50 51 68 Either/Or, I Language is the perfect medium precisely when everything sensuous in it is negated. That is also the case with music; that which is really supposed to be heard is continually disengaging itself from the sensuous. It has already been pointed out that music as a medium does not rank as high as language, and that is why I said that music, understood in a certain way, is a lan- guage.
Language addresses itself to the ear. No other medium does this. The ear, in turn, is the most spiritually qualified sense. Most people, I believe, will agree with me on this point. If anyone wishes more information about this, I refer him to the preface to Steffens’s Karrikaturen des Heiligsten.*? Apart from language, music is the only medium that is addressed to the ear. Here again is an analogy and a testimony to the sense in which music is a language. There is much in nature that is ad- dressed to the ear, but what affects the ear is the purely sensate; therefore nature is mute, and it is a ludicrous fancy that one hears something because one hears a cow bellow or, what is perhaps more pretentious, a nightingale warble; it is a fancy that one hears something, a fancy that the one is worth more than the other, since it is all six of one and a half dozen of the other.
Language has its element in time; all other media have space as their element. Only music also occurs in time. But its oc- currence in time is in turn a negation of the feelings dependent upon the senses [det Sandselige]. That which the other arts pro- duce suggests their sensuousness precisely by having its con- tinuance in space. There is, of course, much in nature that oc- curs in time. For example, when a brook ripples and keeps on rippling, there seems to be a qualification of time involved therein. But this is not so, and if anyone absolutely insists that the qualification of time must be present here, then one must say that it certainly is so but that it is spatially qualified. Music does not exist except in the moment it is performed, for even if a person can read notes ever so well and has an ever so vivid imagination, he still cannot deny that only in a figurative sense does music exist when it is being read. It actually exists only when it is being performed. That might seem an imperfection The Immediate Erotic Stages 69 in this art in comparison with the other arts whose works con- tinually exist because they have their continuance in the sen- suous. But this is not so. It is indeed a demonstration that it is a higher, a more spiritual art.
Now, if I start with language in order, by a movement through it, to sound out music, as it were, the matter looks something like this. If I assume that prose is the language form that is most remote from music, I already detect in the oration, in the sonorous construction of its periods, an echo of the mu- sical, which emerges ever more strongly at various stages in the poetic declamation, in the metrical construction, in the rhyme, until finally the musical element has developed so strongly that language leaves off and everything becomes mu- sic. Indeed, this is a pet phrase poets use to indicate that they, as it were, abandon the idea; it disappears for them, and every- thing ends in music. This might seem to imply that music is even closer to perfection as a medium than language. But this is one of those sentimental misconceptions that sprout only in empty heads. That it is a misconception will be pointed out later. Here I wish only to draw attention to the remarkable cir- cumstance that by a movement in the opposite direction I once again encounter music, namely, when I descend from prose permeated by the concept until I end up with interjections, which in turn are musical, just as a child’s first babbling is mu- sical. Here the point certainly cannot be that music is closer to perfection as a medium than language, or that music is a richer medium than language, unless it is assumed that saying ‘““Uh”’ is more valuable than a complete thought. But what does this mean—that where language leaves off] find the musical? This indeed expresses perfectly that language is bounded by music on all sides.
From this we also see the connection with that misconcep- tion that music is supposed to be a richer medium than lan- guage. In other words, when language leaves off, music be- gins; when, as is said, everything is musical, one is not progressing but retrogressing. This is why—and perhaps the experts will agree with me on this—I have never had any sym- pathy for the sublimated music that thinks it does not need 52 53 70 Either/Or, I words. Ordinarily, it thinks itself superior to words, although it is inferior. The objection presumably could be made that if it is true that language is a richer medium than music, then it is incomprehensible that an esthetic analysis of the musical in- volves such great difficulty, incomprehensible that here lan- guage continually shows itself to be a poorer medium than music. But this is neither incomprehensible nor unexplaina- ble. Music always expresses the immediate in its immediacy. This is also the reason that in relation to language music ap- pears first and last, but this also shows that it is a mistake to say that music is closer to perfection as a medium. Reflection is implicit in language, and therefore language cannot express the immediate. Reflection is fatal to the immediate, and there- fore it is impossible for language to express the musical, but this apparent poverty in language is precisely its wealth. In other words, the immediate is the indeterminate, and there- fore language cannot grasp it; but its indeterminacy is not its perfection but rather a defect in it. We indirectly acknowledge this in many ways. For example, we say: I cannot really ex- plain why I do this or that in such a way—I play it by ear. For something that has no connection with the musical, we often use a phrase taken from music but denote thereby the vague, the unexplained, the immediate.
Now, if it is the immediate, qualified by spirit, that receives its proper expression in the musical, the question may be raised again more pointedly: What kind of immediacy is it that is essentially the theme of music? The immediate, qualified by spirit, can be qualified in such a way that it either comes within the realm of spirit or is outside the realm of spirit. When the immediate, qualified by spirit, is qualified in such a way that it falls within the realm of spirit, it can certainly find its expres- sion in the musical, but this immediacy still cannot be music’s absolute theme, for when it is qualified in such a way that it will fall within the realm of spirit, this suggests that music is in alien territory; it forms a prelude that is continually being an- nulled. But if the immediate, qualified by spirit, is qualified in such a way that it is outside the realm of spirit, then music has in this its absolute theme. For the former immediacy, it is The Immediate Erotic Stages 71 unessential for it to be expressed in music, whereas it is essen- tial for it to become spirit and consequently to be expressed in language. For the latter, however, it is essential that it be ex- pressed in music; it can be expressed only therein and cannot be expressed in language, since it is qualified by spirit in such a way that it does not come within the realm of spirit and thus is outside the realm of language. But the immediacy that is thus excluded by spirit is sensuous immediacy. This is linked to Christianity. Sensuous immediacy has its absolute medium in music, and this also explains why music in the ancient world did not become properly developed but is linked to the Chris- tian world. So it is the medium for the immediacy that, qual- ified by spirit, is qualified in such a way that it is outside the realm of spirit. Of course, music can express many other things, but this is its absolute theme. It is also easy to discern that music is a more sensuous medium than language, inas- much as considerably more emphasis is placed on the sensuous sound in music than in language.
Consequently, sensuousness in its elemental originality is the absolute theme of music. The sensuous in its essential na- ture is absolutely lyrical, and in music it erupts in all its lyrical impatience. That is, it is qualified by spirit and therefore is power, life, movement, continual unrest, continual succes- sion. But this unrest, this succession, does not enrich it; it con- tinually remains the same; it does not unfold but incessantly rushes forward as if in a single breath. If] were to describe this lyricism with a single predicate, I would have to say: It sounds—and with this I come back again to the elemental originality of the sensuous as that which in its immediacy manifests itself musically.
That on this point even I could say a good deal more, I know; that it will be easy for the experts to clear everything up in an entirely different way, Iam sure. But since no one, as far as I know, has made an attempt to do so or made a move to- ward doing so, since they merely go on repeating that Mo- zart’s Don Giovanni is the crown among operas without devel- oping further what they mean by that, although they all say it in a way that clearly shows that they thereby mean to say 54 72 Either/Or, I something more than that Don Giovanni is the best opera, that there is a qualitative difference between it and all other operas, which certainly cannot be looked for in anything but the ab- solute relation between idea, form, subject matter, and me- dium—-since, I repeat, this is the situation, I have broken si- lence. Perhaps I have been too hasty; perhaps I would have succeeded in saying it better if I had waited even longer. Per- haps. I do not know. But this I do know, that I did not hurry in order to have the pleasure of talking, that I did not hurry be- cause I feared that someone more expert would beat me to it— but I hurried because I feared that if 1, too, remained silent the stones would begin to speak” in praise of Mozart, to the dis- grace of every human being to whom the gift of speech has been granted.
What has already been said I assume will be more or less suf- ficient, as far as this little exploration is concerned, since essen- tially it is supposed to blaze the trail for a description of the im- mediate erotic stages as we come to know them in Mozart. Before turning to that, however, I wish to mention a fact that from another side can lead our thinking to the absolute relation between the sensuous in its elemental originality and the mu- sical. It is well known that music has always been the object of suspicious attention on the part of religious fervor. Whether it is right in this or not does not concern us here, for that would indeed have only religious interest. It is not, however, without importance to consider what has led to this. If I trace religious fervor on this point, I can broadly define the movement as fol- lows: the more rigorous the religiousness, the more music is given up and words are emphasized. The different stages in this regard are represented in world history. The last stage ex- cludes music altogether and adheres to words alone. I could embellish these statements with a multiplicity of specific com- ments, but I shall refrain and merely quote a few words by a Presbyterian who appears in a story by Achim v. Arnim: “Wir Presbyterianer halten die Orgel ftir des Teufels Dudelsack, womit er den Ernst der Betrachtung in Schlummer wiegt, so wie der Tanz die guten Vorsitze betaubt [We Presbyterians regard the organ as the devil’s bagpipe, with which he lulls to The Immediate Erotic Stages 73 sleep the earnestness of contemplation, just as dance deadens good intentions].’’> This must be regarded as a remark instar omnium [worth them all]. What reason can there be to exclude music in order thereby to make words alone predominant? That words, when they are misused, can confuse the mind just as much as music, all revivalist sects will surely admit. There must, then, be a qualitative difference between them. But that which religious fervor wants to have expressed is spirit; there- fore it requires language, which is the spirit’s proper medium, and rejects music, which for it is a sensuous medium and thus always an imperfect medium with which to express spirit. Whether religious fervor is right in excluding music is, as stated, another question, but its view of the relation of music to language may be perfectly correct. Music need not be ex- cluded, then, but it must be understood that in the realm of spirit it nevertheless is an imperfect medium and that conse- quently it cannot have its absolute theme in the immediately spiritual qualified as spirit. It by no means follows that one must regard it as the devil’s work, even though our age pro- vides many horrible proofs of the demonic power with which music can grip an individual and this individual in turn in- trigues and ensnares the crowd, especially a crowd of women, in the seductive snares of anxiety by means of the full provocative force of voluptuousness. It by no means follows that one must regard it as the devil’s work, even though one detects with a certain secret horror that this art, more than any other art, frequently torments its devotees in a terrible way, a phe- nomenon, strangely enough, that seems to have escaped the attention of the psychologists and the mass, except on a partic- ular occasion when they are alarmed by a desperate individu- al’s scream of anxiety. But it is quite noteworthy that in folk legends, and consequently in the folk consciousness that the legends express, the musical is again the demonic. I cite, as an example, Irische Elfenmdrchen by Grimm, 1826, pp. 25, 28, 29, and 30.7 As for the immediate-erotic stages, 1am indebted for what I can say about them solely to Mozart, to whom on the whole I am indebted for everything. But since the classification I shall 55 56 74 Either/Or, I attempt here can only indirectly, through someone else’s interpretation, be traced back to him, I have examined myself and the classification before beginning in earnest, lest I in any way might spoil for myself or a reader the joy of admiring Mozart’s immortal works. Anyone who wishes to see Mozart in his true immortal greatness must consider his Don Giovanni, in comparison with which everything else is incidental, un- important. But if one considers Don Giovanni in such a way that one includes specific things from Mozart’s other operas in this point of view, then I am convinced that one will neither disparage him nor harm oneself and one’s neighbor. There will be occasion to rejoice that the intrinsic power of music is fully expended in Mozart’s music.
Moreover, when I use the term “‘stage”’ as I did and continue to do, it must not be taken to mean that each stage exists in- dependently, the one outside the other. I could perhaps more appropriately use the word “metamorphosis.” The different stages collectively make up the immediate stage, and from this it will be seen that the specific stages are more a disclosure of a predicate in such a way that all the predicates plunge down in the richness of the last stage, since this is the stage proper. The other stages have no independent existence; by themselves they are only for representation, and from that we also see their fortuitousness in relation to the last stage. But since they have found a separate expression in Mozart’s music, I shall dis- cuss them separately. But, above all, they must not be thought of as persons on different levels with respect to consciousness, since even the last stage has not yet attained consciousness; at all times I am dealing only with the immediate in its total im- mediacy.
The difficulties that always arise when music is made the object of esthetic consideration will of course not be absent here either. The chief difficulty in the foregoing was that, whereas I wanted to demonstrate by way of thought that the elemental originality of the sensuous is music’s essential theme, this still can be demonstrated properly only by music, just as I myself also came to a knowledge of it through music. The difficulty with which the subsequent discussion must The Immediate Erotic Stages 75 struggle is more particularly this: since that which music ex- presses, the theme under discussion here, is essentially the proper theme of music, music expresses it much better than language is capable of doing, which shows up very poorly alongside it. Indeed, if 1 were dealing with the different levels of consciousness, the advantage naturally would be on my side and on the side of language, but that is not the case here. Con- sequently, what will be developed here can have meaning only for the person who has heard and continually keeps on listen- ing. For him it perhaps may contain a particular hint that can prompt him to listen again.
FIRST STAGE” FIRST STAGE” The first stage is suggested by the Page in Figaro. The point here, of course, is not to see a single individual in the Page, something one is so easily tempted to do when in thought or in actuality the Page is represented by a person. It then be- comes difficult to avoid the intrusion of something incidental, some irrelevant idea (which more or less does happen with the Page in the play), so that he becomes more than he is supposed to be, for in a certain sense he promptly becomes that as soon as he becomes an individual. But in becoming more, he be- comes less; he ceases to be the idea. This is why he cannot be given lines, but the music remains the only adequate expres- sion, and thus it is noteworthy that Figaro and Don Giovanni, in their original form from the hand of Mozart, belong to opera seria [serious opera]. If, then, the Page is regarded in this way as a mythical character, the characteristic features of the first stage will be found expressed in the music.
The sensuous awakens, yet not to motion but to a still qui- escence, not to delight and joy but to deep melancholy. As yet desire is not awake; it is intimated in the melancholy. That which is desired is continually present in the desire; it arises from it and appears in a bewildering dawning. This occurs in the sphere of the sensuous, is put at a distance by clouds and mists, and is brought closer by reflection in them. Desire pos- sesses what will become the object of its desire but possesses it 57 76 Either/Or, I without having desired it and thus does not possess it. This is the painful, but also in its sweetness the fascinating and en- chanting contradiction, which with its sadness, its melan- choly, resonates through this stage. Its pain consists not in there being too little but rather in there being too much. The desire is quiet desire, the longing quiet longing, the infatuation quiet infatuation, in which the object is stirring and is so close to the desire that it is within it. That which is desired floats above the desire, sinks down into it, not because of the desire’s own drawing power or because of being desired. That which is desired does not vanish, does not squirm out of desire’s em- brace, for then desire would indeed awaken; but without being desired, it is there for desire, which then becomes depressed precisely because it cannot begin to desire. As soon as desire awakens or, more correctly, in and with its awakening, desire and the object of desire are separated; now desire breathes freely and soundly, whereas before it could not draw its breath because of that which was desired. When desire has not awak- ened, that which is desired fascinates and captivates—indeed, almost causes anxiety. The desire must have air, must find es- cape; this occurs through their being separated. That which is desired shyly flees, bashful as a woman, and the separation oc- curs; that which is desired vanishes et apparet sublimis [and is seen aloft]?’ or in any case outside desire. Painters say that a ceiling painted with figures, one alongside the other, presses down; a single figure done lightly and elusively elevates the ceiling. Such is the relation between desire and the desired in a first and a later stage.
Desire, consequently, which in this stage is present only in a presentiment of itself, is devoid of motion, devoid of unrest, only gently rocked by an unaccountable inner emotion. Just as the life of the plant is confined to the earth, so it is lost in a quiet ever-present longing, absorbed in contemplation, and still cannot discharge its object, essentially because in a more pro- found sense there is no object; and yet this lack of an object is not its object, for then it would immediately be in motion, then it would be defined, if in no other way, by grief and pain; but grief and pain do not have the implicit contradiction char- The Immediate Erotic Stages 77 acteristic of melancholy [Melancholi] and depression [ Tungsin- dighed], do not have the ambiguity that is the sweetness in mel- ancholy. Although desire in this stage is not qualified as desire, although this intimated desire is altogether vague about its ob- ject, it nevertheless has one qualification—it is infinitely deep. Like Thor, it sucks through a horn, the tip of which rests in the ocean;*° but the reason that it cannot suck its object to itself is not that the object is infinite, but that this infinity cannot be- come an object for it. Thus the sucking [Sugen] does not indi- cate a relation to the object but is identical with its sighing [Suk], and this is infinitely deep.
In accord with the description of the first stage given here, it is very significant that the music for the role of the Page is arranged for a woman’s voice. The inconsistency in this stage seems to be suggested by this contradiction; the desire is so vague, the object so little separated from it, that what is de- sired rests androgynously in the desire, just as in plant life the male and female are in one blossom. The desire and the desired are joined in this unity, that they both are neutrius generis [of neuter gender].
Although the speaking lines belong not to the mythical Page but to the Page in the play, the poetic character Cherubino, and although consequently they cannot be considered in this connection, since for one thing they do not belong to Mozart and for another they express something entirely different from what is under discussion here, I nevertheless want to empha- size in some detail one particular line because it gives me an op- portunity to characterize this stage in its analogy to a later stage. Susanna mocks Cherubino because he, too, is in a way infatuated with Marcellina, and the Page has no other answer handy than to say: She is a woman.*! With regard to the Page in the play, it is essential that he be in love with the countess, unessential that he can fall in love with Marcellina, which is merely an indirect and paradoxical expression for the violence of the passion with which he is captivated by the countess. With regard to the mythical Page, it is equally essential that he be in love with the countess and with Marcellina, for feminin- 59 60 78 Either/Or, I ity is indeed his object, and this they both have in common. Therefore, when we later hear about Don Giovanni: Even coquettes as old as sixty He gladly records in his tally,?
we have the perfect analogy to this, except that the intensity and firmness of the desire are far more developed.
Now, if I were to venture an attempt at characterizing Mo- zart’s music with a single predicate pertaining to the Page in Figaro, I would say: It is intoxicated with erotic love; but, like all intoxication, an intoxication with erotic love can also have two effects, either a heightened transparent joy of life or a con- centrated obscure depression. The latter is the case with the music here, and this is indeed proper. The music cannot ex- plain why this is so, for it is beyond its power to do that. Words cannot express the mood, for it is too heavy and dense to be borne by words—only music can render it. The basis of its melancholy lies in the deep inner contradiction we tried to point out earlier.
We now leave the first stage, epitomized by the mythical Page; we let him, depressed, continue to dream about what he has, melancholy, to desire what he possesses. He never goes further; he never moves from the spot, for his movements are illusory, and hence there is no movement at all. The Page in the play is another matter; with true and honest friendliness we shall be interested in his future. We congratulate him on hav- ing become a captain; we permit him to kiss Susanna once more in farewell. We shall not betray him with regard to the mark on his forehead, which no one can see except the one who knows about it. But no more than this, my good Che- rubino, or we shall call the count, and then it will be “Be off! There is the door! To your regiment! After all, he is no child, and no one knows that better than I do.”
SECOND STAGE This stage is epitomized by Papageno in The Magic Flute.*4 Here again, of course, the point is to separate the essential The Immediate Erotic Stages 79 from the accidental, to evoke the mythical Papageno and for- get the actual character in the play, and especially here, since this character in the play has become involved in all sorts of dubious nonsense. In this connection, it would not be devoid of interest to go through the whole opera to show that its theme, regarded as a theme for an opera, is a failure at its deep- est level. There would also be no lack of opportunity to illu- minate the erotic from a new side by observing how the at- tempt to put a more profound ethical view into it, in such a way that it tries its hand at all sorts of rather important dialec- tical engagements, is a daring venture that has ventured far be- yond the boundaries of music, so that it was impossible even for a Mozart to invest it with any deeper interest. The distin- guishing tendency in this opera is precisely the unmusical, and therefore, despite some perfect concert numbers and a few deeply moving, pathos-filled lines, it is by no means a classic opera. But all this cannot concern us in the present little explo- ration. Our only concern here is Papageno. This is a great ad- vantage for us, if for no other reason than that we are thereby exempt from any attempt to explain the significance of Papa- geno’s relation to Tamino, a relation that in design appears so profound and thoughtful that it practically becomes unthink- able because of its very thoughtfulness.
Such a treatment of The Magic Flute perhaps could seem ar- bitrary to one or another reader, because it sees both too much in Papageno and too little in the rest of the opera; he may not be able to sanction our conduct. This is because he does not agree with us on the point of departure for any consideration of Mozart’s music. This, in our judgment, is Don Giovanni, and it is also our conviction—without denying the importance of making each opera the subject of a special study—that the greatest veneration of Mozart is shown if several other operas are looked at in relation to this one.
Desire awakens, and just as we always realize that we have dreamed only in the moment we awaken, so also here—the dream is over. This awakening in which desire awakens, this jolt, separates desire and its object, gives desire an object. A di- alectical qualification that must be strictly maintained is this: 61 62 80 Either/Or, I only when there is an object is there desire; only when there is desire is there an object. The desire and the object are twins, neither of which comes into the world one split second before the other. But even though they came into the world abso- lutely coinstantaneously, and even though they do not have an interval of time between them, as twins generally have, the significance of this coming into existence [Tilblivelse] is not that they are united but rather that they are separated. But this movement of the sensuous, this earthquake, splits the desire from its object infinitely for a moment; but just as the moving principle shows itself for a moment as disuniting, so it mani- fests itself in turn as wanting to unite the separated. The result of the separation is that desire is torn out of its substantial re- pose in itself, and as a consequence of this, the object no longer falls under the rubric of substantiality but splits up into a mul- tiplicity.