Soren Kierkegaard's "In Vino Veritas" from Stages on Life's Way. By: Andy MontgomeryE-mail: Exec-PC (414)-789-4210 Philosophy and Soren Kierkegaard in particular will never cease to amaze me. Well over one hundred years old, Stages on Life's Way might well have been written yesterday by a contemporary thinker. It is that timeless. I will admit that it is not as easy to read as other Kierkegaard (hereafter referred to as "S.K.") material I have accumulated, but after two readings and the obligatory "other sources", I got a lot out of the Stages. If you read any S.K., you must read the Stages. At first, I was worried; many of the thoughts and characters in the Stages made earlier appearances in another S.K. work--Either/Or, and I have to admit that E/O did very little for me. But as I read on, I found the Stages to be slightly more succinct that E/O. Yes, some of the passages got a bit long-winded, but as a whole the Stages was a more enjoyable read. Because Stages is such a large work I picked one section to deal with; one section that struck me as able to stand alone. The section of Stages that presented itself to me to be the most important is "In Vino Veritas": A Recollection Related by William Afham. This is an important section to me subjectively for two reasons: 1) I am a man, and still mystify at women and, 2) I just split up with my girlfriend not too long ago, so I read it at just the right time. Written as a contemporary companion to Plato's Symposium, the title itself is lifted from a famous Greek proverb referred to by Alcibiades in Plato's work: "In wine there is truth, whether there is in boys or not." But the Stages is not just a tale of drunkenness for the sake of drunkenness. Stages is S.K. voicing all of his fears, hopes, and questions regarding the opposite sex, and as always by doing so, the feelings of all men. S.K.'s different personalities the psudononymous characters each voice a different opinion that S.K. has often pondered in hopes of (as with the original Symposium) finding an answer. The Banquet: After a brief (and fruitless) discussion of a banquet at a local salon, Constantin Constantius took it upon himself to actually hold one. Silent through the entire salon discussion, he nevertheless was listening, and decided to heed some of the thoughts: If, however, [the banquet] was going to be carried out, [Johannes] insisted on one condition that it be arranged so that it was "auf einmal einzunehmen" {to be partaken of all at once}. Everyone agreed on that. The whole setting was to be a new creation, and then everything was to be demolished." As Johannes would have it, a banquet should be a thing of passion for those who attend it. It should be a momentary mental and intellectual experience that reflects passion in its very existence; birth an explosion of hurried preparation, death a flourish of violent destruction. But for all of the talk, none would take on the task of throwing the fest. All, except Constantin. So, on a beautiful July day, Constantin's four friends; the Young Man, Victor Eremita, a Fashion Designer, and John the Seducer (Johannes), all receive invitations to the banquet to be held that very night just outside Copenhagen. The motto was chosen by Constantin himself: . . .In Vino Veritas, because certainly there must be speeches, not just conversation, but there must be no speeches except in vino, and no truth must be heard except that which is in vino, when wine is a defence for truth and truth is a defence for wine. As all arrive they are greeted by perfumes and the strains of an orchestra playing Mozart's Don Giovanni. Constantin and his compatriots enjoyed themselves thoroughly, plenty of wine was had, and after a few courses, Constantin proposed that the night end with each man giving a speech. A few ground rules were laid down: first, the speeches should be given after the meal, secondly no one would be allowed to speak without first having drunk enough wine to feel its effects, but not so as to be hiccuping through the whole thing. All men would have to stand up and solemnly declare that they were in this state. The topic of the speech would be on erotic love and the relationship between a man and a woman. At about midnight, the Young Man got up and said that he was In Vino and began the first speech. The Young Man's Speech. The Young Man starts by admitting that he has no first-hand experience in the matters of love, but for this he is glad, saying that each love-gone-bad is a death to a person. It takes unhappy love three times to kill someone, and he states: "how lucky am I, I who have never loved and hope that I shall manage to die only once and mercifully not from unhappy love." To the Young Man, the only thing that is worth anything is his own thoughts. "To me, thought is all in all. . . I refuse to be unfaithful to my thought." His argument is that erotic love is not only fruitless, but comic. He sights many examples of the classical Greek aspect of the comic in the contradictions and seeming madness brought about by love: On what principle, then, do you chose your lover? For love is blind! (This shows how ridiculous love is.) One would be alarmed if, for no accountable reason, people kept falling down and dying. What of falling in love, which happens for no accountable reason? This is not only silly but alarming; for there is an affinity between the comic and the tragic. Love is in fact a contradiction, and ipso facto therefore is comic for a third party. That is why lovers hate a third party. What is it that is loveable in the erotic? i.e. what is the proper object of love? It cannot bethe good or the beautiful, for to love these things is hardly erotic. To argue, as does Aristophanes in Plato's Symposium, that the Gods made two sexes just to cause one to yearn for the other, is no answer. Even Aristophanes goes on to ask why not three sexes. Love is in fact inexplicable. And that is the Young Man's whole problem with erotic love: it cannot be explained. Love can hardly be understood by the heart, let alone be rationalized by the mind. It's not that he's asexual, stating, "Not that I am without an eye for beauty, not that my heart is unmoved when I read the poets' songs," but he cannot understand love through reason. He has no use for it. In the end, his worst fear regarding love is the possibility of bringing children into the world. He asks which brings the greater responsibility for its action, murder or having a child? He reasons that because murder is a finite act--with the murdered being dead and the murderer dying thereafter-- that children bring the greatest responsibility. A child is a link in an ongoing chain that may go on for millennia, and as he says, "To murder concerns time: to beget concerns eternity." Constantin Constantius' Speech. Like the Young Man, Constantin is absorbed with his own ability to think. But unlike the Young Man, who uses rationale to explore his own existence (albeit misguidedly), Constantin uses his rationale to test ideas and theories he has about people and life in general. His problem is that although he sees the absurd in life, he does not recognize it for what it is. To him, absurdity is nothing more than amusement. And Constantin is amused. He lives for one thing: seeing women contradict themselves. He lays awake at night thinking of new was to look at women and their contradictions, but only in the aesthetic, only as something to be amused by. He, too, sees the erotic as the comic, for in his mind not only is love a contradiction, but women themselves are. He argues that because women (supposedly) constantly contradict themselves that they cannot be viewed in an ethical light, because, as T.H. Croxall paraphrases it: When one considers the difference between her words and her meaning, she is a bundle of gibberish. It's a man's part to be absolute. . . herein lies the ridiculousness of the sex- situation. Jest here is not an aesthetic category, something merely to feel amused at and no more. It is an imperfect ethical category. It is a mistake to subsume woman under an ethical category proper, because ethics are absolute, and make absolute demands; that is, ethics are serious. But woman never is serious and permanent; she changes constantly. There is only one opposite to the absolute here, and that is gibberish. But, like the Young Man, Constantin seems to have missed the point rather badly, not with regards to women, but in regards to himself. He is a textbook A.J. Ayer student, always looking at people's words from all sides and using that ability to condemn by literal significance women's statements. But, as Croxall notes, this one-sided knowledge of women keeps him from having any meaningful relations with them because they are terrified of him. The tragic aspect of Constantin Constantius is that the one person he cannot recognize in life is himself. He is too busy watching people and analyzing their words, and never gives consideration to his own existence. His name means "complete fidelity" and Kierkegaard's irony is beautiful; even if Constantin were to be with a woman, he could never be true to her, because he is not faithful with regards to his own existence. "He associates freely with [people], though only as an experimenter; seeking clarification of ideas, and never stopping to see where he stands, personally, in relation to his ideas." He is all objectivity. All reflection. No passion. That S.K. had him throw the banquet is a wonderful and skillful irony. Who better to host an evening that revolves around passion and life for-the-moment than a man whose passion is reflection? Victor Eremita's Speech. The Young Man saw the comic in love; Constantin the absurdity of their words. Victor Eremita sees worthlessness adored. To Victor, as with all who've spoken to this point, women are an enigma at best, that is, women in the Western world. "For my part, if I were a woman, I would rather be one in the Orient, where I would be a slave, for to be a slave either more nor less is still always something compared with being 'hurrah' and nothing." Victor, as Kierkegaard notes, is now an "existing individual," but even as so, he is not altogether running up to speed. While he may recognize his own existence now as opposed to when "he" edited Either/Or, he is now having trouble recognizing the existence of others. Victor sees nothing more in women than worthless pseudo-existence. Women of the West have no reason to exist outside their function as a receptacle for men's gallantry and adoration. The problem he sees is that women cannot recognize their existence: [Victor] believes that a woman encounters misfortune because at one moment she seems to have the utmost significance, and at the next moment she has none whatsoever. Her life becomes meaningless. Because of her limited intellectual ability, he believes, she cannot understand her situation. What happens to her lies beyond her comprehension. Her life has more to do with fantasy than with realism. Victor goes on to note that as a child, a woman is "inferior to a boy," as a teen-ager there is little improvement; "one does not know what to do with her." She finally becomes the marrying age and is now suited to be adored, for as he states every suitor is [adoring]. The common man and the cultured gentleman both go down on bended knee and worship this fantasy that is "woman". Then when she is finally married, she suddenly turns into Mrs. Peterson from the corner of Badstustr‘de. [Bath-Street] But Victor's problem is that although he may now exist, it is hard to point out what he exists as. He touts once again that he is glad that he is a man: "I would rather be a man and a little inferior, and actually be that, than be a woman and be an undefinable quantity and made blissful in fantasy; I would, however, rather be a concretion that means something than an abstraction that means everything." But for all of his talk, there still appears to be some question in his mind as to who he is. It is as if he is struggling with his effeminate side while verbally reenforcing his masculinity: From his speech, one might picture him as a fairly masculine figure. . . he thank's the gods he is not a woman. And yet he is not wholly masculine, but rather a kind of mental eunuch. He speaks about woman, but is not really interested in her. Rather, he is inwardly afraid of women and avoids their company. Not that he has a right relationship with men either; for most men fear his sharp tongue and feel uncomfortable in his presence. Therefore, he has no real friends. I must point out here that I'm not theorizing a struggle with homosexual realization, but more of a rebuilding process for the personality. When one finally becomes an "existing person" there is a re-evaluation of one's personality, a sifting through of all the characteristics that make a person who they are. This is what I see Victor doing, but by ignoring or at least severely down-playing woman's existence, he is excluding an important factor that creates one's personality: recognition of the feminine. Yet another tragedy. Victor Eremita, who now exists, faces a life of despair and confusion by ignoring the part of him that would make him whole. The Fashion Designer's Speech. If woman has reduced everything to fashion, then I will use fashion to prostitute her as she deserves. I never rest, I, the Fashion Designer; my soul rages when I think about my task; eventually she is going to wear a ring in her nose. The Fashion Designer is the venting of the furry that men harbor towards women's vanity. There is not much worthwhile to be said about the Fashion Designer save that it is S.K.'s comic-relief in the Stages. His hatred of women is so overdone that it is hard to keep from laughing. But in every exaggeration, there is as--an anchor--some truth. The Fashion Designer claims that all a woman thinks about is being "in fashion", and that he is the only one of them that sees woman's true weakness. He will spend his last dollar designing clothing that makes them look ridiculous, just to have the demonic pleasure of knowing that they look like fools. And often times they do. That is the point to the Fashion Designer. It is true to a point that women are more fashion-oriented than men, and spend far more time primping, farding, and froofing than men do. What man could read this and not smile a sly smile to himself thinking that somebody is finally getting the better of a woman's vanity? But I wonder if the Fashion Designer, too, is not tragic? Not for his obvious hatred of women, but for another reason. Could it be that he is the one being duped? For whatever reason women chose to dress as they do, they subjectively see themselves as "in fashion" and are pleased. They live in blissful ignorance of his plot. "No one, not even a god, could dismay her, for she is indeed in fashion. Stay clear of erotic love. . . for your beloved, too, might eventually wear a ring in her nose." And, sadly indeed, many now do. Johannes the Seducer's Speech. Certainly the most likeable of all the speeches from a man's point of view, Johannes goes about life doing as he pleases as often as he can. To be brief, his speech is the hardest to get anything out of. What man could see a problem in living a life seducing women and being able to justify it to himself with any sense of rationale? But there is. His problem is the same as Constantin's to a point: too much objectivity. But Johannes' real trouble is that his subjectivity is almost at par with his objectivity. So, where is the problem? The fact that the two are diametrically opposed to one another with regards to his life. There is a schism. Johannes is only objective about one thing: everyone else, and women in particular. Johannes is only subjective about one thing: his own pleasure. He refuses to look at women with any thought of the consequences of his actions, seeing women only as a "workshop of possibilities." He acknowledges that his actions may cause pain to a woman later, but then "she is not with her seducer." If you flip the coin, he refuses to see that his life is qualitatively void. All he puts into it is pleasurable stimulus, but there is no substance. He is the consummate nihilist. But in the end, nihilism leads to boredom. There is no doubt that one day Johannes will tire of the seduction, and then where will he be? He, too, is a tragedy, but he does not yet know it. Judge William's Arbor. Needless to say, the banquet ended, and all headed for home in the morning. As the carriages were being readied, the group went for a walk in the early morning hours and came upon a walled garden. Looking in, they say two figures, a married couple, and listened into their conversation. This was the end-point of all the philosophizing "n vino" that had gone on earlier that morning. After all they said, all of the speeches, all of the reasoning, the group looked upon the married couple in silence. Watching the two, a silent thought prevailed itself upon the group. No matter how comic, irrational or ludicrous it may be, it seems that love often does work. After a moment, Victor recognized the man as Judge William, the man whose private papers he had published as the second part of Either/Or, and his young wife. After the couple had left the arbor, the group started to leave, when they noticed that Victor had crept up to the veranda of the house and had stolen another of the Judge's manuscripts. "If I have published the others," Victor states to his fellows, "it is no more than my duty to publish this also." As Victor goes to put the manuscript in his pocket, it is stealthily lifted from his possession by William Afham, the shadowy teller of this tale and silent sixth member of the group at the banquet. He then publishes it as "Some Reflections on Marriage in Answers to Objections" in the Stages. Conclusion. As a work of psychological analysis, Kierkegaard does a masterful job of showing the reader the different concepts that he at one time or still actively thinks of. The characters, like those in Plato's Symposium are steeped in the aesthetic life, or what Kierkegaard calls "perdition". Each character, by virtue of that fact, is stuck in an underdeveloped personality, and would never grow to be a total, whole human being. Each character is either passion without reflection, or vice versa. In this discourse on the comic, we see in the end only five tragedies. The negative connotation given to women is undeserved, to be sure, but not without its basis in fact. Be that as it may, it is important to note that "In Vino Veritas" is only one-half of the discussion about love. Kierkegaard's Symposium is built on a Greek foundation, and permeated by Greek thought that only goes up to the aesthetic. If one were to look to religion, another side to the discussion arises. In Christ, there is neither male or female [Galatians, 3:28]. Plato's Symposium had risen high. It distinguishes an earthly and a heavenly love. . . which not only seeks eternal knowledge, but also glimpses the beauty of it. But Christianity goes further. It speaks of Divine love under the figure of human love. The Church is the Bride of Christ "adorned for her husband" [Revelations, 21:2]. And human love is referred to its prototype, Christ. |