For Kierkegaard, the kata-strophe recurs over and over. It rotates. And if we look into the kata-strophe literally, we see that one strophe or verse runs into another. One group of words counters or negates the truth of another and this, for Kierkegaard, is a kata-strophe. Strangely enough, for Kierkegaard, this kata-strophe is not simply tragic. It is laughable. But this laughter is accompanied by an inner, religious, silence.
In my last blog entry on Kierkegaard laughter, boredom, and the rotating kata-strophe, I noted Kierkegaard’s ultimate wish in his book Either/Or. The opportunity to make this wish was given to him by the gods. It was given to him, unexpectedly, when we was in depths of despair:
Something wonderful happened to me. I was carried up into the seventh heaven. There all the gods sat assembled. By special grace I was granted the favor of a wish. “Will you,” said Mercury, “have youth, or beauty, or power, or a long life, or the most beautiful maiden, or any of the other glories we have in the chest? Choose, but only one thing.” For a moment, I was at a loss. The I addressed myself to the gods as follows: “Most honorable contemporaries, I choose this one thing, that I may always have the laugh on my side.” (A Kierkegaard Anthology ed. Robert Bretall, 36)
Kierkegaard chooses laughter. This implies that his choice of laughter over all else will be with him to the very end. More fascinating is the fact that he is given this opportunity by the gods and not by God. Given that the gods give him this opportunity and laugh their immortal laughter in assent, makes it explicitly clear that this is a Greek and not a Biblical opportunity.
Kierkegaard knows this and is acutely aware that the comic salvation of the Greek gods may not be consistent with the salvation of Biblical God. With this awareness, Kierkegaard does something that was never done before in the history of philosophy: he tries to reconcile Greek irony with faith.
We see this attempt in The Concluding Unscientific Postscript to the “Philosophical Fragments,” which was published in 1846. What most thinkers find most significant about this publication is the fact that it introduces Kierkegaard’s thesis that “truth is subjectivity.” What many fail to notice, however, is that Kierkegaard makes great efforts to apply his ideas of irony to religion and reconcile his view of laughter, which will always be at his side, with faith. More importantly, for us, Kierkegaard’s comic-faith model can be read against the schlemiel-as-prophet.
Does Kierkegaard’s reading have anything in common with a Jewish reading of comedy and laughter or does it posit a nuanced Christian reading of the relationship of faith to comedy?
In The Post-Script, Kierkegaard returns to the dialectic of remembrance and forgetfulness that we saw in Either/Or. Here, he notes that absent-mindedness in relation to one’s existence, which has everything to do with this dialectic, is comic:
Either he can do his utmost to forget that he is an existing individual, by which he becomes a comic figure, since existence has a remarkable trait of compelling an existing individual to exist whether he wills it or not…Or he can concentrate his entire energy upon the fact that he is an existing individual…The existing individual who forgets that he is an existing individual will become more and more absent-minded. (203, Anthology)
Kierkegaard goes on to argue that Hegel’s philosophy is absent-minded and distracted. It forgets that “those to whom the philosopher addresses himself are human beings” and not concepts. When the philosopher “confuses himself with humanity at large,” he will come to learn that the “royal ‘we’” no longer has power: “When one discovers that every street urchin can say ‘we’, one perceives that it means a little more, after all, to be a particular individual”(206). Kierkegaard finds the philosopher and the “basement dweller,” who also “plays the game of being humanity,” to be equally “ridiculous.”
So, if the average man and the philosopher are both absent-minded, who is left? It seems both of them are caught up in forgetfulness? Where is memory and remembrance? On the side of existence?
Kierkegaard, in a bold move, turns to religion as the place of remembrance:
Say, rather, which you will always remember; for this expression connects itself more closely with the subject of our conversation, namely, that we ought always to bear in mind that a man can do nothing of himself. (239)
However, Kierkegaard is not satisfied with this because of the language that is used. He puts the word “always” into italics. He is, in other words, suspicious of such verbal oaths. He is more interested in the religious as such which strikes one “dumb” (242) and puts one at a loss for the “right word.” The relationship to God in prayer, for Kierkegaard, discloses one to one’s powerlessness. And what happens, in the faith experience, is that the subject realizes that they cannot “bring” God together with “accidental finitude.” They are left to suffer with this contradiction. And this is not a laughing matter. Kierkegaard, on the contrary, seems to find no room for irony in this unhappy consciousness which is unable to speak. To be sure, Kierkegaard notes that faith is equivalent to the “repulsion of the absurd” (which is another way of saying a repulsion of the ironic and the ridiculous).
But faith doesn’t have the last word. At the end of The Postscript, Kierkegaard turns back to his ally: laughter. And in this last section, Kierkegaard attempts to reconcile the gift of the Greek gods with the God of monotheism.
The question remains: Do we ever stop laughing?
(We will return to this in the next blog entry – Part 2.)