 ,ce 20020214.00

     I was embarrassed last night, when while reading the last
section of the first part of the Postscript, I came upon an
interpretation, nominally by Johannes Climacus of the ethical
meaning of Either/Or, to the effect that A was a dissolute and
irresponsible esthete, whom B was trying to direct into the path
of righteousness, an interpretation which coincided with that of
Charles, who some weeks ago, corrected my revisionist theories on
the subject.  I had sought to identify A as the perfectly just
man whose goodness was enhanced by his appearing unjust,
purporting to find in A, as the Quakers would say, that of God in
every man; while I read in B's letter the adjudication of an
official, I thought B was acting in his official capacity as a
public moralist, whose ethics is dictated not by his inwardness
but by public law and custom, by the code of regulations to which
he is obligated, and who, like most officials, is incapable of
living up to the standards which he sets for others.  With
respect to the aesthetic validity of marriage which he espouses,
it is worth noting that his daily rediscovery, of his wife's
beauty is delayed until late afternoon, under the influence of
who knows what, who is unable to confide in his wife, at least
not to the extent to which he confides in his young friend, to
whom he is attracted by an undisguised erotic passion.  His
criticism of A, if not an expression of explicit jealousy,
nonetheless is reminiscent of Nietzsches aphorism about the
magnet and the iron: "Thus spoke the iron to the magnet: I hate
you because you attract me, but are not strong enough to attract
me to you."  But I stand corrected. I now defer to Charles and to
Johannes Climacus as being more percipient of the real A and the
real B.

     Unfortunately, circumstances require me to write before I
read, to form an opinion concerning the paragraph open before me
before I have finished reading the whole book, or, more
precisely, before I have finished reading Kierkegaards entire
opus; a task I will never accomplish, not only because not time
enough is left for me, but because my memory is unable to retain
details of what I have read for a sufficiently long period of
time, certainly not for the years required to assimilate the
entire work.  My knowledge of Kierkegaard's writings therefore
must remain, to use his own concept, an approximation, never
complete and always subject to revision.

     More fundamental is the general question, to what extent one
should consider oneself bound by an authors self-interpretation.
Whether, in the instant case, Climacus was indeed the
spokesperson for Kierkegaard is open to debate.  At what point
does the work of art become independent of its author, become
subject to interpretation distinct and possibly even adverse to
its author's intention?  By transfering the authorship to a
pseudonym, the writer forfeits his privilege of defining the
meaning of his work.  If we accept the pseudonyms at face value,
then there is no author entitled to lay down a canonical
interpretation, and each reader is free to make his own
interpretation.  Perhaps that is the proper approach to the
interpretation of Either/Or.

     In the case of the Postscript, however, the situation is
different.  Here we have a pseudonym Johannes Climacus exploring
his understanding of subjectivity, objectivity, of religiousness
A and religiousness B.  To the extent that they are consistent
and intelligible we may take Climacus' statements at face value,
trying to understand Climacus' meaning, amd the implications of
that meaning for myself; without, as in the case of Either/Or,
being empaneled as a juror to evaluate the vice of A or the
rectitude, real or apparent, of B.  /* being required to
ascertain their ethical implications or to assess the character
of the personage to whom they are attributed. */

     What attracts my attention as I read, specifically, Part 2
of the Postscript is the important role that absurdity comes to
play in Religiousness B, in the religious experience founded on
an historical fact; as opposed to the role of dialectic in
establishing and maintaining religiousness A, the quasi universal
religion of inwardness and subjectivity. The absurd is opaque to
reason; as distinct from the dialectic process which is
transparent to, and is indeed an expression of reason.

     But to the believer, the absurdity of the belief is
inapparent. It is not possible to have faith in what is absurd.
The fact that something appears absurd is evidence prima facie
that it is not believed, that it is not the object of faith; for
if it were the object of faith, it would not appear absurd to the
believer; but whether or not it seems objectively absurd to third
parties, to others is a matter of no import: the fact that thge
quality of the thing believed in is judged by others, or by
another, means that the judgment is objective, and as an
objective judgment, it is irrelevant to the faith of the
believer, which is subjective.

     I come back to rationality.  Was not rationality the
characteristic of the unnamed Mosaic God; Was not the effigy of
his rival, the idol, the golden calf, the essence of
irrationality; and I ask myself, whether perhaps religion when it
worships the absurd, under whatever guise, has not come full
circle and returned to idolatry.  The cross as the reminder of
individual suffering and mortality and of social cruelty is real,
is rational, is far from absurd.  The cross on the church steeple
is absurd, absurd as an objective symbol of religious solidarity
absurd as a public symbol of resurrection, absurd as a public
symbol of ascension to heaven, absurd as a public symbol of
eternal life.

     I have problems with absurdity as the sustenance of faith,
with credo quia absurdum est. I think Kierkegaard does too.  I
think of Kierkegaard as imprisoned in Christian dogma.
Kierkegaard's position reminds me of Rilke's poem about the caged
tiger
Sein Blick ist im Voruebergehen der Staebe
So mued geworden, dass er nichts mehr haelt.
Ihm ist als ob es tausend Staebe gaebe
Und hinter tausend Staeben keine Welt.

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