“a woman scorned, like which fury Hell hath no” – Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End

The quote in my last post from The Iliad and the Wikipedia articles on Kierkegaard and his one-time fiancee, Regine Olsen, have lead to a pause and a reflection. In Homer’s day, when a woman set her eye on a man it was called lust. In Kierkegaard’s romantic times it was called an affair de coeur (I know, they were virtuously engaged and Potiphar’s wife was married, but I think the attachment is similar). Nowadays it’s called attraction or being in love. I’ll also qualify that a woman’s emotions are usually tied to her attractions.

We know about Potiphar’s wife’s lying vengence, and her husband’s jealous revenge when she was spurned, and now I want to tie together that with Regine Olsen’s response to Soren breaking off their engagement, albeit because he thought he would not make anyone a good husband.

Kierkegaard seems to have genuinely loved Regine but was unable to reconcile the prospect of marriage with his vocation as a writer and his passionate and introspective Christianity. Regine was shattered by his rejection of her, and was unwilling to accept Kierkegaard’s breaking of their engagement, threatening to kill herself if he did not take her back.[4] Kierkegaard attempted to quell this through actions which made it appear that he did not care for her at all and make it seem that Regine had broken it off. As he later wrote, “there was nothing else for me to do but to venture to the uttermost, to support her, if possible, by means of deception, to do everything to repel her from me in order to rekindle her pride.”[5] He wrote her cold, calculated letters in order to make it seem that he didn’t love her anymore, but Regine clung to the hope that they would get back together, desperately pleading to him to take her back. On October 11, 1841, Kierkegaard met with her and again broke off the engagement in person. Her father tried to persuade him to reconsider after assessing his Regine’s desperate condition, claiming that “It will be the death of her; she is in total despair”[5] Kierkegaard returned the next day and spoke with Regine. To her query as to whether he would ever marry, Kierkegaard icily responded: “Well, yes, in ten years, when I have begun to simmer down and I need a lusty young miss to rejuvenate me.”[5] In reality, Kierkegaard had no such plans, and would remain a celibate bachelor for the rest of his life.[6]

I believe the desperation and despair are similar in the two stories. Regine however was not vindictive. Her desperation made her plead with him and appeal to his guilty conscience however. It wasn’t until she got over it and married another that he wanted to resume friendly relations with her. There was a genuine kindredness between them, but why do we feel that this must be consummated and made exclusive and permanent, or else we’ll die or kill? In the 19th C a woman’s feelings were considered of paramount importance and were to be guarded with strict codes of chivalry. I suppose Soren did the best he could under those codes as evidenced above. He suffered for his choice both in societal standing and in how his own heart was wounded. I intend to eventually read Either/Or, which is believed to be his working out of his heart’s attachment to her and/or to God.

Is this desperate attachment of a woman’s really that big a deal? I think it needs to be looked at critically. It seems that much of it is rooted in fear. A woman can need passionate attention from a man to make her feel secure and worthy. Feminists have reacted to this embarassing vulnerability with the opposite extreme of angry independence, “I don’t need a man!” “Need” is the problem. Fr. Stephen offers helpful perspective on this,

Sometime in this past year I had a short exchange on one of the blog posts on the topic of “necessity” or “need.” The point was made (not by me) that to need anyone or anything was the utter destruction of freedom. A relationship that had “need” at its core was dysfunctional and “co-dependent.” I continue to maintain that Freud is not among the fathers – and thus do not give much concern for psychological treatments of theology. But there is a point that is valuable and worth noting in the sentiment expressed: need can be the destruction of freedom. I come back to this point.

But I want to think first about the question of need – our necessity. “Blessed are those who know their need of God.”

The truth is – we are born into necessity. We are contingent beings – creatures and not gods. We cannot live utterly independent lives. We are born helpless and totally dependent. Our species has among the weakness of all newborns. And though our dependency weakens and changes as we grow – it does not cease. Indeed, as we age, our necessity often comes back with a vengeance.

Necessity is a difficult thing. There is an aspect of our need that plays a part in what it means to love – but it can also be a part of what it means to be a slave. Those who have suffered the extremes of modern prison camps know what it is to be reduced to utter necessity. That reduction is an effort to destroy the humanity of a prisoner – to remove any sense of freedom whatsoever. That it sometimes fails is a remarkable testimony for the grace of God at work in us. Our necessity can be the weakest and most vulnerable aspect of our lives as creatures.

This “weakness” becomes an important theme in the writings of St. Paul.

Necessity is a difficult thing. It can be part of what it means to love – but it can also be part of what it means to be a slave. It is, perhaps, the “weakest” thing about being a creature. St. Paul, confronted with an affliction (unknown to us) described by him as a “messenger of Satan sent to buffet me in the flesh,” says that he “besought the Lord three times” that the affliction might be taken away. He was told in response: “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” The apostle adds: “Therefore I will most gladly prefer to boast of my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me” (2 Corinthians 12:9).

The revelation given to St. Paul is profound. Our weakness is precisely a point of necessity. We cannot handle our weaknesses by ourselves. Our weaknesses reveal the fact that we are not self-sufficient. They frequently leave us feeling vulnerable.

And this weakness, St. Paul says (quoting God), is the very place where God’s strength is made most perfect.

In truth, I need God because I cannot manage my life alone; I cannot solve my own problems; I am captive to sin and death – even my strengths often lead to alienation and estrangement; I cannot raise myself from the dead; I cannot see the world correctly (I am blind); I cannot rightly love even the most obvious things and people.

But, of course, the experience of necessity can also be the experience of slavery. It is not unusual for people to live in relationships of mutual slavery – with very little (if any) true freedom. Necessity, emotional or otherwise, drives them into such relationships and makes their existence into an image of hell. (from The Poor in Spirit)

He then goes on to describe Christ’s assumed needs and our need for God. But back to a woman’s need for security, companionship, and love from a man – perhaps the problem is the selfish acquirement of these needs. Where we place our needs before the man’s and before other virtuous pursuits. Where we do not believe that God will provide for our needs beyond this one object of our affection. It’s interesting that Soren says, “rekindle her pride”. This desperate scorn probably has a deeper root in pride than in security or even a broken heart. Rejection is a very humbling thing. Lord have mercy. I look forward to being enlightened on what effects this had on Kierkegaard’s subsequent written contributions. The wikipedia article on him also talks about the influence of his religious father and his quiet mother who was formerly the household maid and who got pregnant before they were married. Maybe his father’s enormous guilt contributed to Soren choosing to be a celibate bachelor. That’s another thing to consider. How guilt and virtue can lead to rejecting women. Did his father reject his mother, even though he married her, because she was the source of his guilt? It seems kind of weird to think of it being selfish to place one’s virtue over one’s regard for another person. Either/Or should be an interesting read.

(see V for Vendetta for an interesting view of the other side of hope deferred portrayed through Evey’s character)