Stages on Life’s Way

by Søren Kierkegaard

  My dear drinking companions! For want of another wedding gift and congratulations, should we not give each of the married folks one NB [nota bene, note well] and marriage two NBs for repeated inattention! To express a single idea in one’s life can be strenuous enough, but to think something so complex and then to give it unity, to express something so complex in such a way that justice is done to each separate part and everything is present at the same time—yes, he who does that is truly impressive. And yet, after all, every benedict does that, and he does it, that is for sure; does he not say that he does it spontaneously? If it is to be done spontaneously, it must be done by virtue of a higher immediacy that has permeated the entire reflection. But there is not even a hint of this. It is not worth the trouble to ask a married man about this. Anyone who has ever done something stupid is continually afflicted by the consequence. The stupidity is to have become involved in all this; the revenge is that he will see with hindsight what it is he has done. 177Now he strikes an emotional note and believes he has done something extraordinary by marrying; now he sticks his tail between his legs; now he eulogizes marriage in self-defense—but I wait in vain for the unifying idea that holds these most heterogeneous disjecta membra [separated members]178 of life-views together.

  179So, then, to be a plain and simple benedict is rubbish, to be a seducer is also rubbish, to want to experiment with women for the sake of amusement is also rubbish. After all, the two last-named methods are as great concessions from the man’s side to woman as is marriage. The seducer wants to assert himself by deceiving, but that he deceives, that he wants to deceive, and that he takes the trouble to deceive are also manifestations of his dependence on woman, and the same holds true for the experimenting male.

  If a positive relationship with woman is thinkable, then it has to be so reflective that for that very reason it would not become a relationship with her. To be an exceptional husband and yet secretly seduce every girl, to seem to be a seducer and yet hide all the ardor of romanticism within one would really [VI 65] be something—yet the concession to the first power is invariably destroyed in the second. Nevertheless man has his true ideality only in a reduplication.180 181Every immediate existence must be annihilated and the annihilation constantly safeguarded by a false expression. Woman cannot grasp a reduplication such as that; it makes it impossible for her to state man’s nature. If it were possible for a woman to have her nature in a reduplication such as that, then an erotic relationship with her would be unthinkable, and since her nature so obviously is as it is, there is a disturbance of the erotic condition of man’s nature, which continually has its life in the annihilation of that in which she has her life.

  So, then, am I perhaps preaching the monastery, and am I justifiably called Eremita?182 By no means. Away with the monastery. It, too, is still only an immediate expression of spirit, and spirit cannot be expressed immediately. It makes no difference whether someone uses gold or silver or paper currency, but the person who does not pay out even a farthing unless it is false, he knows what I mean. The person for whom every immediate expression is only forgery, he and he alone is better safeguarded than if he entered the monastery; he becomes an Eremita even if he rides the omnibus night and day.

  183Scarcely had Victor finished before the Fashion Designer leaped to his feet, upset a bottle of wine standing in front of him, and then began as follows.

  184Well spoken, dear drinking companions, well spoken! The more I hear you talk, the more I am convinced that you are fellow conspirators. I greet you as such, I understand you as such, for one understands conspirators even at a distance. And yet what do you know, what is your bit of theory that you pass off as experience, what is your bit of experience that you remake into a theory, and finally you even on occasion believe it for a moment and are inveigled for a moment. No, I know woman from her weak side; that means, I know her. In my study, I shun no terror and shun no means to make sure of what I have understood, for I am a madman, and a madman one must be in order to understand her, and if one was not that before, one becomes that once one has understood her. Just as the robber has his hideout beside the noisy highway [VI 66] and the anteater its funnel in the loose sand and the pirate ship its hiding place by the roaring sea, so I have my fashion boutique right in the middle of the human swarm, as seductive and irresistible to a woman as Venusberg185 to the man. Here in a fashion boutique one learns to know her practically and from the ground up without all that theoretical fuss. 186Indeed, if fashion meant nothing more than that a woman in the concupiscence of desire put everything aside, that would still be something. But that is not the way it is; fashion is not open sensuality, is not tolerated dissipation, but is a sneaky trafficking in impropriety that is authorized as propriety. And just as in pagan Prussia the marriageable girl carried a bell whose ringing was a signal to the men, so a woman’s existence in fashion is a perpetual carillon—not to the profligate but to sweet-toothed sensualists. Fortune is thought to be a woman—oh, to be sure, it is indeed fickle, but nevertheless it is fickle in something, for it can give much, provided it is not a woman. No, fashion is a woman, for fashion is fickle in nonsense, which knows but one consequence: that it inevitably becomes more and more extravagantly mad. If one wishes to learn to know women, one hour in my boutique is worth more than years and days on the outside; in my fashion boutique there is no thought of competition, for it is the only one in the royal city. Who would dare to compete with someone who has completely dedicated himself and dedicates himself as high priest in this idol worship? No, there is no distinguished social gathering where my name is not first and last, and there is no middle-class social gathering where the mention of my name does not inspire holy awe as does the king’s, and there is no costume so crazy that, if it is from my boutique, it is not accompanied by whispering as it walks through the salon. And there is no aristocratic lady who dares to walk past my boutique, and no middle-class maiden walks past without sighing and thinking: If only I could afford it. But then she was not deceived, either. I deceive no one; I supply the finest and the most expensive things at the cheapest prices—indeed, I sell below cost. Hence I am not out to gain—no, every year I lose huge sums. And yet I want to gain; I do want it; I spend my last farthing in order to suborn, in order to bribe, the organs of fashion so that my game may be won. 187To me it is a sensual pleasure without rival to take out the costliest fabrics, to cut them, to clip genuine Brussels lace in order to create a fool’s costume; I sell genuine and fashionable material at the lowest prices.

  You may think that it is only in odd moments that she wishes to be in fashion. Far from it, she wants to be that at all times, and it is her one and only thought. Woman does have spirit, but it is invested just about as well as the prodigal son’s resources;188 and woman is reflective to an incomprehensibly [VI 67] high degree, for there is nothing so sacred that she does not immediately find it suitable for adornment, and the most exclusive manifestation of adornment is fashion. No wonder she finds it suitable, for fashion, after all, is the sacred. And there is nothing so insignificant that she does not in turn know how to relate it to adornment, and the manifestation of adornment most devoid of ideas is fashion. And there is nothing, not one thing in her whole attire, not the smallest ribbon, without her having a notion of its relevance to fashion, and without her detecting at once whether the lady passing by has noticed it—because for whom does she adorn herself if it is not for other ladies!189 Even in my boutique, where she comes, of course, to be fitted out in fashion, even there she is in fashion. Just as there are a special bathing costume and a riding costume, so there is also a special attire that is in vogue to wear for going to the boutique. This costume is not as casual as the negligee in which a lady likes to be surprised earlier in the forenoon. The whole point then is her femininity and coquetry in letting herself be surprised. Her boutique attire, on the other hand, is calculated to be casual, a bit frivolous without thereby causing embarrassment, because a fashion designer has a relation to h
er quite different from a cavalier’s. The coquetry consists in appearing this way before a man, who, because of his position, does not dare claim the lady’s feminine recognition but must be satisfied with the uncertain profits that richly pay off but without her thinking about it or without her dreaming of wanting to be the lady in relation to a fashion designer. Thus the whole point is that femininity is in a way left out and coquetry is invalidated in the exclusive superiority of the distinguished lady, who would smile if anyone were to allude to such a relationship. In her negligee on the occasion of a [surprise] call, she covers herself and thereby gives herself away; in the boutique she uncovers herself with utmost nonchalance, for it is only a fashion designer—and she is a woman. Now the shawl slips down a bit and shows a little white skin—if I do not know what that means and what she wants, then my reputation is lost. 190Now she puckers her lips apriorally, then gesticulates aposteriorally; now she wriggles her hips, then looks in the mirror and sees my admiring face; now she lisps, walks with a mincing gait, then hardly seems to touch the floor; now she trails her foot daringly, sinks weakly into an armchair, while I obsequiously hand her a scent-flacon and cool her with my adoration; now she roguishly hits at me with her hand, then drops her handkerchief and lets her hand [VI 68] remain in a loose, drooping position, while I bow low and pick it up, offer it to her, and receive a little patronizing nod. This is how a woman of fashion deports herself in a boutique. 191 Whether Diogenes disturbed the woman praying in a somewhat immodest position by asking her whether she did not believe that the gods could see her from behind,192 I do not know, but this I do know—if I were to say to her kneeling ladyship: The folds of your gown do not fall in a fashionable way, she would dread this more than offending the gods. Woe to the outcast, the Cinderella who does not understand this. Pro dii immortales [By the immortal gods], what is a woman really when she is not in fashion; per deos obsecro [I swear by the gods], what is she when she is in fashion!

  Is this true? Well, test it: just when the beloved sinks ecstatic upon the lover’s breast and whispers incomprehensibly “yours forever,” hiding her head in his bosom, have him say to her: Sweet Katy, your hairdo is not at all in style. Perhaps men do not give this any thought, but the one who knows this and has a reputation for knowing it is the most dangerous man in the kingdom. What blissful hours the lover spends with the beloved before the wedding, I do not know, but the blissful hours she spends in my boutique pass him by. Without my special license and my sanction, a wedding is still an invalid act or else a very plebian affair. Suppose the time has already come when they are to meet at the altar, suppose she comes forward with the clearest conscience in the world since everything has been bought in my boutique and in every way put to the test before me—if I were to rush up and say: But good heavens, my lady, the myrtle wreath is fastened entirely wrong—the ceremony would very likely be postponed. But men are ignorant of all such things; to know that, one must be a fashion designer. It takes such prodigious reflection to supervise a woman’s reflection that only a man who devotes himself to it is able to do it, and then only if he is originally so endowed. Lucky, then, is the man who does not become involved with any woman; even if she belongs to no other man, she does not belong to him, for she belongs to that phantom produced by feminine reflection’s unnatural intercourse with feminine reflection: fashion. This, you see, is why a woman should always swear by fashion; then there would be substance to her oath, for fashion, after all, is the only thing she is always thinking about, the only thing she is able to think together with and in the midst of everything else. 193From my [VI 69] boutique has gone out to the elite world the glad gospel for all ladies of distinction that fashion decrees that a certain kind of headgear be worn when one goes to church, and that in turn this headgear must be different for the morning service and for vespers. So when the bells ring, the carriage stops at my door. Her ladyship steps out (for it has also been proclaimed that no one but me, the fashion designer, can adjust the headgear properly); I rush to greet her with a deep bow, lead her into my dressing room; while she softly vegetates, I put everything in order. She is ready, has looked at herself in the mirror. Swiftly as an emissary of the gods, I hurry ahead, open the door of the dressing room and bow, hurry to the boutique door, place my arm across my chest like an oriental slave, but then, encouraged by a gracious nod, even dare to throw her an adoring and admiring kiss. She sits down in the carriage—but look! she has forgotten her hymnbook; I hurry out and hand it to her through the window, allowing myself once again to remind her to hold her head just a trifle to the right and to adjust her headgear herself if in stepping out she should disarrange it a bit. She drives off and is edified.

  194You may believe that it is only high-society ladies who pay homage to fashion—far from it. Behold my seamstresses, on whose grooming I spare no pains in order that the dogmas of fashion may be proclaimed emphatically from my boutique. They form a chorus of the half-mad, and I myself as high priest set a shining example and squander away everything just in order to make every woman ludicrous by means of fashion. 195For when a seducer boasts that every woman’s virtue is salable to the right purchaser, I do not believe him, but I do believe that in a short time every woman is going to be made a fanatic by the demented and defiling mirrored image of fashion, which corrupts her in quite another way than if she were seduced.196 I have tested this out more than once. 197If I am unable to do it myself, then I set a couple of fashion’s slave-women of her own class on her, for just as one trains rats to bite rats, so the bite of the fanatic woman is just like the tarantula’s. And it is most dangerous of all when a man enters into it in a supportive role. Whether I am serving the devil or the god, I do not know, but I am right and I am determined to be right. I will be right as long as I have a single farthing; I am determined to be right until the blood spurts from my fingers. The physiologist draws a woman’s shape in order to show the terrible results of corsets; alongside he draws the normal shape. This is correct, but only the one has the validity of actuality; they all wear corsets. Describe, then, the wretched, stunted affectation of the fashion-addicted [VI 70] woman, describe this insidious reflection that devours her, and depict the feminine modesty that least of all knows something about itself, do a good job of it and you will also have condemned woman and in reality condemned her terribly. If I ever find a girl who is humble and content and uncorrupted by indecent association with women, she will fall nevertheless. I bring her into my snare; now she stands at the place of sacrifice, that is, in my boutique. With the most contemptuous glance that snobbish nonchalance can exercise, I measure her. She is perishing with dread; a laugh from the next room where my trained minions are sitting demolishes her. Then when I have her dolled up in fashion, when she looks crazier than a mad hatter, as crazy as someone who would not even be admitted to a loony bin, she blissfully sallies forth from me. No one, not even a god, could dismay her, for she is indeed in fashion.

  Do you understand me now, do you understand why I call you fellow conspirators, even though at a distance? Do you understand my view of woman? Everything in life is a matter of fashion; the fear of God is a matter of fashion, and love and hoopskirts and a ring in the nose. So, then, I will do my utmost to aid and abet that sublime genius198 who likes to laugh at the most ludicrous of all animals. If woman has reduced everything to fashion, then I will use fashion to prostitute her as she deserves. I never rest [raste], I, the Fashion Designer; my soul rages [rase] when I think about my task; eventually she is going to wear a ring in her nose. So do not go looking for a love affair, stay clear of erotic love as you would the most dangerous neighborhood, for your beloved, too, might eventually wear a ring in her nose.199

  200Thereupon Johannes the Seducer spoke as follows:

  201Esteemed drinking companions, are you possessed by the devil? You certainly are talking like undertakers; your eyes are red from tears and not from wine. You are almost moving even me to tears, for an unhappy lover endures a most miserable role in
life. Hinc illae lacrymae [Hence these tears].202 But I am a happy lover and merely wish to keep on being that. Is it perhaps a concession to woman that Victor fears so much? Why not? It is a concession. That I loosen the tie of this champagne bottle is also a concession, that I let its effervescence [VI 71] plunge into the goblet is also a concession, that I raise the goblet to my lips is also a concession—now I empty it—concedo [I concede]. But now the goblet is empty—consequently I am making no concession.

  So also with the girls. If an unhappy lover has paid too much for a kiss, that merely proves to me that he knows neither how to take nor how to leave off. I never pay too much; I leave that to the girls. What does that mean? To me it means the most beautiful, the most delicious, the most persuasive, and almost the most convincing argumentum ad hominem [argument based on the opponent’s personal circumstances], but since every woman at least once in her life possesses this argumentative originality, why should I not let myself be convinced! Our young friend wishes to think it. As far as that goes, he can buy a candy kiss and gaze at it. I want to enjoy. No chattering. That is why an old ballad says of a kiss: Es ist kaum zu sehn, es ist nur für Lippen, die genau sich verstehen [It is scarcely to be seen, it is only for lips that agree precisely]203—so intimately that reflection is a piece of impertinence and foolishness. Anyone who, when he is twenty years old, does not understand that there is a categorical imperative—Enjoy—is a fool, and anyone who does not start doing it is a Christiansfelder.204 205But you are unhappy lovers, and that is why you want to remodel woman. Heaven forbid. She pleases me as she is, just as she is. Even Constantin’s joke contains a secret wish. I, however, am gallant. Why not? Gallantry costs nothing and brings everything and conditions all erotic enjoyment. Gallantry is sensuality’s and pleasure’s freemasonry between man and woman. Like the language of erotic love on the whole, it is a natural language. It consists not of sounds but of disguised cravings that are continually changing roles. That an unhappy lover is so ungallant as to want to convert his deficit into a bill of exchange on eternity, I can perhaps understand. Yet I do not understand it, for to me woman has a high exchange rate. I assure every woman of that, and it is the truth, and it is also certain that I am the only one who is not deceived by this truth. Whether a ruined woman is worth less than a man is not found in my current price list. I do not pick broken flowers; that I leave for married men to use in decorating their Shrovetide birch branch.206 Whether Edward, for example, wanted to reconsider and fall in love with Cordelia207 again or repeat his love affair inwardly, I leave up to him—why should I become involved in things that do not concern me. What I thought of her I explained to her at the time, and indeed she has also convinced [VI 72] me, absolutely and completely convinced me, that my gallantry was in the right place. Concedo. Concessi [I concede. I did concede]. If a new Cordelia comes along, I will perform Ring No. 2.208 But you are unhappy lovers and conspirators, and, despite your being very talented, you are more deceived than the girls. But resolution, desire’s resolution, is the whole point in life. Our young friend will always remain on the outside. Victor is a fanatic; Constantin has paid far too much for his intellect; the Fashion Designer is a madman. What good is that! All four of you after the same girl will turn out to be a fizzle. Have enough fanaticism to idealize, enough appetite to join in the jolly conviviality of desire, enough understanding to break off in exactly the same way death breaks off, enough rage to want to enjoy all over again—then one is the favorite of the gods and of the girls. But what’s the use of talking about it here? I am not out to make proselytes. Nor is this the place for it. Certainly I am enjoying the wine; certainly I am enjoying the overabundance of the banquet, it is good; but give me the company of a girl, and then I shall talk. 209So thank you, Constantin, for the banquet and the wine and the excellent arrangements; the speeches, however, have been scarcely anything to write home about. But lest it end this way, I shall speak in praise of woman. Just as the person who is supposed to talk about the divine must be inspired by the divine in order to be able to talk worthily and therefore is taught what he is to say by the divine itself, so it is also with speaking about woman. Woman, even less than the god, is a whim from a man’s brain, a daydream, something one hits upon all by oneself and argues about pro et contra. No, only from her herself does one learn to talk about her. And the more one has learned from, the better. The first time one is a pupil; the second time is already an improvement, just as in the public defense of a doctoral dissertation one uses the polite compliments of the previous opponent against the next one. But despite all that, nothing is lost. For as little as a kiss is a smack or an embrace is a strain, as little is this exhausted, like a demonstration of a mathematical theorem, which remains the same no matter if other letters are inserted. Such things are suitable to mathematics and phantoms, but not to erotic love and to woman, where every new thing is a new proof and demonstrates in another way the correctness of the same theorem. I rejoice that the female sex, far from being more imperfect [VI 73] than the male, is more perfect. But I shall clothe my speech in a myth, and on behalf of woman, whom you have so unjustly offended, it will please me if the speech may pass judgment on your souls, insofar as enjoyment makes an appearance but shuns you as the fruit shunned Tantalus,210 because you have shunned them and because you have offended woman. Only in this way is she offended, even though she is elevated far above offense, and anyone who dares to offend in this way is punished. I offend no one. To say I do is merely the invention and backbiting of married men, inasmuch as I, on the contrary, appreciate her much more than the husband does.