“这我们就要谈到祁克果所说的‘人生三阶段’的理论了。”
“对不起，我没听清楚。”
“祁克果认为生命有三种不同的形式。他本人所用的名词是‘阶段’。他把它们称为‘美感阶段’、‘道德阶段’和‘宗教阶段’。他用‘阶段’这个名词是为了要强调人可能会生活在一个较低的阶段，然后突然跃升到一个较高的阶段。许多人终其一生都活在同样的阶段。”
“请你再解释清楚。因为我很想知道自己现在是在哪个阶段。”
“活在美感阶段的人只是为了现在而活，因此他会抓住每个享乐的机会。只要是美的、令人满足的、令人愉快的，就是好的。这样的人完全活在感官的世界中，是他自己的欲望与情绪的奴隶。对他而言，凡是令人厌烦的，就是不好的。”
“谢啦，我想我对这种态度很熟悉。”
“典型的浪漫主义者也就是典型的活在美感阶段的人，因为这个阶段所包含的并不只是纯粹的感官享乐而已。一个从美感的角度来看待现实，或自己的艺术，或他所 信仰的哲学的人，就是活在美感阶段里。他们也可能从美学的角度来看待痛苦或悲伤，但这只是虚荣心作祟罢了。易卜生的《皮尔金》这出戏的男主角就是典型的活 在美感阶段的人。”
“我想我懂你的意思了。”
“你认识这样的人吗?”
“没有很典型的。不过我想少校有点像是那样。”
“也许吧，也许吧，苏菲……虽然这是他展现他那病态的浪漫主义反讽的又一个例子。你应该把你的嘴巴洗一洗。”
“什么?”
“好吧，这不是你的错。”
“那就请你继续说下去吧。”
“一个活在美感阶段的人很容易有焦虑或恐怖和空虚的感受。
但果真这样，他就有救了。祁克果认为，害怕几乎是有正面意义的。
它表示这个人正处于‘存在的状态中’，可以跃升到更高阶段。可是你要不就晋升到较高的阶段，要不就停留原地。如果你不采取行动，而只是在即将跃升的边缘徘徊是没有用的。这是个两者只能择其一的情况，而且没有人能够帮你做这件事，这是你自己的抉择。”
“这很像是决定要不要戒酒或戒毒一样。”
“是的，有可能。祁克果所描述的这个‘决定的范畴’(categoryofdecision)可能会使人想起苏格拉底所说的所有真正的智慧都来自内心的话。是否要从美感阶段跃升到道德阶段或宗教阶段，必须是发自个人内心的决定。易卜生在《皮尔金》里面也描绘了这一点。
另外，陀思妥耶夫斯基在他的大作《罪与罚》这本小说中，也生动地描述了存在的抉择如何必须发自内心的需要与绝望的感受。”
“那时你最佳的选择就是过一种完全不同的生活。”
“如此你也许才可以开始活在道德阶段。这个阶段的特色就是对生命抱持认真的态度，并且始终一贯的做一些符合道德的抉择。
这种态度有点像是康德的责任道德观，就是人应该努力依循道德法则而生活。祁克果和康德一样注重人的性情。他认为，重要的不是你认为何者是、何者非，而是你开始在意事情的是非对错。相反的，活在美感阶段的人则只注重一件事是否有趣。”
“像那样活在道德阶段，人难道不会变得太严肃了吗?”
“确实可能。祁克果从不认为道德阶段是很圆满的。即使是一个敬业尽责的人，如果一直彻底的过着这种生活，最后也会厌倦的。许多人到了年长之后开始有这种厌 倦的感受。有些人就因此重新回到美感阶段的生活方式。可是也有人进一步跃升到宗教阶段。他们一步就跳进信仰那‘七万吋的深渊里’。他们选择信仰，而不选择 美感的愉悦和理性所要求的责任。而就像祁克果所说的，虽然‘跳进上帝张开的双臂’也许是一件很令人害怕的事，但这却是得到救赎唯一的途径。”
“你的意思是信仰基督教。”
“是的，因为对祁克果而言，活在‘宗教阶段’就等于是信奉基督。不过对于非基督徒的思想家而言，他也是很重要的一个人物。
盛行于二十世纪的存在主义就是受到这位丹麦哲学家的启发。”
苏菲看看她的手表。
“已经快七点了。我必须冲回家去了。妈妈不急死才怪。”
她向艾伯特挥一挥手，就跑到小船那儿去了。
Marx
a spectre is haunting Europe
Hilde got off her bed and went to the window facing the bay. When she had started to read this Saturday, it was still Sophie's fifteenth birthday. The day before had been Hilde's own birthday.
If her father had imagined that she would get as far as Sophie's birthday yesterday, he had certainly not been realistic. She had done nothing but read all day long. But he was right that there would only be one more birthday greeting. It was when Alberto and Sophie had sung Happy Birthday to her. Very embarrassing, Hilde thought.
And now Sophie had invited people to a philosophical garden party on the very day her father was due back from Lebanon. Hilde was convinced something would happen that day which neither she nor her father were quite sure of.
But one thing was certain: before her father got home to Bjerkely he would get a scare. That was the least she could do for Sophie and Alberto, especially after they had appealed for help ...
Her mother was still down in the boathouse. Hilde ran downstairs to the telephone. She found Anne and Ole's number in Copenhagen and called them.
"Anne Kvamsdal."
"Hi, this is Hilde."
"Oh, how are you? How are things in Lillesand?"
"Fine, with vacation and everything. And Dad gets back from Lebanon in a week."
"Won't that be great, Hilde!"
"Yes, I'm looking forward to it. That's actually why I'm calling..."
"It is?"
"I think he's landing at Kastrup around 5 p.m. on Saturday the 23rd. Will you be in Copenhagen then?"
"I think so."
"I was wondering if you could do something for me."
"Why, of course."
"It's kind of a special favor. I'm not even sure if it's possible."
"Now you're making me curious ..."
Hilde began to describe her plan. She told Anne about the ring binder, about Sophie and Alberto and all the rest. She had to backtrack several times because either she or Anne were laughing too hard. But when Hilde hung up, her plan was in operation.
She would now have to begin some preparations of her own. But there was still plenty of time.
Hilde spent the remainder of the afternoon and the evening with her mother. They ended up driving to Kris-tiansand and going to the movies. They felt they had some catching up to do since they had not done anything special the day before. As they drove past the exit to Kjevik airport, a few more pieces of the big jigsaw puzzle Hilde was constructing fell into place.
It was late before she went to bed that night, but she took the ring binder and read on.
When Sophie slipped out of the den through the hedge it was almost eight o'clock. Her mother was weeding the flowerbeds by the front door when Sophie appeared.
"Where did you spring from?"
"I came through the hedge."
"Through the hedge?"
"Didn't you know there was a path on the other side?"
"But where have you been, Sophie? This is the second time you've just disappeared without leaving any message."
"I'm sorry, Mom. It was such a lovely day, I went for a long walk."
Her mother rose from the pile of weeds and gave her a severe look.
"You haven't been with that philosopher again?"
"As a matter of fact, I have. I told you he likes going for long walks."
"But he is coming to the garden party, isn't he?"
"Oh yes, he's looking forward to it."
"Me too. I'm counting the days."
Was there a touch of sharpness in her voice? To be on the safe side, Sophie said:
"I'm glad I invited Joanna's parents too. Otherwise it might be a bit embarrassing."
"I don't know ... but whatever happens, I am going to have a talk with this Alberto as one adult to another."
"You can borrow my room if you like. I'm sure you'll like him."
"And another thing. There's a letter for you."
"There is?"
"It's stamped UN Battalion."
"It must be from Alberto's brother."
"It's got to stop, Sophie!"
Sophie's brain worked overtime. But in a flash she hit on a plausible answer It was as though she was getting inspiration from some guiding spirit.
"I told Alberto I collect rare postmarks. And brothers also have their uses."
Her mother seemed to be reassured.
"Dinner's in the fridge," she said in a slightly more amicable tone.
"Where's the letter?"
"On top of the fridge."
Sophie rushed inside. The envelope was stamped June 15, 1990. She opened it and took out a little note:
What matters our creative endless toil, When at a snatch, oblivion ends the coil?
Indeed, Sophie had no answer to that question. Before she ate, she put the note in the closet together with all the other stuff she had collected in the past weeks. She would learn soon enough why the question had been asked.
The following morning Joanna came by. After a game of badminton, they got down to planning the philosophical garden party. They needed to have some surprises on hand in case the party flopped at any point.
When Sophie's mother got home from work they were still talking about it. Her mother kept saying: "Don't worry about what it costs." And she was not being sarcastic!
Perhaps she was thinking that a "philosophical garden party" was just what was needed to bring Sophie down to earth again after her many weeks of intensive philosophical studies.
Before the evening was over they had agreed on everything, from paper lanterns to a philosophical quiz with a prize. The prize should preferably be a book about philosophy for young people. If there was such a thing! Sophie was not at all sure.
Two days before Midsummer Eve, on Thursday, June 21, Alberto called Sophie again.
"Sophie."
"And Alberto."
"Oh, hi! How are you?"
"Very well indeed, thank you. I think I have found an excellent way out."
"Way out of what?"
"You know what. A way out of the mental captivity we have lived in for much too long."
"Oh, that."
"But I cannot say a word about the plan before it is set in motion."
"Won't it be too late then? I need to know what I am involved in."
"Now you're being na'i've. All our conversations are being overheard. The most sensible thing would be to say nothing."
"It's as bad as that, huh?"
"Naturally, my child. The most important things must happen when we are not talking."
"Oh."
"We are living our lives in a fictional reality behind the words in a long story. Each single letter is being written on an old portable typewriter by the major. Nothing that is in print can therefore escape his attention."
"No, I realize that. But how are we going to hide from him?"
"Ssh!"
"What?"
"There's something going on between the lines as well. That's just where I'm trying to be tricky, with every crafty ruse I know."
"I get it."
"But we must make the most of the time both today and tomorrow. On Saturday the balloon goes up. Can you come over right now?"
"I'm on my way."
Sophie fed the birds and the fish and found a large lettuce leaf for Govinda. She opened a can of cat food for Sher-ekan and put it out in a bowl on the step as she left.
Then she slipped through the hedge and out to the path on the far side. A little way further on she suddenly caught sight of a spacious desk standing in the midst of the heather. An elderly man was sitting at it, apparently adding up figures. Sophie went over to him and asked his name.
"Ebenezer Scrooge," he said, poring over his ledgers again.
"My name is Sophie. You are a businessman, I presume?"
He nodded. "And immensely rich. Not a penny must go to waste. That's why I have to concentrate on my accounts."
"Why bother?"
Sophie waved and walked on. But she had not gone many yards before she noticed a little girl sitting quite alone under one of the tall trees. She was dressed in rags, and looked pale and ill. As Sophie walked by, she thrust her hand into a little bag and pulled out a box of matches.
"Will you buy some matches?" she asked, holding them out to Sophie. Sophie felt in her pockets to see if she had any money with her. Yes--she found a crown.
"How much are they?"
"One crown."
Sophie gave the girl the coin and stood there, with the box of matches in her hand.
"You are the first person to buy anything from me for over a hundred years. Sometimes I starve to death, and other times the frost does away with me."
Sophie thought it was perhaps not surprising if the sale of matches was not especially brisk here in the woods. But then she came to think of the businessman she had just passed. There was no reason for the little match girl to die of starvation when he was so wealthy.
"Come here," said Sophie.
She took the girl's hand and walked with her back to the rich man.
"You must see to it that this girl gets a better life," she said.
The man glanced up from his paperwork and said: "That kind of thing costs money, and I said not so much as a penny must go to waste."
"But it's not fair that you're so rich when this girl is so poor," insisted Sophie. "It's unjust!"
"Bah! Humbug! Justice only exists between equals."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I had to work my way up, and it has paid off. Progress, they call it."
"If you don't help me, I'll die," said the poor girl.
The businessman looked up again from his ledgers. Then he threw his quill pen onto the table impatiently.
"You don't figure in my accounts! So--be off with you--to the poorhouse!"
"If you don't help me, I'll set fire to the woods," the girl persisted.
That brought the man to his feet, but the girl had already struck one of her matches. She held it to a tuft of dry grass which flared up instantly.
The man threw up his arms. "God help me!" he shouted. "The red cock has crowed!"
The girl looked up at him with a playful smile.
"You didn't know I was a communist, did you?"
The next minute, the girl, the businessman, and the desk had disappeared. Sophie was once again standing alone while the flames consumed the dry grass ever more hungrily. It took her a while to put out the fire by stamping on it.
Thank goodness! Sophie glanced down at the blackened grass. She was holding a box of matches in her hand.
She couldn't have started the fire herself, could she?
When she met Alberto outside the cabin she told him what had happened.
"Scrooge was the miserly capitalist in A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens. You probably remember the little match girl from the tale by Hans Christian Andersen."
"I didn't expect to meet them here in the woods."
"Why not? These are no ordinary woods, and now we are going to talk about Karl Marx. It is most appropriate that you have witnessed an example of the tremendous class struggles of the mid-nineteenth century. But let's go inside. We are a little more protected from the major's interference there."
Once again they sat at the little table by the window facing the lake. Sophie could still feel all over her body how she had experienced the little lake after having drunk from the blue bottle.
Today, both bottles were standing on the mantelpiece. There was a miniature model of a Greek temple on the table.
"What's that?" asked Sophie.
"All in good time, my dear."
Alberto began to talk: "When Kierkegaard went to Berlin in 1841, he might have sat next to Karl Marx at Schel-ling's lectures. Kierkegaard had written a master of arts thesis on Socrates. About the same time, Marx had written a doctoral thesis on Democritus and Epicurus--in other words, on the materialism of antiquity. Thus they had both staked out the course of their own philosophies."
"Because Kierkegaard became an existentialist and Marx became a materialist?"
"Marx became what is known as a historical materialist. But we'll come back to that."
"Go on."
"Each in his own way, both Kierkegaard and Marx took Hegel's philosophy as their point of departure. Both were influenced by Hegel's mode of thought, but both rejected his 'world spirit,' or his idealism."
