fact become jealous and had wanted to kill zanthopee, alas, then would zanthopee 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. The woman is the weaker sex. This consideration enters 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 be times to consider woman as a joke? The entertainment she affords is simply incomparable. Let one consider her a fixed quantity and oneself 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 has 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 heirs 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 and gracefulness, a nonchalance and 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 everyone will understand me. Just as one may find entertainment in balancing a keen 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 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 our 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 devolve, through which the size and the smoke and the aria of romanticism may escape and make her worshiper 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, if one has been lucky enough to find the right woman in a trice one will have a contankerous atheris, whilst wonderingly shading one's eyes with one's hand and duly admiring what the little black hen may yield besides. It is altogether incomprehensible why Socrates did not choose this course of action, instead of bickering with xanthropy, oh well, to be sure 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. 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 expression. From a purely aesthetic 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 aesthetics is at a loss her infidelity on the other hand interested 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 women 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 seems 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 a 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 banqueteers and understand your Aristotle a right now he observes very correctly that woman cannot be used in tragedy and very certainly her proper sphere is the pathetic and serious divert usment 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 the resulting confusion is capital if one but is attentive and does not forget a dead man is one of the most amusing characters to be met with in life strange that more use is not made of him on the stage for in life he is seen now and then when you come to think of it even one who has only been seemingly dead is a comical figure but one who is really dead certainly contributes to our entertainment all one can reasonably expect of a man all depends on whether one is attentive I myself had my attention called to it one day as I was walking with one of my acquaintances a couple passed us I judged from the expression on his face that he knew them and asked whether that was the case why yes he answered I know them very well and especially the lady for she is my departed one what departed one I asked why my departed first love he answered indeed this is a strange affair she said I shall die and that very moment she departed naturally enough by death else one might have insured her beforehand in the widows insurance too late dead she was and dead she remained and now I wonder about as says the poet vainly seeking the grave of my lady love that I may shed my tears thereon thus this brokenhearted man who remained alone in the world though it consoled him to find her pretty far along with some other man it is a good thing for the girls thought I that they don't have to be buried every time they die for if parents have hitherto considered a boy child to be the most expensive the girls might become even more so a simple case of infidelity is not as amusing by far I mean if a girl should fall in love with someone else and should say to her lover I cannot help it save me from myself but to die from sorrow because she cannot endure being separated from her lover by his journey to the West Indies to have to put up with his departure however and then at his return be not only not dead but attached to someone else for all time that certainly is a strange fate for a lover to undergo no wonder then that the heartbroken man at times consoled himself with the birthing of an old song which runs para for you and me I say we never shall forget that day now forgive me dear fellow banqueteers if I have spoken at too great length and empty a glass to love and to woman beautiful she is and lovely if she be considered aesthetically that is undeniable but as has often been said and as I shall say also one ought not to remain standing here but should go on consider her then ethically and you will hardly have begun to do so before the humor of it will become apparent even Plato and Aristotle assume that woman is an imperfect form an irrational quantity that is one which might sometime in a better world be transformed into a man in this life one must take her as she is and what this is becomes apparent very soon for she will not be content with the ascetic sphere but goes on she wants to be emancipated and she has the courage to say so that her wish be fulfilled and the amusement will be simply incomparable when Constantine had finished speaking he forthwith ruled Victor Aramita to begin he spoke as follows End of Section 3