Sophie's World: A Novel About the History of Philosophy

  “You’re not especially free or independent if you just do whatever you want, in any case.”

  “One can become a slave to all kinds of things. One can even become a slave to one’s own egoism. Independence and freedom are exactly what are required to rise above one’s desires and vices.”

  “What about animals? I suppose they just follow their inclinations and needs. They don’t have any freedom to follow moral law, do they?”

  “No, that’s the difference between animals and humans.”

  “I see that now.”

  “And finally we could perhaps say that Kant succeeded in showing the way out of the impasse that philosophy had reached in the struggle between rationalism and empiricism. With Kant, an era in the history of philosophy is therefore at an end. He died in 1804, when the cultural epoch we call Romanticism was in the ascendant. One of his most quoted sayings is carved on his gravestone in Konigsberg: Two things fill my mind with ever-increasing wonder and awe, the more often and the more intensely the reflection dwells on them: the starry heavens above me and the moral law within me.’ “

  Alberto leaned back in his chair. “That’s it,” he said. “I think I have told you what’s most important about Kant.”

  “Anyway, it’s a quarter past four.”

  “But there is just one thing. Please give me a minute.”

  “I never leave the classroom before the teacher is finished.”

  “Did I say that Kant believed we had no freedom if we lived only as creatures of the senses?”

  “Yes, you said something like that.”

  “But if we obey universal reason we are free and independent. Did I say that, too?”

  “Yes. Why are you saying it again now?”

  Alberto leaned toward Sophie, looked deep into her eyes, and whispered: “Don’t believe everything you see, Sophie.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Just turn the other way, child.”

  “Now, I don’t understand what you mean at all.”

  “People usually say, I’ll believe that when I see it. But don’t believe what you see, either.”

  “You said something like that once before.”

  “Yes, about Parmenides.”

  “But I still don’t know what you mean.”

  “Well, we sat out there on the step, talking. Then that so-called sea serpent began to flap about in the water.”

  “Wasn’t it peculiar!”

  “Not at all. Then Little Red Ridinghood came to the door. ‘I’m looking for my grandmother’s house.’ What a silly performance! It’s just the major’s tricks, Sophie. Like the banana message and that idiotic thunderstorm.”

  “Do you think ... ?”

  “But I said I had a plan. As long as we stick to our reason, he can’t trick us. Because in a way we are free. He can let us ‘perceive’ all kinds of things; nothing would surprise me. If he lets the sky go dark or elephants fly, I shall only smile. But seven plus five is twelve. That’s a fact that survives all his comic-strip effects. Philosophy is the opposite of fairy tales.”

  Sophie sat for a moment staring at him in amazement.

  “Off you go,” he said finally. “I’ll call you for a session on Romanticism. You also need to hear about Hegel and Kierkegaard. But there’s only a week to go before the major arrives at Kjevik airport. Before then, we must manage to free ourselves from his gluey fantasies. I’ll say no more, Sophie. Except that I want you to know I’m working on a wonderful plan for both of us.”

  “I’ll be off, then.”

  “Wait—we may have forgotten the most important thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The birthday song, Sophie. Hilde is fifteen today.”

  “So am I.”

  “You are, too, yes. Let’s sing then.”

  They both stood up and sang:

  “Happy Birthday to You.”

  It was half-past four. Sophie ran down to the water’s edge and rowed over to the other side. She pulled the boat up into the rushes and began to hurry through the woods.

  When she reached the path, she suddenly noticed something moving between the trees. She wondered if it was Little Red Ridinghood wandering alone through the woods to her grandmother’s, but the figure between the trees was much smaller.

  She went nearer. The figure was no bigger than a doll. It was brown and was wearing a red sweater.

  Sophie stopped dead in her tracks when she realized it was a teddy bear.

  That someone could have left a teddy bear in the forest was in itself no surprise. But this teddy bear was alive, and seemed intensely preoccupied.

  “Hi,” said Sophie.

  “My name is Winnie-the-Pooh,” said the teddy bear, “and I have unfortunately lost my way in the woods on this otherwise very fine day. I have certainly never seen you before.”

  “Maybe I’m the one who has never been here before,” said Sophie. “So for that matter you could still be back home in Hundred Acre Wood.”

  “No, that sum is much too hard. Don’t forget I’m only a small bear and I’m not very clever.”

  “I have heard of you.”

  “And I suppose you are Alice. Christopher Robin told us about you one day. I suppose that’s how we met. You drank so much out of one bottle that you got smaller and smaller. But then you drank out of another bottle and started to grow again. You really have to be careful what you put in your mouth. I ate so much once that I got stuck in a rabbit hole.”

  “I am not Alice.”

  “It makes no difference who we are. The important thing is that we are. That’s what Owl says, and he is very wise. Seven plus four is twelve, he once said on quite an ordinary sunny day. Both Eeyore and me felt very stupid, ‘cos it’s hard to do sums. It’s much easier to figure out the weather.”

  “My name is Sophie.”

  “Nice to meet you, Sophie. As I said, I think you must be new around here. But now this little bear has to go ‘cos I’ve got to find Piglet. We are going to a great big garden party for Rabbit and his friends.”

  He waved with one paw. Sophie saw now that he was holding a little folded piece of paper in the other.

  “What is that you’ve got there?” she asked.

  Winnie-the-Pooh produced the paper and said: “This was what made me lose my way.”

  “But it’s only a piece of paper.”

  “No it’s not only a piece of paper. It’s a letter to Hilde-through-the-Looking-Glass.”

  “Oh—I can take that.”

  “Are you the girl in the looking glass?”

  “No, but. . .”

  “A letter must always be delivered personally. Christopher Robin had to teach me that only yesterday.”

  “But I know Hilde.”

  “Makes no difference. Even if you know a person very well, you should never read their letters.”

  “I mean, I can give it to Hilde.”

  “That’s quite a different thing. Here you are, Sophie. If I can get rid of this letter, I can probably find Piglet as well. To find Hilde-through-the-Looking-Glassyou must first find a big looking glass. But that is no easy matter round here.”

  And with that the little bear handed over the folded paper to Sophie and set off through the woods on his little feet. When he was out of sight, Sophie unfolded the piece of paper and read it:

  Dear Hilde, It’s too bad that Alberto didn’t also tell Sophie that Kant advocated the establishment of a “league of nations.” In his treatise Perpetual Peace, he wrote that all countries should unite in a league of the nations, which would assure peaceful coexistence between nations. About 125 years after the appearance of this treatise in 1795, the League of Nations was founded, after the First World War. After the Second World War it was replaced by the United Nations. So you could say that Kant was the father of the UN idea. Kant’s point was that man’s “practical reason” requires the nations to emerge from their wild state of nature which creates wars, and contract to keep the peace.
Although the road to the establishment of a league of nations is laborious, it is our duty to work for the “universal and lasting securing of peace.” The establishment of such a league was for Kant a far-distant goal. You could almost say it was philosophy’s ultimate goal. I am in Lebanon at the moment. Love, Dad.

  Sophie put the note in her pocket and continued on her way homeward. This was the kind of meeting in the woods Alberto had warned her about. But she couldn’t have let the little teddy wander about in the woods on a never ending hunt for Hilde-through-the-Looking-Glass, could she?

  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.