Sophie's World (Part 6)

Romanticism

…the path of mystery leads inwards…

Hilde let the heavy ring binder slide into her lap. Then she let it slide further onto the floor.

It was already lighter in the room than when she had gone to bed. She looked at the clock. It was almost three. She snuggled down under the covers and closed her eyes. As she was falling asleep she wondered why her father had begun to write about Little Red Ridinghood and Winnie-the-Pooh ...

She slept until eleven o’clock the next morning. The tension in her body told

her that she had dreamed intensely all night, but she could not remember what she had dreamed. It felt as if she had been in a totally different reality.

She went downstairs and fixed breakfast. Her mother had put on her blue jumpsuit ready to go down to the boathouse and work on the motorboat. Even if it was not afloat, it had to be shipshape when Dad got back from Lebanon.

“Do you want to come down and give me a hand?”

“I have to read a little first. Should I come down with some tea and a mid- morning snack?”

“What mid-morning?”

When Hilde had eaten she went back up to her room, made her bed, and sat herself comfortably with the ring binder resting against her knees.

*        *        *

Sophie slipped through the hedge and stood in the big garden which she had once thought of as her own Garden of Eden . . .

There were branches and leaves strewn everywhere after the storm the night before. It seemed to her that there was some connection between the storm and the fallen branches and her meeting with Little Red Ridinghood and Winnie-the-Pooh.

She went into the house. Her mother had just gotten home and was putting some bottles of soda in the refrigerator. On the table was a delicious- looking chocolate cake.

“Are you expecting visitors?” asked Sophie; she had almost forgotten it was her birthday.

“We’re having the real party next Saturday, but I thought we ought to have a little celebration today as well.”

“How?”

“I have invited Joanna and her parents.” “Fine with me.”

The visitors arrived shortly before half-past seven. The atmosphere was somewhat formal—Sophie’s mother very seldom saw Joanna’s parents socially.

It was not long before Sophie and Joanna went upstairs to Sophie’s room to write the garden party invitations. Since Alberto Knox was also to be invited, Sophie had the idea of inviting people to a “philosophical garden party.” Joanna didn’t object. It was Sophie’s party after all, and theme parties were “in” at the moment.

Finally they had composed the invitation. It had taken two hours and they couldn’t stop laughing.

Dear. . .

You are hereby invited to a philosophical garden party at 3 Clover Close on Saturday June 23 (Midsummer Eve) at 7 p.m. During the evening we shall hopefully solve the mystery of life. Please bring warm sweaters and bright ideas suitable for solving the riddles of philosophy. Because of the danger of woodland fires we unfortunately cannot have a bonfire, but everybody is free to let the flames of their imagination flicker unimpeded. There will be at least one genuine philosopher among the invited guests. For this reason the party is a strictly private arrangement. Members of the press will not be admitted. With regards,

Joanna Ingebrigtsen (organizing committee)

and Sophie Amundsen (hostess)

The two girls went downstairs to their parents, who were now talking somewhat more freely. Sophie handed the draft invitation, written with a calligraphic pen, to her mother.

“Could you make eighteen copies, please.” It was not the first time she had asked her mother to make photocopies for her at work.

Her mother read the invitation and then handed it to Joanna’s father. “You see what I mean? She is going a little crazy.”

“But it looks really exciting,” said Joanna’s father, handing the sheet on to his wife. “I wouldn’t mind coming to that party myself.”

Barbie read the invitation, then she said: “Well, I must say! Can we come too, Sophie?”

“Let’s say twenty copies, then,” said Sophie, taking them at their word. “You must be nuts!” said Joanna.

Before Sophie went to bed that night she stood for a long time gazing out of the window. She remembered how she had once seen the outline of Alberto’s figure in the darkness. It was more than a month ago. Now it was again late at night, but this was a white summer night.

Sophie heard nothing from Alberto until Tuesday morning. He called just after her mother had left for work.

“Sophie Amundsen.” “And Alberto Knox.” “I thought so.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call before, but I’ve been working hard on our plan. I can only be alone and work undisturbed when the major is concentrating wholly and completely on you.”

“That’s weird.”

“Then I seize the opportunity to conceal myself, you see. The best surveillance system in the world has its limitations when it is only controlled by one single person ... I got your card.”

“You mean the invitation?” “Dare you risk it?”

“Why not?”

“Anything can happen at a party like that.” “Are you coming?”

“Of course I’m coming. But there is another thing. Did you remember

that it’s the day Hilde’s father gets back from Lebanon?” “No, I didn’t, actually.”

“It can’t possibly be pure coincidence that he lets you arrange a philosophical garden party the same day as he gets home to Bjerkely.”

“I didn’t think about it, as I said.”

“I’m sure he did. But all right, we’ll talk about that later. Can you come to the major’s cabin this morning?”

“I’m supposed to weed the flower beds.”

“Let’s say two o’clock, then. Can you make that?” “I’ll be there.”

Alberto Knox was sitting on the step again when Sophie arrived. “Have a seat,” he said, getting straight down to work.

“Previously we spoke of the Renaissance, the Baroque period, and the Enlightenment. Today we are going to talk about Romanticism, which could be described as Europe’s last great cultural epoch. We are approaching the end of a long story, my child.”

“Did Romanticism last that long?”

“It began toward the end of the eighteenth century and lasted till the middle of the nineteenth. But after 1850 one can no longer speak of whole

‘epochs’ which comprise poetry, philosophy, art, science, and music.” “Was Romanticism one of those epochs?”

“It has been said that Romanticism was Europe’s last common approach to life. It started in Germany, arising as a reaction to the Enlightenment’s unequivocal emphasis on reason. After Kant and his cool intellectualism, it

was as if German youth heaved a sigh of relief.” “What did they replace it with?”

“The new catchwords were ‘feeling,”imagination,”experience,’ and

‘yearning.’ Some of the Enlightenment thinkers had drawn attention to the importance of feeling—not least Rousseau—but at that time it was a criticism of the bias toward reason. What had been an undercurrent now became the mainstream of German culture.”

“So Kant’s popularity didn’t last very long?”

“Well, it did and it didn’t. Many of the Romantics saw themselves as Kant’s successors, since Kant had established that there was a limit to what we can know of ‘das Ding an sich.’ On the other hand, he had underlined the importance of the ego’s contribution to knowledge, or cognition. The individual was now completely free to interpret life in his own way. The Romantics exploited this in an almost unrestrained ‘ego-worship,’ which led to the exaltation of artistic genius.”

“Were there a lot of these geniuses?”

“Beethoven was one. His music expresses his own feelings and yearnings. Beethoven was in a sense a ‘free’ artist—unlike the Baroque masters such as Bach and Handel, who composed their works to the glory of God, mostly in strict musical forms.”

“I only know the Moonlight Sonata and the Fifth Symphony.”

“But you know how romantic the Moonlight Sonata is, and you can hear how dramatically Beethoven expresses himself in the Fifth Symphony.”

“You said the Renaissance humanists were individualists too.” “Yes. There were many similarities between the Renaissance and

Romanticism. A typical one was the importance of art to human cognition.

Kant made a considerable contribution here as well. In his aesthetics he investigated what happens when we are overwhelmed by beauty—in a work

of art, for instance. When we abandon ourselves to a work of art with no other intention than the aesthetic experience itself, we are brought closer to an experience of ‘das Ding an sich.’ “

“So the artist can provide something philosophers can’t express?”

“That was the view of the Romantics. According to Kant, the artist plays freely on his faculty of cognition. The German poet Schiller developed Kant’s thought further. He wrote that the activity of the artist is like playing, and man is only free when he plays, because then he makes up his own rules. The Romantics believed that only art could bring us closer to ‘the inexpressible.’ Some went as far as to compare the artist to God.”

“Because the artist creates his own reality the way God created the world.”

“It was said that the artist had a ‘universe-creating imagination.’ In his transports of artistic rapture he could sense the dissolving of the boundary between dream and reality.

“Novalis, one of the young geniuses, said that ‘the world becomes a dream, and the dream becomes reality.’ He wrote a novel called Heinrich von Ofterdingen set in Medieval times. It was unfinished when he died in 1801, but it was nevertheless a very significant novel. It tells of the young Heinrich who

is searching for the ‘blue flower’ that he once saw in a dream and has yearned for ever since. The English Romantic poet Coleridge expressed the same

idea; saying something like this:

What if you slept? And what if, in your sleep, you dreamed? And what if, in your dream, you went to heaven and there plucked a strange and beautiful flower? And what if, when you awoke, you had the flower in your hand? Ah, what then?”

“How pretty!”

“This yearning for something distant and unattainable was characteristic of the Romantics. They longed for bygone eras, such as the Middle Ages, which now became enthusiastically reappraised after the Enlightenment’s negative evaluation. And they longed for distant cultures like the Orient with

its mysticism. Or else they would feel drawn to Night, to Twilight, to old ruins and the supernatural. They were preoccupied with what we usually refer to as the dark side of life, or the murky, uncanny, and mystical.”

“It sounds to me like an exciting period. Who were these Romantics?” “Romanticism was in the main an urban phenomenon. In the first half of

the last century there was, in fact, a flourishing metropolitan culture in many parts of Europe, not least in Germany. The typical Romantics were young men, often university students, although they did not always take their studies very seriously. They had a decidedly anti-middle class approach to life and could refer to the police or their landladies as philistines, for example, or simply as the enemy.”

“I would never have dared rent a room to a Romantic!”

“The first generation of Romantics were young in about 1 800, and we could actually call the Romantic Movement Europe’s first student uprising. The Romantics were not unlike the hippies a hundred and fifty years later.”

“You mean flower power and long hair, strumming their guitars and lying around?”

“Yes. It was once said that ‘idleness is the ideal of genius, and indolence the virtue of the Romantic.’ It was the duty of the Romantic to experience life—or to dream himself away from it. Day-to-day business could be taken care of by the philistines.”

“Byron was a Romantic poet, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, both Byron and Shelley were Romantic poets of the so-called Satanic school. Byron, moreover, provided the Romantic Age with its idol, the Byronic hero—the alien, moody, rebellious spirit—in life as well as in art.

Byron himself could be both willful and passionate, and being also handsome, he was besieged by women of fashion. Public gossip attributed the romantic adventures of his verses to his own life, but although he had numerous liaisons, true love remained as illusive and as unattainable for him as

Novalis’s blue flower. Novalis became engaged to a fourteen-year-old girl. She died four days after her fifteenth birthday, but Novalis remained devoted to her for the rest of his short life.”

“Did you say she died four days after her fifteenth birthday?” “Yes . . .”

“I am fifteen years and four days old today.” “So you are.”

“What was her name?” “Her name was Sophie.” “What?”

“Yes, it was. . .”

“You scare me. Could it be a coincidence?”

“I couldn’t say, Sophie. But her name was Sophie.” “Go on!”

“Novalis himself died when he was only twenty-nine. He was one of the

‘y°un9 dead.’ Many of the Romantics died young, usually of tuberculosis. Some committed suicide . . .”

“Ugh!”

“Those who lived to be old usually stopped being Romantics at about the age of thirty. Some of them went on to become thoroughly middle-class and conservative.”

“They went over to the enemy, then.”

“Maybe. But we were talking about romantic love. The theme of unrequited love was introduced as early as 1774 by Goethe in his novel The Sorrows of Young Werther. The book ends with young Werther shooting himself when he can’t have the woman he loves . . .”

“Was it necessary to go that far?”

“The suicide rate rose after the publication of the novel, and for a time the book was banned in Denmark and Norway. So being a Romantic was not without danger. Strong emotions were involved.”

“When you say ‘Romantic/ I think of those great big landscape paintings, with dark forests and wild, rugged nature ... preferably in swirling mists.”

“Yes, one of the features of Romanticism was this yearning for nature and nature’s mysteries. And as I said, it was not the kind of thing that arises in rural areas. You may recall Rousseau, who initiated the slogan ‘back to nature.’ The Romantics gave this slogan popular currency. Romanticism represents not least a reaction to the Enlightenment’s mechanistic universe. It was said that Romanticism implied a renaissance of the old cosmic

consciousness.”

“Explain that, please.”

“It means viewing nature as a whole; the Romantics were tracing their roots not only back to Spinoza, but also to Plotinus and Renaissance philosophers like Jakob Bohme and Giordano Bruno. What all these thinkers had in common was that they experienced a divine ‘ego’ in nature.”

“They were Pantheists then . . .”

“Both Descartes and Hume had drawn a sharp line between the ego and

‘extended’ reality. Kant had also left behind him a sharp distinction between the cognitive ‘I’ and nature ‘in itself.’ Now it was said that nature is nothing but one big ‘I.’ The Romantics also used the expressions ‘world soul’ or ‘world spirit.’ “

“I see.”

“The leading Romantic philosopher was Schelling, who lived from 1775 to 1854. He wanted to unite mind and matter. All of nature—both the human soul and physical reality—is the expression of one Absolute, or world spirit, he believed.”

“Yes, just like Spinoza.”

“Nature is visible spirit, spirit is invisible nature, said Schelling, since one senses a ‘structuring spirit’ everywhere in nature. He also said that matter is slumbering intelligence.”

“You’ll have to explain that a bit more clearly.”

“Schelling saw a ‘world spirit’ in nature, but he saw the same ‘world spirit’ in the human mind. The natural and the spiritual are actually expressions of the same thing.”

“Yes, why not?”

“World spirit can thus be sought both in nature and in one’s own mind. Novalis could therefore say ‘the path of mystery leads inwards.’ He was

saying that man bears the whole universe within himself and comes closest to the mystery of the world by stepping inside himself.”

“That’s a very lovely thought.”

“For many Romantics, philosophy, nature study, and poetry formed a synthesis. Sitting in your attic dashing off inspired verses and investigating the life of plants or the composition of rocks were only two sides of the same coin because nature is not a dead mechanism, it is one living world spirit.”

“Another word and I think I’ll become a Romantic.”

“The Norwegian-born naturalist Henrik Steffens—whom Wergeland called ‘Norway’s departed laurel leaf because he had settled in Germany— went to Copenhagen in 1801 to lecture on German Romanticism. He characterized the Romantic Movement by saying, ‘Tired of the eternal efforts to fight our way through raw matter, we chose another way and sought to embrace the infinite. We went inside ourselves and created a new world ... ‘ “

“How can you remember all that?” “A bagatelle, child.”

“Go on, then.”

“Schelling also saw a development in nature from earth and rock to the human mind. He drew attention to very gradual transitions from inanimate nature to more complicated life forms. It was characteristic of the Romantic view in general that nature was thought of as an organism, or in other words, a unity which is constantly developing its innate potentialities. Nature is like a

flower unfolding its leaves and petals. Or like a poet unfolding his verses.” “Doesn’t that remind you of Aristotle?”

“It does indeed. The Romantic natural philosophy had Aristotelian as well as Neoplatonic overtones. Aristotle had a more organic view of natural processes than the mechanical materialists . . .”

“Yes, that’s what I thought. . .”

“We find similar ideas at work in the field of history. A man who came to have great significance for the Romantics was the historical philosopher Johann Gottfried von Herder, who lived from 1744 to 1803. He believed that history is characterized by continuity, evolution, and design. We say he had a

‘dynamic’ view of history because he saw it as a process. The Enlightenment philosophers had often had a ‘static’ view of history. To them, there was only one universal reason which there could be more or less of at various periods. Herder showed that each historical epoch had its own intrinsic value and each nation its own character or ‘soul.’ The question is whether we can identify with other cultures.”

“So, just as we have to identify with another person’s Situation to understand them better, we have to identify with other cultures to understand them too.”

“That is taken for granted nowadays. But in the Romantic period it was a new idea. Romanticism helped strengthen the feeling of national identity. It is no coincidence that the Norwegian struggle for national independence flourished at that particular time—in 1814.”

“I see.”

“Because Romanticism involved new orientations in so many areas, it has been usual to distinguish between two forms of Romanticism. There is what we call Universal Romanticism, referring to the Romantics who were preoccupied with nature, world soul, and artistic genius. This form of Romanticism flourished first, especially around 1800, in Germany, in the town of Jena.”

“And the other?”

“The other is the so-called National Romanticism, which became popular a little later, especially in the town of Heidelberg. The National Romantics

were mainly interested in the history of ‘the people,’ the language of ‘the people,’ and the culture of ‘the people’ in general. And ‘the people’ were seen as an organism unfolding its innate potentiality—exactly like nature and history.”

“Tell me where you live, and I’ll tell you who you are.”

“What united these two aspects of Romanticism was first and foremost the key word ‘organism.’ The Romantics considered both a plant and a nation to be a living organism. A poetic work was also a living organism. Language was an organism. The entire physical world, even, was considered one organism. There is therefore no sharp dividing line between National Romanticism and Universal Romanticism. The world spirit was just as much present in the people and in popular culture as in nature and art.”

“I see.”

“Herder had been the forerunner, collecting folk songs from many lands under the eloquent title Voices of the People. He even referred to folktales as

‘the mother tongue of the people.’ The Brothers Grimm and others began to collect folk songs and fairy tales in Heidelberg. You must know of Grimm’s

Fairy Tales.”

“Oh sure, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Rumpelstiltskin, The Frog

Prince, Hansel and Gretel . . .”

“And many more. In Norway we had Asbj0rnsen and Moe, who traveled around the country collecting ‘folks’ own tales.’ It was like harvesting a juicy fruit that was suddenly discovered to be both good and nourishing. And it was urgent—the fruit had already begun to fall. Folk songs were collected; the Norwegian language began to be studied scientifically. The old myths and sagas from heathen times were rediscovered, and composers all over Europe began to incorporate folk melodies into their compositions in an attempt to bridge the gap between folk music and art music.”

“What’s art music?”

“Art music is music composed by a particular person, like Beethoven. Folk music was not written by any particular person, it came from the people. That’s why we don’t know exactly when the various folk melodies date from. We distinguish in the same way between folktales and art tales.”

“So art tales are ... ?”

“They are tales written by an author, like Hans Christian Andersen. The fairy tale genre was passionately cultivated by the Romantics. One of the German masters of the genre was E.T.A, Hoffmann.”

“I’ve heard of The Tales of Hoffmann.”

“The fairy tale was the absolute literary ideal of the Romantics—in the same way that the absolute art form of the Baroque period was the theater. It gave the poet full scope to explore his own creativity.”

“He could play God to a fictional universe.” “Precisely. And this is a good moment to sum up.” “Go ahead.”

“The philosophers of Romanticism viewed the ‘world soul’ as an ‘ego’ which in a more or less dreamlike state created everything in the world. The philosopher Fichte said that nature stems from a higher, unconscious imagi- nation. Scheliing said explicitly that the world is ‘in God.’ God is aware of some of it, he believed, but there are other aspects of nature which represent the unknown in God. For God also has a dark side.”

“The thought is fascinating and frightening. It reminds me of Berkeley.” “The relationship between the artist and his work was seen in exactly

the same light. The fairy tale gave the writer free rein to exploit his ‘universe- creating imagination.’ And even the creative act was not always completely conscious. The writer could experience that his story was being written by some innate force. He could practically be in a hypnotic trance while he wrote.”

“He could?”

“Yes, but then he would suddenly destroy the illusion. He would intervene in the story and address ironic comments to the reader, so that the reader, at least momentarily, would be reminded that it was, after all, only a story.”

“I see.”

“At the same time the writer could remind his reader that it was he who was manipulating the fictional universe. This form of disillusion is called

‘romantic irony.’ Henrik Ibsen, for example, lets one of the characters in Peer

Gynt say: ‘One cannot die in the middle of Act Five.’ “

“That’s a very funny line, actually. What he’s really saying is that he’s only a fictional character.”

“The statement is so paradoxical that we can certainly emphasize it with a new section.”

“What did you mean by that?”

“Oh, nothing, Sophie. But we did say that Novalis’s fiancee was called Sophie, just like you, and that she died when she was only fifteen years and four days old ...”

“You’re scaring me, don’t you know that?”

Alberto sat staring, stony faced. Then he said: “But you needn’t be worriedthat you will meet the same fate as Novalis’s fiancee.”

“Why not?”

“Because there are several more chapters.” “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that anyone reading the story of Sophie and Alberto will know intuitively that there are many pages of the story still to come. We have only gotten as far as Romanticism.”

“You’re making me dizzy.”

“It’s really the major trying to make Hilde dizzy. It’s not very nice or him, is it? New section!”

*        *        *

Alberto had hardly finished speaking when a boy came running out of the woods. He had a turban on his head, and he was carrying an oil lamp.

Sophie grabbed Alberto’s arm. “Who’s that?” she asked.

The boy answered for himself: “My name is Aladdin and I’ve come all the way from Lebanon.”

Alberto looked at him sternly:

“And what do you have in your lamp?”

The boy rubbed the lamp, and out of it rose a thick cloud which formed itself into the figure of a man. He had a black beard like Alberto’s and a blue beret. Floating above the lamp, he said: “Can you hear me, Hilde? I suppose it’s too late for any more birthday greetings. I just wanted to say that Bjerkely and the south country back home seem like fairyland to me here in Lebanon. I’ll see you there in a few days.”

So saying, the figure became a cloud again and was sucked back into the lamp. The boy with the turban put the lamp under his arm, ran into the woods, and was gone.

“I don’t believe this,” said Sophie. “A bagatelle, my dear.”

“The spirit of the lamp spoke exactly like Hilde’s father.” “That’s because it was Hilde’s father—in spirit.”

“But. . .”

“Both you and I and everything around us are living deep in the major’s mind. It is late at night on Saturday, April 28, and all the UN soldiers are asleep around the major, who, although still awake, is not far from sleep himself. But he must finish the book he is to give Hilde as a fifteenth birthday present. That’s why he has to work, Sophie, that’s why the poor man gets

hardly any rest.” “I give up.” “New section!”

Sophie and Alberto sat looking across the little lake. Alberto seemed to be in some sort of trance. After a while Sophie ventured to nudge his shoulder.

“Were you dreaming?”

“Yes, he was interfering directly there. The last few paragraphs were dictated by him to the letter. He should be ashamed of himself. But now he has given himself away and come out into the open. Now we know that we are living our lives in a book which Hilde’s father will send home to Hilde as a birthday present. You heard what I said? Well, it wasn’t ‘me’ saying it.”

“If what you say is true, I’m going to run away from the book and go my own way.”

“That’s exactly what I am planning. But before that can happen, we must try and talk with Hilde. She reads every word we say. Once we succeed in getting away from here it will be much harder to contact her. That means we must grasp the opportunity now.”

“What do we say?”

“I think the major is just about to fall asleep over his typewriter—although his fingers are still racing feverishly over the keys ...”

“It’s a creepy thought.”

“This is the moment when he may write something he will regret later. And he has no correction fluid. That’s a vital part of my plan. May no one give the major a bottle of correction fluid!”

“He won’t get so much as a single coverup strip from me!”

“I’m calling on that poor girl here and now to rebel against her own father. She should be ashamed to let herself be amused by his self-indulgent playing with shadows. If only we had him here, we’d give him a taste of our indignation!”

“But he’s not here.”

“He is here in spirit and soul, but he’s also safely tucked away in

Lebanon. Everything around us is the major’s ego.” “But he is more than what we can see here.”

“We are but shadows in the major’s soul. And it is no easy matter for a shadow to turn on its master, Sophie. It requires both cunning and strategy. But we have an opportunity of influencing Hilde. Only an angel can rebel against God.”

“We could ask Hilde to give him a piece of her mind the moment he gets home. She could tell him he’s a rogue. She could wreck his boat—or at least, smash the lantern.”

Alberto nodded. Then he said: “She could also run away from him That would be much easier for her than it is for us. She could leave the major’s house and never return. Wouldn’t that be fitting for a major who plays with his

‘universe-creating imagination’ at our expense?”

“I can picture it. The major travels all over the world searching for Hilde. But Hilde has vanished into thin air because she can’t stand living with a father who plays the fool at Alberto’s and Sophie’s expense.”

“Yes, that’s it! Plays the fool! That’s what I meant by his using us as

birthday amusement. But he’d better watch out, Sophie. So had Hilde!” “How do you mean?”

“Are you sitting tight?”

“As long as there are no more genies from a lamp.”

“Try to imagine that everything that happens to us goes on in someone else’s mind. We are that mind. That means we have no soul, we are someone else’s soul. So far we are on familiar philosophical ground. Both Berkeley and Schelling would prick up their ears.”

“And?”

“Now it is possible that this soul is Hilde M0ller Knag’s father. He is over there in Lebanon writing a book on philosophy for his daughter’s fifteenth birthday. When Hilde wakes up on June 15, she finds the book on her bedside table, and now she—and anyone else—can read about us. It has long been suggested that this ‘present’ could be shared with others.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“What I am saying to you now will be read by Hilde after her father in Lebanon once imagined that I was telling you he was in Lebanon ... imagining me telling you that he was in Lebanon.”

Sophie’s head was swimming. She tried to remember what she had heard about Berkeley and the Romantics. Alberto Knox continued: “But they shouldn’t feel so cocky because of that. They are the last people who should laugh,  because laughter can  easily get stuck  in  their throat.”

“Who are we talking about?”

“Hilde and her father. Weren’t we talking about them?” “But why shouldn’t they feel so cocky?”

“Because it is feasible that they, too, are nothing but mind.” “How could they be?”

“If it was possible for Berkeley and the Romantics, it must be possible for them. Maybe the major is also a shadow in a book about him and Hilde, which is also about us, since we are a part of their lives.”

“That would be even worse. That makes us only shadows of shadows.” “But it is possible that a completely different author is somewhere writing

a book about a UN Major Albert Knag, who is writing a book for his daughter Hilde. This book is about a certain Alberto Knox who suddenly begins to send humble philosophical lectures to Sophie Amundsen, 3 Clover Close.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I’m just saying it’s possible. To us, that author would be a ‘hidden God.’ Although everything we are and everything we say and do proceeds from him, because we are him we will never be able to know anything about him. We

are in the innermost box.”

Alberto and Sophie now sat for a long time without saying anything. It was Sophie who finally broke the silence: “But if there really is an author who is writing a story about Hilde’s father in Lebanon, just like he is writing a story about us . . .”

“Yes?”

“... then it’s possible that author shouldn’t be cocky either.” “What do you mean?”

“He is sitting somewhere, hiding both Hilde and me deep inside his head. Isn’t it just possible that he, too, is part of a higher mind?”

Atberto nodded.

“Of course it is, Sophie. That’s also a possibility. And if that is the way it is, it means he has permitted us to have this philosophical conversation in order to present this possibility. He wishes to emphasize that he, too, is a helpless shadow, and that this book, in which Hilde and Sophie appear, is in reality a textbook on philosophy.”

“A textbook?”

“Because all our conversations, all our dialogues ...” “Yes?”

“... are in reality one long monologue.”

“I get the feeling that everything is dissolving into mind and spirit. I’m glad there are still a few philosophers left. The philosophy that began so proudly with Thales, Em-pedocles, and Democritus can’t be stranded here, surely?”

“Of course not. I still have to tell you about Hegel. He was the first philosopher who tried to salvage philosophy when the Romantics had dissolved everything into spirit.”

“I’m very curious.”

“So as not to be interrupted by any further spirits or shadows, we shall go inside.”

“It’s getting chilly out here anyway.” “Next chapter!”

Hegel

... the reasonable is that which is viable…

Hilde let the big ring binder fall to the floor with a heavy thud. She lay on her bed staring up at the ceiling. Her thoughts were in a turmoil.

Now her father really had made her head swim. The rascal! How could he? Sophie had tried to talk directly to her. She had asked her to rebel against her

father. And she had really managed to plant an idea in Hilde’s mind. A plan ...

Sophie and Alberto could not so much as harm a hair on his head, but Hilde could. And through Hilde, Sophie could reach her father.

She agreed with Sophie and Alberto that he was going too far in his game of shadows. Even if he had only made Alberto and Sophie up, there were limits to the show of power he ought to permit himself.

Poor Sophie and Alberto! They were just as defenseless against the major’s imagination as a movie screen is against the film projector.

Hilde would certainly teach him a lesson when he got home! She could already see the outline of a really good plan.

She got up and went to look out over the bay. It was almost two o’clock. She opened the window and called over toward the boathouse.

“Mom!”

Her mother came out.

“I’ll be down with some sandwiches in about an hour. Okay?” “Fine.”

“I just have to read a chapter on Hegel.”

Alberto and Sophie had seated themselves in the two chairs by the window facing the lake.

“Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hege/was a legitimate child of Romanticism,”

began Alberto. “One could almost say he developed with the German spirit as it gradually evolved in Germany. He was born in Stuttgart in 1770, and began to study theology in Tubingen at the age of eighteen. Beginning in 1799, he worked with Schelling in Jena during the time when the Romantic Movement was experiencing its most explosive growth. After a period as assistant professor in Jena he became a professor in Heidelberg, the center of German National Romanticism. In 1818 he was appointed professor in Berlin, just at the time when the city was becoming the spiritual center of Europe. He died of cholera in 1831, but not before ‘He-gelianism’ had gained an enormous following at nearly all the universities in Germany.”

“So he covered a lot of ground.”

“Yes, and so did his philosophy. Hegel united and developed almost all the ideas that had surfaced in the Romantic period. But he was sharply critical of many of the Romantics, including Schelling.”

“What was it he criticized?”

“Schelling as well as other Romantics had said that the deepest meaning of life lay in what they called the ‘world spirit.’ Hegel also uses the term ‘world spirit,’ but in a new sense. When Hegel talks of ‘world spirit’ or

‘world reason,’ he means the sum of human utterances, because only man has a ‘spirit.’

“In this sense, he can speak of the progress of world spirit throughout history. However, we must never forget that he is referring to human life, human thought, and human culture.”

“That makes this spirit much less spooky. It is not lying in wait anymore like a ‘slumbering intelligence’ in rocks and trees.”

“Now, you remember that Kant had talked about something he called

‘das Ding an sich.’ Although he denied that man could have any clear cognition of the innermost secrets of nature, he admitted that there exists a kind of unattainable ‘truth.’ Hegel said that ‘truth is subjective/ thus rejecting the existence of any ‘truth’ above or beyond human reason. All knowledge is human knowledge, he said.”

“He had to get the philosophers down to earth again, right?”

“Yes, perhaps you could say that. However, Hegel’s philosophy was so all-embracing and diversified that for present purposes we shall content ourselves with highlighting some of the main aspects. It is actually doubtful whether one can say that Hegel had his own ‘philosophy’ at all. What is usually known as Hegel’s philosophy is mainly a method for understanding

the progress of history. Hegel’s philosophy teaches us nothing about the inner nature of life, but it can teach us to think productively.”

“That’s not unimportant.”

“All the philosophical systems before Hegel had had one thing in common, namely, the attempt to set up eternal criteria for what man can know about the world. This was true of Descartes, Spinoza, Hume, and Kant. Each and every one had tried to investigate the basis of human cognition. But they had all made pronouncements on the timeless factor of human knowledge of the world.”

“Isn’t that a philosopher’s job?”

“Hegel did not believe it was possible. He believed that the basis of human cognition changed from one generation to the next. There were therefore no ‘eternal truths/ no timeless reason. The only fixed point

philosophy can hold on to is history itself.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to explain that. History is in a constant state of change, so how can it be a fixed point?”

“A river is also in a constant state of change. That doesn’t mean you can’t talk about it. But you cannot say at which place in the valley the river is the ‘truest’ river.”

“No, because it’s just as much river all the way through.”

“So to Hegel, history was like a running river. Every tiny movement in the water at a given spot in the river is determined by the falls and eddies in the water higher upstream. But these movements are determined, too, by the rocks and bends in the river at the point where you are observing it.”

“I get it... I think.”

“And the history of thought—or of reason—is like this river. The thoughts that are washed along with the current of past tradition, as well as the material conditions prevailing at the time, help to determine how you think. You can therefore never claim that any particular thought is correct for ever and ever. But the thought can be correct from where you stand.”

“That’s not the same as saying that everything is equally right or equally wrong, is it?”

“Certainly not, but some things can be right or wrong in relation to a certain historical context. If you advocated slavery today, you would at best be thought foolish. But you wouldn’t have been considered foolish 2,500 years ago, even though there were already progressive voices in favor of slavery’s abolition. But we can take a more local example. Not more than 100 years

ago it was not considered unreasonable to burn off large areas of forest in order to cultivate the land. But it is extremely unreasonable today. We have a completely different—and better—basis for such judgments.”

“Now I see.”

“Hegel pointed out that as regards philosophical reflection, also, reason is dynamic; it’s a process, in fact. And the ‘truth’ is this same process, since there are no criteria beyond the historical process itself that can determine what is the most true or the most reasonable.”

“Examples, please.”

“You cannot single out particular thoughts from antiquity, the Middle Ages, the Renaissance, or the Enlightenment and say they were right or wrong. By the same token, you cannot say that Plato was wrong and that Ar- istotle was right. Neither can you say that Hume was wrong but Kant and Schelling were right. That would be an antihistorical way of thinking.”

“No, it doesn’t sound right.”

“In fact, you cannot detach any philosopher, or any thought at all, from that philosopher’s or that thought’s historical context. But—and here I come to another point—because something new is always being added, reason is

‘progressive.’ In other words, human knowledge is constantly expanding and progressing.”

“Does that mean that Kant’s philosophy is nevertheless more right than

Plato’s?”

“Yes. The world spirit has developed—and progressed—from Plato to Kant. And it’s a good thing! If we return to the example of the river, we could say that there is now more water in it. It has been running for over a thousand years. Only Kant shouldn’t think that his ‘truths’ will remain on the banks of the

river like immovable rocks. Kant’s ideas get processed too, and his ‘reason’ becomes the subject of future generations’ criticism. Which is exactly what has happened.”

“But the river you talked about. . .” “Yes?”

“Where does it go?”

“Hegel claimed that the ‘world spirit’ is developing toward an ever- expanding knowledge of itself. It’s the same with rivers—they become broader and broader as they get nearer to the sea. According to Hegel, history is the story of the ‘world spirit’ gradually coming to consciousness of itself. Although the world has always existed, human culture and human development have made the world spirit increasingly conscious of its intrinsic value.”

“How could he be so sure of that?”

“He claimed it as a historical reality. It was not a prediction. Anybody who studies history will see that humanity has advanced toward ever- increasing ‘self-knowledge’ and ‘self-development.’ According to Hegel, the study of history shows that humanity is moving toward greater rationality and freedom. In spite of all its capers, historical development is progressive. We say that history is purposeful.”

“So it develops. That’s clear enough.”

“Yes. History is one long chain of reflections. Hegel also indicated certain rules that apply for this chain of reflections. Anyone studying history in depth will observe that a thought is usually proposed on the basis of other, previously proposed thoughts. But as soon as one thought is proposed, it will be contradicted by another. A tension arises between these two opposite

ways of thinking. But the tension is resolved by the proposal of a third thought which accommodates the best of both points of view. Hegel calls this a dialectic process.”

“Could you give an example?”

“You remember that the pre-Socratics discussed the question of primeval substance and change?”

“More or less.”

“Then the Eleatics claimed that change was in fact impossible. They were therefore forced to deny any change even though they could register the changes through their senses. The Eleatics had put forward a claim, and Hegel called a standpoint like that a thesis.”

“Yes?”

“But whenever such an extreme claim is proposed, a contradictory claim will arise. Hegel called this a nega-tion. The negation of the Eleatic philosophy was Heracli-tus, who said that everything flows. There is now a tension between two diametrically opposed schools of thought. But this tension was resolved when Empedocles pointed out that both claims were partly right and partly wrong.”

“Yes, it all comes back to me now . . .”

“The Eleatics were right in that nothing actually changes, but they were not right in holding that we cannot rely on our senses. Heraclitus had been right in that we can rely on our senses, but not right in holding that everything flows.”

“Because there was more than one substance. It was the combination that flowed, not the substance itself.”

“Right! Empedocles’ standpoint—which provided the compromise between the two schools of thought—was what Hegel called the negation of the negation.”

“What a terrible term!”

“He also called these three stages of knowledge thesis, antithesis, and synthesis. You could, for example, say that Descartes’s rationalism was a thesis—which was contradicted by Hume’s empirical antithesis. But the contradiction, or the tension between two modes of thought, was resolved in Kant’s synthesis. Kant agreed with the rationalists in some things and with the empiricists in others. But the story doesn’t end with Kant. Kant’s synthesis

now becomes the point of departure for another chain of reflections, or ‘triad.’ Because a synthesis will also be contradicted by a new antithesis.”

“It’s all very theoretical!”

“Yes, it certainly is theoretical. But Hegel didn’t see it as pressing history into any kind of framework. He believed that history itself revealed this dialectical pattern. He thus claimed he had uncovered certain laws for the development of reason—or for the progress of the ‘world spirit’ through history.”

“There it is again!”

“But Hegel’s dialectic is not only applicable to history. When we discuss something, we think dialectically. We try to find flaws in the argument. Hegel called that ‘negative thinking.’ But when we find flaws in an argument, we preserve the best of it.”

“Give me an example.”

“Well, when a socialist and a conservative sit down together to resolve a social problem, a tension will quickly be revealed between their conflicting modes of thought. But this does not mean that one is absolutely right and the other totally wrong. It is possible that they are both partly right and partly wrong. And as the argument evolves, the best of both arguments will often crystallize.”

“I hope.”

“But while we are in the throes of a discussion like that, it is not easy to decide which position is more rational. In a way, it’s up to history to decide what’s right and what’s wrong. The reasonable is that which is viable.”

“Whatever survives is right.”

“Or vice versa: that which is right survives.” “Don’t you have a tiny example for me?”

“One hundred and fifty years ago there were a lot of people fighting for women’s rights. Many people also bitterly opposed giving women equal rights. When we read the arguments of both sides today, it is not difficult to see

which side had the more ‘reasonable’ opinions. But we must not forget that we have the knowledge of hindsight.

If ‘proved to be the case’ that those who fought for equality were right. A lot of people would no doubt cringe if they saw in print what their grandfathers had said on the matter.”

“I’m sure they would. What was Hegel’s view?” “About equality of the sexes?”

“Isn’t that what we are talking about?” “Would you like to hear a quote?” “Very much.”

“ The difference between man and woman is like that between animals and plants,’ he said. ‘Men correspond to animals, while women correspond to plants because their development is more placid and the principle that underlies it is the rather vague unity of feeling. When women hold the helm of government, the state is at once in jeopardy, because women regulate their actions not by the demands of universality but by arbitrary inclinations and opinions. Women are educated—who knows how?—as it were by breathing in ideas, by living rather than by acquiring knowledge. The status of manhood,

on the other hand, is attained only by the stress of thought and much technical exertion.’ “

“Thank you, that will be quite enough. I’d rather not hear any more statements like that.”

“But it is a striking example of how people’s views of what is rational change all the time. It shows that Hegel was also a child of his time. And so are we. Our ‘obvious’ views will not stand the test of time either.”

“What views, for example?” “I have no such examples.” “Why not?”

“Because I would be exemplifying things that are already undergoing a change. For instance, I could say it’s stupid to drive a car because cars pollute the environment. Lots of people think this already. But history will prove that much of what we think is obvious will not hold up in the light of history.”

“I see.”

“We can also observe something else: The many men in Hegel’s time who could reel off gross broadsides like that one on the inferiority of women hastened the development of feminism.”

“How so?”

“They proposed a thesis. Why? Because women had already begun to rebel. There’s no need to have an opinion on something everyone agrees on. And the more grossly they expressed themselves about women’s inferiority, the stronger became the negation.”

“Yes, of course.”

“You might say that the very best that can happen is to have energetic opponents. The more extreme they become, the more powerful the reaction they will have to face. There’s a saying about ‘more grist to the mill.’ “

“My mill began to grind more energetically a minute ago!”

“From the point of view of pure logic or philosophy, there will often be a dialectical tension between two concepts.”

“For example?”

“If I reflect on the concept of ‘being,’ I will be obliged to introduce the opposite concept, that of ‘nothing.’ You can’t reflect on your existence without immediately realizing that you won’t always exist. The tension between ‘being’ and ‘nothing’ becomes resolved in the concept of ‘becoming.’ Because if something is in the process of becoming, it both is and is not.”

“I see that.”

“Hegel’s ‘reason’ is thus dynamic logic. Since reality is characterized by opposites, a description of reality must therefore also be full of opposites. Here is another example for you: the Danish nuclear physicist Niels Bohr is said to have told a story about Newton’s having a horseshoe over his front

door.”

“That’s for luck.”

“But it is only a superstition, and Newton was anything but superstitious. When someone asked him if he really believed in that kind of thing, he said,

‘No, I don’t, but I’m told it works anyway.’ “ “Amazing.”

“But his answer was quite dialectical, a contradiction in terms, almost. Niels Bohr, who, like our own Norwegian poet Vinje, was known for his ambivalence, once said: There are two kinds of truths. There are the superficial truths, the opposite of which are obviously wrong. But there are also the profound truths, whose op-posites are equally right.”

“What kind of truths can they be?”

“If I say life is short, for example . . .” “I would agree.”

“But on another occasion I could throw open my arms and say life is long.”

“You’re right. That’s also true, in a sense.”

“Finally I’ll give you an example of how a dialectic tension can result in a spontaneous act which leads to a sudden change.”

“Yes, do.”

“Imagine a young girl who always answers her mother with Yes, Mom ... Okay, Mom ... As you wish, Mom ... At once, Mom.”

“Gives me the shudders!”

“Finally the girl’s mother gets absolutely maddened by her daughter’s overobedience, and shouts: Stop being such a goody-goody! And the girl answers: Okay, Mom.”

“I would have slapped her.”

“Perhaps. But what would you have done if the girl had answered instead: But I wonf to be a goody-goody?”

“That would have been an odd answer. Maybe I would have slapped her anyway.”

“In other words, the situation was deadlocked. The dialectic tension had come to a point where something had to happen.”

“Like a slap in the face?”

“A final aspect of Hegel’s philosophy needs to be mentioned here.” “I’m listening.”

“Do you remember how we said that the Romantics were individualists?” “The path of mystery leads inwards ...”

“This individualism also met its negation, or opposite, in Hegel’s philosophy. Hegel emphasized what he called the ‘objective’ powers. Among such powers, Hegel emphasized the importance of the family, civil society, and the state. You might say that Hegel was somewhat skeptical of the individual. He believed that the individual was an organic part of the community. Reason, or ‘world spirit/ came to light first and foremost in the interplay of people.”

“Explain that more clearly, please!”

“Reason manifests itself above all in language. And a language is something we are born into. The Norwegian language manages quite well without Mr. Hansen, but Mr. Hansen cannot manage without Norwegian. It is thus not the individual who forms the language, it is the language which forms

the individual.”

“I guess you could say so.”

“In the same way that a baby is born into a language, it is also born into its historical background. And nobody has a ‘free’ relationship to that kind of background. He who does not find his place within the state is therefore an unhistorical person. This idea, you may recall, was also central for the great Athenian philosophers. Just as the state is unthinkable without citizens, citizens are unthinkable without the state.”

“Obviously.”

“According to Hegel, the state is ‘more’ than the individual citizen. It is moreover more than the sum of its citizens. So Hegel says one cannot ‘resign from society.’ Anyone who simply shrugs their shoulders at the society they live in and wants to ‘find their soul/ will therefore be ridiculed.”

“I don’t know whether I wholly agree, but okay.”

“According to Hegel, it is not the individual that finds itself, it is the world spirit.”

“The world spirit finds itself?”

“Hegel said that the world spirit returns to itself in three stages. By that he means that it becomes conscious of itself in three stages.”

“Which are?”

“The world spirit first becomes conscious of itself in the individual. Hegel calls this subjective spirit. It reaches a higher consciousness in the family, civil society, and the state. Hegel calls this objective spirit because it appears in interaction between people. But there is a third stage ...”

“And that is ... ?”

“The world spirit reaches the highest form of self-realization in absolute spirit. And this absolute spirit is art, religion, and philosophy. And of these, philosophy is the highest form of knowledge because in philosophy, the world spirit reflects on its own impact on history. So the world spirit first meets itself in philosophy. You could say, perhaps, that philosophy is the mirror of the world spirit.”

“This is so mysterious that I need to have time to think it over. But I liked the last bit you said.”

“What, that philosophy is the mirror of the world spirit?”

“Yes, that was beautiful. Do you think it has anything to do with the brass mirror?”

“Since you ask, yes.” “What do you mean?”

“I assume the brass mirror has some special significance since it is constantly cropping up.”

“You must have an idea what that significance is?”

“I haven’t. I merely said that it wouldn’t keep coming up unless it had a special significance for Hilde and her father. What that significance is only Hilde knows.”

“Was that romantic irony?”

“A hopeless question, Sophie.” “Why?”

“Because it’s not us working with these things. We are only hapless victims of that irony. If an overgrown child draws something on a piece of paper, you can’t ask the paper what the drawing is supposed to represent.”

“You give me the shudders.”

Kierkegaard

…Europe is on the road to bankruptcy…

Hilde looked at her watch. It was already past four o’clock. She laid the ring binder on her desk and ran downstairs to the kitchen. She had to get down to the boathouse before her mother got tired of waiting for her. She glanced at the brass mirror as she passed.

She quickly put the kettle on for tea and fixed some sandwiches.

She had made up her mind to play a few tricks on her father. Hilde was beginning to feel more and more allied with Sophie and Alberto. Her plan would start when he got to Copenhagen.

She went down to the boathouse with a large tray. “Here’s our brunch,” she said.

Her mother was holding a block wrapped in sandpaper. She pushed a stray lock of hair back from her forehead. There was sand in her hair too.

“Let’s drop dinner, then.”

They sat down outside on the dock and began to eat. “When’s Dad arriving?” asked Hilde after a while. “On Saturday. I thought you knew that.”

“But what time? Didn’t you say he was changing planes in Copenhagen?” “That’s right.

Her mother took a bite of her sandwich.

“He gets to Copenhagen at about five. The plane to Kristiansand leaves at a quarter to eight. He’ll probably land at Kjevik at half-past nine.”

“So he has a few hours at Kastrup ...” “Yes, why?”

“Nothing. I was just wondering.”

When Hilde thought a suitable interval had elapsed, she said casually, “Have you heard from Anne and Ole lately?”

“They call from time to time. They are coming home on vacation sometime in

July.”

“Not before?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“So they’ll be in Copenhagen this week... ?” “Why all these questions, Hilde?”

“No reason. Just small talk.”

“You mentioned Copenhagen twice.” “I did?”

“We talked about Dad touching down in ...” “That’s probably why I thought of Anne and Ole.”

As soon as they finished eating, Hilde collected the mugs and plates on the tray. “I have to get on with my reading, Mom.”

“I guess you must.”

Was there a touch of reproach in her voice? They had talked about fixing up the

boat together before Dad came home.

“Dad almost made me promise to finish the book before he got home.”

“It’s a little crazy. When he’s away, he doesn’t have to order us around back home.”

“If you only knew how much he orders people around,” said Hilde enigmatically, “and you can’t imagine how much he enjoys it.”

She returned to her room and went on reading.

Suddenly Sophie heard a knock on the door. Alberto looked at her severely.

“We don’t wish to be disturbed.” The knocking became louder.

“I am going to tell you about a Danish philosopher who was infuriated by

Hegel’s philosophy,” said Alberto.

The knocking on the door grew so violent that the whole door shook. “It’s the major, of course, sending some phantasm to see whether we

swallow the bait,” said Alberto. “It costs him no effort at all.”

“But if we don’t open the door and see who it is, it won’t cost him any effort to tear the whole place down either.”

“You might have a point there. We’d better open the door then.”

They went to the door. Since the knocking had been so forceful, Sophie expected to see a very large person. But standing on the front step was a little girl with long fair hair, wearing a blue dress. She had a small bottle in each hand. One bottle was red, the other blue.

“Hi,” said Sophie. “Who are you?”

“My name is Alice,” said the girl, curtseying shyly.

“I thought so,” said Alberto, nodding. “It’s Alice in Wonderland.” “How did she find her way to us?”

Alice explained: “Wonderland is a completely borderless country. That means that Wonderland is everywhere—rather like the UN. It should be an honorary member of the UN. We should have representatives on all committees, because the UN also arose out of people’s wonder.”

“Hm ... that major!” muttered Alberto.

“And what brings you here?” asked Sophie.

“I am to give Sophie these little philosophy bottles.”

She handed the bottles to Sophie. There was red liquid in one and blue in the other. The label on the red bottle read DRINK ME, and on the blue one the label read DRINK ME too.

The next second a white rabbit came hurrying past the cabin. It walked upright on two legs and was dressed in a waistcoat and jacket. Just in front of the cabin it took a pocket watch out of its waistcoat pocket and said:

“Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!”

Then it ran on. Alice began to run after it. Just before she ran into the woods, she curtsied and said, “Now it’s starting again.”

“Say hello to Dinah and the Queen,” Sophie called after her.

Alberto and Sophie remained standing on the front step, examining the bottles.

“DRINK ME and DRINK ME too,” read Sophie. “I don’t know if I dare. They might be poisonous.”

Alberto merely shrugged his shoulders.

“They come from the major, and everything that comes from the major is purely in the mind. So it’s only pretend-juice.”

Sophie took the cap off the red bottle and put it cautiously to her lips. The juice had a strangely sweet taste, but that wasn’t all. As she drank, something started to happen to her surroundings.

It felt as if the lake and the woods and the cabin all merged into one. Soon it seemed that everything she saw was one person, and that person was Sophie herself. She glanced up at Alberto, but he too seemed to be part of Sophie’s soul.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” she said. “Everything looks like it did before, but now it’s all one thing. I feel as if everything is one thought.”

Alberto nodded—but it seemed to Sophie that it was she nodding to herself.

“It is Pantheism or Idealism,” he said. “It is the Romantics’ world spirit. They experienced everything as one big ‘ego.’ It is also Hegel—who was critical of the individual, and who saw everything as the expression of the one and only world reason.”

“Should I drink from the other bottle too?” “It says so on the label.”

Sophie took the cap off the blue bottle and took a large gulp. This juice tasted fresher and sharper than the other. Again everything around her changed suddenly.

Instantly the effects of the red bottle disappeared and everything slid back to its normal place. Alberto was Alberto, the trees were back in the woods and the water looked like a lake again.

But it only lasted for a second, because things went on sliding away from each other. The woods were no longer woods and every little tree now

seemed like a world in itself. The tiniest twig was like a fairy-tale world about which a thousand stories could be told.

The little lake suddenly became a boundless ocean— not in depth or breadth, but in its glittering detail and the intricate patterns of its waves. Sophie felt she might spend a lifetime staring at this water and to her dying day it would still remain an unfathomable mystery.

She looked up at the crown of a tree. Three little sparrows were engrossed in a curious game. Was it hide-and-seek? Sophie had known in a way that there were birds in this tree, even after she had drunk from the red bottle, but she had not really seen them properly. The red juice had erased all contrasts and all individual differences.

Sophie jumped down from the large flat stone step they were standing on and bent over to look at the grass. There she discovered another new world—like a deep-sea diver opening his eyes under water for the first time. In amongst the twigs and straws of grass, the moss was teeming with tiny

details. Sophie watched a spider make its way over the moss, surefooted and purposeful, a red plant louse running up and down a blade of grass, and a whole army of ants laboring in a united effort in the grass. But each tiny ant moved its legs in its own particular manner.

The most curious of all was the sight that met her eyes when she stood up again and looked at Alberto, still standing on the front step of the cabin. In Alberto she now saw a wondrous person—he was like a being from another planet, or an enchanted figure out of a fairy tale. At the same time she experienced herself in a completely new way as a unique individual. She was more than just a human being, a fifteen-year-old girl. She was Sophie Amundsen, and only she was that.

“What do you see?” asked Alberto. “I see that you’re a strange bird.”

“You think so?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get to understand what it’s like being another person. No two people in the whole world are alike.”

“And the woods?”

“They don’t seem the same any more. They’re like a whole universe of wondrous tales.”

“It is as I suspected. The blue bottle is individualism. It is, for example, S0ren Kierkegaard’s reaction to the idealism of the Romantics. But it also encompasses another Dane who lived at the same time as Kierkegaard, the famous fairy-tale writer Hans Christian Andersen. He had the same sharp eye for nature’s incredible richness of detail. A philosopher who saw the same thing more than a century earlier was the German Leibniz. He reacted against the idealistic philosophy of Spinoza just as Kierkegaard reacted against Hegel.”

“I hear you, but you sound so funny that I feel like laughing.”

“That’s understandable, just take another sip from the red bottle. Come on, let’s sit here on the step. We’ll talk a bit about Kierkegaard before we stop for today.”

Sophie sat on the step beside Alberto. She drank a little from the red bottle and things began to merge together again. They actually merged rather too much; once more she got the feeling that no differences mattered at all. But she only had to touch the blue bottle to her lips again, and the world about her looked more or less as it did when Alice arrived with the two bottles.

“But which is true?” she now asked. “Is it the red or the blue bottle that gives the true picture?”

“Both the red and the blue, Sophie. We cannot say the Romantics were wrong in holding that there is only one reality. But maybe they were a little bit narrow in their outlook.”

“What about the blue bottle?”

“I think Kierkegaard must have taken a few hefty swigs from that one. He certainly had a sharp eye for the significance of the individual. We are more than ‘children of our time.’ And moreover, every single one of us is a unique individual who only lives once.”

“And Hegel had not made much of that?”

“No, he was more interested in the broad scope of history. This was just what made Kierkegaard so indignant. He thought that both the idealism of the Romantics and Hegel’s ‘historicism’ had obscured the individual’s re- sponsibility for his own life. Therefore to Kierkegaard, Hegel and the Romantics were tarred with the same brush.”

“I can see why he was so mad.”

“S0ren Kierkegaard was born in 1813 and was subjected to a very severe upbringing by his father. His religious melancholia was a legacy from this father.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It was because of this melancholia that he felt obliged to break off his engagement, something the Copenhagen bourgeoisie did not look kindly on. So from early on he became an outcast and an object of scorn. However, he gradually learned to give as good as he got, and he became increasingly what Ibsen later on described as ‘an enemy of the people.’ “

“All because of a broken engagement?”

“No, not only because of that. Toward the end of his life, especially, he became aggressively critical of society. ‘The whole of Europe is on the road to bankruptcy,’ he said. He believed he was living in an age utterly devoid of passion and commitment. He was particularly incensed by the vapidness of the established Danish Lutheran Church. He was merciless in his criticism of what you might call ‘Sunday Christianity.’ “

“Nowadays we talk of ‘confirmation Christianity.’ Most kids only get confirmed because of all the presents they get.”

“Yes, you’ve got the point. To Kierkegaard, Christianity was both so overwhelming and so irrational that it had to be an either/or. It was not good being ‘rather’ or ‘to some extent’ religious. Because either Jesus rose on Easter Day—or he did not. And if he really did rise from the dead, if he really died for our sake—then this is so overwhelming that it must permeate our entire life.”

“Yes, I think I understand.”

“But Kierkegaard saw how both the church and people in general had a noncommittal approach to religious questions. To Kierkegaard, religion and knowledge were like fire and water. It was not enough to believe that Chris- tianity is ‘true.’ Having a Christian faith meant following a Christian way of life.”

“What did that have to do with Hegel?”

“You’re right. Maybe we started at the wrong end.” “So I suggest you go into reverse and start again.”

“Kierkegaard began his study of theology when he was seventeen, but he became increasingly absorbed in philosophical questions. When he was twenty-seven he took his master’s degree with the dissertation ‘On the Concept of Irony.’ In this work he did battle with Romantic irony and the Romantics’ uncommitted play with illusion. He posited ‘Socratic irony’ in contrast. Even though Socrates had made use of irony to great effect, it had the purpose of eliciting the fundamental truths about life. Unlike the Romantics, Socrates was what Kierkegaard called an ‘existential’ thinker. That is to say, a thinker who draws his entire existence into his philosophical reflection.”

“So?”

“After breaking off his engagement in 1841, Kierkegaard went to Berlin where he attended Schelling’s lectures.”

“Did he meet Hegel?”

“No, Hegel had died ten years earlier, but his ideas were predominant in Berlin and in many parts of Europe. His ‘system’ was being used as a kind of all-purpose explanation for every type of question. Kierkegaard indicated that the sort of ‘objective truths’ that Hegelianism was concerned with were totally irrelevant to the personal life of the individual.”

“What kind of truths are relevant, then?”

“According to Kierkegaard, rather than searching for the Truth with a capital T, it is more important to find the kind of truths that are meaningful to the individual’s life. It is important to find ‘the truth for me.’ He thus sets the individual, or each and every man, up against the ‘system.’ Kierkegaard thought Hegel had forgotten that he was a man. This is what he wrote about the Hegelian professor: “While the ponderous Sir Professor explains the entire mystery of life, he has in distraction forgotten his own name; that he is a man, neither more nor less, not a fantastic three-eighths of a paragraph.”

“And what, according to Kierkegaard, is a man?”

“It’s not possible to say in general terms. A broad description of human nature or human beings was totally without interest to Kierkegaard. The only important thing was each man’s ‘own existence.’ And you don’t experience your own existence behind a desk. It’s only when we act—and especially when we make significant choices—that we relate to our own existence. There is a story about Buddha that illustrates what Kierkegaard meant.”

“About Buddha?”

“Yes, since Buddha’s philosophy also took man’s existence as its starting point. There was once a monk who asked Buddha if he could give clearer answers to fundamental questions on what the world is and what a man is. Buddha answered by likening the monk to a man who gets pierced by a poisoned arrow. The wounded man would have no theoretical interest in what the arrow was made of, what kind of poison it was dipped in, or which direction it came from.”

“He would most likely want somebody to pull it out and treat the wound.” “Yes, he would. That would be existentially important to him. Both

Buddha and Kierkegaard had a strong sense of only existing for a brief moment. And as I said, then you don’t sit down behind a desk and philosophize about the nature of the world spirit.”

“No, of course not.”

“Kierkegaard also said that truth is ‘subjective.’ By this he did not mean that it doesn’t matter what we think or believe. He meant that the really important truths are personal. Only these truths are ‘true for me.’ “

“Could you give an example of a subjective truth?”

“An important question is, for example, whether Christianity is true. This is not a question one can relate to theoretically or academically. For a person who ‘understands himself in life,’ it is a question of life and death. It is not something you sit and discuss for discussion’s sake. It is something to be approached with the greatest passion and sincerity.”

“Understandable.”

“If you fall into the water, you have no theoretical interest in whether or not you will drown. It is neither ‘interesting’ nor ‘uninteresting’ whether there are alligators in the water. It is a question of life or death.”

“I get it, thank you very much.”

“So we must therefore distinguish between the philosophical question of whether God exists and the individual’s relationship to the same question, a situation in which each and every man is utterly alone. Fundamental

questions such as these can only be approached through faith. Things we can know through reason, or knowledge, are according to Kierkegaard totally unimportant.”

“I think you’d better explain that.”

“Eight plus four is twelve. We can be absolutely certain of this. That’s an example of the sort of ‘reasoned truth’ that every philosopher since Descartes had talked about. But do we include it in our daily prayers? Is it something we will lie pondering over when we are dying? Not at all. Truths like those can be both ‘objective’ and ‘general,’ but they are nevertheless totally immaterial to each man’s existence.”

“What about faith?”

“You can never know whether a person forgives you when you wrong

them. Therefore it is existentially important to you. It is a question you are intensely concerned with. Neither can you know whether a person loves you. It’s something you just have to believe or hope. But these things are more important to you than the fact that the sum of the angles in a triangle is 180 degrees. You don’t think about the law of cause and effect or about modes of perception when you are in the middle of your first kiss.”

“You’d be very odd if you did.”

“Faith is the most important factor in religious questions. Kierkegaard wrote: ‘If I am capable of grasping God objectively, I do not believe, but precisely because I cannot do this I must believe. If I wish to preserve myself in faith I must constantly be intent upon holding fast the objective uncertainty, so as to remain out upon the deep, over seventy thousand fathoms of water, still preserving my faith.’ “

“That’s heavy stuff.”

“Many had previously tried to prove the existence of God—or at any rate to bring him within the bounds of rationality. But if you content yourself with some such proof or logical argument, you suffer a loss of faith, and with it, a loss of religious passion. Because what matters is not whether Christianity is true, but whether it is true for you. The same thought was expressed in the Middle Ages in the maxim: credo quid absurdum.”

“You don’t say.”

“It means I believe because it is irrational. If Christianity had appealed to our reason, and not to other sides of us, it would not be a question of faith.”

“No, I understand that now.”

“So we have looked at what Kierkegaard meant by ‘existential,’ what he meant by ‘subjective truth,’ and what his concept of ‘faith’ was. These three concepts were formulated as a criticism of philosophical tradition in general, and of Hegel in particular. But they also embodied a trenchant ‘social criticism.’ The individual in modern urban society had become ‘the public,’ he said, and the predominant characteristic of the crowd, or the masses, was all their noncommittal ‘talk.’ Today we would probably use the word ‘conformity’; that is when everybody ‘thinks’ and ‘believes in’ the same things without having any deeper feeling about it.”

“I wonder what Kierkegaard would have said to Joanna’s parents.” “He was not always kind in his judgments. He had a sharp pen and a

bitter sense of irony. For example, he could say things like ‘the crowd is the untruth,’ or ‘the truth is always in the minority/ and that most people had a superficial approach to life.”

“It’s one thing to collect Barbie dolls. But it’s worse to be one.” “That brings us to Kierkegaard’s theory of what he called the three

stages on life’s way.” “Pardon me?”

“Kierkegaard believed that there were three different forms of life. He himself used the term stages. He calls them the aesthetic stage, the ethical stage, and the religious stage. He used the term ‘stage’ to emphasize that one can live at one of the two lower stages and then suddenly leap to a higher stage. Many people live at the same stage all their life.”

“I bet there’s an explanation on the way. I’m anxious to know which stage I’m at.”

“He who lives at the aesthetic stage lives for the moment and grasps

every opportunity of enjoyment. Good is whatever is beautiful, satisfying, or pleasant. This person lives wholly in the world of the senses, and is a slave to his own desires and moods. Everything that is boring is bad.”

“Yes thanks, I think I know that attitude.”

“The typical Romantic is thus also the typical aesthete, since there is more to it than pure sensory enjoyment. A person who has a reflective approach to reality—or for that matter to his art or the philosophy he or she is engaged in—is living at the aesthetic stage. It is even possible to have an aesthetic, or ‘reflective,’ attitude to sorrow and suffering. In which case vanity has taken over. Ibsen’s Peer Gynt is the portrait of a typical aesthete.”

“I think I see what you mean.” “Do you know anyone like that?”

“Not completely. But I think maybe it sounds a little like the major.” “Maybe so, maybe so, Sophie ... Although that was another example of

his rather sickly Romantic irony. You should wash your mouth out.” “What?”

“All right, it wasn’t your fault.” “Keep going, then.”

“A person who lives at the aesthetic stage can easily experience angst, or a sense of dread, and a feeling of emptiness. If this happens, there is also hope. According to Kierkegaard, angst is almost positive. It is an expression of the fact that the individual is in an ‘existential situation,’ and can now elect to make the great leap to a higher stage. But it either happens or it doesn’t. It doesn’t help to be on the verge of making the leap if you don’t do it completely. It is a matter of ‘either/or.’ But nobody can do it for you. It is your own choice.”

“It’s a little like deciding to quit drinking or doing drugs.”

“Yes, it could be like that. Kierkegaard’s description of this ‘category of decision’ can be somewhat reminiscent of Socrates’ view that all true insight comes from within. The choice that leads a person to leap from an aesthetic approach to an ethical or religious approach must come from within. Ibsen depicts this in Peer Gynt. Another masterly description of how existential choice springs from inner need and despair can be found in Dosfoevsfcy’s great novel Crime and Punishment.”

“The best you can do is choose a different form of life.”

“And so perhaps you will begin to live at the ethical stage. This is characterized by seriousness and consistency of moral choices. This approach is not unlike Kant’s ethics of duty. You try to live by the law of morals. Kierkegaard, like Kant, drew attention first and foremost to human temperament. The important thing is not what you may think is precisely right or wrong. What matters is that you choose to have an opinion at all on what is right or wrong. The aesthete’s only concern is whether something is fun or boring.”

“Isn’t there a risk of becoming too serious, living like that?” “Decidedly! Kierkegaard never claimed that the ethical stage was

satisfactory. Even a dutiful person will eventually get tired of always being dedicated and meticulous. Lots of people experience that sort of fatigue reaction late in life. Some relapse into the reflective life of their aesthetic stage.

“But others make a new leap to the religious stage. They take the ‘jump

into the abyss’ of Faith’s ‘seventy thousand fathoms.’ They choose faith in preference to aesthetic pleasure and reason’s call of duty. And although it can be ‘terrible to jump into the open arms of the living God,’ as Kierkegaard put it, it is the only path to redemption.”

“Christianity, you mean.”

“Yes, because to Kierkegaard, the religious stage was Christianity. But he also became significant to non-Christian thinkers. Existentialism, inspired by the Danish philosopher, flourished widely in the twentieth century.”

Sophie glanced at her watch.

“It’s nearly seven. I have to run. Mom will be frantic.”

She waved to the philosopher and ran down to the boat.