Kierkegaard's Journals and Notebooks, Volume 5: Journals NB6-NB10 9781400840243

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KIERKEGAARD’S JOURNALS AND NOTEBOOKS

BRUCE H. KIRMMSE AND K. BRIAN SÖDERQUIST GENERAL EDITORS

KIERKEGAARD’S JOURNALS AND NOTEBOOKS VOLUME 5 Journals NB6–10

Edited by Niels Jørgen Cappelørn, Alastair Hannay, David Kangas, Bruce H. Kirmmse, George Pa�ison, Joel D. S. Rasmussen, Vanessa Rumble, and K. Brian Söderquist

Published in cooperation with the Søren Kierkegaard Research Centre Copenhagen

Princeton University Press Princeton and Oxford

KIERKEGAARD’S

JOURNALS and NOTEBOOKS Editorial Board Niels Jørgen Cappelørn, Alastair Hannay, David Kangas, Bruce H. Kirmmse, George Pa�ison, Joel D. S. Rasmussen, Vanessa Rumble, and K. Brian Söderquist in cooperation with the Søren Kierkegaard Research Centre, Copenhagen Volume 5, Journals NB6–NB10 Originally published under the titles Søren Kierkegaards Skrifer: 21 Journalerne NB6–NB10 and Søren Kierkegaards Skrifer: K21 Kommentarer til Journalerne NB6–NB10 © 2003 by the Søren Kierkegaard Research Centre Foundation, Copenhagen The Søren Kierkegaard Research Centre Foundation at Copenhagen University has been established with support from the Danish National Research Foundation. English translation Copyright © 2011 by the Søren Kierkegaard Research Centre Foundation, Copenhagen, and the Howard and Edna Hong Kierkegaard Library, St. Olaf College, Northfield, Minnesota Requests for permission to reproduce material from this work should be sent to Permissions, Princeton University Press Published by Princeton University Press, 41 William Street, Princeton, New Jersey 08540 In the United Kingdom: Princeton University Press, 6 Oxford Street, Woodstock, Oxfordshire OX20 1TW press.princeton.edu All Rights Reserved Library of Congress Control Number 2011925169 ISBN: 978-0-691-15218-9 British Library Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available The publication of Kierkegaard’s Journals and Notebooks is supported by grants from the Danish Ministry of Culture, the United States National Endowment for the Humanities, and Connecticut College. Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this publication do not necessarily reflect those of the National Endowment for the Humanities. Kierkegaard’s Journals and Notebooks is based on Søren Kierkegaards Skrifer, which is published with the support of grants from the Danish National Research Foundation and the Danish Ministry of Culture. Except as otherwise noted, all photographs have been provided by the photographic studio of the Royal Danish Library. This book has been composed in Palatino and Optima by K.Nun Design, Copenhagen, Denmark Text design by Bent Rohde Printed on acid-free paper. ∞ Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

Introduction

........................

....................... Journal NB 7 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Journal NB 8 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Journal NB 9 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Journal NB 10 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Journal NB 6

vii 1 73 147 205 263

............... Notes for Journal NB 7 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Notes for Journal NB 8 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Notes for Journal NB 9 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Notes for Journal NB 10 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

387

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561

.......................... Concordance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

569

Notes for Journal NB 6

Maps

Calendar

421 453 483 515

575

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Kierkegaard’s Journals and Notebooks Introduction to the English Language Edition Kierkegaard’s Journals and Notebooks is based on Søren Kierkegaards Skri�er (herea�er, SKS) [Søren Kierkegaard’s Writings] (Copenhagen: Gad, 1997–), which is a Danish scholarly, annotated edition of everything wri�en by Søren Kierkegaard (1813–1855). When completed SKS will comprise fi�y-five volumes. SKS divides the entirety of Kierkegaard’s output into four categories: 1) works published by Kierkegaard during his lifetime (e.g., such well-known titles as Either/Or, Fear and Trembling, and The Sickness unto Death); 2) works that lay ready―or substantially ready―for publication at the time of Kierkegaard’s death, but which he did not publish in his lifetime (e.g., titles such as The Book on Adler, The Point of View for My Work as an Author, and Judge for Yourself!); 3) journals, notebooks, excerpts, and loose papers, collectively titled Kierkegaard’s “journals and notebooks”; and 4) le�ers and biographical documents. Clearly, Kierkegaard was not only a prolific author, he was also a prolific writer, and his literary activity found expression not only in his published works but also in the mass of writings that were not published in his lifetime. It is these writings, the third category listed above, titled Kierkegaard’s Journals and Notebooks (herea�er, KJN) that constitute the material of the present English language edition. For a detailed account of previous Danish and English language editions of Kierkegaard’s unpublished writings, see pp. vii–xii of the “Intrduction to the English Language Edition” in volume 1 of KJN.

I. Kierkegaard’s Journals and Notebooks Based as it is on the new Danish edition of SKS, the present English language edition of Kierkegaard’s Journals and Notebooks employs the SKS principle of organization by archival unit: journals, notebooks, and loose papers. The materials constituting the present edition of KJN consist of the documents mentioned above as the third category of materials included in SKS as volumes 17 through 27. The eleven volumes

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of KJN contain the translated text of these eleven SKS volumes, plus most of the explanatory notes contained in the eleven SKS commentary volumes that accompany SKS 17–27. Specifically, the textual materials constituting KJN consist of the following documents: a) a set of ten journals to which Kierkegaard affixed labels designating them “AA” through “KK” (as “I” and “J” are identical in the classical Roman alphabet, there is no journal titled “I I”); b) fi�een notebooks, designated “1” through “15” by the editors of SKS, sequenced according to the dates on which Kierkegaard first made use of them; Kierkegaard himself assigned titles to four of these notebooks, and the editors retain these titles in parentheses; c) a series of thirty-six quarto-sized, bound journal volumes to which Kierkegaard affixed labels designating them journals “NB,” “NB2,” “NB3,” through “NB36”; and d) a great variety of materials―a large number of individual folio sheets, pages, slips, and scraps of paper―which the editors of KJN, following the editors of SKS, title “loose papers.” There is a good deal of chronological back-and-forth in Kierkegaard’s posthumous papers. Kierkegaard o�en made use of several of the first twenty-four documents―the ten journals designated “AA” through “KK” and the notebooks “1” through “14”―simultaneously, and there is thus much temporal overlap among these journals and notebooks. (Indeed, it was only a�er they had been in use for some time, probably in mid- or late 1842, that Kierkegaard assigned the designations “AA” through “KK” to the journal volumes bearing those labels.) Nonetheless, the above-mentioned archival units do fall into several broad temporal categories, and these twenty-four journals and notebooks can be collectively assigned to the period 1833–1846. Notebook 15, however, which is entirely devoted to Kierkegaard’s relationship to Regine Olsen, his onetime fiancée, stems from 1849. The journals titled “NB” through “NB36” were assigned their numbered titles in chronological order by Kierkegaard himself and stem from the period 1846–1855, though here, too, these journals contain additions and emendations, some of which stem from later periods, disrupting the general chronological sequence of the journals. The final group of materials, the “loose papers,” spans the entire period 1833–1855.

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KJN follows the editors of SKS in the choice of a two-column format, which best reflects Kierkegaard’s practice when keeping his journals and notebooks. Like many of his contemporaries, Kierkegaard’s usual custom with his journals and notebooks was to crease the pages lengthwise (vertically) so that each page had an inner column for the main text and a somewhat narrower outer column for subsequent reflections and additions. In this way, further reflections could be―and very o�en were―added later, sometimes much later, o�en on several subsequent occasions, e.g., when Kierkegaard read or thought of something that reminded him of something he had wri�en earlier. As has been noted above, a certain degree of chronological organization is present in the documents themselves, but a strictly chronological presentation of all the material is neither possible nor, perhaps, desirable. A strict and comprehensive chronological organization of the material is impossible, for while we can o�en detect the sequence in which Kierkegaard altered and emended an original passage in a notebook or journal, it is frequently not possible to ascertain when these alterations and emendations took place―though in his earlier entries Kierkegaard o�en dated his marginal additions. Furthermore, there are also cases in which the very sequence of such changes cannot be determined with certainty. Finally, even if it could be established, a rigorously chronological sequencing of all the material would not necessarily be desirable, because such a serial presentation would render it more difficult to see the manner in which Kierkegaard could return to a passage on multiple subsequent occasions, adding to, deleting, and altering what he had originally wri�en. (It is hoped that upon completion of all eleven volumes of KJN it will be possible to produce an electronic edition of the entire series; this would make it possible for readers to organize and search through the materials in a variety of ways.)

II. The Format and Organization of the Present Edition 1. Kierkegaard’s Journals and Notebooks (KJN) and Søren Kierkegaards Skri�er (SKS) As already noted, KJN is a translation of Kierkegaard’s journals, notebooks, and loose papers, using the text as established by the editors of SKS. The great majority of the materials included in the present volumes is taken from Kierkegaard’s surviving manuscripts, but some manuscripts were lost in the production of the

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first published selection of Kierkegaard’s papers, H. P. Barfod’s nine-volume edition of Af Søren Kierkegaards E�erladte Papirer (herea�er, EP). Thus, particularly in the early volumes of KJN, our only source for a number of Kierkegaard’s journal entries is the version originally published in EP. When this is the case, KJN indicates that the source is the published version from EP by employing justified right-hand margins, while most of the text of KJN, taken as it is from the surviving manuscripts, employs a ragged right-hand margin. In addition, there are a number of cases, typically involving short or fragmentary entries or lines, in which the only surviving source is Barfod’s catalogue of Kierkegaard’s manuscripts, while in still other cases material in the original manuscripts deleted by Kierkegaard has been deciphered and restored by the editors of SKS; both these sorts of material are reproduced in KJN without text-critical commentary. Scholars interested in these source details are referred to the text-critical apparatus of SKS. In addition, there are some cases in which Kierkegaard’s original manuscript cannot be read meaningfully, and the editors of SKS suggest a proposed reading of the passage in question. KJN has adopted all such proposed readings without comment. In some cases Kierkegaard’s spelling is erroneous or inconsistent or there is missing punctuation. On rare occasions the editors of SKS have corrected errors of this sort silently, while in other cases missing punctuation has been supplied (but placed within square brackets to indicate that this is the work of the editors of SKS), and in still other cases Kierkegaard’s errors of spelling or punctuation have been allowed to stand because they are indicative of the hasty and informal style that o�en characterizes his unpublished materials. Where they do not cause significant difficulties for English language readers, the editors of KJN have followed the editors of SKS in allowing a number of Kierkegaard’s spelling errors (e.g., of proper names) and punctuation lapses to remain. On the other hand, where the retention of Kierkegaard’s errors might cause significant difficulties for English language readers, the editors of KJN have absorbed without annotation the corrections made by the editors of SKS (both the silent and the bracketed corrections), and have occasionally corrected instances of erroneous spelling and missing punctuation that have been permi�ed to remain in SKS. Here―as in the above-mentioned cases involving materials that have their source in Barfod’s catalogue or in text deleted by Kierkegaard and restored by the editors of SKS―scholars who require access to the entire text-critical apparatus of SKS should consult that edition.

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2. Two-Column Format in the Main Text As already noted, a two-column format is employed where necessary in order to emphasize the polydimensionality of the original documentary materials; thus, for example, providing a spatial representation of a dra�’s character as a dra� with multiple alterations. 3. Typographical Conventions in the Main Text a) In Kierkegaard’s time, both “gothic” and “latin” handwriting were in common use among educated people. Generally, when writing Danish and German (which of course accounts for the bulk of his journals and notebooks) Kierkegaard used a gothic hand, while when writing Latin or French (which he did much less frequently than Danish or German) Kierkegaard used a latin hand. Following the editors of SKS, the editors of KJN have sought to preserve this feature by using ordinary roman type to represent Kierkegaard’s gothic hand, and a sans serif typeface to represent Kierkegaard’s latin hand. Greek and Hebrew appear in their respective alphabets. b) As in SKS, italic and boldface are used to indicate Kierkegaard’s degrees of emphasis. Italic indicates underlining by Kierkegaard. Boldface indicates double underlining by Kierkegaard Boldface italic indicates double underlining plus a third, wavy underlining by Kierkegaard. 4. Margins in the Main Text a) The SKS pagination of the journals appears in roman type in the margins of the present edition. This permits the reader to refer to SKS, which contains the entire apparatus of text-critical markers and notes concerning the manuscripts, including indications of Kierkegaard’s own pagination of his journals and notebooks. b) Two separate italic line counters are included in the inner and outer margins in order to facilitate specific line references to each of the two columns. c) The boldface entry numbers in the margins are not Kierkegaard’s own but have been added by the editors of SKS in order to facilitate reference to specific entries. Each journal or notebook has its own entry numbering in arabic numerals, e.g., “AA:1,” “DD:8,” “Not3:2,” etc., which refer to the first entry in Journal AA, the eighth entry in Journal DD, the second entry in Notebook 3, etc.

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Kierkegaard’s marginal additions to journal or notebook entries are indicated with lowercase alphabet le�ers, e.g., “AA:23. b,” which refers to Kierkegaard’s second marginal addition to the twenty-third entry in Journal AA. If a marginal addition itself has a marginal addition, this is also indicated by another layer of lowercase alphabet le�ers, e.g., “DD:11.a.a,” which refers to the first marginal note to the first marginal note to the eleventh entry in Journal DD. When Kierkegaard le� a reference mark in his main text referring to a marginal note, the marginal note referred to is preceded by a lowercase alphabet le�er, set in roman, with no enclosing brackets, e.g. “a.” When Kierkegaard did not leave a reference mark in his main text for a marginal note, but the editors of SKS are not in doubt about the point in Kierkegaard’s main text to which the marginal note refers, the reference symbol (a lowercase alphabet le�er) preceding that marginal note is set in roman and is enclosed within roman square brackets, e.g., “[a].” When Kierkegaard did not leave a reference mark in his main text for a marginal note, and the editors of SKS could not determine with certainty the point in Kierkegaard’s main text to which the marginal note refers, the reference symbol (a lowercase alphabet letter) preceding that marginal note is set in italic and is enclosed within italic square brackets, e.g., “[a].” In these cases, the editors of KJN, following the usage of the editors of SKS, have situated Kierkegaard’s marginal additions approximately where they are found on the pages of Kierkegaard’s own journal manuscripts, which, as noted, employed a two-column format. If more specific reference than this is necessary, the system of KJN volume number, page number, and line number on the appropriate line counter is employed, e.g., “KJN 1, 56:11,” referring to a passage in the first volume of KJN, page 56, line 11 on the line counter for the inner column. If a marginal note (thus, a note in the outer column of the page) is referred to in this manner, the reference is in the format “KJN 9, 56m:3,” referring to a marginal note found in volume 9 of KJN, page 56, line 3 on the marginal or outer column line counter. 5. Footnotes in the Main Text a) Kierkegaard’s own footnotes are indicated by superscript arabic numerals, both in the main text and at the beginning of the footnote itself, and are numbered consecutively within a journal entry, with the numbering beginning at “1” for each new journal

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entry. Kierkegaard’s footnotes appear at the bo�om of the text column or at the end of the entry to which they pertain, whichever comes first, but always above the solid horizontal line at the foot of the page. When the source for a footnote by Kierkegaard is Barfod’s EP rather than an original manuscript, the placement in the main text of the superscript reference number for that footnote is of course not known from Kierkegaard, but only from EP; in such cases, Kierkegaard’s footnote will appear at the bo�om of the page (though above the solid line) as with all other footnotes by Kierkegaard, but the superscript reference number preceding the footnote will be followed by a close-parenthesis, e.g., “1).” b) Translator’s footnotes appear below the solid horizontal line at the foot of the page. 6. Foreign Language in the Main Text Foreign (non-Danish) words, expressions, and quotations that appear in Kierkegaard’s text are le� in the original language. English translations of foreign language text are provided in translator’s footnotes at the foot of the page, below the solid horizontal line. In the event that extreme length or some other technical difficulty makes it impossible to accommodate a translation of a foreign language passage at the foot of the page, it will appear in the explanatory notes at the back of the volume. English translations of the titles of foreign language books, articles, poems, etc. are always in the explanatory notes, not in the translator’s footnotes. 7. Photographs of Original Manuscripts Selected photographs of original manuscript material are included in the main text. 8. Orthography of Classical Names The orthographical standard for all ancient Greek and Roman names and place names is The Oxford Classical Dictionary. 9. Material Included at the Back of Each Volume a) A brief “Critical Account of the Text” gives a description of the physical appearance, provenance, and whatever chronological information is known concerning a document. If the document is

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related to others―for example, in the cases where Kierkegaard is known to have used one of the journals in the AA–KK group in tandem with one or more of the notebooks numbered 1–14, which stem from the same period―this is also indicated. b) Each journal or notebook is accompanied by “Explanatory Notes.” In some cases, notes included in SKS have been shortened or omi�ed in KJN. In a number of cases, notes that do not appear in SKS have been added to KJN; typically, these serve to explain geographical or historical references that are obvious to Danes but are not likely to be known by non-Danes. Notes are keyed by page and entry number to specific lemmata; that is, to key words or phrases from the main text that appear in boldface at the beginning of each note. The running heads on each page of notes indicate the journal or notebook and entry number(s) to which the notes on that page refer, while the numbers in the margins of each column of notes indicate the page and line number in the main text where the lemma under discussion is found. When the text of a note mentions a lemma explained in another note for the same journal or notebook, an arrow (→) accompanied by a large and a small number–e.g., →110;22―serves as a cross-reference, indicating the page and line number (in this case, page 110, line 22) where that lemma occurs in the main text. Each journal or notebook is treated as a separate unit with respect to explanatory notes; thus the notes for a given journal or notebook contain no cross-references to notes for other journals or notebooks. (The explanatory notes for Notebooks 9 and 10 will constitute an exception to this rule because those two notebooks are so closely connected that they should perhaps be considered a single document.) The notes are usually confined to clarifying historical, biographical, geographical, and similar information not readily available in a standard English language desk reference volume. Notes do not engage in critical interpretation or in discussions of the scholarly literature. As noted under 6 above, on some occasions―which presumably will be very infrequent, if they occur at all―it may not be possible to translate foreign language passages in translator’s footnotes at the foot of the main text page, and in such cases the translated passage will appear in an explanatory note at the end of the volume. There are no markers in the main text denoting the existence of an explanatory note pertaining to a particular word or passage. c) Maps of nineteenth-century Copenhagen, Denmark, etc., are provided where appropriate. d) Calendars of the years covered in the volume, indicating days of the week, holidays, etc., are provided.

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e) Illustrations referred to in Kierkegaard’s text are reproduced. f) A concordance to the Heiberg edition of the Papirer is provided in order to facilitate using the present edition in conjunction with works, including previous translations of Kierkegaard’s posthumous papers, that refer to the Papirer. 10. Abbreviations a) Abbreviations used in the main text In the main text an a�empt has been made to preserve something of the feel of the original documents, in which Kierkegaard made liberal use of a great many abbreviations, shortening words in accordance with the common usage of his times. Naturally, many of these abbreviations cannot be duplicated in English, but where it has seemed appropriate a number of commonly used (or easily decipherable) English abbreviations have been employed in order to provide a sense of Kierkegaard’s “journal style.” b) Abbreviations used in “Critical Accounts of the Texts” and in “Explanatory Notes”

ASKB

The Auctioneer’s Sales Record of the Library of Søren Kierkegaard, ed. H. P. Rohde (Copenhagen: The Royal Library, 1967)

B&A

Breve og Aktstykker vedrørende Søren Kierkegaard [Letters and Documents Concerning Søren Kierkegaard], 2 vols., ed. Niels Thulstrup (Copenhagen: Munksgaard, 1953–1954)

B-cat.

H. P. Barfod, “Fortegnelse over de e�er Søren Aabye Kierkegaard forefundne Papirer” [Catalogue of the Papers Found a�er the Death of Søren Aabye Kierkegaard]

Bl.art.

S. Kierkegaard’s Bladartikler, med Bilag samlede e�er Forfa�erens Død, udgivne som Supplement til hans øvrige Skri�er [S. Kierkegaard’s Newspaper Articles, with an Appendix Collected a�er the Author’s Death, Published as a Supplement to His Other Works], ed. Ras mus Nielsen (Copenhagen: C. A. Reitzel, 1857)

d.

Died in the year

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EP

Af Søren Kierkegaards E�erladte Papirer [From Søren Kierkegaard’s Posthumous Papers], 9 vols., ed. H. P. Barfod and H. Go�sched (Copenhagen: C. A. Reitzel, 1869–1881)

Jub.

G.W.F. Hegel, Sämtliche Werke [Complete Works]. Jubiläumsausgabe, 26 vols., ed. Hermann Glockner (Stu�gart: Friedrich Frommann Verlag, 1928–1941)

KA

The Kierkegaard Archive at the Royal Library in Copenhagen

KJN

Kierkegaard’s Journals and Notebooks, 11 vols., ed. Niels Jørgen Cappelørn, Alastair Hannay, David Kangas, Bruce H. Kirmmse, George Pa�ison, Joel D.S. Rasmussen, Vanessa Rumble, and K. Brian Söderquist (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2007–)

KW

Kierkegaard’s Writings, 26 vols., ed. Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1978–2000) Occasionally, the explanatory notes will employ different English translations of the titles of Kierkegaard’s works than those used in KW. For example, Kierkegaard’s En literair Anmeldelse, which is translated Two Ages in KW, may appear in the explanatory notes as A Literary Review. All such departures from the English titles as they appear in KW will be explained in the explanatory notes in which they appear. Generally, however, the English titles used in KW will be used; these titles have been assigned standard abbreviations as follows: AN BA C CA CD CI COR CUP

“Armed Neutrality” in KW 22 The Book on Adler in KW 24 The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress in KW 17 The Concept of Anxiety in KW 8 Christian Discourses in KW 17 The Concept of Irony in KW 2 The “Corsair” Affair; Articles Related to the Writings in KW 13 Concluding Unscientific Postscript in KW 12

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Either/Or, part 1 in KW 3 Either/Or, part 2 in KW 4 Early Polemical Writings: From the Papers of One Still Living; Articles from Student Days; The Ba�le Between the Old and the New SoapCellars in KW 1 Eighteen Upbuilding Discourses in KW 15 EUD FPOSL From the Papers of One Still Living in KW 1 FSE For Self-Examination in KW 21 FT Fear and Trembling in KW 6 JC “Johannes Climacus or De omnibus dubitandum est” in KW 7 JFY Judge for Yourself! in KW 21 LD Le�ers and Documents in KW 25 NA “Newspaper Articles, 1854–1855” in KW 23 NSBL “Notes on Schelling’s Berlin Lectures” in KW 2 OMWA On My Work as an Author in KW 22 P Prefaces in KW 9 PC Practice in Christianity in KW 20 PF Philosophical Fragments in KW 7 PV The Point of View for My Work as an Author in KW 22 R Repetition in KW 6 SLW Stages on Life’s Way in KW 11 SUD The Sickness unto Death in KW 19 TA Two Ages: The Age of Revolution and the Present Age, A Literary Review in KW 14 TDIO Three Discourses on Imagined Occasions in KW 10 TM “The Moment” and Late Writings: Articles from Fædrelandet; The Moment, nos. 1–10; This Must Be Said, So Let It Be Said; What Christ Judges of Official Christianity; The Changelessness of God in KW 23 UDVS Upbuilding Discourses in Various Spirits in KW 15 WA Without Authority: The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air; Two Minor Ethical-Reli gious Essays; Three Discourses at the Communion on Fridays; An Upbuilding Discourse; Two Discourses at the Communion on Fridays in KW 18 Works of Love in KW 16 WL WS “Writing Sampler” in KW 9

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NKS

Ny Kongelige Samling [New Royal Collection], a special collection at the Royal Library in Copenhagen

NRSV

Holy Bible: New Revised Standard Version with Apocrypha (see part c below)

NT

New Testament

OT

Old Testament

Pap.

Søren Kierkegaards Papirer [The Papers of Søren Kierkegaard], 2nd ed., 16 vols. in 25 tomes, ed. P. A. Heiberg, V. Kuhr, and E. Torsting (Copenhagen: Gyldendal, 1909–1978)

SKS

Søren Kierkegaards Skri�er [Søren Kierkegaard’s Writings], 28 text volumes and 27 commentary volumes, ed. Niels Jørgen Cappelørn, Joakim Garff, Je�e Knud sen, Johnny Kondrup, and Alastair McKinnon (Copenhagen: Gad, 1997–) The 28 text volumes of SKS are referred to as SKS 1 through SKS 28. The 27 commentary volumes that accompany the text volumes are referred to as SKS K1 through SKS K28. (The reason there are 27 rather than 28 commentary volumes is that a single commentary volume, SKS K2–3, accompanies the two text volumes SKS 2 and SKS 3, which together comprise the massive two-volume work Enten―Eller [Either/ Or].)

SV1

SV2

Søren Kierkegaards Samlede Værker [Søren Kierkegaard’s Collected Works], 1st ed., 14 vols., ed. A. B. Drachmann, J. L. Heiberg, and H. O. Lange (Copenhagen: Gyldendalske Boghandel, Nordisk Forlag, 1901–1906) Søren Kierkegaards Samlede Værker [Søren Kierkegaard’s Collected Works], 2nd ed., 15 vols., ed. A. B. Drachmann, J. L. Heiberg, and H. O. Lange (Copenhagen: Gyldendalske Boghandel, Nordisk Forlag, 1920–1936)

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c) The Bible. All biblical quotations are from the following English translations: Holy Bible: New Revised Standard Version with Apocrypha (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989) (Standard for references to the authorized Danish translation of the New Testament from 1819 and used for many other biblical references.) The Bible: Authorized King James Version with Apocrypha (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997) (O�en used for references to the authorized Danish translation of the Old Testament and the Apocrypha from 1740 and occasionally used for other biblical references.) Occasionally, in order to help the reader understand the text of a journal entry, the translators of KJN may make minor modifications to one of the above Bible translations. Books of the Bible are abbreviated in accordance with the abbreviations used in the NRSV:

O�� T�������� Gen Ex Lev Num Deut Josh Judg Ruth 1 Sam 2 Sam 1 Kings 2 Kings 1 Chr 2 Chr Ezra Neh Esth Job Ps Prov

Genesis Exodus Leviticus Numbers Deuteronomy Joshua Judges Ruth 1 Samuel 2 Samuel 1 Kings 2 Kings 1 Chronicles 2 Chronicles Ezra Nehemiah Esther Job Psalms Proverbs

Eccl Song Isa Jer Lam Ezek Dan Hos Joel Am Ob Jon Mic Nah Hab Zeph Hag Zech Mal

Ecclesiastes Song of Solomon Isaiah Jeremiah Lamentations Ezekiel Daniel Hosea Joel Amos Obadiah Jonah Micah Nahum Habakkuk Zephaniah Haggai Zechariah Malachi

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A��������� B���� Tob Jdt Add Esth Wis Sir Bar 1 Esd 2 Esd Let Jer Song

Tobit Judith Additions to Esther Wisdom Sirach (Ecclesiasticus) Baruch 1 Esdras 2 Esdras Le�er of Jeremiah Prayer of Azariah

of Thr Sus Bel 1 Macc 2 Macc 3 Macc 4 Macc Pr Man

and the Song of the Three Jews Susanna Bel and the Dragon 1 Maccabees 2 Maccabees 3 Maccabees 4 Maccabees Prayer of Manasseh

N�� T�������� Mt Mk Lk Jn Acts Rom 1 Cor 2 Cor Gal Eph Phil Col 1 Thes 2 Thes

Ma�hew Mark Luke John Acts of the Apostles Romans 1 Corinthians 2 Corinthians Galatians Ephesians Philippians Colossians 1 Thessalonians 2 Thessalonians

1 Tim 2 Tim Titus Philem Heb Jas 1 Pet 2 Pet 1 Jn 2 Jn 3 Jn Jude Rev

1 Timothy 2 Timothy Titus Philemon Hebrews James 1 Peter 2 Peter 1 John 2 John 3 John Jude Revelation

11. Variants While KJN does not include the full text-critical apparatus of SKS, a number of textual variants, deemed by the editors of KJN to be of particular interest, are included in the explanatory notes for each journal or notebook. The notation used to indicate different types of variants is explained below. (A list of selected variants for KJN 1 is included in volume 2, immediately following the explanatory notes for Journal KK.)

I NTRODUCTION first wri�en:

TO THE

E NGLISH L ANGUAGE E DITION

changes determined by the editors of SKS to have been made in the manuscript at the time of original writing, including: (a) replacement variants placed in the line, immediately following deleted text; (b) replacement variants wri�en directly on top of the original text; and (c) deletions

changed from: changes determined by the editors of SKS to have been made in the manuscript subsequent to the time of original writing, including: (a) deletions with replacement variants wri�en in the margin or on top of the original text, and (b) deletions without replacement text added:

additions determined by the editors of SKS to have been made to the manuscript subsequent to the time of original writing

12. Symbols []

enclose the KJN editors’ supplements to the SKS text; also enclose reference symbols, added by the editors of SKS, to marginal annotations or footnotes for which Kierkegaard did not leave a symbol, but whose placement is beyond doubt

[]

enclose reference symbols, added by the editors of SKS, to marginal annotations for which Kierkegaard did not clearly assign to a specific locus in a specific main entry

Acknowledgments We are happy to acknowledge the support for Kierkegaard’s Journals and Notebooks that has been provided by the United States National Endowment for the Humanities, the Danish National Research Foundation, the Danish Ministry of Culture, and Connecticut College. Bruce H. Kirmmse and K. Brian Söderquist, General Editors, for the Editorial Board of Kierkegaard’s Journals and Notebooks.

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JOURNAL NB6

JOURNAL NB6 Translated by Bruce H. Kirmmse Edited by Alastair Hannay

Text source Journal NB6 in Søren Kierkegaards Skri�er Text established by Niels W. Bruun and Finn Gredal Jensen

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NB6. July 16, 1848.

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Journal NB6. Le�er from Rasmus Nielsen pasted to the first sheet of the journal (NB 6:2).

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ST Hr. Magister Kjerkegaard.

1848

Thursday.

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Permit me to thank you, oh, permit me to thank you for being willing to send for me. I am coming soon―quietly; because I sense that with you one must be very quiet in order to be properly able to hear what you say. Yours, R. Nielsen.― ST Hr. Magister Kjerkegaard.―

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By becoming contemporary with Christ (the exemplar), you discover precisely that you don’t resemble it at all, not even in what you call your best moments, for in such a moment you are of course not in the corresponding tension of actuality, but are observing. From this it follows, then, that you really and truly learn what it is to take refuge in grace. The exemplar is what demands itself of you, and alas, you feel the difference terribly. Then you take refuge in the exemplar, that he will have mercy on you. Thus the exemplar is simultaneously the one who judges you infinitely in the strictest way―and also the one who has mercy on you.

Fundamentally it is sinful and punishable lust, just as sinful as every other lust, to want to observe and observe, to be upli�ed by what is highest by observing―observing suffering for a good cause instead of going forth into the true tension of actuality―instead of suffering, etc. This lust makes the church into a theater, for the difference betw. theater and church is the relation to actuality. This lust for observing is just as sinful as when a debauched person is fearful of having children: in observing one wants to have pleasure and take leave of earnestness.

I concede that I began my activity as an author with a great advantage: being viewed as something close to a scoundrel, but with a brilliant mind, i.e., a hero of the salon, the darling of the times. It was a bit of an untruth―but otherwise I would not have had peop. on my side. Gradually, as peop. noticed that this was not quite the way things were, they fell away and are still falling away. Alas, if it were to become clear that I am working out my salvation in fear and trembling, then it’s goodbye to the world’s approval. But this was where the spy lurked―and people did not notice this. That a person is at first a debauched voluptuary, a salon hero, and then, a�er many years becomes what is called a saint: this does not captivate people. But that, as a precaution, a peni-

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tent, a preacher of repentance begins in the costume of a salon hero: this is something to which people are not entirely accustomed. This has also enriched me with an almost unlimited knowledge of hum. beings.

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When, in small nation, all agree to regard what every even moderately cultivated person must be capable of realizing is crudeness, vulgarity, not wi�iness―to regard this as wi�iness, so that even the lo�iest circles of the society read this sort of thing and are so familiar with it, so that even the young females of our most respected families allude to it without blushing: then eo ipso the country has met its demise; it has commi�ed treason against itself and against everything good and noble that it once had and will prevent itself from acquiring it in the future.

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If a country wants to permit a boy to perpetrate boyish pranks and wants to require that the respected people of the country put up with it and put a good face on it―then the country must also make sure that it is quite certain that this is a boy and that these are boyish pranks, that he is not made into a genius on account of his boyish pranks.

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Oh, how loathsome it is to live in a tiny li�le nonsensical country whose only character is a lack of character. At one moment one must show that one is someone respected; at the next moment one must be a sort of mad fellow―and this is for this wretched couple of hundred thousand peop., of whom (with the exception of the few who understand something, but they are of course precisely those who are treated like this) no one understands anything.―Assume it is decided that one is to be regarded as a sort of riff-raff―fine, then one arranges one’s life accordingly. But this nonsense is disgusting; this sort of thing can only happen in a country in which contemptibility dominates public opinion, because contemptibility has precisely missed a certain point, which is what makes the impropriety painful. In these

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times, contemptibility is the only power. For what are the evil powers? Inertia and envy. Nowadays everything that is good and capable of doing anything immediately falls prey to these evil powers―but “contemptibility” has license to enter the Passage. Contemptibility is not envied, nor can it set inertia in motion, therefore things go so well for it. In Denmark contemptibility has now become the path “to success and power.”

Dying is the only thing that can clear the air. At that very instant I will be in my ideality, because the problem is that I am too ideally developed to live in a market town. Oh, how loathsome to live in a situation in which the only thing that can help me is to die. Every day I live I simply become more burdensome to the envy of the market town.

In Christendom people have turned the ma�er around, so that that mythical Christ came from the era of childhood; the age of childhood composes myths. Charming! It is just the reverse. First came the historical Xt. Then, long a�er, came the mythical―an invention of the understanding, which then a�ributes the mythical to that era of childhood, acting as if the understanding now had the task of explaining this myth―this myth, which it itself has composed.

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Alas, I am neither proud not vain, nor vainglorious―I am a thinker, an enormously passionate thinker. And this is precisely what bothers me: that some people want to abuse me and insult me, others to plague me with distinctions and honors. But to help me further along if possible, to assist me in understanding something more than I have understood: no one, not anyone, not a living soul wants to do that. That is, for me everything is merely a hindrance. And it is a torment to have to live in such a way that simply in order to be allowed to think, I almost have to let them regard me as mad―for otherwise they might make much of me;

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I would have to drink toasts and gab at gatherings, loved and honored by all those who do not think.

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(for he is orthodox, no one dare deny him that)

Look, this is sadness: a�er having oneself suffered all ignominy, etc., finally a criminal’s death for the sake of the truth. And then: not to be able to say to his disciples, Now you shall have a fine time―but to have to say, Go forth and suffer the same thing, begin where I le� off.

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Reduplication is rlly what is Christian. It not only differs as a doctrine from other doctrines, but differs in being the doctrine that reduplicates, so that the teacher is of importance. For Christianity what is constantly being asked is: Not only is what someone says true, from a Christian point of view, but what is he like, the person who is saying it[?] Thus, when a man clad in silk, bearing the insignia and stars of orders and knighthood, says that the truth must suffer persecution, etc., these appositions, this juxtaposition produces a merely aesthetic situation. His presentation is moving, while his appearance reassures one that things are no longer like that―that was in the old days. Certainly this silken mana does indeed say, “Remember that you do not know when the moment will come when you must suffer for the truth,” and then the silken man cries (for in his imagination he is a martyr). But then the listener thinks: No, that’s nonsense, the whole appearance of the man and his entire life provide a quite different assurance―nowadays the truth is no longer persecuted. Woe for him!―On Sundays, out in the country, in rural calm, when a reverend swears and thunders and crosses himself in talking of how the world persecutes the Xns (His Reverence included), it is easy to see that this is a rogue who

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in the safety of the countryside, in the company only of peasants and such, who respect him politely, fla�ers his vanity by imagining that he is persecuted. No, Dad, this too is a comedy. If it is to be in earnest, please be kind enough to take it the capital and appear on the big stage.

… And then not a single one who will forsake anything in order to serve the truth. All the others grab hold of worldly goods―and precisely for doing so are honored and respected, praised as earnest. I, who acquire none of this, am in addition punished as frivolous.―And then the person who ought to have come closest to understanding one, he fla�ers me in the most obliging terms: “He can only vaguely sense what I mean.” Ah, aha, he acts as if the talk were about the difference betw. one hum. being and another instead of about self-denial. Aha, no! But people are lily-livered, people cannot give up anything at all. This is why people confess “that one can only vaguely sense what I mean.” And yet, were a serving maid actually to renounce the world, she would understand me entirely.

What Christendom needs at every moment is someone who expresses Christianity absolutely recklessly. He would then be seen as the standard of measurement, i.e., the way that Christendom judges him would show how much true Christianity there is in Christendom at any given time. If it is his fate to be put to death, then Christendom is even worse than Judaism in Xst’s day, for in those days the offense was infinitely greater because Xnty was something absolutely new, while in Christendom people at least have knowledge of it. If it is his fate to be mocked and scorned, to be thought mad, while an entire generation of priests (who, be it noted, dare not speak recklessly) is honored and furthermore seen as truly Christian, then Christendom is a hal-

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lucination. And so on; in short, his fate is the judgment. The judgment is not what he says but what is said about him. This is the totally modern type of a judge.

As early as the article “Public Confession” there was a signal shot (I had then completed the manuscript of Either/Or, and Either/ Or appeared immediately a�er; the article was also a mystification: having disavowed the authorship of the many newspaper articles―which, of course, no one had a�ributed to me―I ended by asking that people never regard as mine anything on which my name did not appear. And that was precisely when I wanted to begin as a pseudonym) hinting that Prof. Heiberg was the literary figure I wanted to protect―he [and] Mynster: both were mentioned there, and as unmistakably as possible. But then H. himself came out with his impertinent and dandified review of Either/Or, item with a casual promise that he never kept. Then the resistance of his coterie, his a�empt to ignore it, which was a falsum in so small a literature. All this provided the occasion for the vulgarity to emerge with such force. I was the one who should and could have struck out at it, but I couldn’t, because I had to hold in constant readiness a possible polemic against H. Finally, however, I did strike out at the vulgarity―and H. le� me in the lurch. Prior to that time there had o�en been mu�ering to the effect that I in fact supported or indulged that rebellion. Now people could see for themselves―but Heiberg thought that if Kierkegaard were to get a cudgeling it would be a good thing. Phooey!

What I Have Wri�en in Newspapers. in Flyveposten An article “Yet Another Defense of the Emancipation of Women.” 3 political articles. “Kjøbenhavnsposten’s Morning Observations.” “On Fædrelandet’s Polemic” “To Orla Lehmann.”

16 item] Latin, as well as, also. 18 falsum] Latin, falsification.

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in Fædrelandet. “Public Confession” “Who Is the Author of Either/Or” over the signature FF. Then a li�le article concerning the sermon in Either/Or and one I had given at the seminary. “A Fleeting Comment on a Detail in D. Juan.” “A Declaration and a Li�le More.” Then the two articles by Frater Taciturnus.

…. Oh, one can be cruel in many ways. A tyrant can have a pers. cruelly mistreated. But one can also be cruel in another way, as someone has been cruel to me. With tears in his eyes, at my feet, he begged me for the sake of Jesus Xst to do what I could not do―oh, that was very cruel; in fact I have never got over it! What is truly most cruel: wanting to be the cruel person oneself― or imputing such cruelty to another pers.!

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And even if Denmark wanted to do so, it is a big question whether it could undo the injustice it has done me: it is beyond dispute that as an author I absolutely will bring honor to D.; that qua author I have existed pre�y much at my own expense, without any support from the government or the people; [that I have] endured, have continued producing without even the least literary assistance from a journal because I realized how small the country was; and that I have then been treated like this: my greatest work not even reviewed, and the machinery of the entire project scarcely suspected; and then its author is singled out by the vulgarity, so that he is pointed out to all the cobbler’s apprentices, who insult him on the street in the name of “public opinion” (for the press is of course the organ of public opinion)―No, no, Denmark has passed judgment on itself.

These are the factors. I am a penitent, and therefore, without sparing myself, I must endure venturing forth into dangers from which other people may be permi�ed to exempt themselves. However much I suffer, I have nothing to complain about, for I am bearing my punishment and doing penance.―But this is my

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relation to God, which does not in the least way concern my contemporaries or make them blameless, any more than were Joseph’s brothers because Joseph became great. But Governance, which is the third factor, is absolute justice itself. Had I not been the person I am, [had I] merely been what I am as an author, then it would almost have been too hard having to experience the torments of spiritlessness that I have had to endure. But I have to do penance for my personal life―and therefore everything, everything is in order.

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with a falsum or with a pia fraus

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It was important to me to learn to know the times. The times perhaps found it an easy ma�er to form a notion about this author: that he was someone gi�ed with extraord. intellectual abilities, initiated into every pleasure and wallowing in every pleasure. Oh, they were mistaken. They certainly did not have the least notion that the author of Either/Or had long since taken his leave of the world, that he spent a not insignificant part of his time each day in much fear and trembling, reading edifying writings, in prayer and supplication; certainly, least of all did they think that from the very first line he was and is conscious of himself as a penitent.

1 pia fraus] Latin, pious fraud.

….It was in this way that in a sense I began my activity as an author.a The fact is that in so-called established Xndom, peop. are so firm in the illusion that they are Xns that if there is to be any question of making them aware, one must employ many artifices. If someone who is not otherwise known as writer begins straightaway as a Christian writer, he will not have the times on his side. People immediately shunt it aside, saying “This isn’t something for us,” etc. I began as an aestheticist―and then with what was surely unheard-of rapidity I came to the religious. Then I demonstrated what it is to become Xn, etc. This is how I here present myself to my contemporaries as an author―and in any case this is the way I belong to history. Here I believe I am able only―and dare only―to speak of myself as an author; I do not believe that my personality, my personal life, whatever I might be able to reproach myself for, is of concern to the public. I am the author. And as such, who I am, what has been granted me, I myself know full well. I have put up with everything that would serve my cause. I would ask, in particular, every more competent person to be slow in passing judgment concerning powers and the use of powers that are not seen

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every day―this I ask in particular of every more competent person. It would certainly be no use asking fools to do so. But every more competent person generally has respect for himself and for his own judgment―and this is precisely why I ask him to judge carefully. Christianity is what I have wanted to present and what I will present in the future; every hour of my day has been and is dedicated to this.

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Yet in a certain sense it is unwillingly and with much reluctance that I present the context of the whole of my efforts in this fashion. Principally for one reason: because despite all my, humnly speaking, enormous reflection and calculation, it is nonetheless the case that a third power, Governance, constantly intervenes; and although in my reflection I survey many situations, Governance has me in its power and guides me in such a way that in fact it is always a�erward that I am best able to understand how this is precisely what serves the cause.

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And then, to live in such a small country! In the end I become almost disgusting to myself because I sense my disproportion. It is indeed as though I were enormously vain. And yet it isn’t quite that way, but in a large country I would to a great extent disappear.

I have recently considered having the li�le article The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress printed in Fædrelandet. The reasons in favor are the following―they [are] less important, but have the power to convince, which is why I must first subject them to criticism. I believe that I owe it to Mrs. Heiberg, in part also because of the earlier article about Mme. Nielsen. I wanted to tease Heiberg a bit once again.

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In this way I can get certain things said that I cannot otherwise get said in the same way, so lightly, in such a conversational tone. It would please me very much to accommodate Giødvad, who has asked for it. And then the main reason in favor: I have now occupied myself exclusively with the religious for so long that people might indeed perhaps try to make it appear that I have changed, have become so serious (which I hadn’t been before) that the literary a�acks have made me saintly―in brief, that people would portray my religiousness as the sort of thing in which one takes refuge when one has become older. This is a heresy that in my view it is extremely important to combat. The nerve in all my activity as an author rlly lies here: that I was essentially religious when I wrote Either/Or. Therefore I have thought that it could be helpful once again to demonstrate the possibility. I believe my task lies precisely here: always to be capable of what worldly vanity and worldliness aspire to as their highest goal, from which they look down on the religious as something for lesser beings―always to be capable of it, but not essentially to will it. The world is indeed so weak that when it believes that one who proclaims the religious is someone who cannot perform in the aesthetic sphere, it overlooks the religious. This is a very important pro argument. But the contra speaks. I have now entered into Christianity so decisively, have presented much of it so stringently and earnestly, that there are certainly people who have been influenced by this. These people might almost find it offensive if they heard that I had wri�en about an actress in the popular press. And one indeed does have responsibilities to such people. By le�ing the article appear in print, it might happen that someone could be made aware of Christianity precisely because he read that li�le newspaper article eagerly. But there might also be someone who found it almost offensive.

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it to Giødvad―and then I let it be and I became so ill during the a�ernoon.―Alas, I would rather write a folio than publish a page. But it must come out now; regardless of what happens, I would bi�erly regret having remained suspended in reflection.

NB. July 20th And now the doctrine of the forgiveness of sin must be presented in earnest. The title could be:

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no religious writing ready in print that could appear at the same time. Therefore it must not be published. My situation is too serious, one li�le dietary indiscretion could cause irreparable damage. An article in a newspaper, especially about Mrs. Heiberg, awakens more sensation than big books. What ma�ers now is to be faithful in serving my cause. It may have been of decisive significance to begin as I began, but not any more. And the article itself is of course indeed much older. NB. This ma�er is to be understood as conceitedness; it is reflection that wants to make me so extraord. important, instead of being, with confidence in God, the person I am.

Fundamental Recovery or The Forgiveness of Sins and the Atonement. Prior to this, however, it would be best to write a smaller book. “Blessed Is He Who Is Not Offended in Me”

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This will be a counterpart to “Come unto Me.” It will consist of shorter discourses, one discourse for every time Xt said these words. Thus it will simultaneously develop a complete conceptual definition of “offense,” for it was indeed Xst himself who best knew where the possibility of offense was lodged. Thus every discourse will have the task of emphasizing the occasion, the se�ing, the situation, the person being addressed. It will be best to organize these discourses in simple chronological order. The simpler the be�er.

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One could of course organize them in accordance with the conceptual development that one uses as the foundation.

This is rlly the eternal consolation in the doctrine of the forgiveness of sins: you shall believe it. For when the anguished conscience starts having burdensome thoughts, and it seems to one that in all eternity it is impossible to forget: then it says, you shall forget, you shall stop thinking of your sin; not only are you permi�ed to stop, not only do you dare ask God for permission to dare to forget―no, you shall forget, for you shall believe that your sin is forgiven. Oh, the most dreadful of all pauses is when a hum. being’s memory is forever paused on his sin: but you shall forget[;] this can help. This discourse is divine discourse, precisely the reverse of human discourse, which merely becomes anguished and despairs about not being permi�ed to forget, yes, about not being able to do so even if one is permi�ed―one shall.

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No, no, the li�le article must come out. This is nothing other than melancholy reflection in which I am entangling myself. Recently I have been living quite intimately with the thought that I would die soon, and therefore I have continually produced and produced in the hope that it would be published only a�er my death. Then the idea of publishing that li�le article awakens. It appeals to me so much. At the same time Giødvad shows up. It gives me hope, as if it were a nod from Governance. And then, then my melancholic reflection transformed what indeed was undeniably something insignificant, an innocent ma�er, a li�le delight I had wished to have in order to make a few peop. happy―then my melancholic reflection transformed

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it into something so enormous that it is as if I had awakened offense, as if God might abandon me.a Oh, the fact is that the ma�er is too minor for me to dare call upon God’s help―but that is wrong. If I remain mired in reflection I will lose myself, I will never come out of it. And I keep Giødvad, who knows that the article exists, like a constant, open sore, which would tire me frightfully, as I have only melancholic fabrications with which to oppose his requests. And above all, as for the offense, I must not pass myself off as being more religious than I am.b Before God I have been able to defend having written it―well, then I can, I must, also publish it, for I must be true. True enough, I wouldn’t write it nowadays―but a�er all, it is an older piece. Thus the article is in fact signed Summer 1847, and so all that anguished doubt is removed. So in God’s name―oh, it is so difficult to use God’s name in connection with such a minor thing. But it is actually about something else, about being true to myself, about having the openhearted confidence to be myself before God and to accept everything from his hand. Perhaps, then, in the end it will turn out just as I began, that I will rejoice at having done it.

Furthermore, all that about the possibility of offense is more or less something that occurred to me at one point, which I had never thought of until then, something quite foreign to my nature, in conflict with what I might indeed call the point in my position as a servant of Xnty. It must be emphasized yet again that I have not in fact changed with the years, but that serving Xnty was my honest, original intention. So from now on the decisive presentation of Christianity begins in a stricter sense than hitherto―and so I dare not do more, and it follows of itself that neither will I have the time or energy to produce anything aesthetic.

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It is indolence, melancholia, neither more nor less. I have considered whether I would now publish one of the manuscripts that is already finished. But no, the idea that I am going to die has taken hold, and I pamper myself by avoiding the inconvenience and the trouble of publishing.

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But what is and what has been the worst thing about this is that I have managed to get the matter so muddled in reflection that I scarcely know what I am doing. And therefore, even if there had been no other reason for doing so, I would have to act. Nothing exhausts me so terribly as negative decisions: to have been ready to do something, that is, to have found it entirely right, desirable, etc., and then suddenly a great many reflections dri� together into a pile in which I could practically perish. It can never be right that something which in itself is insignificant and which has been taken into account could suddenly actually come to possess such dreadful reality. It is a sign that reflection has become sick. When this happens, action must be taken in order to preserve life. Then indolence will continue le�ing one imagine that the negative path was a�er all best―but that is sheer lies. The only right thing to do is to take refuge in God―and act.

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It was fortunate that I did it a�er all―and Phooey! on me for needing to be reminded to do it, that I could get all swollen with the dropsy of melancholy reflection. But this was why I was not granted permission to let up before I had done what I ought to do. If I had not done it, I would have had 1000 regrets and caused myself terrible torment and killed my body or my soul. Before sallying forth for the last time it was so important and so true to my individual nature that I log my speed once more, trying―if possible at the same time―to give an up-to-date impression of my unique virtuosity. It is the despised and beli�led cause of Xnty that I have the honor of serving. But there must be no possibility of the illusion that I had fled to Xnty because I could no longer move and disport myself with the lightness of the aesthetic. Oh, no, it will with God’s help be made impossible for the world

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to think this. Yet I am not the triumphant one who enjoys judging the world in this manner―alas, in other respects I have been very, very much humbled. But now, as I begin for the last time, I feel much happier in going out to confront what awaits me, for I am, a�er all, consecrated as a sacrifice―if it is required. But I do not want a man like Prof. Heiberg to be able to complain that I have not done everything possible for him and his. But I end my notes here. They are too wordy for me, and yet they do not exhaust everything I carry in my inner self, where I understand myself much more easily in the presence of God, for there I can bring everything together at once, and yet in the end understand myself best by leaving everything to him.

Yes, it’s quite certain that what was needed was a bit of confusion concerning myself. By having been exclusively an edifying author for two years and so productive, it has probably become something like a habit [to think] that I have now become a serious person. I myself was certainly not far from taking pleasure in being viewed as the serious one. This must be prevented. This is direct communication once again, and this simply is not seriousness. Look, a li�le article about an actress is sufficient to create confusion once again if anyone has become lazy and pompous in the habit [of thinking] that I was the serious one―perhaps an apostle, which I am only altogether too far from being. And indeed this is something I had in large measure forgo�en. I had become too melancholic to be capable of enduring the tension of true self-denial.

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Ps. 116:10: I believe, therefore I speak, but I am sorely humbled.

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The relationship betw. God and a hum. being is quite simply this. A hum. being does not dare demand that God give him revelations and signs, etc. No, the hum. being must have the openhearted courage to be himself, and if he cannot do this, then he must begin by praying for this openhearted courage, not doing so with the notion that this self is so important, but that God’s love is so infinite; if he can count the hairs on my head (and to say this of him is precisely to honor his love), then it is indeed also certain that he cares about me. So therefore a hum. being behaves as follows. When in the course of his life it becomes clear to him what he would do if he were in charge―of course, this must not be something sinful or ungodly ―then he does it. He doesn’t expect God to intervene with revelations in order to prevent him from doing it if it were the wrong thing. No, so the hum. being does it, but when he does it he calls upon God, saying to him: This is what I am doing in connection with this ma�er; it is very possible that what I am doing is something completely wrong and will have very unpleasant consequences for me, but I know of nothing be�er, and I also know that I dare not shirk any longer, that I must act. So I am doing it; but I am telling you this and calling upon you because you are of course my father and are a love that I cannot comprehend. In le�ing this action slip from my hand I surrender it and myself to youa; then do with it what you will, and I am certain that in this way even the most erroneous thing will in the end become something good. Oh, that a hum. being has this assistance, and that this assistance is sheer love!

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I have needed encouragement, hmnly speaking―perhaps it will come now. But perhaps it is not, a�er all, encouragement that I need, but a new blow or a slap, so that I can be capable of pulling even harder―perhaps that will come, then.

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The trouble with all the business in connection with the li�le article was that I had originally thought of it as a trifle that I could thus deal with on my own. Therefore it seems to me easier to publish a book, a book of very decisive significance, for then it is clear from the beginning that I am having recourse to God. But it is so very difficult to pray to God for help in doing something trifling as a trifle. Yet God can also help one in this, for in its divinity his love is more hum. than that of the best hum. being.

Despite the fact that I put the utmost effort into my work as an author and that I see very well both what God grants and what he makes out of it― which I myself, in spite of all my reflection, do not always understand―the actual point at which I exist is that of being the poor, lowly, sinful hum. being I am, to be this before God. I do not dare to say anything about my activity as an author―in a sense, it is not my own.

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Now (primarily so as to protect myself from being seen as the author of what I have not wri�en and to exist u�erly in toto) I could perhaps publish a li�le volume containing all the short articles I have wri�en thus far (though under their respective signatures or pseudonymous names). Then it would be clear that I have not wri�en silly occasional pieces.

29 in toto] Latin, as a whole.

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It could be called Previously Published Minor Pieces by S. K.

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A preface to the book should be as modest as possible. It could perhaps seem immodest to publish a collection of minor pieces of this sort. But I have done so in order that I might exist as I in fact do exist as an author, right down to the least li�le line. And I hope that the reader who has followed me a�entively will be pleased to own this li�le work as well. Then I will have withdrawn from journalistic literature once and for all. Every line I have wri�en will then exist in a book.

If oddly it were to happen that I have any sort of occasion to publish the li�le article The Crisis and a Crisis, etc. separately, then the pseudonym should be retained, but the thing is to be dedicated to Prof. Heiberg Hr. Prof. J. L. Heiberg Denmark’s Aesthetician

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Dedicated by A Subaltern Aesthetician The Author God knows, I have always meant well by H.; I always hold fast to my first impression of him. But he treated me indefensibly. And even a�er that time I have still done what could be done to uphold his reputation in the main.

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With Bishop Mynster, God be praised, just the opposite is the case. He was a rural priest, he became a chaplain, a plain, ordinary man of the cloth, and preached every Sunday, year in and

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year out―and his church had proper a�endance. Now he is an old man; he has put in his time; now his position no longer permits him to preach more o�en than every 4th Sunday―and now his church is not quite so well a�ended. Oh, in one sense, God be praised. Things are in their proper proportion. One can see that he has not been aided by any illusions. On the contrary, now he has against him the illusion that he is an old man and therefore cannot do any harm by preaching only every fourth Sunday. But in Xndom it is bad enough that being a pastor is a living― that is one illusion. What is even worse and u�erly unchristian is the illusion of elegance and rarity, which indulges and flirts with the stupor of the senses and conjures forth the appearance of great piety―because a preacher of this sort has the church full to overflowing.

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It was truly very fortunate a�er all that I came to publish that li�le article―thereby remaining true to myself to the end, so that my life might be of benefit rather than a bother. If I had died without having done so, I am sure that people would have spread the sort of nonsense―typical of the terribly irresponsible conceptual confusion of our times―to the effect that I was an apostle. Great God, in that case, instead of having had a beneficial effect and upholding Christianity, I would have ruined it. Truly a wonderful affiliation for the apostles: that I too was a sort of apostle. Truly, a wonderful outcome of my life in helping to establish the masterful category: and an apostle of sorts and such. From the very beginning I have guarded with the eyes of Argus against this confusion, this dreadful confusion. In an age as full of nonsense as ours, which panders to everything, when it merely lays eyes on someone who differs somewhat from the priests―ah, it is so likely to give rise to confusion. Isn’t this what Mag. Adler has aspired to? I have worked against this in fear and trembling. In this connection my constant use of the phrase: without authority. In this connection the essay “On the Difference between a Genius and an Apostle.” Yet all that had not helped― but now an article about an actress. As a hum. being, I personally am a poor, unhappy child, whom a melancholic old man, motivated by love, made as unhappy as possible, and whom God in turn has taken to himself, and for whom he has done “so indescribably, oh, so indescrib-

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ably much more than I could ever have expected,” oh, so indescribably that I simply long for the peace of eternity in which to do nothing but give thanks. As a hum. being, I personally am in more than the ordnry sense a sinner who has been well along on the path of perdition, whose conversion has only all too o�en been marked and is marked by relapses―a sinner who nonetheless believes that the entirety of this sin is forgiven him for Xt’s sake, even though he must bear the consequences of sin; a sinner who longs for eternity in order to be able to thank him and his love. As an author I am a genius of a rather unusual sort―neither more nor less than that―absolutely devoid of authority, and therefore continually assigned to annihilate himself so that he does not become an authority for anyone. What is unusual, if anyone really wants to know, is that I have and have had just as much imagination as dialectical ability, and vice versa, and also that my thinking is essentially in the present tense.

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I probably do not have much time le� to live. But whether I have one hour or 70 years, my choice has been made: to use every instant (except to the extent that I might set aside some time for recreation, but I will ask God for permission to do that) to present Xnty. It is only all too true that it hasa been abolished. And in this respect I am like a spy.

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Oh, when they preach on Job, they are always in a hurry to get to the end, to the fact that he gets everything back again, double. To me it seems strange to preach about this. For isn’t it true that as soon as this happens, you can certainly get yourself back on your feet and accept it―see, that’s why I prefer to preach about the time preceding it.

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The more one prays, the more certain it is that one’s ultimate consolation is that God has commanded that one shall pray; for God is so infinite that at many moments one would otherwise scarcely dare to pray, however much one wanted to do so.

But in praying one also makes oneself light in relation to God; otherwise he would totally overwhelm one.

When, for example, several children are together with one another all day long, they play with one another, or whatever they do, and this mutual relationship of theirs, this relativity, becomes for them the actuality in which they are, so to speak, serious figures with respect to themselves. But then what happens is that word suddenly arrives that li�le Peter, Christian, Søren, Hans, or whatever the person is called, must go home. Thus the absolute intervenes in disturbing fashion. Similarly with grown-ups: i.e., with the religious person in his life together with the grown-ups. At one point he goes and talks with the other serious menfolk about what he wants to be in the world, that he wants to be this or that, and it seems to the other serious menfolk that he is a serious man, almost as serious as the others. But then what happens is that word suddenly arrives that he must go home, i.e., the relation to God suddenly takes hold. See, this is why the truly religious person can never push things to the odd sort of seriousness that is common in the world, the sort that omits the relation to God. The child is never permi�ed to mire himself in the illusion that the relation to the other children is everything―because then word arrives that he must go home.

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Furthermore, it is not impossible that―a�er having suffered extreme pain to the point of melancholia, a�er having to be sacrificed and having suffered all the world’s mistreatment―it could suddenly become God’s will that I should be a success in the world. The fact is, however, that I am perhaps too weak and too so� and too melancholic to be able to endure it. But on the other hand, I could perhaps be used to put pressure on the others. The problem with the generation or the times (or whatever one wants to call this abstraction) is that it has abolished the relation to God, rebelled against God, has imagined that the relationship betw. hum. beings is the most serious thing in life. Then God chooses a spineless hum. being, the most wretched of them all. That is me; in the hands of God I am sheer anxiety, fear, and trembling. Then God endows me with such extraord. powers that not even the entirety of the age can compete with me. But I cannot boast about this. I can only say of myself again and again that I am a poor, wretched hum. being. But by so doing I in turn exert pressure on all the others. If, then, in addition I am also a success and am viewed as great, I exert even greater pressure. For God has such a hold on me that at any second he could compress me into nothing―with this pressure, with the full sense of being nothing, I in turn exert pressure on the others―I who, according to that view, had indeed been viewed by them as the extraord. one. This means that the relation cannot, in the usual self-satisfying hum. fashion, fall into the arrangement in which one person is to be great and that there then are others who are not at all great, etc.―for it is precisely the former person who feels (or who at every instant can come to feel, in sheer fear and trembling) that he is nothing. This is how God keeps a tight rein on the others. As long as peop. understand this relation of mine as vanity, pride, etc., it is as if it were the case that in the final analysis I related only to myself, selfishly and arbitrarily, instead of this being the relation to God―as long as this is the case, peop. will mistreat me. As long as this is the case, my situation is doubly difficult. God presses me, and peop. strike out at me because God presses me. On the other hand, if they discover that things are otherwise, that this is the combination or unity of melancholia and the fear of God, and they do justice to my abilities, reconcile themselves with me, and free themselves precisely by means of such recognition: it will not in fact help them. For by being pleasantly satisfied to be the extraord., I cannot procure promotion and accommodation for the others―alas, before God I am nothing, and at any moment word could arrive (in the form of

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my melancholia) that I must go home and be examined about whether I haven’t forgo�en my lesson: that I am nothing. Then I exert pressure once again. I am sequestrated―and then, with the help of the abilities granted me, I in turn sequestrate the others. No peace, in the trivial sense of the term, can enter into the situation. It is not I who am the teacher―far from it, it is I who am being educated. Were I the teacher I could easily be tempted to act important and become―a serious man, perhaps a professor; but then I could suddenly be sent word that I have to go home.

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It is laughable to read an orthodox writer who is busily demonstrating, with respect to a particular aspect of the life of Christ, that one can certainly accept it because it is historical―oh, it is impossible that the person who in faith has accepted what, hmnly speaking, is the most absurd of all absurdities, that an individual hum. being is God, can have difficulties with any particular thing. But the fact is that from this one sees indirectly that this orthodox writer is not entirely at one with himself regarding Xt; thus he grants, e.g., that had it not been historically certain, it would be quite difficult to believe that Xt had ascended into heaven. For an orthodox writer of this sort it is impossible that Xt is or ever has been the paradox.

Would that at some point near the beginning they had granted me my due as an author, that a trustworthy man had granted timely recognition. Then I could have had the opportunity to speak of myself in a different fashion; people would easily have seen how far I was from being haughty. But qua author I have lived with such betrayal that there was no possibility of an occasion to speak otherwise.

The misery of the situation in Christendom is rlly all this preaching so that one is constantly able to see indirectly that the priest does not at all exist in what he is talking about. I have never heard one single priest preach, or read a sermon by him

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about prayer, without promising myself to prove―just as 2 plus 2 is 4, but indirectly―that the priest himself is scarcely used to praying properly each day, much less that he prays more continually, so as to bring God into everything. This is why nowadays the sermon always and absolutely remains solely within simple degrees of comparison: pray, pray diligently, continually, every day, every moment. Charming. And precisely from the way in which this is said, it can be seen that the priest is very far from having begun doing so. For otherwise it would have been clear as day to him that this is where the spiritual trials begin, this frightful fact that it is impossible for a hum. being to be able to do this because he will experience almost insane collisions if he is to think God together with even the least of what he does: going to get a haircut, buying a new hat, calling on someone, etc. Therefore the sermon nowadays is essentially sheer lies. The situation with priests is like that of an athletic director, himself unable to swim, who teaches others to swim while he himself stands on the dock, shouting, Just strike out briskly with your arms―as if one were unable to strike out exceedingly briskly with one’s arms, which every swimmer knows. But the truth is that it cannot be proven directly, for of course the doctrinal concept is entirely orthodox. And therefore it is also a part of the false piety of modern times when a priest congratulates himself for teaching orthodoxy or when people busy themselves with working out ever more precise definitions directed against those who believe otherwise. Oh, you master rogues, in this way you divert a�ention from what is of decisive importance, from the power that Xnty must have and wants to have in life, to reshape life, not to be itself reshaped into artificial arabesques.

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The flaw in the life of Christendom lies neither in the form of government nor in anything of that sort; no the flaw is in the circumstance that those with different lots in life live at too great a remove from one another. Everything thereby becomes too relative, hardening itself in its relativity without knowledge of the lot of others. This is especially the case with the clergy. In Cph. there are rlly no clergy at all. That’s why it has been possible for a city like Cph. to become so frightfully demoralized, and not one single person has felt authorized to testify against it.

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It is rlly impossible to dispute with a journalist. He stays in hiding; one cannot get hold of him; and then in no time he whips up these thousands of people against a person, people with whom one rlly has nothing to do, who comically and sadly, are both guilty and innocent.

One may certainly be a court preacher in this showy sense; indeed, it is not so dangerous, though it is never Christian. But one must acknowledge that this is for the sake of one’s weakness, because one does not feel the power and the strength and the courage to serve the truth in the true way. If one becomes impudent, wanting this showiness to be earnestness, a fantasy existence a la being a witness to the truth, then there must be a protest. The same holds for the view concerning clerical livings: what is loathsome lies in the impudence with which a person wants to dress up as earnestness the hum. weakness that requires a permanent job. I truly do not wish to disturb one single person (and I always consider such things in much fear and trembling), to push him into a situation in which he cannot find his proper place. But impudence is the demise of the whole of Xnty.

… So show me one single person who was nothing and who nonetheless labored for an idea with all his might, show me a single person of this sort for whom things have not gone badly. To be nothing is precisely the sting in earnestness. To be nothing is precisely what makes illusions impossible. Only when one is nothing can one in truth serve an idea, without it following from this that everyone who is nothing does so.―But the fact is, when in addition a person amounts to something―in short, when finite goals are included―then peop. look at those goals, and then they understand the man. He proclaims the truth―it is his occupation and his living: aha!

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Therefore, the shrewder people in an age, who notice the sting, want to procure a clerical living for such a person―for then the sting is taken from him.

Alas, my situation in relation to my times is and will continue to be as it was with my father. I caused him much grief―then he died, and I inherited him. The times are doing what they can to torture me; this is precisely what tortures the best abilities out of me. Then I will die―and then the times will inherit me. There will come a time when Danes will be proud of me qua author― thus at root also proud of the fact that they mistreated me.

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Of course one can also win honor and respect by being very God-fearing. Accordingly, self-denial requires in this connection that one be a bit disconcerting. On the other hand, one has an obligation not to go too far, so that the whole thing does not mislead, but guides. And furthermore, if one simply is careful that what one proclaims is true Xnty, it will surely be more difficult to fall into the danger of winning honor and respect. And above all one must be careful to express humbly that one is oneself grounded, in fear and trembling, in the religious, so that one does not give the appearance of standing above it. I could easily point to examples of this lamentable tendency.

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Things went well with that li�le article. What is most decisive will come later. But then the habit of thinking that I have now become earnest will have been truly broken, so that the shock will in turn be all the greater. Those who live aesthetically in this country have probably given up reading me because I “have become holy and no longer write anything but collections of sermons.” Now, at least, I will perhaps get them to peek a bit into the next book in the hope that it might be something for them― and I will at least make someone or other pay a�ention, assisting him in wounding himself. This is why the more strictly orthodox writers, including Rudelbach, only have an influence on a very small circle of people, because they have absolutely no inventiveness with respect to

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ge�ing close to people in genrl. The orthodox writers write only for and talk only to the orthodox, and that’s that. The fact that an entire country calls itself Christian and imagines itself to be so, all the business about Christendom, is something of which they take absolutely no notice.

It is really insane, but also helpful in showing how confused the world is and how something that is true must always be the victim. Melancholic as I was―and understanding, as I did, the Christian doctrine of hum. equality―I have lived year a�er year in such a way that all the distinguished people (as I well knew) at first took exception to it, then found it to be treason against them (because I ought to have adhered to their synagogue), and finally became accustomed to it. That was how I lived, willing to speak and associate with every pers. on the street, u�erly careless of the li�le bit of respect that was mine. And then what? Then I was a�acked. By whom? By the distinguished? Alas, no. That would at least make some sense. No, I am a�acked by―yes, this is what people must be in order to produce this confusion―crazy tribunes of the people, who fight for equality. And I am a�acked for haughtiness and for being distinguished! Greater insanity than this is hard to find. As things now are in the world, haughtiness and being distinguished consist solely in avoiding the mass of the people, in never being seen on the street, etc. And so I am a�acked for being distinguished. I wonder what Papa Socrates would say! Now the distinguished people have nothing against this, for now one can indeed see that they are not distinguished― they indeed do not walk in the street, they are never seen. See, this is what comes of being judged by boys. Goldschmidt never grasped the point of life at all. He imagines that he is fighting for equality―and then I am a�acked for being distinguished! Quantæ tenebræ! Alas, this is the difference between blind passions and honest zeal. I have seen very well where all the coteries (especially that of the distinguished people) lay; and while I have always gladly and enthusiastically expressed proper veneration for the excellence they contained, I have taken careful aim at the untruth in the coterie, at the illusion, etc. My tactic has always been to sow discord in the coteries. And now, in retrospect, I see once again how Governance has helped me. The great coterie is Mynster, Heiberg, Martensen, and com32 Quantæ tenebræ] Latin, what great darkness, what confusion.

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pany. For Mynster was a part of it, even if he never condescended to participate openly. This coterie then intended to destroy me by means of negative resistance. Then there was the fortunate circumstance that I venerated Mynster so absolutely. This was an annoyance to them, and in fact the coterie was unable to get the rumor mill running. Then time passed and Heiberg became less and less active. Furthermore, he saw that he had been wrong, that I had absolutely no intention of becoming an aesthetician. Perhaps he even had a bit of a feeling of having wronged me (for I had originally had the idea of a�acking him in order to break up the aesthetic coterie). The coterie is weak. Then I took his mother and celebrated her. And that was annoying, inasmuch as the coterie has its stronghold in social life. And now his wife―and for safety’s sake a li�le squib at Martensen, so that the coterie not be all too pleased about it. And yet Governance has obviously helped me in this, for my reverence for Mynster was something I was granted, something I was to display. The single individual is what I am fighting for, and it is true that the kingdom of Denmark has been and is the most hostile soil for this, for here coterie is everything. But wherever there is a coterie I take care to single out one person whom I venerate or draw toward myself, simply in order to weaken the coterie. The most amusing case has been that of Grundtvig. He has been a�acked, among other reasons, on account of his party―and so I have succeeded in maintaining a sort of high-spirited relationship with him that very much embi�ers the party. Even if I were to give up all my ideas and my actual view of Xnty or the cause to which I essentially belong, merely ridding Denmark of all coteries, if it were possible, would be a great gain for the country. The country is small enough a�er all. But it would be an unending task to catalogue all these complexities. It is true that I was born for intrigue, and it is certain that there is a power that

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joins in this game and that has helped me in a very curious way.a Also in connection with the coterie of P. L. Møller and Goldschmidt, it was my calculation to lump them together; and indeed it is not impossible that this was to some extent successful.

In general there are two decisive errors with respect to Xnty. 1. Xnty is not a doctrine[,] (This is the source of all the nuisances of orthodoxy, its quarrels about one thing and another, while existence remains totally unchanged, so that people quarrel about what is Christian just as they do about what is Platonic philosophy and the like) but an existence communication. Because every generation begins all over again at the beginning, all this scholarship about preceding generations is essentially superfluous, though not to be disdained if it understands itself and its limitations―extremely dangerous if it does not do so. 2. Consequently (because Xnty is not a doctrine) in relation to it, it is not a ma�er of indifference who presents it, as with a doctrine, provided only that he (objectively) says the right thing.―No, Christ appointed not docents―but followers. If Xnty (precisely because it is not a doctrine) does not reduplicate itself in the person who presents it, then what he is presenting is not Xnty. For Xnty is an existence communication and can only be presented―by existing. Fundamentally, to exist in it is of course to express it in existing, etc.―it is to reduplicate.

To reduplicate is to be what one says. Human beings are therefore infinitely be�er served by someone who does not speak in all-too-lo�y tones but who is what he says. I have never dared to say that the world is evil. I make this distinction, I say:

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for even where I have not always been clearly conscious of it while I was doing it, but where I either follow the instinct of my immediacy or assign things to God, it proves so opportune in retrospect.

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Xnty teaches that the world is evil. But I dare not say it; I am far from being pure enough to do so. But I have said: The world is mediocre, and this is precisely what my life expresses. But how many a stripling priest stands there and thunders that the world is evil―and what, indeed, does his life express[?]―I have never dared to say that I would risk everything for Xnty. I am not yet strong enough for that. I begin with something less: I know that I have risked a good deal, and thus I think, and have faith, that God will educate me and teach me to risk more. But Mynster, he weeps at the thought that he is willing to sacrifice everything; even if everyone should fall away, he would stand fast. God knows what he has risked. One should never talk like this. The li�le bit of fire for an hour on Sunday only leaves behind all the more exhaustion and torpor. One should never say that one will do what one has not done. So one can say: Xnty requires it, but as I am not tried in this way, I dare not say anything regarding myself. Thus, I have been of independent means, so I have always spoken with great circumspection regarding pecuniary worries, o�en bearing in mind that I of course have no experience in this, that in this case I am speaking as a poet. Oh, would that there were truth in the communication between one pers. and another! One person defends Xnty, another a�acks Xnty, and in the final analysis, when one audits their existences, neither the one nor the other cares very much about Xnty―perhaps it is their way of making a living. Look, as for myself, I have had a thorn in my flesh from the very beginning. Had I not had it, I dare say I would have gone quite far into worldliness. But I cannot, even if I really would like to do so. Thus I have no merit whatever, for what merit is there in walking down the right path if one does so in a toddler’s walker, or if a horse follows the track when it also has a sharp bit in its mouth.

The evil principle in the world is indeed, as I have always said, the crowd―and nonsense. Nothing is so demoralizing as nonsense. When I think of all the rubbish about my legs and trousers! Here everyone was in agreement: the Excellencies and the cobblers’ apprentices and the screeching garbageman who stopped screeching merely in order to look, and serving maids, and shop clerks, and cultured young ladies, and young scholars,

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etc. And had I had a friend to whom I could have said [“]This is indeed irritating,” he would have replied, [“]Oh, it’s nothing, of course,[”] a�er which we would have strolled arm in arm, he lost in contemplation of my legs and trousers. 5

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To be the object of this long-lasting blather a�ack is in a certain sense the most dangerous of things, for then it is nothing but sanctimony when peop. say that as long as one’s character is not [impugned], etc.―as if the world were so serious. No. Nonsense: this is the medium of the world and of wretchedness. One is, as it were, placed outside unvrsl hum. rights, and everyone is le� to do whatever he wants, free of blame. And on the other hand, everyone believes himself obligated to take care not to get carried away in this fantasy world, where “all” and “nothing” alternate. Thank God, all this has not made me unproductive―precisely the reverse, and it has truly developed me so that I might illuminate Christianity. It has had precisely the effect of developing my productivity, and yet it has permi�ed me to experience the sort of isolation without which one does not discover Christianity at all. But Bishop M. would say that one must ignore all this sort of thing, or rather, that one must once and for all arrange one’s life such that it is impossible for one to be touched by this, live in concealment, etc. At root I think that M. has become so mired in his refinement that he has now become naive and has entirely missed the point as to whether this is permissible from a Christian standpoint. No, no. One must know it precisely from the ground up, be educated in this school of mistreatment. For truly, the sermon about “sin” does not rlly make an impact on the world; those who are earnest enough to be conscious of themselves as sinners are very few. The world wallows in blather. There is this confounded profusion of peop. who grasp nothing, who are good for nothing―but who spout nonsense and more nonsense. But whatever one has to do to put up with these people, it is more terrible, inhuman, and unchristian to live in that fashion, to arrange one’s life such that it expresses, day a�er day, that there are thousands of peop. with whom one really has no kinship, who do not exist. Truly, however pleasant this may look in temporality, to have lived like that will be a great responsibility in eternity.

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I would have been able to endure everything else, would have been able to endure it indescribably more easily, all the a�acks of peop. (for I am sufficiently conscious of my superiority in this respect)― if I had not been tormented by my financial future.

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see this journal p. 18.

It will certainly be the right thing to do, after all: at some point to give the times a de�nite and non-reduplicated impression of what I say I am, what I want, etc. This was what I had in mind as the platform for Armed Neutrality, a journal. It was to appear simultaneously with the 2nd edition of Either/Or. And in it I would audit the whole of Christianity, piece by piece, and install the coiled spring. Christianity is what I have dedicated myself to and belonged to from the very beginning. And such a �gure will always be important to Christendom, someone who logs the course in order to see where we are, to see whether the whole thing has run aground in an illusion, someone who presents Christianity entirely without reservations, yet without attacking anyone whatever, but leaving it to each person to examine himself. But the problem is that by using direct communication I will win people over—and thus weaken the truth. Here the confusion in Christendom is so great (i.e., Christianity has been abolished) that what is needed is for someone to be publicly put to death for the sake of the cause, so that people can have their eyes opened. But as soon as I communicate directly, my situation will become easier, and on the other hand, where will I �nd anyone who will serve the truth on the strictest terms[?] I know of no one, literally no one. This is not arrogance; but with me it is of course an awkward matter: I am a penitent, who must be willing to submit to everything in fear and trembling.

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Oh, how easy it must be to place oneself at the head of a number of people, and then of thousands, and then to make noise—and then to leave the truth in the lurch, even though one imagines that one is serving it and is honored for doing so. My method is slower. What makes the matter so dif�cult for me is the worry that my future might perhaps compel me to cast everything aside in order to make a living. I emerged easily from all other exertions—but to have exerted myself in this way and then to have this worry! Yet it is certainly good for me to refrain from doing anything rash, but truly to have need of God in every way. The very instant I communicate directly, the truth loses in intensity; I avoid martyrdom in some measure—is this permitted, isn’t it deceiving God? Because I am able to understand that after my death, indirect communication will impart a different sort of speed to the truth I have had the honor to serve, is it not my duty to endure? On the other hand, couldn’t not wanting to communicate oneself directly be pride and arrogance? But for every serious person who wants to understand, isn’t there enough in what I have accomplished to permit him to understand? Indeed, I dare to assert this before God. That is how matters stand, after having been shaken by the thought that I would die very soon and that the decisive writings were to be published after my death. Truly, I am heavily armed, but with all this I cannot suf�ciently thank God for all the good things he has done for me, so indescribably much more than I had expected. Now, by God, I will calmly continue my work on the piece I am working on about offense, with the con�dence that God will certainly grant me a sure spirit. My personal life also demands its time, so that in this enormous labor I do not forget the one thing needful, to sorrow over my own sins. This thought can quickly bring fresh air and dispel all pomposity.

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but not as someone who enthusiastically proclaims Xnty; rather as a dialectician can do it by Socratically starving the life out of all the illusions on which Xndom has run aground. For it is not that Chrnity is not being preached, but that Chrndom has become virtuosity itself in transforming it into illusion, thus circumventing it. [a]

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I cannot repeat o�en enough what I have o�en enough said: I am a poet, but of a quite unique sort, for dialectic is the inborn bent of my nature, and dialectic otherwise tends to be precisely that which is foreign to a poet. Assigned from my earliest days to an agonizing life that perhaps few people could even imagine, thrust into the most profound melancholia, and at one point thrust into despair by that melancholia: then I came to understand myself by writing. What inspired me was the ethical―alas, I, who was agonizingly prevented from realizing it fully, because I was unhappily placed outside the realm of the universally human. Had I been capable of it, I would certainly have become monstrously proud. Thus I again turned toward Xnty. It was my plan that immediately following the publication of Either/Or I would seek a rural pastoral call and sorrow over my sins. I could not suppress my productivity, I pursued it―naturally, it now went into the religious sphere. Then I understood it to be my task to do penance by serving the truth in such a way that it truly became difficult for a person―a thankless task, humanly speaking, sacrificing everything. Thus do I serve Xnty―in all wretchedness happy in the thought of the indescribable good that God has done for me, so much more than I had expected. What ma�ers is to present Xnty once again in all its radicality, and―as we are situated in Xndom― indirectly. I must be kept outside it―the awakening will be all the greater. Peop. love direct communication because it makes the ma�er easy, and those who communicate love it because it makes life less strenuous for them because they do, a�er all, always find a few people with whom they can band together and escape the strain of solitude. This is how I live, assured that God will put the emphasis of Governance on my efforts―as soon as I am dead, not before, that is part of the penitence and the scope of the project. I live in this faith; I hope to God that I will die in it. If he wills other-

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The world has become all too clever. The person who is to work in behalf of the religious must work in concealment―or he won’t help very much. If a person presents himself as a religious person, the world has a thousand evasions and illusions with which it can protect itself against him and shunt him aside. Now, unlike in the old days, the struggle is no longer against wild passions, where direct confrontation was the proper approach. No, Xndom has become mired in cleverness. Drawing it away from this requires someone who can more than match that cleverness. Even if it therefore pleases God to appoint a pers. to be his instrument, all his tactics must differ from those of previous ages. The person who is to be used in such a way must possess what the age prides itself on, even though this is to its own misfortune. But he must not misuse his cleverness in order to help usher in a new form of cleverness; with the help of cleverness he must restore simplicity. This is how I understand myself without, however, daring to call myself an instrument of God in a special sense, for as with everything in me, my relation to God, too, is dialectical. Furthermore, it is my blessed conviction that every hum. being is essentially equally close to God. But precisely because everything in my existence is so intertwined in this way, I will rlly only produce an effect a�er my death.

Yes, that is how it had to be. I have not become a religious author—I was one [already]. Simultaneously with Either/Or came Two Edifying Discourses. Now,

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then the dif�culty would not be as it was previously, about whether I dared to take it, but that they would not even grant it to me

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after two years of having written nothing but religious writings, comes a little essay on an actress. Now there is a moment, a point of rest; by taking this step I have come to understand myself, and much more concretely. So, with respect to publication, things must proceed further (that is, I have of course gone further, I have completed what is to be used: 1) A Cycle of Ethical-Religious Essays 2) The Sickness unto Death 3) Come unto Me All You ...), unless it should happen that I die beforehand. My health is very weak, and this thought has come to dominate me: that I shall soon die, using these six months to grieve over my sins and continue the work of presenting Christianity. Perhaps this is a melancholic thought, perhaps as well because I have become reluctant to make the �nite decisions in connection with publication: in any case I have now been prodded by it. The next publication will be very decisive with respect to my external existence. I have, however, always preserved the possibility of seeking a pastoral call if things went absolutely wrong for me in the �nancial sense. Now, when I publish the latest books, it is quite possible that I would be turned down even if I applied for it.a This is a heavy burden in addition to all the inward suffering and outward abuse, though it will surely be bene�cial to me, so that I do not move too hastily but more and more come to have need of God. For the more God grants me, the greater the burdens he places on me. So as time goes by things proceed further, assuming that I do not die beforehand, bearing the enormous stack of re�ections that fundamentally I bear at every moment—and yet deep down as trustful as a child. Ah, for I can of course never suf�ciently thank God for all the good things he has done and still does for me, so indescribably more than I had expected—he, who helps one step by step if one honestly tells him how matters stand and then permits oneself to be helped: helps one by removing burdens that one perhaps was unable to bear, helps one little by little to bear burdens from which one had

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once shrunk. Ah, the person who loves God is loved upward by God that way: this is upbringing. A world of help is possible at every moment, because for God everything is possible—oh, how blessed, then, in addition, that he is love, and that for love everything is possible, and that he for whom all things are possible is love. And if I stumble, if sin conquers me for a moment ah, for an honest penitent there is always a world of help in the atonement of all our sins in him, our Savior and Redeemer. Yes, surrounded by love in this way, ah, who would not feel himself blessed in the midst of all sufferings, which probably exist in order that one not take blessedness in vain, but which also serve to make one sense blessedness all the more blissfully.

How o�en haven’t I had happen what has just now happened to me again? Then I sink into the most profound sufferings of melancholia; one or another thought gets so tangled for me that I cannot untangle it, and because it relates to my own existence I suffer indescribably. And then, a�er a li�le time has passed, it is as if a boil has burst―and inside is the most wonderful and fruitful productivity, precisely what I have use for at the moment. I have recently suffered great spiritual trials concerning the extent to which one dare refuse direct communication―oh, perhaps very few peop. have a notion of this fear and trembling: to have the agility that enables one to appear to be other than one is, doing so in the service of truth, and then, then to remain in fear and trembling that one not do anyone harm, even while one understands that this is the truest way of helping another person. And look, this, then, is precisely something I am to use in presenting offense with respect to the God-Man. My life is so o�en arranged in this way. I suffer, as a hum. being can suffer, in indescribable melancholia; as always, it has to do with thinking

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about my existence―and then this is precisely what I have use for. But while the suffering lasts it is o�en terrifically agonizing. But―with the help of God―believing, one gradually learns to remain with God even in the moment of suffering, or at any rate (when it seems as though he [God] had for an instant let go of a person who was suffering) to return again to God as quickly as possible. That of course is how it must be, for if one could have God entirely present to oneself while one was suffering, one would not suffer at all.

It was after all a good thing that I published that little article and underwent that tension. Had I not published it I would have lived on in some unclarity concerning the use of indirect communication in the future. It has now become clear to me that from now on it would be indefensible for me to make use of it. The awakening element inheres in the circumstance that God has given me the strength to exist as a riddle—but no longer, lest what is awakening end in what is confusing. Now what surely counts will be to take up the earlier maieutic project in straightforward and full-throated fashion, clearly and straightforwardly assuming the character of that project as someone who has wanted and wants to serve the cause of Christianity. If I hadn’t published that article, indirect communication would have haunted me as a possibility; I would not have received the idea that I ought not dare to make use of it. But I dare not say of myself that I have had an overview of the structure of the entire literary production from the start; indeed, I must say what I continue to acknowledge: that in the course of the work I have been educated and developed, that I myself have become bound to Christianity more and more tightly than I was. But this remains �rm: that I began

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with the most profound religious impression—alas, I who, when I began, bore the entire responsibility for another human being’s life and understood this as God’s punishment of me.

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The thought that I would die soon, the thought in which I have rested, has now been disturbed by the publication of that li�le article; it would disturb me if that were to be the last thing I published. But on the other hand, the notion that I would die soon was only a melancholic imagining, so what a good thing it was that I published that li�le article. And that was precisely what had to be probed― thereby facilitating publication of the article.

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The communication of Christianity must, however, �nally end in “witnessing”; the maieutic cannot be the �nal form. For in the Christian understanding of things, the truth does not reside in the subject (as Socrates understood things) but is a revelation that must be proclaimed. Maieutics can quite properly be used in Christendom precisely because most people actlly live in the fantasy that they are Christians. But because Christianity is in fact Christianity, the maieuticist must become the witness. Nor, in the end, will the maieuticist be able to endure the responsibility, for in the �nal analysis maieutics indeed resides in human cleverness, no matter how much it has been sancti�ed and dedicated in fear and trembling. God becomes too powerful for the maieuticist and thus the maieuticist is a witness, differing from the immediate witness only because he has experienced having become one.

[a]

But in any event R. Nielsen remains the person who could provide an explanation.

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But on the other hand, the understanding, re�ection is also a gift of God. What is one to do with it, what is one to make of it, if one is not to use it? And so if one uses it in fear and trembling, not for any personal gain, but to serve the truth; if one thus uses it in fear and trembling as well as in the belief that it absolutely is God who decides the outcome; if one dares, trusting in him, and submits with unconditional obedience to what he wants to make of it: is this not to fear God and to serve God as a hum. being endowed with re�ection is capable of doing—in a somewhat different manner from the person endowed with immediacy, but perhaps more inwardly[?] But if that is the case, then there is something maieutic in the relation to other human beings or to various other human beings. For the maieutic is actlly merely an expression of a superiority between one human being and another. That this exists cannot indeed be denied—but it is precisely upon the maieuticist, the superior one (for he has the responsibility), that existence weighs more heavily than it does upon the other. And in my case there has indeed been no lack of witness. All of my edifying discourses are of course in the form of direct communication. So it is only a matter of something that has indeed churned within me for a long time (as far back as the early journals): at some point to give a clear explanation of myself as an author, of what I say I am, of how I understand myself as having been a religious author from the start. But this is not the moment for it; at present I am also rather fatigued. I have had need of more physical recreation.

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But suppose someone says: If, then, in his innermost self a hum. being is so pious, wills the good to such a degree, let him say it quite directly; if God wants him to be honored and respected for doing so, then let him accept it: this is simplest. But who is speaking? The person who dares to say of himself that God, through revelation, immediately determines for him what he is to do—yes, such a person can act in completely immediate fashion. With respect to every other hum. being, however, it is surely the case that God does not determine what he is to do in this

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immediate fashion; he must himself consider., choose. The relation between God and himself does in fact take place by means of re�ection, be it greater or less. Now I get to the point. Then re�ection discovers that truly to serve the good is also to avoid giving the appearance that one does so, in order that one have no advantage from it. This is self-denial, which re�ection devises, which immediacy (also that immediacy which includes relative re�ection) actlly does not know, for selfdenial is a re�ection. What do we do now? Is not a hum. being just as responsible to God for his use of re�ection as for all else; when he is able to understand that something is right, is he not then obligated by God to do it, even if this self-denial results in a painful suffering, a weight of responsibility unsuspected by the immed. person? Or is re�ection evil in itself? By no means. It is evil when it is sel�sh: either the �nite re�ection that yearns for the advantages of �nitude, or that which sel�shly ends with the individual self becoming infatuated with itself. It is, however, quite otherwise—and this is indeed precisely the duty—when re�ection humbles itself under the hand of God in fear and trembling, referring everything to God (because even in its totality it is, after all, nothing before God), not taking pleasure in concealment but humbly realizing, before God, that at any second he wishes God can of course annihilate the re�ection by means of which one avoids the appearance of willing the good—while re�ection, for its part, cannot act otherwise than it does. Likewise, when re�ection humbly confesses that it is quite literally brought up by God, for whom it is smaller than a child, and of whom it has need at every instant.—But there is this difference betw. human beings: that one has more re�ection than another. But is re�ection’s fear of God any the less because its language differs somewhat from what is genrlly called the language of the immediate person (for here we are not speaking of the person who has received an extraordinary call), because the language of re�ection contains one additional extension? The danger is that re�ection wants to please itself and end up in itself instead of ending up in worship. But God-fearing re�ection does not do this; it understands very easily, and in much fear and trembling, that God is the almighty one, who at any instant he wishes can pull the strings so that a hum. being’s re�ection cannot remain concealed. But re�ection itself does not dare do this

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because it understands avoidance of the appearance of willing the good to be the true form of the good. On the other hand, the fact that God is included in this way prevents all self-satisfaction. But then isn’t there after all something meritorious in the relation to God? How so[?] Assume now, in addition, that the individual calculations made by re�ection were, humanly speaking, excellent: what then? Who is it who prates re�ection, this yardstick, into the relation to God[?] For God even the most brilliant human wisdom is nonsense; but it does not follow from this that, if he has re�ection, a human being should refrain from using it; he should merely learn humility before God, and then do what he unsel�shly recognizes as the wisest thing to do, but not forgetting that when God inspects it, it is certainly possible that he will �nd it extremely stupid. Furthermore, where is the meritoriousness when re�ection exhibits itself to God at every instant like this, and is thus compelled thousands upon thousands of times to acquaint itself with its lowliness? And �nally, if re�ection, which of course is something possessed by a human being—that is, a sinner—must at every instant �ee to [God’s] grace precisely because re�ection itself grasps that before God it has in�nite need of grace and mercy: what then becomes of meritoriousness?

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** No, this is all in order. It is at the same time certain, however, that at some point clear and straightforward information must be communicated concerning how I understand myself with respect to my writings.

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And now I need recreation and rest.

Thus the self-denial based solely on re�ective thought would avoid the appearance of willing the good. Consequently one is better than one appears. But then one must be pure. Now suppose this situation: that there was one human being who perhaps in one respect, humanly speaking, was noble and sel�ess, and that through re�ection he then understood that the true thing was to avoid seeming to be like this. But then suppose that the same

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human being was in other respects perhaps a greater sinner than many others: if through re�ection he then conceals or avoids the appearance of seeming to be as good and sel�ess as he is, but does not or is not capable of seeing to it that his other side is manifested, then here there is indeed yet another untruth. The self-denial of avoiding appearing as good as one is, is too perfect, is too lofty for a human being, is somewhat demonic—is not for sinners. A sinner must never imagine that he can be so good that it would be dangerous if the world or human beings came to know how good he was. In place of this pagan idea of avoiding appearances, Christianity posits something else[:] the confession of sins. If a person wants to be entirely honest in this respect, it could never be dangerous for the world to discover entirely how good he was. Good. But then when acknowledging oneself to be sinner and confessing it becomes in turn a re�ected expression of purity, we have come right back to the same situation. And that of course was how things were in the Middle Ages. So it returns once again: a human being must make use of his re�ection in fear and trembling.

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In many ways Christendom could benefit from the experience (and rlly, this is the only medicine) of having itself put someone to death for Xt’s sake―in order at least to have its eyes opened as to what Xnty is. But I do not have the physical strength for it, nor perhaps the courage either, and finally, I am a dialectician who can certainly accomplish a good deal in the direction of thought and inwardness, also indeed arouse in an awakening way, but not in a situation that rlly is not suitable for the dialectical.

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[a]

Interpretive instructions for my work as an author.

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Interpretive Instructions. In order at least to get hold of peop., one could (in view of what hum. beings in fact are like and what oneself is like) reduce the requirements of Christianity, reduce Christianity, make concessions in that direction. Then one becomes oneself the most earnest Christian and wins many such people for Christianity. This causes irreparable damage; [it is] inconceivable that anyone has dared to assume such responsibility, for it is to win peop. for Xnty by abolishing Christianity. One can, on the other hand, present Christianity in all its recklessness, and then, in order not to appear to be judging others, pass judgment on oneself as so far behind that one scarcely even dares call oneself a Christian but is striving to become one, loves becoming a Christian. This is the right thing. At times it can take on a certain similarity to Socratic ignorance in comparison to the human know-it-all a�itude. And this is the point of the change from the times when Christianity ba�led with paganism. In those days becoming a Christian was accomplished relatively more quickly, and therea�er one was immediately pressed into Xnty’s service, employed as a warrior. But in Christendom there is a quite different sort of tranquillity for the inward struggle to become and to be a Christian. Now, becoming a Christian is such an enormous task (because now the task is situated within reflection) that one scarcely dares say of oneself that one is a Christian, but merely that one aspires to it, one loves it, fighting solely for it all one’s days. Here is an analogy. In antiquity first came the wise ones (σοϕοι). Then came the times when no one dared call himself wise, when Pythagoras therefore invented the more modest name ϕιλοσοϕοι― and why? because the task had become infinitely greater. Those σοϕοι were actlly the wise ones of immediacy. Reflection’s definition of what it is to be wise began, quite rightly, by first making the

35 σοϕοι] Greek, wise ones. 37 ϕιλοσοϕοι] Greek, philoso-

phers, lit. “lovers of wisdom.”

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task so enormous that the relationship to it became solely a relationship of reflection, and yet there was much more exertion associated with becoming a ϕιλοσοϕος than with being a σοϕος. Understood in this sense, I believe that I can defend going out and preaching that Christendom has abolished Christianity. It is neither my intention nor my calling to want to offend or personally affect or a�ack a single hum. being. That is not at all how I myself understand it. Here it is not a ma�er of ge�ing the teacher removed from office, etc. Oh, no. It is a purely ideal task, to elevate Xnty wholly and totally into reflection. I will presumably collapse under this task, but God be praised for having allowed me to see this and to have essentially completed it already. However much I suffer, his goodness and love continually overwhelm me. And when my head is tired of all this enormous reflection, when my soul is tired of all the misunderstandings and insults and mistreatment from peop., he allows me to repose in this pithy epitome: that he is love, and that Christ has died for me as well―and then I begin my work again, and God is with me. It is true that it is as if Xnty were hostile to humanity, but this is because the hum. being, the natural hum. being, is lethargic and weak, sensual; and Xnty is the absolute. What the natural hum. being understands by love of hmnity is neither more nor less than this: go easy on yourself and on us. If a hum. being wants to relate to God, to repent of his inertness as soon as it appears, not imagining fancifully that God is to be modeled in accordance with it, but precisely the opposite: then Chrnty is indeed love. But it is certainly not the wretched nonsense that hum. sympathy and stupidity has made it out to be.

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NB.

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or it is like an inverse confrontation

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Even then, my only wish was as decisively as possible, perhaps in another way, to do something good to compensate for the wrong I myself had done. That I have become more and more religiously developed can be seen precisely in the fact that I am now taking leave of the aesthetic, because I don’t know where I would find the time in which I could wish to or dare to fill with aesthetic productivity.

NB.

Yes, it was a good thing a�er all to publish that li�le article. I began with Either/Or―and Two Edifying Discourses; now, a�er all the development of the edifying, it is ending with―a li�le aesthetic article. This expresses that the edifying, the religious, was what had to be set forth, and that now the aesthetic has been put behind―they correspond inversely to one anothera―in order to show that it was not an aesthetic author who had become older as the years went by and for that reason had become religious. It is not actlly any merit of mine[;] it is Governance that has held me in harness, assisted by an enormous melancholia and a troubled conscience. But something would in fact have been lacking had that li�le article not appeared. The illusion would indeed have been created that it was I who had essentially changed over the years, and thus a very important point in the entire literary production would have been lost. It is certainly true that I have been educated by this literary productivity, religiously developed more and more―but in a decisive sense I had received the pressures that turned me away from the world before I started Either/Or.b My powers―that is, physical powers―are dwindling; my health falters frightfully: I will scarcely come to see the publication of the rlly decisive things that I have ready (A Cycle of Essays, The Sickness unto Death, Come unto Me All You Who Labor and Are Heavy Laden, Blessed Is He Who Is Not Offended). In my judgment, it has been granted me here to present Xnty once again and in such a way that an entire development can be based on it. The part about the situation of contemporaneity; that Xt’s life is infinitely more important than what came a�er; unrecognizability or the incognito in relation to the God-Man; the impossibility of direct communication, etc. In my view, all the essays contain such a wealth of ideas that, again and again and yet again, I cannot sufficiently praise God, who has granted me so infinitely much more than I had expected.

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And furthermore I am assured that it will serve to promote the inward appropriation of Xnty―ah, because people have indeed taken it in vain, made it too mild, so that people have forgo�en what grace is; for the greater the strictness, the more grace reveals itself to be grace and not some sort of hum. sympathy. Just one wish, then, for this effort of mine, if I should be separated from it. I live in the faith that God will place the stamp of Governance on a life that, understood from a hum. point of view, is very unhappy―but my wish is that R. Nielsen might be someone to be depended upon. This very cause, which has cost me my health and such enormous strain―this very cause, which as long as I live would only bring me mockery and insult because I am in many ways the object of envy, this very cause, as soon as I am dead, is a victorious cause: just as long as he does not sell it altogether too cheap. So I am turning to the other side, forge�ing all these many, many thoughts, thinking only of my sins and trusting in the atonement of Jesus Xt.

Now couple the thought of death with the publication of that li�le article! Had I died without it―yes, anyone could publish my posthumous papers, and in any case there is R. Nielsen. But that illusion, that I only became religious as I grew older, and perhaps because of chance events, would indeed have been possible. Now, on the other hand, the dialectical halts stand out so clearly: Either/Or and Two Edifying Discourses; Concluding Postscript; 2 years of edifying writings, and then a li�le aesthetic essay.

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The relationship with R. Nielsen in this ma�er has caused me much concern and fear and trembling. I had given R. N. a rather direct communica-

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tion. But on the other hand, the extent to which R. N. really understood me, the extent to which he was capable of risking anything for the truth, is not at all clear to me. Here was an opportunity to test this, and I thought I owed it to the cause and to him and to myself. Fortunately he was staying out in the country. He has continually maintained that he understands how the aesthetic was used as a lure and as an incognito. He has also maintained that he understands that what always ma�ers is to be u�erly a�entive. But if this was really so, then he can scarcely have tried. He can scarcely have understood the significance of Either/Or and the Two Edifying Discourses. Only much later―especially a�er I had become so exclusively a religious author, and when I drew him to myself―did he understand it. Yes, fine: this means that he did not understand it in reduplication, he understood it as direct communication, that I was explaining to him that this is how it is done. Now it must be seen how he will judge such an article, so apparently and abruptly aesthetic, about an actress―this must be le� entirely to him. Furthermore, the article contained a li�le allusion to Martensen. If R. Nielsen wanted somehow to avoid being judged in common with those concerned, it had to be le� up to him. In brief, he had to stand absolutely alone for a moment, so that I could see where we were. It is something entirely different to talk about this reduplication a�erward―that is, in a direct manner―than it is to have to pass judgment at the moment oneself. Oh, how very strenuous it is to serve the truth in self-denial. Now I had guaranteed that many people would have an impression of me as an edifying author―and then, perhaps to muddle this myself. It meant so much to me that at any rate R. N. had understood me as much as he did―and then to have to let all this go. Yes, it is very strenuous to serve the truth like this, continually exposing oneself to misunderstanding, in order if possible to be able to keep peop. alert, in order that the religious does not once again become a sluggish habit. And it had to be like

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this with respect to R. N.―I had to let God judge between him and myself, so that he does not a�ach himself all too closely to me, but clings to God. But hmnly speaking it is hard for me to work against myself like this, precisely in order to serve the truth. It is a good thing I did it. It has developed me exceedingly much. Here things will most likely go as they usually do: the summa summarum of actuality becomes something insignificant―but God has once again educated and formed me through the possibility. Many times it is almost insane, this disproportion between the possibility by which I am educated and then the corresponding actuality. And now it is time for a direct communication and an understanding of my work as an author. What I thus have to say about the aesthetic, and about myself as the religious author who has made use of it, had of course become to some extent a sort of assertion: this li�le article is an entirely different sort of argument for public testimony and confrontation. This is how I am: in one sense a poor child, in another sense a poor, sinful hum. being―but whom God educates. And therefore I can never sufficiently thank God for all the indescribable good he does for me. Ah, R. N. scarcely dreams how he has exercised me on this occasion. And why? because he has become involved with my relation to God. This is infinitely decisive. Thus I am strong and weak. There rlly is not a single living hum. being against whom I would not dare to match myself in the confidence of being superior to him―and if he comes into contact with my relation to God, every hum. being, whoever he is, he takes on enormous significance for me.

It was a tough fight―but what I have learned!

8 summa summarum] Latin, sum of sums, sum total.

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R. N. seems in fact u�erly unable to receive the impression of an a�entive dialectic without direct communication. That li�le article, which he has in fact read, appears to have u�erly escaped his notice, even less, that he should link it to other things, etc. Thus, in this respect, a misunderstanding; perhaps he will never become a true dialectician. And furthermore―alas!―he seems to have very li�le in the way of religious underpinnings, perhaps none at all. That he could get so annoyed! He could misunderstand my note and my entire posture―ah, God save us, far be it from me to disavow it; on the contrary, it is my responsibility. But if he has misunderstood that le�er in that manner (almost as an expression of a sort of madness or a caprice, and the same thing with that article)―and if he truly had the idea about me that he mentioned, an idea that to my way of thinking was far too lo�y―and if he had had religious underpinnings he would have become sad, not wounded, not offended, but sad in my behalf. But he, on the contrary, what does he do? He writes a le�er more or less in the tone of a dispute between two menfolk, one of whom says, I’m always just as good as he is, just as touchy and thin-skinned. No, no one who has religious underpinnings talks like this with respect to what is, a�er all, frightful when one comes to understand it in this way: to see a mighty spirit become untrue to itself. Now we’ll see. The fact is that I am the one who is to be educated, and for this purpose use is made of a person of this sort, who gets drawn into my relation to God. I am aiming my exploratory blow with enormous fear and trembling; in a certain sense I would rather be freed from doing so. If the person concerned were to see this fear and trembling, then the blow would not be a blow. In his eyes it is precisely the opposite―that is precisely what makes it a blow. But the fact that I am full of fear and trembling is education by God.

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Look, this, too, is one of those unfortunate consequences of the establishment of Christendom: that language becomes meaningless or that it says the opposite of what it means. In the early days of Christnty―in contrast to paganism, which staked all its honor and pride on self-esteem―it was a true and apt expression of the contrast to say that everything was by the grace of God. But now, in Christendom, the expression [“]With the help of the grace of God, it is not I who do it, it is the grace of God[”] has become a trivialized phrase that everyone says, and thus there is no contrast. Or this expression comes to be understood as pretentious piety, this business about grace is a triviality, but if a person places special emphasis on it, he must want to be seen as especially pious. The meaninglessness is to be found in the circumstance that the a�ackers use the same language. The pagans said absolutely nothing about anything being by grace―Xnty’s talk of grace was in contrast to this; the pagans absolutely did not call themselves Xns, in contrast to this were the Christians, etc.

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The difference betw. direct and indirect communication. If someone were to say to another person who claimed to have understood him entirely, [“]Yes, that is fine, it pleases me, and so we will live in a mutual understanding. But I say to you in advance that there will come moments when, both for your sake and for my own sake and for the sake of the truth (so that the truth does not become inert from continual direct communication, becoming a self-replicating illusion), and in fear and trembling before God (which has become all the greater, the more I come to like you―but it must be this way in order to make proper room for God, in order that two hum. beings not relate themselves to one another without relating themselves individually to God)―thus there will come moments when

[a]

a teacher, who was also an artist

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(certainly not on my own initiative, but prompted by something higher) I must place between us the awakening element of misunderstanding. At that time I myself will suffer most, but that is how it must be. And for you there will come moments when you will bi�erly regret having involved yourself with me.[”] When a teacher who is also an artist does this, the other person understands it perfectly, almost liking the teacher even more than before. He understands it. And why? Because it is direct communication, because he fundamentally likes the teacher. But then, when the moment arrives, what then? Yes, then the teacher of course cloaks himself in deception, he uses all his art to keep it up, he devises precisely the most irritating and wounding way―otherwise, of course, he is a poor artist. And then―yes, if then that other person is not just as sure of himself as the teacher is [of himself], then he cannot understand it, then it is as if everything that had been said to him in advance―about how this was the way things would go―has been forgo�en. With me, things are just as they would be with that teacher, except that I do not call myself a teacher―I am the one who is being educated, but by God. And there is indeed nothing presumptuous in this. Every Sunday the priest of course says that every hum. being is educated by God―but the problem is that no one thinks anything of it. What wonder, then, that they are so poorly educated!

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NB. NB. Yes, that is how things will be: then a direct explanation of my writings and of what I want in toto. In relation to what is decisively Christian, one cannot bear the responsibility in the middle term of one’s human re�ection. And as what I have tended toward in general has been the restoration of the simple, an essential part of this is for the person who brings things to this point

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to refrain from employing the maieutic arts himself— in a certain sense this is even a contradiction. With respect to what one wants in toto what matters is to be straightforward and clear. It is another matter (and this is something that cannot be avoided by the one who indeed possesses re�ective superiority) that a person can make use of it in a particular situation, though within the bounds of direct public testimony concerning what one wants in toto. In relation to Christianity it is also dangerous to hold it in suspenso if one does not feel decisively bound by Christianity: however much one served the cause of Christianity, it is an unchristian way of doing it, even if at a time it is useful and relatively justi�ed, precisely because Christendom has become paganism. Remaining ambiguous about what it is that one really wants in toto is the genuinely maieutic. But it is also the demonic, for it makes a human being into the middle term between God and other human beings. To hinder this maieutic once and for all, what is decisive is direct communication, witnessing. The maieutic is not mysteriousness about one or another particular thing, but mysteriousness about the totality. Thus, to be mysterious about whether or not one is oneself a Christian. Then the dif�culty simply recurs, so that it does not look as if one had an immediate relation to God. In that case a relation of re�ection is thus something much humbler. Yet all this, that I have become quite involved with this, I owe to the publication of that little article. Without it I would never have come to such clarity about the change that must be made, nor could I have presented it so clearly. Had I taken such a step earlier, it would have been too much of a continuation of what had preceded it and would have been neither the one nor the other.

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The maieutic actlly conceals the fact that God is the one who directs everything. But on the other hand—in contrast to the fact that in Christendom witnessing, like everything else, has become something trivial—the maieutic could have its signi�cance.

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Mynster has slackened Chrstnty in these two ways. 1) He has changed it from div. compassion and “the truth” into hum. compassion, the gentle and friendly and loving consolation for sufferers, something we all might need, as we all suffer very much, and even the happiest person cannot know when he will suffer. 2) By making the situation of the preacher an entirely hum. one, so that the one with the greatest talent is to be the most important and have the most honor and respect―instead of the Christian position, which is that the true servant of the Word must suffer, and the truer he is, the more he must suffer.

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What is really very much needed in Chrstndom is for an unmarried person once again to take up Xnty, not as though there were something to object to in marriage, though it has in fact go�en the upper hand altogether too much. To marry has finally become the true and highest form of earnestness. But from a Christian point of view this is not how things are. You are permi�ed to marry, Xnty blesses it; but never forget the place for the more decisively religious existences. Otherwise one might logically raise the objection that Paul was unmarried. In general it would be a good thing to get rid of the exception that is voiced in sermons: it applied to those times, in those circumstances, etc.

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In this respect, at any rate, I am thri�y: All the mistreatment I suffer at the moment―these are my pennies saved, which will benefit me a�er my death. As with poor people, who otherwise cannot afford to save money but who nonetheless save up for their burial, so it is with what I save up for the burial.

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The words of Thales are like an epigram over the entire modern way of proclaiming Xnty: One must speak the probable, but remain silent about the impossible. Plutarch, “The Feast of the 7 Wise Men,” ch. 17.

The entire concept of a priest in the sense of a speaker is eo ipso the abolition of Xnty. Then people conceal it in an even deeper confusion, busying themselves with explaining that the priest should be simple―in the way he expresses himself, not using too many unusual words. To hell with that; in any event it also depends on chance circumstances. No, the fact is that the priest should not be a speaker, or that the person who proclaims Xnty should not be an orator, but someone who exists in what he proclaims. But the currently used concept of a priest directly demoralizes the congregation. One sits there in a cozy church, surrounded by pomp and splendor (yes, as in a theater)―and then in walks a man, an artist (for let us not be deceived, he indeed does say that he is simple, but this shows that he has perfected himself in the art―for true simplicity is for one’s life to express what one proclaims), a man clothed in so� raiment, possessing all of life’s advantages― and he speaks of what is highest, of being willing to sacrifice everything. Oh, it looks much happier than losing the least bit in earnest. Oh, frightful seduction, what refinement to have everything―and then to do all this with such art. See, this is why peop. cannot recognize it. Take Paul when he stood in chains―how many were there who saw the sublime in him? No, most people, by far the most, saw a fanatic for whom they höchstens had a li�le pity. But when Bishop Mynster, in the Palace Church where everything breathes security and peace, and where everything is pomp and splendor―when, imposing figure that he is, he 37 höchstens] German, at the most.

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[a]

indeed, people have presented the whole of Xnty as the probable―and have remained silent about Xnty.

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takes a step back in the pulpit, draws himself up to his full height, great artist that he is―when he describes this: then we all understand, we almost confuse Bishop Mynster with such an―apostle. Ah, it is enormously demoralizing. And yet I am so fond of Bishop Mynster, and not only because the memory of my father a�aches me to him. No, M. expresses what is purely hum. in as masterly a fashion as I have ever seen. On the other hand, he is certainly so alien to what is decisively Christian that if he were to speak his mind about it, he would have to say that it is the demonic.

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Strange, strange about that little article—that I was so close to getting carried away and forgetting myself. Well, fatigued as I was, a person can also for a moment forget the dialectical overview of so enormous a project as my authorship. Therefore Governance helped me. And now the whole thing is so dialectically correct: Either/Or and the Two Edifying Discoursesa —Concluding Postscript—for 2 years nothing but edifying discourses and then a little article about an actress. The illusion to the effect that I happened to get older and therefore became a decisively religious author is rendered impossible. Had I died beforehand, the two years’ work would have been made ambiguous, and the whole thing shaky.— In a sense, of course, it is clear that my worries were super�uous when I consider the actual world in which I live—for truly I have not found many dialecticians.

15

Ah, now I understand it! That was why Socrates’ daemon was always merely dissuading, because Socrates’ relation to God was a dialectical one. The immed. relation to God is a positive one, but in a certain sense the dialectical relation begins with

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nothing and God comes only on the second lap. If I am without immediacy I must always take the first step myself. God does not immediately tell me what I am to do; I do what in accordance with my best convictions I view as the most proper thing and then leave it to God, humbling myself and my decision, my plan, my action under God.

Far be it from me to claim that I am an excellent Xn―among genuine Xns; but in relation to Xndom I do have the advantage of knowing what it is all about. It may be assumed that most people have never had any idea of what Xnty is, and therefore they have not even noticed the possibility of offense. I actlly have no merit in this connection, for it rlly is my upbringing by my father. There must be some single peop. once again. It may have been quite right for Luther to get married, but had he [already] been married he would never have become Luther. There must be single peop., especially in these times because the evil that is to be fought resides in “the crowd” and in shrewdness and in the fear of hum. beings. Now it is certainly thinkable that a wife could indeed reconcile herself to the idea that her husband would risk sacrificing himself in ba�le against a great power, e.g., a king or an emperor―warum?―because it appeals to her imagination. But to expose oneself to the nonsense of peop., to be ridiculed by them, to be mocked―this is something from which, by her nature, a woman shrinks. She might perhaps have the courage to imagine him beheaded by the government―but mistreated by the mob, ridiculed and mocked by the crowd―no, no, she could not stand that. Here a woman would implore and plead, for the sake of God in Heaven, that her husband not expose himself to that. She would tearfully aver that she could not bear to see him mistreated in that way; she would implore, for the sake of their children, that they not be subjected to the suffering

27 warum] German, why.

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of having their father treated in this way, of being the children of such a father. And where does this evil have its root but in the daily press[?] And almost all journalists are unmarried peop.―and then one doesn’t see the necessity of unmarried peop. to serve the good.

All this about the possibility of offense―in brief, that which makes Xnty as divinely strict as it is―recurs at another point, in the doctrine of sin; it is an expression of respect for the struggle of an anguished conscience, about its significance, for only this can bring a hum. being through all these terrors (the possibility of offense) to the Savior.

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[a]

In established Xndom one quickly arrives at the extreme that, from a Christian point of view, is ridiculous: that marriage as such is holiness, entirely in the same sense as the unmarried state was regarded during the Middle Ages. Here one sees the Jewish element.

Established Xndom, to the extent it has any fear of God, is actlly Judaism. When one looks at things more closely one sees that such Christians have revived all the business about things going well with one in the land―which is God’s blessing of a person―that one gets a lot of money, is fortunate in one’s dealings, etc. Thus it has definitely been of great concern to Peter that he get an heir, for lately he has become so Jewish that he believes that God’s blessing is not granted to an unmarried hum. being. On the whole it would be a good thing to touch upon marriage again from this angle. In Xndom there is generally only very li�le religiosity a�ached to marriage, but what there is, is specifically Judaism, about things going well with one in the land, this earthly life as a straightforward measure of God’s blessing―thus misfortune and the like are God’s punishment. This sort of Xnty thus claims that Xt has se�led the ma�er once and for all―one believes in him― and then one arranges one’s life along the lines of Jewish piety.

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Yet there is, however, an entire aspect of life that one rightly calls the trifles of daily life―whether I ought to go here or there, wear a heavy coat or a light coat, etc.―which it would be very difficult to make commensurable with the relation to God. Nor does God rlly want it that way. Therefore he created man and woman and he says, Marry. This is the best way for one hum. being to help another. It is like the father’s relationship with the child; he says, I cannot really play with you all day long like this, so get yourself a playmate. It is a very dangerous situation when a father must also be the child’s playmate, when the child associates with no one other than its father. And it is also like this with the relation to God. But the father does this with a sick child. And if there is a hum. being who became so unhappy that he had to renounce the joys of marriage―far from understanding this as if he were someone great; just the opposite, perhaps overvaluing marriage and thus suffering all the more in his unhappiness―then God undertakes to help him out in the trifles of life as well, and thus for this sort of hum. being, in a moving way, many insignificant things can become commensurable with the relation to God.

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It has always been thought that re�ection must destroy Xnty and that it was its natural enemy. I hope indeed that with God’s help it will become apparent that God-fearing re�ection can retie once more the knots at which super�cial re�ection has picked away for so long. The divine authority of the Bible and everything pertaining to it has been abolished; it looks as though we are merely awaiting the �nal portion of re�ection to �nish off the whole business. But look, re�ection comes to perform the opposite service, to

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reinstall the coiled springs of Christianity so that it can hold its own—against re�ection. Christianity, of course, remains the same, absolutely unchanged, not an iota is changed. But the struggle becomes a different one: until now it has been between re�ection and an immediate, simple Christianity; now it will be between re�ection and the simplicity that has been armed with re�ection. I think this makes sense. The task is not to comprehend Xnty, but to comprehend that one cannot comprehend it. This is faith’s holy cause, and therefore re�ection is sancti�ed by being used in this manner. Oh, the more I consider what has indeed been granted me, the greater the need for an eternity in which to thank God.

From an entirely historical standpoint (that is, not as the object of faith) this is perhaps the point at which Christ’s heterogeneity with respect to every hum. being makes itself most visible: that the nation of which he was a part perished. In other cases, a nation appropriates its most eminent person, even if he died as a martyr. But this has certainly never occurred to the Jews with respect to Xt. Thus the nation perished: this expresses that Xt was the individual who was greater than the entire generation. And the nation did not perish and disappear from history―no, it remained in a situation of ruin, giving expression to that ruin: this (ad modum military honor) is the div. honor shown to Xt in history. From a dialectical point of view, all the consequences of his life are not nearly as remarkable as this consequence. The strange, the gripping element in the circumstance that Providence must constantly see to it that one nation remains at the same point, the point of ruin, century a�er century, as if in an eternal refrain, repeating the expression of respect for Xt.

29 ad modum] Latin, in the manner of.

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The ugly thing about the mistreatment I suffer is rlly that in their heart of hearts people think as follows, Oh, he is strong enough to be able to endure everything. Thus they want it to be this nasty, they want to be allowed to permit themselves every sort of barbarity against me, enjoying the titillation that I am superior―and then they want to count on my having strength enough to endure it, precisely as though there was one thing I did not have at all: hum. rights; precisely as though there was one thing no one ought to do: learn something from me.

My martyrdom is a martyrdom of reflection, or martyrdom as it can manifest itself in the world after reflection has taken the place of immed. passion. The painfulness consists precisely in its being bere� of all passion: it is fun and games, nothing. And yet it is certain that there is no martyrdom from which peop. recoil more than from this.

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JOURNAL NB7

JOURNAL NB7 Translated by Bruce H. Kirmmse Edited by Vanessa Rumble

Text source Journal NB7 in Søren Kierkegaards Skri�er Text established by Kim Ravn and Steen Tullberg

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NB7. Aug. 21, 48

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Journal NB7. An entry wri�en on the inside of the front cover of the journal (NB7:2).

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Why Has Christianity Come into the World? The Opposite of an Apologetic.

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As people have abolished the God-relationship in every respect, so, too, have they abolished it in this. Where might there now be found an existence that expresses [the belief] that a God exists, a Providence, that intervenes to guide even the least li�le things[?] No―people preach about it, but what people express in existence is that, a�er all, the most prudent and correct course of action is to help oneself, to seek the assistance of human beings in one’s affairs, etc.―in short, the merely human measure is and remains the standard of measure. This is why people are completely unable to grasp something that causes me fear and trembling: whether I have any right to occupy myself with this sort of thing. I am equipped with an innate talent for intrigue, and, thanks to my knowledge of human nature, am capable of winning over any person, etc.: I do not dare use the least bit of this in connection with my cause, for then it would seem to me as if God were saying, [“]Well, if you yourself want to run things―then of course I don’t need to.[”] To my way of thinking, it is absolutely as important that this truth―that God is included―be expressed as it is for the truth to be revealed, that this does not become a mere figure of speech or something like what a physician writes at the beginning of his prescription. A�er all this Hegelian-Goethean hum. self-satisfaction over gratifying one’s contemporaries―i.e., abolishing God and making the generation into God―a�er all this I come, and therefore I must above all be wary that I do not nonsensically babble truth into this distorted form, but rather, fearing God, express that God is man. Pampered and confused as the race is by these antecedents, it must naturally regard my behavior as pride and arrogance―of course it is also fear of God, and from the worldly point of view these two categories can never be kept separate from one another. Oh, in this confusing throng of humnty it is a great thing simply that there is one hum. being

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among them who has one hour a week in which to think (for to read newspapers and run to meetings is not really to think)―and it is this confused multitude that is supposed to judge what the truth is.

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From on High He Will Draw All to Himself.

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7 Discourses at the Communion on Fridays. 10

No. 1. is finished and in the chest of drawers. No. 2.

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[a]

To draw is a compound concept (two factors), especially when it is a ma�er of drawing a free being (which of course must itself choose). Thus there is here: lowliness and exaltedness, not lowliness alone nor exaltedness alone.

No. 3. That you must first feel yourself drawn to him in his lowliness―otherwise the exaltedness is a delusion. No. 4. Use this as a measure of the Xnty within you: whether you feel yourself more drawn to him by the lowliness or by the exaltedness.

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― ― No. 7.

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The prayer: Draw me to yourself; the various ways in which it can be spoken by various people. The parents on behalf of the tiny baby. The young pers. at the beginning of life. The sinner when he walks the path of conversion.

These discourses generally develop the relation between his lowliness and his exaltedness. Xndom’s heresies in wanting only to have the exaltedness, yet as gently as possible, always in a prayerful, moving key, e.g., [“]When you see Xt suffering like that, do you feel no need whatever to suffer with him but merely want to have victory[?”] Do not misunderstand this—it is not commanded that you do so, oh, no far, far from it, it is a ma�er of honor.

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The sufferer in his final moments (“Of my many Paths, full, alas, Of tears and pain, I can finally see, etc.[”)] The old person―as an old person takes leave of the world, happy, in God. And we would wish this for every person.

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In one sense (dialectically) indirect seriousness is far more serious (the dialectical element in fear and trembling). As soon as it is granted that this is seriousness and that this man is serious, then it is supported by an illusion. It is precisely for this reason that courage and self-denial are required in order to renounce this sort of assistance and indolence. There can be two sorts of misunderstanding: the one that endangers the truth is when peop., assisted by an illusion, imagine that they are serious. This is the misunderstanding of sloth, which, however, is profitable for the communicator, who enjoys honor and respect as a serious person, and for the recipients, who imagine that they are serious, something that pleases them greatly. The second sort of misunderstanding―dangerous, in the personal sense, for the communicator―is that peop. judge that he is not serious, that he is a frivolous fellow or, indeed, a cause for offense. One rarely has the courage to expose oneself to this. The fact is that most peop. haven’t the least notion of this sort of seriousness. As soon as the person whom they regard as serious sets forth the misunderstanding, they actually believe that he has become a jokester. They have no notion of what a terrible strain it is to be truly serious in this way.

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What an odd person R. Nielsen is. The agreement or arrangement between us was that there should be a connection between us, but that it was absolutely not to become a coterie. Now, what is a coterie? It is when the parties concerned have come in advance to an agreement about what they will do, when they have a shared view of what has been done, which is then made known

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to all. So this is what must not be done. Then I write him a note, entirely proper in tone, but nevertheless―for it really wasn’t so bad―nevertheless wri�en in such a way that it sufficed to maintain the relationship while still pu�ing him off with respect to that li�le piece of writing that was of such great importance to the whole of my work as an author that I scarcely dared to provide direct communication concerning it right away. Had I done so I would have lost my self, saddled myself with an inconsistency from which I might never have recovered. But R. N. was offended―and so he prefers to refrain altogether from replying, so I actually had to think that he hadn’t received the le�er at all. And it was he who, almost in worship, wanted to make me into an apostle―something that I quite definitely refused. But it didn’t help at all. On the other hand, with one li�le precautionary measure everything becomes clear. God knows whether he might not have had the idea that I was to be the apostle and he disciple No. 1. God knows if he is developed deeply enough to be truly capable of grasping seriously the idea of suffering in the world.

How indescribably light actuality always is. My fear and trembling with respect to R. N. because I had included him in my relationship to God. Before God, I had to endure going through everything. So finally he has come to town and I have spoken with him and have reassured myself about the way ma�ers really stand. There was scarcely much danger here. But, as I understood from the beginning, the summa summarum is that it is I who am to be brought up and learn something. This always requires a hum. being, whom I include in my relationship to God. The education is that I constantly exist before God. This involves enormous crises and strains for me; when I look at actuality, there are times when it can be quite comical. But I have suffered indescribably―and have certainly also learned a great deal.

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Absolutely indirect communication is in fact associated with being more than a human being, and therefore no hum. being has the right to employ it. The God-Man cannot do otherwise because

27 summa summarum] Latin, the sum of sums; the final result.

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he is qualitatively different from a human being. In paganism it is the demonic, but it has no place in Christendom. As soon as a hum. being is decisively in the character of being a Christian, he dares not extend the dialectic so far that he sets forth the possibility of offense. The God-Man cannot do otherwise, precisely because he is the object of faith. Therefore abstract indirect communication could certainly be employed in paganism because there was no possibility of offense. And likewise as well in the relation to Christendom (which is very far from consisting of nothing but Christians, but is closer to being paganism) of someone who has not absolutely assumed the character of being a Christian in the decisive sense. For when the situation is like this, offense cannot become more than a sort of awakening.

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Oh, how I have suffered because of this relationship to R. N. To have him out there in suspense, perhaps even offended, and then to have my responsibility and my fear and trembling―and yet be unable to have acted or to act otherwise! And then to have been unable to see how things actually were because he was out in the country. And then to know that the danger was surely not so great, humanly speaking, but nevertheless to have to endure, before God, all that time alone, accompanied by the most terrifying possibilities! Frightful! And a dying person like myself, who has come to terms with the thought of death so quietly and calmly―and then suddenly to suffer and to endure for so long the torment of being unable to die because I first had to find out about him and about my responsibility. Frightful! But then I have also learned indescribably much, one more category. In an altogether too melancholy and mournful a fashion I had in fact sought consolation in the thought of death, basically hoping that it would steal a march on me and make my new books into posthumous writings; then I would be freed from the decision to publish them and freed from undergoing what has happened most recently. Had I died beforehand, however, I would rlly have died with things unresolved, because I would not have come to a definite understanding with myself about how I would do it, about whether direct communication was at all proper, about whether it was a weakness or a strength on my part. I would have died away from the responsibility of pu�ing

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into existence thoughts such as those I leave behind in my manuscripts. Now I have come to know what I must do and what I will do. In a certain sense, God has taken hold of me in frightful fashion, but in another sense he has also given me impetus, clarity, definiteness, and insight and peace as I have never had them before. See, if I were to die now, my death would not be an evasion because I have come to understand before God what I am to do next. God be praised that I published that li�le article; God be praised that I kept R. N. in suspense and did not get weak and give him direct communication. But above all, God be praised for what God always is and always has been: love. Now I can die tomorrow, and I can go on living: everything is in order.

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Nothing can be done for her. God knows how gladly I would do so both for my own sake and, if she wishes it, for hers. She would go absolutely wild if she found out how things actually were. The fact that I am a scoundrel, or at any rate someone who wanted to be something great in the world, is and will continue to be the keystone of her marriage. During these days, which have been so remarkable for me (especially Thursday, or the night between Wednesday and Thursday, when I had ceased praying for R. N. because I had become a bit impatient with him―but which seemed to me a terrible sin against him, which was why I immediately included him once again in my relationship to God), Thursday, Friday, Saturday, I again turned to her situation. On Saturday (Aug. 26) I drove to Fredensborg. I was prompted by an inexplicable presentiment. I was so happy and almost certain that I would meet the family there―and that an a�empt might then be made. I arrived there. No one was there―I took my usual walk, spoke with Thomas or whatever his name is, the only boatman, who remarked that it was probably the first time I had been to Fredensborg this year, which was true. I asked him, sort of en passant, whether Councillor of State Olsen had been there o�en this year. He replied, No, only once, on Easter Sunday. So I went up to Kold’s again, sat down and dined―then a man walked past the window: it was Councillor of State Olsen. He is the only person with whom I can safely dare to be reconciled, for here there is no danger as there would be with the girl. 35 en passant] French, in passing.

[a]

24th, 25th, 26th Aug.

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I was to depart shortly, but took just one turn down Skipper Allé, intending to walk it that once and then, if I did not meet him, to give up the a�empt on that occasion. But indeed I do meet him. I go over to him and say: Good day, Councillor of State Olsen. Let us talk together for once. He took off his hat in greeting, but then he brushed me aside with his hand and said, I do not wish to speak with you. Alas, there were tears in his eyes, and he spoke these words with stifled emotion. Then I walked toward him, but the man began to run so fast that it would have been impossible for me to catch up with him even had I wanted to. I did, however, manage to say this much, and he heard it: Now I hold you responsible for not listening to me. For the time being nothing more can be done.

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However great my penchant for reflection, in everything I do there is something infinitely extra that has been added by Governance. It helps me so indescribably on all decisive points. The publication of that li�le article is yet another example of this. Reflecting on it beforehand, I had correctly seen that publishing it could be a good way to abolish an illusion. I also thought, however, that I could do it almost as something trifling. Then I suddenly became quite aware of the possibility that it might give cause for offense. Then I became so melancholic that I was completely at sea. Then I finally had to go through with publishing it simply in order to save my self. Then I did so, trusting in God, commending everything into his hand. And look, it was the entirely right thing to do. It was the question of direct communication that I had to decide once and for all, and in order to do so I had to be put under tension. Now all the previous writings have reached their conclusion in the normative dialectical structure, and I have gained a category and momentum. Hmnly speaking it had looked so easy merely to refrain from publishing that li�le article; for the person who risks nothing of course loses nothing. Yes, so people say, but they forget that the person who risks nothing gains sensory security and loses what is of paramount importance.

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Right now, when people are talking about reorganizing the Church, it becomes quite clear how li�le Xnty there is, or what Christendom is. People treat the Church and the state in entirely the same manner; people wholly forget that the Christian Church is a historical concept. If at any particular time individuals or their representatives agree on adopting such and such a constitution for the state, they are within their rights. On the other hand, if at any particular time individuals agree on introducing the worship of God―for example, by adoring and worshiping the Round Tower―well, one cannot object to the fact that this is in fact that country’s worship. But it is certainly not the Christian Church. Yet the fact of the ma�er is that people confuse being a Xn with being a hum. being (and this is Xndom’s accursed illusion), making them simply identical. But the Christian Church is a purely historical concept.

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Now I can see my way clear to writing a brief and as earnest as possible presentation of my previous writings, which is necessary for the transition to what will follow. And why can I see my way clear to it now? Precisely because I have now come to clarity concerning direct communication of what is decisively Xn. This is precisely why I can now illuminate and comprehend indirect communication. Earlier, I had always been unclear about things, for one must always be beyond what one wants to comprehend. Earlier, there had been uncertainty about the entire undertaking because I was not clear about it myself, and deep down I maintained the connection with indirect communication. This arrangement would absolutely have corrupted the entire presentation.

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He can have sympathy for our frailties—because he was tested in everything in the same way as we are (this is the condition for sympathy); and he may have sympathy for our frailties because in accordance with his own voluntary decision, precisely in order to be able to have sympathy, he was tested in everything in the same way.

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Yes, in one sense he more than put himself in our place, for it is most burdensome to become poor when one has been rich, to become unhappy when one has been happy. No hum. being has been tested by such a reversal as this: to be God and then to become a lowly servant, to come down to earth from heaven.

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3.) He put himself entirely in your place, was tested in everything in the same way―yet without sin. [d]

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… And when, here in the world or in the judgment herea�er, punitive justice seeks the place in which I, a sinner, stand with all my guilt, with my many sins, it does not encounter me. I am no longer standing in that place. I have le� it; someone else stands in my place

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Sept. 1 Friday Sermon. On Wednesday evening, when I had my discourse ready for today, I almost rejected it and chose this theme which gripped me so powerfully. It is to be based on the passage in Hebrews: We have a high priest who has been tested in everything without sin. How Christ put himself in our place. 1) a sufferer always complains that the one who wants to console him does not put himself in his place. This is indeed something one hum. being can never fully do in relation to another, there is a boundary. But Xt did it. He was God and became a hum. being, thus he put himself in our place. And in every way he put himself in the place of every sufferer. Is there poverty and want―he, too, was poor. Is there ignominy, etc.―he, too, was despised. Is there fear of death―he, too, suffered death. Is there sorrow over someone who has died―he, too, wept over Lazarus. Is there sadness over the confusion and corruption of the world―he, too, wept over Jerusalem.

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2) tested in everything. He was tempted just as you are. Here as well, the person who senses temptation says that the other person does not understand him, does not put himself in his place. But Christ put himself in your place. To be developed.

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3) yet without sin. In this respect he did not put himself in your place. Yet he did so in an entirely different sense: Christ’s atoning death, he died for you, suffered the punishment of sin in your place.

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instead of me. Saved, I am standing next to this someone else, him, my Redeemer, who put himself in my place: accept thanks for this, Lord Jesus Christ. Presumably the discourse basically ends here; and then just a couple of words to those who will then proceed to communion.

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The Lord J. Christ was not (oh, blasphemous misunderstanding!) he was not in the earthly sense a happy person who proclaimed an earthly gospel about sublimity and glory. But (oh, equally blasphemous misunderstanding!) he was just as li�le in the earthly sense an unhappy person who had perhaps had other wishes for his life, and then, when these had been denied him, made the melancholic decision to suffer for the truth.

The Friday sermon I gave today was one I had previously worked out in its essentials. I feel be�er doing it this way than by having a creative impetus at the last moment. Then it is too easy for me to let something aesthetic get into it. It was originally supposed to have been given on January 14, 48, but there was no communion either in Our Lady or in Holy Spirit Church.

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The Difference between the Pharisee and the Publican. 1) The publican stood by himself, far off The pharisee prsumbly chose the most elevated spot, where he stood by himself. 2) The pharisee talks to himself. The publican talks to God. For of course the pharisee imagines that he is talking to God, but one easily sees that this is a delusion. This is a great difference. 3) The publican casts his eyes downward. The pharisee prsumbly li�s his eyes upward in pride. 4) The pharisee thanks God―and yet rlly mocks him. The publican accuses himself, prays―honoring God. 5) The publican went home justified. Even assume that the pharisee went up [to the temple] justified―in any case, the manner in which he went to God’s house became a guilt that he took home. Prsumbly the fact that his guilt consisted (among other things) simply in the fact that he went up to the Lord’s house like this has escaped him entirely, if he had remained at home he would have had one guilt fewer.

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It cannot, however, be denied (something that is also implied by the fact that Xnty is absolutely polemical) that Xnty teaches that the world goes backward. Thus when the priests are so busy giving assurances that Xndom is going forward in the same sense that the world is doing so, and that this is happening almost by itself, it is but another a�empt to fla�er the world. No, from a Christian

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point of view, fellowship with God is inherent in the possibility of being able to separate oneself from God. Now, the more a hum. being’s understanding is developed―and in this sense the world does go forward―plus his willfulness, etc., the less obedience to Xnty. At this time it has already gone so far that Christianity is preached in Christendom in such a way that obedience is abolished and reasoning is put in its place. Therefore Xnty teaches, quite consistently, that so far is it from being the case that Xnty is going forward, that it must end with a “falling away.” But what pleases hum. beings is always to make Xnty and the world alike. It cannot be denied that the world goes forward, but truly, this happens in a way that does not please God; he must look on it with the same feelings as a father who sees that his child has now become shrewd about life, i.e., that he has lost what is best. When Xnty and the world come to be six of one and half a dozen of the other, and all the points of contention are removed, people let it pass without notice―I truly believe that a Xnty of this sort is nothing but worldliness.

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Peop. enjoy admiring a genius who is not selfaware, who perhaps produces a masterpiece at one time and some nonsense at another time, without himself really knowing which is which. Precisely because he lacks awareness, it fla�ers them to provide a critique. But a genius who is great precisely because of his awareness―he awakens opposition and ill will. It annoys peop. that he himself knows how well something is done, and they are also a li�le nervous about expressing admiration because it is almost like taking an examination―for of course he himself knows what is what.

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[a]

Christ himself says, Will I find faith on the earth[?]

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This, however, does not conflict with Xt’s saying about one shepherd and one flock, for that statement rlly implies only that it must be made possible for all to become Xns, not by any means that they all shall become true Xns. See Luther’s sermon on the gospel for the second Sunday a�er Easter (I am the Good Shepherd). The conclusion: You must not understand this in the sense that the whole world and all people shall become believers. Rather, the meaning is this: we must always have the holy cross; the majority will always persecute the flock of believers, etc.

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but see Journal NB5 p. 65, bo�om.

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However much I would like to do everything for her, both for her sake and for my own, it cannot be done, I dare not do it; I fear her reckless passion if she merely gets the least thing to go on. I am rlly the guarantor of her marriage; God knows it is frightfully strenuous. And what has indeed been endured I can see best from this indirect testimony: that it is only now, a�er 7 years’ time that I dare confide to paper my thoughts concerning her. At that time the step was taken to break the engagement, and in a manner that was as humiliating for me and as benevolent to her as possible. So it was easy to see that it was melancholia; I did everything to spare her even the least humiliation, as though I were the superior one, etc. This is where her guilt lies, her only guilt, for how innocently and frightfully she suffered in other respects, is something I know best, I who indeed had to suffer for having been the cause of it. But here lies her guilt and rlly her selfishness. She took advantage of my melancholia; she thought it was possible to alarm me so much that I would give in. In addition to this, somewhat susceptible to fantasy as she was―certainly not deep down, but in that time of hysteria―she assured me that if I could convince her that I was a scoundrel she could easily put up with it all. That is, she had some notion of my melancholia. At that point she ought to have given in, come to terms with her suffering, come to terms with parting from me peaceably, because I was melancholic. She transgressed the boundary of what one hum. being is permi�ed to do to another; she alarmed me frightfully; she did not consider that behind my enormous melancholia there lay an equally enormous resilience. It sprang forth. The criterion that was brought to bear was the one she herself summoned up. But the problem is that she was especially proud of her relationship to me. And in this connection a li�le explanation now might perhaps indeed ease and enhance her marriage. And God knows how much I have wanted to do this, what a constant torment it has been to me that she should be humiliated for my sake, even though I had done everything

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to prevent it. But it remains my guilt nevertheless, for my guilt in relation to her is so great that it swallows up her guilt in relation to me. The moment I die (which I have constantly expected will happen soon) she will of course have what is rightfully hers. In that resp. everything is ready. Her name will be a part of my work as an author, remembered for as long as I am remembered. But as long as I am alive―unless she has changed a great deal―she is an extremely dangerous person. For me it would be an indescribable relief, because actual situations have never been difficult for me, but it has been frightful to keep her suspended in possibility like this. And yet this is the basis for her marriage.

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One must see it close at hand, for otherwise one would not believe how even good-natureda peop. become as if different beings as soon as they become a “crowd.” One must see it close at hand, this lack of character with which even otherwise honorable peop. say, [“]It’s a disgrace, it’s shocking to do or to say something like that.[”] And then they themselves do their li�le bit to bury the city and the countryside in a blizzard of nonsense and gossip. The hard-heartedness with which otherwise charitable peop. behave in their capacity as the public, because their participation or nonparticipation seems to them a trifle―a trifle that becomes enormous through the contributions of the many. One must see that no a�ack is feared so much as that of ridicule, that even a pers. who would bravely confront mortal danger for the sake of a person he did not know would not be far from betraying his father and mother if the danger were that of ridicule, because this is the a�ack that most isolates the person a�acked, giving him no support by its having been done with pathos, while frivolousness and curiosity and sensuality smirk, and cowardice (which itself shudders before such an a�ack) constantly cries that

a

and worthy

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it’s nothing, wretchedly purchasing itself immunity from a�ack with bribes or friendly gestures toward those involved, saying, [“]It’s nothing.[”] And sympathy says, [“]It’s nothing.[”] 5

The real problem in relation to communicating the truth is that in order to show where the error had taken hold previously, one must be anxious and afraid to speak the truth, for people are ready― 10 to 1―to repeat it with a li�le modification: i.e., a new and even more dangerous untruth emerges― for the closer untruth lies to truth, the more dangerous is the untruth.

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[a]

Naturally, the comical element is to be found in the discrepancy between a category of actuality like this and merely being a character in a play.

What would be the comical element if one wrote a sort of poster advertising a theater piece and included among the characters [“]Widow Johansen, née Petersen?[”]

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No one wants to learn anything; there are thousands and thousands who want to be fla�ered.

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Inscription on a Grave. The daily press is the bane of governments; “the crowd” is the blight of the world.

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[b]

or if one added, [“]engaged to university student Marcussen.[”]

“that single individual.”

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I could almost be tempted to ask impatiently: Why was I brought up in Xnty? Without that it would never have occurred to me to establish such a standard for my life. Hmnly speaking, why would it occur to any hum. being that his life’s destiny was to be a sacrifice?―I would have made use of the intelligence with which I have been so richly endowed―and I would then have come to lead exactly the opposite sort of life. It cannot do any good to talk with anyone. For most people will understand me in terms of my cleverness, and scarcely even that, i.e., how shrewdly I could have acted. But [not] what comes next: not daring to use the least bit of this cleverness. I have never seen a thoroughgoing Xn. The most I have seen are some few examples of what I call hum.-lovable Xnty. But the genuine category of the absolute is lacking here; it is more a quiet hum. benevolence and sympathy, unobtrusiveness, and the like, something that of course can also be seen in paganism. The Christian requirement of sacrifice does not cease at any point. One surrenders everything, absolutely everything, chooses God and remains with God. An enormous task, how rarely, how rarely it happens. And yet Xnty does not stop here. It seems to me as if I can hear such a hum. being say, Well, in God’s name I choose God―and abandon everything. But then―then God can at least be depended on not to let go of me. Look, here is the ultimate. The Exemplar teaches that this, too, is part of Christian suffering: that God lets go of you, precisely in the midst of the most burdensome suffering. Frightful! And this is the doctrine that these livings-people call the mild doctrine of truth. I have never known a Christian priest. The entire ba�le about orthodoxy and heterodoxy is the most useless thing of all. But now to my own situation. I have―without venturing to claim that I am any sort of perfect Christian―I have striven to express existentially some part of Xnty’s specific characteristic: that there exists something absolute. And I am regarded as

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mad, proud, selfish. What is most ridiculous of all is that this scene is set in Christendom, and that there are 1000 priests, something close to 2 million Christians, and they all see that I am obviously mad. 5

Yes, it is in fact here that the real conflict between Xnty and humnty is to be found: that Xnty is the absolute or teaches that something absolute exists, and it requires of the Christian that his life express that something absolute exists. And it is in this sense that I say that I have not known any Christian: I have never seen any hum. being whose life expressed this. Their Xnty consists of profession upon profession of faith and assertions of orthodoxy and a�acks on heterodoxy, etc., but their lives, exactly like those of the pagans, express the fact that hum. beings live in relativity. Their lives are sheer relativity.

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On this point I am brought to a halt. If I open myself to others, then my life is eo ipso less strenuous. Hmnly speaking (i.e., in the sense of hum. selfishness) peop. have the right to demand this of me, but am I permi�ed by God to do so[?] With but half an eye I can see that, situated far out as I am, I will not gain anyone―that my opening myself will mean that I get dragged down. On the other hand, my path forward leads to certain downfall. But is there no absolute, then? Here I come back to the same thing. The moment I present my life in terms of relativities, I will be understood, and in a deeper sense my cause is lost―hmnly speaking, it is then won. The only true way of expressing the fact that something absolute exists is to become its martyr or a martyr for its sake. That is how things are, even with respect to absolute romantic love. The human race is so far from the ideal that when, every once in a while, every few generations, someone appears who comes at least a bit closer to expressing that the absolute exists, he is trampled down by the race.

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If I were to permit myself a word of objection against Xnty it would be this: however did it come up with the notion, not of 18 eo ipso] French, by the very fact.

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addressing itself to all (for that would be the loving thing), but even of thinking of the possibility of all, or merely of many. And on the other hand, isn’t the same thing expressed, in a way, by the words “the single individual,” for of course this can be everyone. But the objection would consist in this: that it looks as if Xnty originally set forth with an inexplicable hope that everyone would want to follow it―and yet the founder himself must have known that the situation was very much otherwise, he who knew that he was to be sacrificed, he who is surely not deceived by this unholy illusion of millions upon millions in Xndom. Again, what is div. is to know this in advance and then not let it have the least influence on what he says. What is hum. is, knowing this in advance, to say [“]that single individual.[”] What is div. is, possessing this same knowledge, nonetheless to say: All.

Modern times are so far, so infinitely far (in comparison to antiquity and the Middle Ages) from having even a mere intimation of the truth that they believe that solitude only has reality as a punishment (see an earlier note), and that the only point in walking down the street and being seen by everyone, involving oneself with everyone, is to be an idler. Alas, that this is, in addition, a determinant of the truth, that if it is not present in this form, the truth―even if it were present in other respects―is an illusion or is supported by an illusion.

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This is actually how I am treated in Cph. I am regarded as a kind of Englishman, a half-mad eccentric, whom every damned one of us, from the most aristocratic to gu�ersnipes, imagines he can have a bit of fun with. My work as an author, this enormous productivity, the intensity of which, it seems to me, could move stones, the individual segments of which (not to mention the totality) lie beyond the abilities of every other living writer: This writing is regarded as a sort of hobby, ad modum fishing and such. Those who are themselves capable of accomplishing something are envious of me and keep silent―the others understand nothing. I am not supported by a single word in reviews and such. I am plundered by small-time prophets in foolish lectures at 35 ad modum] Latin, in the style or manner of.

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conventicles and the like. But mention me by name? No, that isn’t necessary. So this hobby is regarded as fun. The fun is rlly to see if they can drive me mad: that would be great fun. Or make me go away, that would be great fun. Behind this, then, there is quite a grand notion of what I am, of the extraordinariness that has been granted me, but markettown envy really delights in the notion that my possessing such advantages will certainly result in greater torment, if that were possible, than being the most wretched of all. And everything is to be le� to the whim of the market town. A somewhat milder version runs as follows: I am thought to be a genius, but a genius who is so introverted that he neither sees nor hears anything at all. All this fun and games is something the people of a market town are to indulge in among themselves (the upper class with the bourgeoisie and the la�er with the street urchins), thus something that is nothing. Well, so be it! When I was I child I was taught that they spat upon Xt. Now, I am only a poor, lowly hum. being and a sinner―so I will surely get off a bit easier. This, you see, is the Christian syllogism―not that priestly nonsense that says: Be a good and loving and selfless hum. being, then peop. will love you, for Xt, who was love, was loved by peop. Without doubt, in eternity no one will be judged as severely as these priests with livings. They are, from the eternal point of view, precisely what prostitutes are from the temporal.

People certainly say that it is be�er, a�er all, that Xnty be preached (even if in a mediocre or confused fashion) than that it not be preached at all, i.e., than silence. Ah, they are mistaken. This unholy preaching and preaching contributes to weakening anxious concerns about taking action. As soon as a person comes to make a profession of all this preaching about lo�y virtues, he continually backslides, and the same is true of the person who listens to this sort of thing. The person who quietly keeps to himself what has been granted him would at any rate have go�en a bit further. When a person has had the experience of declaiming, of weeping and of ge�ing others to weep, without, however, doing anything about it―he is lost.

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What is shabby about my entire situation in this country is this: That because I have sufficient elasticity to be capable of saying that all the vulgarity directed against me is nothing, nothing whatever, people take this for granted and allow themselves to be vulgar. How disgusting, then, to accept my assistance in order to be able to be vulgar to me. But then Cph. is of course a closed-in li�le hole, a ro�ing swamp beyond compare.

One becomes a professor on an installment plan or by promising the System; one becomes a cabinet minister on the basis of a couple of newspaper articles: but my work as an author is madness and lack of seriousness.

The point at which the understanding is rlly brought to a standstill and where the possibility of offense exists is this: the absolute character of Xnty, that what is supposed to help is what makes everything much worse. This was something from which a person could escape more easily in Luther’s day. Because here Luther rlly makes an imaginative move: the devil makes his entry. Luther explains the contradiction pointed out by the understanding when he says that it is the devil’s work. This means that the ma�er does not become dialectical. The dialectical element is: here consolation is offered―and look, the consolation is worse than what one suffered before. Luther says of Xnty: Here there is consolation. He does not go on to posit dialectically what comes next in this connection, but says that when one thus wants to permit oneself to be helped by Xnty, the devil is immediately at hand; all sufferings come from him. This is u�erly undialectical. The fact of the ma�er is this: Xnty helps absolutely, but in its initial form, the absolute is suffering for the relative hum. being. Luther’s method is like teaching a child to refer all good things to God―evil comes from evil peop., a bad man, etc. It is undialectical. Similarly with Luther’s view of Xnty. He divides things: the good is a�ributed to Xnty; all suffering, temptations, etc, come from the devil. From a dialectical point of view one must say that both the consolation and the suffering come with Xnty, for that is the dialectic of the absolute, and Xnty is the absolute.

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Luther actually shunts the objection aside. From its own standpoint the hum. understanding quite properly says, [“]What am I to do with a doctrine, or a form of help that makes the matter worse than it was before[?”] To this Luther replies: [“]What nonsense, Xnty is the help, sheer consolation and healing―all the commotion comes from the devil.[”] As noted, this is undialectical. On closer inspection one will also see that it does not explain anything, because the understanding then says, [“]But if things are as you say, why doesn’t Xnty protect itself against the devil once and for all[?”] Dialectically the ma�er must be put like this: Xnty is the absolute, that is the whole of it. For the person who lives in the relative, absolute help (which is present in the relations of the categories, because the actual relation is lacking) is at first suffering. But the hum. being as such lives in the relative. Therefore Xnty cannot answer the question: [“]Why[?”] Because in the absolute sense it cannot be asked why the absolute is the absolute. But if [“]Why[?”] is also asked in the relative sense, Xnty cannot answer a relative [“]Why[?”]. In the one case a question cannot be asked, in the other case it cannot be answered. If I am absolutely gripped by Xnty I cannot ask: [“]Why this doctrine[?”] If I am living in relativity and I ask, [“]Why[?”], Xnty cannot answer.

I am still very exhausted, but now I will soon reach the goal. The work The Point of View for My Work as an Author is as good as finished. Drawing on what I have done in the past to support my literary productivity existentially, in recent times I have simply been a writer. My spirit is strong enough, regre�ably only all too strong for my body; in one respect it is my spirit that helps me endure such frail health; in another sense it is my spirit that overwhelms my body.

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Pantheism is an acoustic illusion that confuses vox populi and vox dei as when people cried: [“]Crucify, crucify[”]―vox populi.

34 vox populi] Latin, the voice of the people. 35 vox dei] Latin, the voice of

God.

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Savonarola’s words about himself, about his being like a hammer in God’s hand: Use it as long as you will, and when you no longer want to use it, throw it away―are actlly an insult to God. No hum. being can have such a relationship to God; it is all too similar to an erotic relationship and it actlly makes God subject to alteration. It is as if a girl were to say of a faithless lover: I am delighted that he loved me for a brief while; then he threw me away, but I love him all the same and thank him for that brief time. So the situation cannot be like that, as if it were God who had changed, as if it were God who had become tired of a person. What is wrong with those words is precisely the passionate reversal―[“]When you no longer want to use it[”]―for in relation to God the task is always the task of faith, believing that therefore and nevertheless he [God] loves a person just as much. So Savonarola must say, [“]Whether or not you use me, help me simply to cling to the faith that you are love[”]―so that Savonarola does not believe that God loves him because he makes use of him, but because God is love; so that there is no reflection on his relationship to God―much less an alteration scrutinized by reflection―but on God’s nature, that he is love. Basically there is something despairing in these words by S.: that God would therefore not be the same, not be sheer love toward a hum. being, if he no longer had use for him. Indeed, this is how it is with a hum. being, but it is frightful to think in this way about God.

What wonder that I am regarded as mad. Regarding my efforts: I am supported only by what might recommend them eternally, but in the temporal sense this recommends against them and deprives me of all respect. I earn no money from them: they are neither my living nor my office. And I am alone in a small country―where, however, there are 1000 priests who are paid―to get peop. to imagine that they are Xns.

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The Rarity of a True Christian. The rarity of a true Xn can be calculated quite simply, like an algebraic problem. First requirement: a hum. being who in one way or another wishes, desires, possesses, etc. absolutely passionately―in brief, absolutely passionately or with absolute passion. Next, this wish, etc. is denied him; that is, his absolute passion is an absolutely mortal wound to him (which in turn can only happen because he is absolute in his passion)―and then the question is whether he chooses faith. Here one can use the poet as a mid-level auditor. For a pers. who is absolute in his passion (and this is the primary thing in relation to becoming a Xn) is someone the poet can use. But how rare such a person is! The poet a�ests that there are scarcely ten in any generation. And as for becoming a Xn, which therefore begins at the point where the poet leaves off―and the poet finds more or less none. But doesn’t Xnty relate to what is universally human? Yes, and so does the poetic. This, of course, is indeed poetry: that all are equal with respect to the passions, that a serving maid and a princess, a shoemaker and a count, etc. can fall in love absolutely equally. Yet the poet teaches and insists that the poetic (absolute passion) is something so enormously rare. What, then, about becoming a Xn[?] The odd thing, indeed, is that peop. are not really insulted when the poet protests that peop.’s lives are not suitable for poetic use, but are all too prosaic; but on the other hand people are furious with someone who would put forth this protest in the name of Xnty. Here one sees (indirectly) how things stand in Xndom, that in Xndom people rlly regard the poetic as something far superior to being a Xn, so that in a country with 1 million Xns―or at any rate, in order to be more stringent(!), with 100,000 Xns―there are scarcely ten peop. who are suitable for use in poetry. What nonsense this established Christendom is!

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From an appendix (4) to The Point of View for My Work as an Author that was not used. My heart has expanded―not as if it had ever pulsated narrowly in my breast, but that inwardness that has been my life and that I believed would be my death, has gained air, the dialectical bond is released, I dare to speak directly. I love my native land (it is true that I have not gone to war, but I believe I have served it in another way, and I believe I am right in thinking that Denmark must seek its strength in spirit and intellect[)]. I am proud of my mother tongue, whose secrets I know, the mother tongue I treat more lovingly than a flutist does his instrument. I know that I have honestly loved every pers.; however many have held me to be an enemy, I have had no enemy. As I note in the book, I have never known thoughts and ideas not to present themselves. But I have known something else. If, a�er a walk, which is when I meditate and gather ideas, I turned to go back home, overwhelmed with ideas, every word ready to be wri�en down, and in a certain sense so weak that I could scarcely walk (ah, the person who has dealt with ideas will know about this), if then, along the way some poor person addressed me, and if in my excitement over my ideas I had not had time to talk with him, then when I reached home it would be as if everything had disappeared, and I would sink into the most frightful spiritual trial at the thought that what I had done to that person, God could do to me. If, on the other hand, I took the time to talk with the poor person and listen to him, this never happened to me, and everything would be ready when I arrived home. Oh, in these times people disdain all assurances―and yet, yet, the best assurance that a pers. loves peop. is and will continue to be that he has God as intimately close as I do at almost every moment.

First become so unhappy that every evening, weary, you think of death in order to find rest―and then begin to feel anxiety about the judgment; then Christian emphasis has been placed on eternity.

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The same passion that, made taut in the fear of God, leads to martyrdom―this same passion, when it is hmnly slackened along the way, becomes hum. sympathy[,] which expands and becomes loved, esteemed by peop. This is―or at any rate can be―a spiritual trial that visits a person in weak moments when the soul cannot remain with the absolute: “But then you could do a li�le for others” (as if sacrifice in the service of the truth were not doing something for others), “you could reduce the price a li�le; indeed, everywhere there are of course so many who know less than you do, so many sick people whom you could console,” etc. If this temporary halt carries the day, then what is genuinely Xn is reduced to merely hum. sympathy. The Xn and the absolute are unconditionally one thing: absolute recklessness. Xt says, Let the dead bury their dead. More precisely, the spiritual trial is this: to the question, [“]Why[?”], one has no [“]Why[”]―this is precisely the absolute.

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The only Xnty there is in Xndom is rlly Judaism. Quite rightly, because Xnty thought of as at rest (an establishment) is Judaism; Xnty in motion is Xnty.

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I am, however, not yet rlly prepared to become a martyr for Xnty, for I dare not call myself a Christian to that degree. I am rlly a genius, who possibly could become a martyr for the truth, i.e., for truly presenting what Xnty is. This is why it is so right that in The Point of View for My Work as an Author I continually speak of being brought up―for I must still be brought up in a completely different fashion. Probably my melancholia is just deceiving me with the thought of imminent death.

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What is destroying Denmark is neither the new nor the old ministry, but that the country, small as it is, even smaller through demoralization, has become a market town in which any govern-

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ment is an impossibility because envy keeps watch on everything that is anything, so that only contemptibility exercises a sort of power, and only an approximation to a martyr, not to mention a martyr, can govern. What brought in the new ministry was not wisdom, patriotism, etc., but an expression of this demoralization. And what will cause the new ministry to fall will in turn be envy, whim, narrow-mindedness; it is not the noble, the good that triumphs; no, it is this same demoralization, which takes on a new form. In this resp. Goldschmidt is not unremarkable. His situation is like that of a cholera fly in relation to cholera. It cannot be said that he produces the demoralization (and that all the others were good), but the fact that he exists indicates that there must be demoralization. He is and will remain the characterless instrument of envy and demoralization. He has nothing to lose; he cannot be a�acked or envied; he is safeguarded with the help of contemptibility―and then he gnaws and gnaws. And a good many of the representatives of the old regime approve of this―because it is directed at the new ministry. Oh, how sad that there is absolutely no character, no reflection, no consistent view to be found anywhere in Denmark, but everything is the passion of the moment.

If the distinguishing mark of the true is the resistance it suffers, if I am to prove the correctness of my view by the resistance it encounters, how am I to find my course, since all distinguishing marks have of course become absolutely dialectical[?] Quite so, for it is precisely by this means and for this reason that faith is what it is, if it has been preceded by the absolute dialectic that has made everything dialectical. For the fact that the distinguishing mark is resistance is rlly the expression of the inwardness of the conviction―it is indeed hoping against hope, believing against the understanding, etc.

That no reflection exhausts the God-relationship or the relationship to God can also be seen in this way: No hum. being can relate himself to God absolutely at every moment and at every moment absolutely―in that case he would have to be more than hum. Thus there must be distance, rest, diversion. Now have this

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take place in reflection: The pious person thus realizes that he must have rest, must refrain from thinking uninterruptedly of God or his God-relationship. So what does he do? He asks God for permission, as it were, to do so. But see, here reflection traps him again, for now he is indeed in reflection. If at every moment of “rest” he is to think about whether this is indeed permi�ed, about whether he is not taking too long a vacation, etc., then “rest” is absolutely as strenuous as that from which he wanted to rest, for the rest is itself the God-relationship.

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As “faith” is a dialectical category, so, too, is true Xn love. That is why Xnty teaches so definitely that one is to love one’s enemy, that loving one’s friend is something pagans also do. One can only love one’s enemy for God’s sake or because one loves God. Thus the indication that one loves God is truly dialectical, for in immediacy one hates one’s enemy. When a person loves his friend, it is by no means clear that he loves God; but when someone loves his enemy, it is then clear that he fears and loves God, and it is only in this way that God can be loved.

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Now it seems that I am to be on good terms with the upper classes, partly because they themselves have become polemical. Now they themselves are or believe themselves to be in the minority, and I―well, if my genius can be said to be related to anything, it is to being in the minority.

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In Christendom the sort of reverence with which most people speak of Xt is simply nothing but prudery, and it is connected to the fact that in a deeper sense they do not involve themselves with him at all. The person who involves himself in earnest with God or Christ, so that he understands that it concerns his own life, so that he obligates himself to endure everything, dedicates his whole life to service, making every sacrifice―he speaks in a quite different way. One certainly never hears an impatient word from those quasi-Christians―yes, I really think that they actlly have nothing whatever to do with Xt or God. But even from the apostles purely hum. impatience was heard.

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There is an excellent mo�o in Chateaubriand’s Memoirs, taken from Job: sicut nubes … quasi naves―velut umbra.

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If I myself were not personally a penitent there might have been moments when I was offended by Xnty, but I dare not breathe a word about it. And then a�erward I do, in fact, come to terms with things that would otherwise have offended me. That is the sense in which I understand the words of Peter: To whom shall we go[?] Gnrlly the priests declaim these words sentimentally. I understand them to mean that it is consciousness of sin that binds a hum. being to Xnty. So this is how I understand myself. But isn’t this a peculiar explanation, namely, that I am now so conscious of myself as a sinner that I dare not do otherwise? Well, to a certain degree, I of course make no secret of the fact that I have sinned in a manner different from what is genrlly meant when people talk about being a sinner. But on the other hand I have perhaps also had the prerequisites that enable me to discover and understand offense in a quite different way. And now since it is God who in fact binds every hum. being to Xnty through consciousness of sin, it is reasonable to assume that he determines the collisions that confront each particular individual. In this way, consciousness of sin is what in fact binds hum. beings to Xnty. Everyone who is not bound in this way is not bound in the Christian way; all the sentimental talk about the profundity and the sublimity and a friend, etc. is nonsense. The situation is this: if I were not conscious of myself as a sinner, I would have to be offended by Xnty. The consciousness of sin silences me, so that despite the possibility of offense I choose to believe. The situation must be that. Xnty repels in order to a�ract. But people so�en Xnty, so�ening what it in fact means to turn things upside down for a hum. being, as Xnty does―so that the impetus of the consciousness of sin is not needed in order to drive a person into it: that is, the whole thing then becomes sentimentality.

4 sicut nubes … velut umbra] Latin, like a cloud … like ships―like a shadow.

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Faith is rlly this: to hold fast to possibility. This was what pleased Xt so much about the sufferer, that a�er having suffered for many, many years he still believed with the same originality and youthfulness that, with God, help was possible. What is demoralizing about suffering is precisely this deadening aspect: to go and ponder hopelessly about it being too late now, now it is all over, etc.

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to proclaim all of temporality to be destined for suffering

They say that the person who is to console others must himself have suffered. Fine, that is the case with me[;] I have perhaps suffered so much that I might sooner come to frighten others. But I can of course keep that to myself, and then perhaps, fed by that hidden fire, my consoling will be that much more heartfelt. And indeed I know how to console like this; as my physician says of me, no one he knows is so capable of this as am I. So I do it. I also know that it will not fail to have its effect. The sufferer will feel relieved and will like me so much. But the problem is that I also know that this is not Xnty. I draw it from the other flask. It is the poetic, supplemented by the ethical. But it is not Xnty. Generally, Xnty will terrify rather than console. Even I, who have been brought so far out, can scarcely bear the consolation of Xnty―and then, the average run of hum. beings! But if I am a Christian priest, I am of course obligated to give Christian consolation! And yet there is the question of whether I would have the courage to be Christianly cruel. The fact is this: instantaneous help is always hum. sympathy. A simpering mother who spoils her child has the most sympathy, but we disapprove of it; she has the most sympathy, always provides instantaneous help―and therefore cannot provide an upbringing. Thus, the ordinary hum. measure comes in. But Christianity goes qualitatively further and provides an upbringing with the help of eternity and for eternity. This is the locus and the source of what is terrifying in the help provided by Xnty; for when someone suffers, Xnty’s help begins by assigning the whole of temporal life to suffering. The more quickly help comes, the worse and more meaningless is the upbringing; it is precisely for this reason that Xnty refuses all temporal help―in order to provide an upbringing for eternity. But to be denied all temporal helpa is of course worse than any particular temporal suffering or is to make things worse for the sufferer.

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Now am I (I, a hum. being) permi�ed to do this to another hum. being, even if I am capable of being Christianly cruel? And on the other hand, if I am a Christian priest, I must of course be so. When it involves a child, we elders deny that the child is right when it complains about being denied instantaneous help in order that the child be brought up and learn to help itself. But we elders are related to eternity (as the child is to the adult). Now, because we ourselves are the eldest (for eternity is of course not visible among us as is the father or the teacher to the child), we apply our own criterion. But this is in fact the abolition of Xnty. But it is certain that I have never seen one single hum. being who actlly applies Xnty’s criterion―yet we are all Xns!

“What does a hum. being lament[?] Every hum. being laments his sins.” How rarely this happens, how rarely is it even understood, for one who sorrows over his sins―i.e., over what he calls his sins―nevertheless perhaps fails to remember whether he has not quite other sins―indeed, perhaps he overlooks that the way in which he sorrows over his sins is itself a new sin, e.g., impatience.

The only ethical relationship to the great (thus also to Christ) is contemporaneity. To relate to such a person as to someone dead is an aesthetic relationship: his life has lost its sting, does not pass judgment on my life, permits me to admire him―and even to live in quite other categories, does not compel me to pass judgment in a decisive sense

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But this, too, is of course a form of worship: to say directly to God, [“]I am a poor, lowly hum. being, I cannot keep on thinking of you at every moment, literally at every moment. Therefore permit me to rest a bit, to have a bit of diversion, so that I do not make you―eternal love that you are―as pe�y-minded as, alas, I myself am perhaps not so far from becoming melancholically

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pe�y-minded toward myself.” And that must be the end of it, for otherwise at that very instant reflection will again intervene with the thought that of course God indeed must know best whether a person has need of diversion (as though God were supposed to say to a person directly―perhaps in a revelation―that now one needs diversion) and otherwise can give a person the strength to endure. That is, one must surrender unconditionally and then act instantly. This is the point at which the real significance of religious sociality is to be found: that is, when the ideality of the God-relationship has become too strong for the individual (because of course he cannot demand immed. revelation of God, and he is entrapped by his reflective powers), he must now have another hum. being with whom to discuss it. From this it can be seen that sociality is not what is highest, but is a concession to hum. weakness. Here also is to be found the significance of God’s relating himself to the entire race. The category of the race (sociality) is thus a middle term betw. God and the individual. This is the reverse movement. But wherever there is to be preaching in order to awaken people, wherever the price is to be jacked up, individuality must be emphasized. And ordinarily this is what is most needed, for in genrl hum. beings live quite slack and lazy lives. On the other hand, it is a relief to make use of sociality. It is not good for man to be alone, it is said, therefore woman was given to him for companionship. But the essential thing is to be alone, literally alone with God, and this is almost impossible for a hum. being to endure; it is too frightfully strenuous―therefore a hum. being needs company. God and hum. beings are separated by an infinite qualitative difference; therefore, when the relationship becomes too strenuous, the category of society must be employed as a middle term, also in connection with the many minor concerns and worries that can certainly plague a hum. being, but concerning which it would almost be the greatest madness to appeal to God in prayer. God dismisses this, as it were. Love that he is, it is as though he said, [“]Yes, yes, my child, it’s all right, but remember, too, that I am God. However humble, however faithful, however ardent your prayers and devotion are, you neither can nor must think of me at every moment.[”] Here, indeed, is a dangerous point, for of course the highest culmination of true religiosity can also come within a hair’s breadth of looking like presumptuousness. For even the humblest consciousness of being less than a sparrow for God, a noth-

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ing―yes, this is good, but nonetheless something presumptuous could be present in this consciousness of wanting to think of God at every moment and in this consciousness of existing for him. It is proper that a person be conscious that he is as nothing before God, but still it is demanding too much to want to have this consciousness at every moment―or, if I dare say so,a to want to see one’s beloved at every moment, even though one indeed has quite a deep understanding of the fact that before him one is nothing.

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The God-relationship of single individuality (that each single individual relates himself to God) is a�er all what is true and healthy, for what is said of the sparrows is of course surely the literal truth with respect to hum. beings: God knows each single individual. Indeed, to be a hum. being is precisely to belong to the race that has the peculiar characteristic that every single individual is known qua single individual by God and is capable of knowing him. The task is precisely to work oneself out of sociality more and more, but healthily and truly, to be able to endure for longer and longer periods of time the thought of being in God’s presence. Of course, this is also the meaning of “the judgment.” But when the God-relationship of single individuality becomes diseased in the single individual, then one temporarily posits the middle term of sociality or “the other pers.” This disease can indeed be an almost physical kind of melancholia and the like. But for the most part it is the fanaticism that conceitedly misunderstands the circumstance that the single individual relates himself to God, imagining that he wants to be―or is―the very rare single individual, and furthermore wanting to do nothing except simply sit and flirt with God, as it were. But the fact is that there can be nothing unhealthily intoxicating in the thought of relating oneself as an individual to God, if one remains sober with the assistance of the thought that everyone is of course permi�ed to do this―indeed that it is required of everyone. Furthermore, this disease in the single individual’s God-relationship can sometimes also be a spiritual trial, and then it in no way follows from this that one must give in to it and seek sociality, but struggle against it and properly kindle the love of God. A

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spiritual trial of this sort results when the deep feeling of infinite unworthiness, which is the basis of every true God-relationship, becomes too powerful for a person, when it does not transfigure itself intoa joy in God, but weighs upon a person so that for an instant one becomes anxious and afraid of ideality and of oneself―and of God―so that it seems to a person that God is so infinitely sublime that one dare not even think of him, as though God might become sick and tired of listening to one’s twaddle and be disgusted with one’s sins. But one must not give in to this; one must struggle against it, thanking God for having commanded that one shall pray to him, for otherwise one would scarcely be able to force one’s way through the spiritual trial. One must remember that God is love, the God of patience and consolation, and that he is not one who assumes vain titles, but that―in a manner far different from what I am able to comprehend―he is absolutely what he says he is; that he is not just as loving as the most loving hum. being, plus a li�le bit more, but that even the most loving hum. being (even if he has never lived but is a poetic creation) is only a sort of caricature who still does not resemble God’s love any more than a monkey resembles a hum. being. And one must remember that at every moment God has 100,000 possibilities for helping a person, and equally many explanations that, if he wanted to, would immediately show a person that what he is allo�ing a person at that very moment is what is best, and that the reason he does not do so is precisely because he has one more explanation: that not doing it is what is best for a person. But it must be that true that one thinks of God because one needs him, because otherwise everything would collapse for a person. And therefore one must pray to him quite passionately for help in always having work ready at hand, and then, for the rest, accept everything from his hand―including the diversion one needs. And one must constantly remember―or ask him to remind one―that the task is aimed at being more and more able to cling fast to the thought of God for longer periods of time, not as a dreamer who sits and flirts, but to cling fast to it in one’s work. There must be no dreaming, for indeed God himself is pure activity, and therefore merely dreaming, dwelling on the thought of him, is not true worship.

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It is a poor husband who was jubilant during the period of the engagement and the first period of marriage but complains about the institution when difficulties come. These are a part of the institution. Similarly, it is also a poor Christian who complains about being a Xn because of the difficulties, for they are a part of the institution.

It is only as an individual that a hum. being can most truly relate himself God, for the notion of one’s own unworthiness is always best had alone, and it is almost impossible to make oneself quite clear to another person concerning this; furthermore it would easily become affected.

Lk 24:31. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. This is how it is with the relationship betw. the sensory seeing of Xt and faith: they recognized him―and then he vanished from their sight, the one is like an interpretation of the other.

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I have long been convinced that the daily press is a form of evil. But what prospects! And now, on the other hand, now we have come to the point when the revolutionary governments themselves ban the press. See, this is how a person gets the desire to be an auth.; now he can at any rate get a glimpse of a time when what he has to say about the daily press will be understood.

Only patience and faith! Even if at the present moment it can be quite distressing to live as I live, as someone totally superfluous, almost solely for the amusement of the mob and for the refreshment of envy and for the strengthening of mediocrity―it

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will pay off: in posterity this is precisely what will further my cause more than the kudos of the critics. Therefore, in a certain sense I feel myself alien among my contemporaries, for I do understand, deep down, that even if they were to make a great commotion over me, it would be exactly the ruination of my cause.

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All this talk about Xnty that―instead of raising the middle term of offense at every point―adapts Xnty straightforwardlya to the natural hum. being under the rubric of satisfying what is deepest in a person, is indeed treason. Granted also that the natural hum. being has some sort of notion about God, the natural hum. being’s feelings are always characterized by willfulness. So once in a while, when he really feels like it, he will be a bit infatuated with this idea of God. But now take Xnty! This feeling must be disciplined and schooled merely in order to establish the relationship to God―wouldn’t that in itself be enough to offend the depths of the natural hum. being[?] Wouldn’t it also be an offense to the natural hum. being when he learns that the feeling of romantic love must be disciplined in a definite school[?] But this of course is exactly what Xnty teaches. Instead of assigning the God-relationship to a hum. being’s libitum during hours of overheated excitement or during “quiet hours,” Xnty teaches that a hum. being must first come to know from God, or by revelation, how deeply he has sunk, what repentance means― and that if he wants to be a Xn, a hum. being must now live accordingly, so that he no longer thinks about God in the same way as when one goes out to the Deer Park once a year or when one really feels like it, but that one must gain power over the natural [self], compel it. Therefore Christians come to experience what the natural hum. being does not notice, precisely because he is always talking and thinking about God at a remove provided by fantasy. Christians come to experience what it means not to feel in the mood at all, and then precisely for that reason, to be obliged to think about God. For here we have it: It is the natural hum. being’s invention to fantasize a bit, thinking about God when he feels like it; with Xnty it is precisely when you feel cold and far removed from God that you most of all must come to think of him and pray for him to help you think of him.

22 libitum] Latin, will.

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But indeed here, as distinctly as possible, is the possibility of offense―and this of course is the foundation.

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At the point where hum. compassion cries to a person, either from within or from without, [“]Spare yourself,[”] Xnty of course responds, [“]The Exemplar did not spare himself.[”] Which means that he submi�ed everything to God. And thus also when in hum. terms the strain comes to exceed one’s powers, one must not spare oneself but leave everything to God concerning whether or not he will spare a person. In any case one must in no way spare oneself, but pray to God for permission to spare oneself, so that this admission of weakness will still keep one in the God-relationship, to begin again where one le� off.

In his Observations (no. 36, “Faith in Our Lord J. Christ”), p. 43, Mynster says: “Therefore when he (Xt) sent his disciples out to preach the gospel to all creation, he said, Whoever believes and is baptized―that is, the person who believes and whose faith is so firm and strong that he dares to confess it before everyone by being baptized, that by being baptized he dares to consecrate himself to mockery and persecution for the sake of his faith―he shall be saved (Mk 16:6).[”] Well, this is a discourse that means something. But that Mynster is in fact a defender of established Christendom and has never touched upon this dreadful lie that has transformed being baptized into christening presents and nonsense, so that the only collision one could imagine is when there is a person who happens not to have been baptized―and therefore cannot take his university entrance examination. Oh, it is such a frightful tangle of lies and nonsense that one could despair over it at every instant. Take the situation in which someone was not permi�ed to take his university entrance examination because he had not been baptized: what impression would it make? It would make the impression that this was something extremely dire for him, something unfortunate. If someone believed in the reality of baptism, I wonder whether it would dawn on that person―whether anyone would consider―that indeed he was not only excluded from the university entrance examination, but also from heaven. I wonder

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whether those who were to have taken the entrance examination with him, each of them, would think, [“]It is a lucky thing that I am baptized.[”] Would any of them think of Eternity[?]

See, this is Christianity. Christianity says, You are to love peop., be benevolent toward them, embrace them with the most sacrificial sort of love. Strive for this, strive to resemble your Exemplar. Then, to the extent that you are successful in resembling this Exemplar, the same will happen to you as happened to him; you will suffer abuse to the same degree that you resemble him. If you become tired for a moment along the way, if you wince at the abuse that you already have suffered, and ask, [“]What am I to do?[”]―then Xnty answers, [“]You of course don’t imagine that you are perfect already[”]: so you are to strive onward, see to it that you love peop. more―and naturally, the abuse will then become even greater. Indeed, even if you had 70 years le� to live, what lies before you is a continual increase in suffering abuse, if you indeed do make progress in being a Christian―and if not, woe to you. For this is the other means of compulsion that Xnty uses: if you do not love peop. in the way Xnty requires, you will be eternally damned and go to hell. Actually, however, Christ surely did not speak of this to the apostles and disciples; he let them remain in the merely hum. thought of Maybe, Maybe Not, in the merely hum. hope that after a while things would surely be all right again, etc.―that is, he held his silence before them concerning the necessity that things must happen this way, that until the end, without interruption, there could be nothing but suffering abuse, the necessity of it, the inevitability. But that it is indeed necessary and inevitable is shown both by the Exemplar (whose life would otherwise come to express something accidental) and by Xnty’s express teaching that to love God is to hate the world. If this is indeed the relation betw. God and the world, then every temporizing hope is treason against God, a retreat. Logically, the tension of Xnty, or the tension in which Xnty places the Christian, can only lead to and give rise to the impatience of martyrdom, which of course desires to drain the cup of death, the sooner the be�er.

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Christianity, however, by no means approves of this impatience. If one wants to call Xnty cruelty―which, understood from the merely hum. point of view, it is―then it is systematic in being cruel. It requires martyrdom, but not martyrdom’s impatience―no, its slowness. With the same slowness that a fortunate person has when looking upon a long life that lies before him― with this same slowness the martyr must suffer, step by step, the torments of each day, and then in addition the, humanly speaking, eternally bleak prospect of their continuation or increase for the rest of his life. I promise a reward of 10 rd. to anyone who can explain to me how it makes sense for this doctrine to have been and to continue to be introduced under the name “mild consolation.”

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Who at all has said that the truth is to triumph in this world? Not Christ, at any rate. No, the truth is to suffer or may suffer in this world; indeed, it has to suffer because the whole of this existence is to be the examination. That is the opinion of eternity. The other view is nonsense. It is also merely an illusion that the presumed truth triumphs a�er a man’s death. No, when the man is dead, the delusion develops that people now accept it as true, now that there is no danger and no exertion―this delusion is what triumphs, not the truth. It will always be the case that a truth expressed summons forth hundreds and hundreds of possibilities for untruth, and it is these that triumph. Alongside a person who is truly proclaiming truth there are o�en one or more sophists who get wind of what he intends and teaches. These people triumph―and why? Precisely because they are not the truth. But the witness to the truth becomes a martyr. Or does it make the least bit of sense to say that Xnty has now triumphed or has triumphed more than when it first appeared? Yes, the delusion that all are Christians has triumphed. Now, when being a Christian is associated with every advantage, now all are or say they are Christians: Is this the triumph of Christianity[?] Merciful God, that would be a frightful way to triumph. No, some deformed thing, which is not Christianity, which does not resemble Xnty any more than nonsense resembles wisdom, or even less―this has triumphed.

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But the fact is that peop. always want to dupe God, and do not think the thought all the way through as God wants it done. God’s view is that Xnty is to remain emba�led until the end, aiming not at triumph in time but at eternity. Hum. beings reverse this. Oh, but it is burdensome, burdensome indeed. A person ba�les for the truth, a person suffers persecution, etc.―during that time it does not bring a person joy, humanly speaking, but toil and trouble (although, in a deeper sense, always joy). And then, when one is dead, then a person triumphs―alas, and then the situation is even more to be despaired over, for then a delusion has triumphed, and it adopts the person’s name. Yes, the person who only wants something finite will triumph, but of course that is not the truth. A reform in the system of streetlighting―yes, that can be said to triumph. The person who combats a king can perhaps triumph and get a republic instead, but is such frivolousness the truth[?] Here there is a satire on Luther. The good in Luther has surely not triumphed, but to a certain extent he did triumph over the pope. Oh, good Lord, this lumps him together with reformations of fire departments and the like.

What peop. love is the hum. compassion that helps in a merely hum. fashion (e.g., by giving money, by showing sympathy―in brief, in connection with earthly or at any rate purely hum. misfortunes, pains, sufferings). It is true that a compassionate person of this sort is loved by peop. But if simply in addition, qua Xn, or simply if he were a Christian and he then wanted to add to his gi�s a couple of words about Xt, that salvation is found only in him: then the persecution would start. In view of his charitable activities, which they liked, they would let him off more easily, making allowances for his Xnty―as an eccentricity.

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Loving God! You have commanded us to forgive our enemies, our erring brother, not 7 times, but as many as 70 x 7 times: at what point, then, would you tire of forgiving an honest penitent[?]

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Yes, it is certainly true that humanly speaking there is something cruel about Xnty. But this does not lie in Xnty, it lies in the fact that it has to exist in the sinful world, reveal and develop itself in the sinful world. What is cruel is not Christianity but what happens to Christianity. In itself, Christianity is gentleness and love, or love itself, or itself love. Yes, it is indeed certain that humanly speaking there is something cruel in what is required of a Xn―though no, not in what is required of him, but in what happens to him, for this lies not in Xnty, but both in the fact that he himself is a sinner and in the fact that the world in which he must live is sinful. Xnty simply requires that he love peop. with all his heart; it is not its fault that this is rewarded with persecution. But answer this question honestly: Could you wish that Xnty did not demand as much, that it was not so absolute, that it haggled and got you a life that was a bit easier―could you then love Xnty as much[?] It is your own weakness that at weak moments could wish that Xnty were otherwise―and then, if it were otherwise, you would disapprove of it. It is the same as when a young girl, in weakness, demands of her beloved something that, a�erward, she would fundamentally regret, in part because by satisfying her request he would have been diminished, would have to have been diminished, in her eyes―and yet she is weak enough to ask. Remember eternity and that fairy tale in 1001 Nights. An impoverished couple, who are only just barely able to make ends meet, repeatedly cry to heaven for help. Then one night a precious stone falls down to them. So now they have been helped. But then one night the wife has a dream in which she is in heaven, where she sees splendid thrones inlaid with precious stones for all the faithful. She asks if there isn’t one for her husband. They show it to her, but behold, that precious stone was missing. Then she thinks: be�er to lack a li�le in time than throughout all of eternity to sit on a throne that is missing a precious stone. So they ask God to take that precious stone back again.

This is the situation. A sinner turns away from his sins, from a culpable life, and becomes, humanly speaking, an upright man. Now he expects that he will be rewarded for this with the esteem of good peop., etc. This would indeed be the case if we excluded

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Xnty. But it was with the help of Xnty that he was converted―and now, as a Xn, he comes to suffer much worse than he ever suffered when he was a fornicator, a drunkard, etc. This is Xnty. But I wonder whether it is preached in this way today? And doesn’t it take divine courage to preach conversion on these terms―for humanly speaking, he would be much be�er off by not converting or by merely undergoing a sort of hum. conversion, though without becoming a Xn. For basically the world leaves a fornicator, etc. to himself, but it persecutes the Xn. The world itself is neither so good, nor is it interested in persecuting someone because his conduct is culpable. But everyone (both the fornicators and the respectable people) unites in persecuting the Xn.

A “Savior” of course does not exist merely so that we can take refuge in him when we have sinned and, relying on him, receive forgiveness―but precisely in order to save us from sinning. There is a very special sort of spiritual trial when, hounded by the anxiety of sin, a pers. sins in the strictest sense against his will; when, e.g., there are sinful thoughts that he would very much like to escape, that he does everything to avoid, but that nonetheless visit him―it is a particular sort of spiritual trial to believe that this is something he must learn to live with, that Xt has been given to him in order to console him in bearing this cross, plagued as he is by a thorn in the flesh. No, this situation is still a form of despair. By having faith in Xt he also must and may gain mastery over these wicked thoughts. The passage about the thorn in the flesh can give rise to a misunderstanding of this sort. There are cases in which a pers. can truthfully say, [“]I know that I do not summon up these wicked thoughts; I know that I am doing everything to combat them[”]―thus it is always against his will. But

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The spiritual trial discussed here is very painful and agonizing, and is furthermore dialectically complex almost to the point of madness; it is, if one could think of it this way, teleologically defined as an educational torture that, whatever else, is intended to kill all willfulness. It is in fact a sort of possession. Humanly speaking, the sufferer suffers completely without guilt. It is not as if, as in sin, he deliberately summons up these thoughts; just the opposite, these thoughts plague him. In his anxiety, he flees them in every way. In order not only to avoid them, but to avoid even the least contact with anything that could be related to them, he perhaps strains his inventiveness and a�entiveness to the point of despair. It does not help, the anxiety only becomes all the greater. So here it does no good to invoke the usual counsel: Try to forget, escape―for this is precisely what he is doing, and it merely feeds the anxiety. In order to endure this torment, what is needed or required is a specific sort of religiousness that refers it to God humbly and without murmuring, more or less like this: [“]Before you, O God, I am nothing; do with me what you will; let me suffer all this that drives me almost to madness―you are, after all, the loving father, the one to whom alone wisdom and understanding belong.[”] A religiousness of this sort is what is required in order to endure it. If this torment collides with a passionate willfulness that cannot become nothing before God in this way, it must end with the sufferer losing his mind. Thus the sufferer endures it with the help of religiousness. But then comes the consciousness of freedom with responsibility. In itself, the suffering is perhaps the highest form of torture for a free being―to be unfree like this, in the power of another.

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But if a half-learned priest comes running with the instruction that the sufferer must gain mastery over these thoughts, then the priest simply does not know what he is talking about; if he had his way he would simply drive the sufferer mad. There is an entire dialectical development to be gone through before he can come to what the priest is preaching about.

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For the twaddle that is o�en asserted with resp. to criminals―that an irresistible desire compels them to steal, etc.―holds true in a quite different sense with respect to thoughts, and the big question is always the extent to which a hum. being is absolute master over every thought, i.e., over which thoughts or thought processes are to arise or pass through his head―because the thoughts with which he occupies himself are of course another ma�er.

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J O U R N A L NB 7 : 75 1848 But freedom’s responsibility asks: Is a hum. being not responsible for his thoughts, then? This worry gives rise to new anxiety because the suffering now also seems to become guilt. What is he to do now? Here again, the target is the understanding, and if he has obstinacy or willfulness in him, he will lose his mind. What is normally supposed to help a pers.―that he becomes anxious and afraid and flees from the evil―is in casu precisely what casts him into the power of the wicked thoughts. The more anxious he becomes, the more power they gain over him. Here, yet again, specific religiousness is required in order to endure. Part of the suffering is that he must put up with every person, as an outside party, regarding him as guilty and then immediately saying to him, [“]You must strive to escape such thoughts[”]―which he has striven to escape, perhaps employing an almost insane inventiveness. The suffering, whether it be suffering or sin, is furthermore that he can find no foothold, for he is alone with God, and in that case who dares to be so certain[?] He is again brought as if to the point of madness. He does everything to flee, he trembles at the mere thought of the most distant association of ideas that could summon forth those thoughts―and then, in addition to all this, he is supposed to be guilty. At every impatient moment it must seem to him as though children, when they torment a bu�erfly, could not torture someone worse than he is being tortured. If all willfulness in him is not extinguished, he loses his mind. At an impatient moment he could perhaps almost wish for this in order at least to have an end to the self-contradictory torment. What is to be done here? Nothing; keep silent and wait in prayer and faith. One thing he must do is not to despair of the possibility of salvation, not―give up on God. For people talk of giving up on oneself, but this is nonsense; no, the issue is giving up on God. If there is in fact any guilt in his torment, it must be rooted in his wanting to finish up too quickly and acquiesce in his suffering, though still with the willful notion that now he must give up waiting for it to be taken from him. No, this is precisely what he must give up. No hum. being knows when help will come, in a li�le while or in 40 years, no hum. being knows. But the help will consist in his coming to understand “the Savior” in a different manner. The sufferer has presumably taken great pains to avoid having these wicked thoughts come upon him when he prayed or when he thought about God, assuming that this must be an enormous 7 in casu] Latin, in this case.

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sin. And yet this is just where salvation lies, in his acquiring the openness to think these wicked thoughts together with God, before God―in order, indeed, to get rid of them. Salvation lies precisely in his ge�ing a Savior, or in the Savior coming into being for him so that he dares say to him, [“]These wicked thoughts are plaguing me[”], while not le�ing himself be afraid that, in mentioning these wicked thoughts, it is as though he had them yet again. When he will succeed in this or when it will be granted to him, no hum. being can say. It is certain, as every experienced person knows, that grace, too, has its time and its season, that there come moments when something one has sought a�er in vain for years and years suddenly succeeds and is granted. The impatience in which the willfulness must lie is in fact this: that in one or another way he wanted to see an end, i.e., a final explanation of the ma�er, even if it is that there is no explanation nor is there any to be expected in this life. This is something with which he would like to come to terms humbly, yet still believe in God, love God. So he is not like those who defiantly give up on God. No, on the contrary, he indeed needs God at every moment in order to be capable of enduring this suffering, the suffering of meaninglessness. But that his suffering is and remains meaningless: this is something he wants to have se�led in order then to be able to gather all his strength so that he can bear it patiently, humbly. But God does not want it this way. God easily sees a bit of willfulness in this, for God wills that at every moment he should also hope in the possibility of salvation, and that at whatever moment this were to be offered to him, he is to accept it with the same joy as at the first moment. Doubtless, in a certain sense this increases the suffering, makes even more strenuous the tension in which he is being held suspended (and in which the willfulness is to be extinguished). It is quite true that for the deeper sort of hum. being it is indeed a sort of relief to have it se�led and certain that no help can be expected, that the task is to remain silent and to endure. But the task is also to hope against hope. This is precisely why he comes to repeat his suffering day in and day out, for every day he must of course hope―against the understanding―that perhaps God will help him a�er all, and this is something he must endure year a�er year. See, this is what it is to be brought up to be obedient, to learn obedience: not just to be willing to bear with the most burdensome thing as something that has been se�led, to be permitted to do this―but, while being willing to do that, in addition to

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hope every day that it might perhaps please God [to help him]. Merely hum. hope was exhausted long ago; a hope such as this is therefore a religious work, a new obedience that is required of him, that truly makes him feel in what sense God is the Lord. When one finds it easier to bear the most burdensome decision qua decision (because the fact that it is a decision is precisely the relief), then to have to hope like this year a�er year, the years only confirming that no hope has arrived so far―to hope in this way is of course to be continually disturbed from repose in the decision: see, this is what it is to learn obedience.

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The sentimental priests―who, be it noted in parenthesi, also go farther than Xnty, because―despite the scriptural passage that the disciple is not above the master―they are of course far above the master (in the system of rank and precedence they are honored and esteemed; the master was the despised one); here, as everywhere, they deceive peop. when they talk of Christ praying for his enemies. For one thing, they must first and foremost emphasize wanting to pray even for one’s enemies, instead of begging them for mercy―and in the situation of contemporaneity this is of course what upsets people the most (as contemporaries judged the ma�er). There is nothing that can aggravate a hum. being against whom one is struggling more than praying for him. For another thing, one must bear in mind that Christ―who, as a voluntary sufferer, himself contributed to his suffering―refuses to offer sympathetic assistance by giving up what is his own and accommodating himself to them. To that extent, this prayer for the enemy is part of Christ’s sacrifice in quite another sense. That is, he has had them in his power from the beginning―they think that they themselves have power, and yet they serve his will: therefore he prays for them.

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Jn 16:10 the Holy Spirit is to convince the world of righteousness: that I am going to my Father and you will see me no more. What is to be understood by righteousness here? One could place it in connection with Paul’s teaching that Christ is risen for our justification. But perhaps it is more correctly understood as follows. The Holy Spirit is to convince the world of righteousness, i.e., of the righteousness of my cause, that I was the one I said I was. Then the conclusion fits: that I am going to my Father, and you will see me no more. That he returns to the father is the justification of the fact that Christ had truly gone forth from the father. This interpretation is also confirmed by the next verse, though here concerning judgment: that the prince of this world is judged.

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It is curious that today I read in Arndt’s True Christianity a passage that totally coincides with my description of the confusion of our times, though the author scarcely had in mind what I do. On p. 225 it is wri�en: [“]wenn anders das Haupt und nicht die Füsse im Lande regieren.[”] How much this reminds me of the postscript to the 2nd essay in A Cycle of Ethical-Religious Essays.

Understood in the worldly sense, a person works―and then a person receives wages, or doesn’t receive them―but he still needs them, because understood in the worldly sense, work is what wears down and wages are what nourish. But understood in the Christian sense, work is what nourishes; as Xt says: [“]My food is to do my father’s will.[”] Thus, not: [“]The more I do my father’s will, the more exhausted I become and the more hungry for wages I become.[”] No: [“]The more I am satisfied.[”]―Here, again, it is true that out of the eater came something to eat.

Ah, what a consolation it is a�er all, what a balm, when what one has to communicate is not related to the differences betw. hum. beings. When this is not the case, ah, then one has the 19 wenn anders … regieren] German, if otherwise the land is ruled by the

head and not the feet.

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consolation of perhaps being able to find among common people an honest hum. being who can and wants to understand, and who can be made use of. Indeed, it is precisely among the simple people that the key virtues are to be found. At first glance, one could be tempted to count this as among the sufferings of Xt’s life, which in a sense it was: that he had to seek his disciples among the common people. Ah, that the common man was at any rate related to him as a possibility: what a consolation, then, for one who had to feel his heterogeneity from the established order as deeply as he did. But the person whose message relates to the differences betw. hum. beings―he is cut off from this final, consoling connection. A presentation in which the dialectical element is precisely the point cannot address itself to the common man. He is thus limited to searching within the established order. He must search for these prerequisites of abilities and knowledge―and then search for a very special sort of honesty. What wonder, then, if he searches in vain. For it is precisely this la�er trait that is found most o�en in the common man, who makes but few demands on life and has not been initiated into the perils of cultivation.

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As I have shown elsewhere, there are two forms of sin: the sin of weakness and the sin of despair; one sins in despair over having been weak or over being weak enough to sin. This la�er form is sin, properly speaking. Therefore it is at this that Xnty has taken aim. For the doctrine of the atonement is rlly related to this despair; the atonement wants to put a halt to this despair; only a hum. being of this sort rlly grasps the atonement, i.e., has need of it.

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patience, or that to lose one’s patience is to lose it in relation to God: then no hum. being would dare have the cheek to do so. The one who is superior (the ruler in relation to the subject, the father in relation to the child, the donor in relation to the person who receives) can speak of losing patience, but―merciful God!―that a hum. being wants to lose patience in relation to God. Thus even if God will have patience with him, he would longer have patience with God. What nonsense! I wonder if anyone could bear the thought! But the fact is that hum. beings do not think any thoughts all the way through. They become impatient, say that they have lost patience―and forget entirely with whom they are speaking.

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Counsel, guidance is something I almost never find. The few remarkable religious individuals generally are to be found in immediacy. That sort of person has unmediated enthusiasm; he is certain that he will soon triumph, so (―unmediatedly―a) certain of the justice of his cause that it never occurs to him that, upon his proclaiming it, it could fail to be received with open arms. In this sort of enthusiasm he speaks to others, he carries them away, since unmediated enthusiasm always carries people away. So they storm forward―and then the opposition comes. Perhaps the leader endures bravely, but I learn nothing from him with respect to what concerns me: the beginning. For in reflection everything looks different. In reflection one understands in advance that the danger must come, knows its precise consequences. One sees it at every moment and step by step. On the other hand, one cannot carry anybody away, for if someone were to become an adherent of the reflective person, the la�er would have to do everything to make him aware of the danger, thus give warning, push him away―instead of carrying him away.

Note For in reflection one can also be convinced of the justice of one’s cause without it following from this that one is ignorant of the ways of the world or that one lacks an essential view of life―and truth. a

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If only I could have the experience of meeting a passionate thinker, that is, someone who honestly and honorably kept his life prepared to express what he understood. But where are such thinkers[?] Most of them tie down their lives all too early in countless ways. They marry, have children, hold an official position, have the prospect of a particular official position, etc. Such a man reads and studies and then perhaps understands that from a Christian point of view the only true way to be in the truth is to become a martyr. He understands it, he lectures about it. But it could never occur to him even merely to give up a li�le gratuity of 10 rd. So such a man does enormous damage―and why? Precisely because he speaks and lectures about the truth. Peop. get spoiled by this continual talk of the truth. Most o�en the farthest they go with it is to have a controversy about the extent to which someone is speaking the truth. What comes next, the main thing: whether one does it―is totally forgo�en in the eagerness to combat those who teach what is untrue.

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According to the world, sorrow is itself sin, and yet so o�en one is or becomes self-important in this sadness. According to God, sorrow is essentially repentance―and then, when the sadness has lasted too long, then repentance is needed in order to push the sadness a bit to the side. It is quite certain that the pain endured in sadness is not noticed at all if repentance comes at the same time and emphasizes the relation of the guilt to God. Thus when a person becomes all too impatient in his sadness, God o�en punishes him by le�ing him sink into one or another sin. Now repentance is needed in order to li� him up, now he has something to weep over.

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It is said that a golden key opens up everything. But it is certain that decisiveness and determination also open things up, which is why it is also called [“]resolve[”]; with resolve or in the resolve, the soul’s best powers open themselves up.

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Christ himself says that the person who wants to erect a tower first sits down and makes an estimate of how high he can build it. Good. But first now comes the real question (and this next ma�er, the difficulty, is always omi�ed by the priests): what does it mean to make an estimate[?] Is it to be understood as meaning a merely hum. estimate of one’s own strengths, of the situation and circumstances? In that case, then what is religion? But if in the estimate he is to state what, trusting in God, he will be able to accomplish, then the estimate is indeed incalculable. Here we again have the confusing situation in which at one moment a person expresses one idea and at another moment another, but does not put them together. Trusting in God, we are capable of everything―what does that mean? Does it mean that trusting in God I am capable of everything of which I am capable, which is really as good as nothing? In that case, all the talk is a sham. Or does it really mean that trusting in God we are capable of everything[?] Or let us suppose that a pers. manages to perceive what is true―mustn’t he then immediately begin to do it? Or, if he makes an estimate and finds that humanly speaking he lacks the strength for it, is he to give it up―and is he then without guilt[?] Suppose someone understood that the truth means to be put to death for Xnty or for the sake of the truth―and from the Christian point of view this is indeed the only truth. But while making his estimate he comes to the conclusion: I don’t have the strength for it―what then? If he says: [“]I’m not going to do it[”]―is he without guilt? What then becomes of the idea that, trusting in God, we are capable of everything if, trusting in God, one cannot even decide to do the truth one understands[?] Oh, woe, woe to these 100,000 priests with livings, whose preaching does nothing but get peop. mired in nonsense. But the ma�er is not so difficult. In God there is a certain cunning (maieutic in the good sense); he does not want any nonsense a�erward, and he wants it to be clear whether or not a pers. who ventures to do something does so trusting in him. Therefore this intermediate consideration is inserted: Make an estimate. If in making the estimate you in fact satisfy yourself that, humanly speaking, you lack the strength―and yet you begin (trusting in God, that is), and then it fails: then it must be because you did not truly trust. This means that God does not want to have any contractual relationship with a hum. being but wants unconditional obedience, so that the hum. being, even when he fails, immediately assumes the guilt and does not go and impute anything to God. If it succeeds, it must be by dint of God’s help;

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if it fails, the fault is mine. God is so cunning because he unconditionally wants to be loved or be loved unconditionally. And if you love God unconditionally, this very love will be everything to you, everything else―the outcome―a ma�er of indifference. 5

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Because it is indeed granted that in Xndom everyone is Xn, being Xn is shunted aside very quickly; all of one’s endeavors are directed so instantly toward worldly accomplishments and so forth, that in Xndom there is perhaps rarely or never a hum. being whose life gets the introspectiveness and the time to develop itself sufficiently introspectively for him even to approximate the experience of being a Christian. Therefore it is simply not suspected that spiritual trials exist, item this difficulty: whether―because the inner religious life almost leads a person into sheer wretchedness and increasing anxiety―it is not best to turn one’s mind entirely away from it, or whether a person must simply endure. In times when Xnty at any rate existed, the sufferer at least had the consolation that he was understood, that the spiritual counselor knew about the situation, that others had been tried in the same way. But in the Xndom of the present, if someone were to describe the sort of inner condition that constitutes spiritual trial, even a council of clergy would certainly declare it to be simply madness, in entirely the same sense as when a person believes he is made of glass.

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It is a�er all always so easy and hum.a to start thinking like this: But aren’t you yourself to blame―if you were gentler, humbler, meeker, then certainly peop. would have to like you. Yes, one can literally lose one’s mind over it, this Christian position: no, the more gentle and humble and meek you become, the worse things will go for you. Without this Christian stance one is also continually involved in blasphemy against Xt: namely, because he [Christ] was abused as he was, it was presumably because he had been insufficiently mild and humble and meek. But you see, this comes from forge�ing that the Christian position is never true except in the Christian situation. If I sit in my

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13 item] Latin, as well as, also.

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room and think mildness, humility, meekness, and in addition to this thought-of mildness, meekness, etc., I also think of a revelation of this in the world, then eo ipso I think of it as being loved. But you see, this thought-of world is of course not the actual world. The true Xn’s life is therefore always double. Before God he must humbly confess that he is certainly far from being sufficiently mild and meek; he must give thanks for the sufferings, that they might help him become meeker. But if before hum. beings he were to say the same thing, that the reason he is persecuted is that he is insufficiently mild and meek―then it is nonsense, for were he to be more like that, he would merely be persecuted more. Oh, what a frightful strain to have two such thoughts in his head at the same time and to keep them separate, in order that they not render him powerless. Before God it can be true that he suffers because he is not humble enough, and in relation to the world it is true that he suffers because he has at least some humility and would suffer more if he had more humility. Here―make no mistake―keep these infinitely separate from one another: always humble before God because one is not humble enough, not to confuse this with the relation to the world―and then, always humble before God because one is not humble enough, to have the courage to go forth in all humility, certain of being persecuted more. To keep one’s footing here, so that one does not untruthfully transfer the humiliation before God to the relationship with hum. beings―oh, it is o�en almost enough to lose one’s mind over.

And here is the root of it, the humble objection against Xnty: that, alas, someone sees it as being too lo�y. Ah, one senses that one is oneself only all too far from being good―and then, that one is to be so good that one gets persecuted for it. When one considers hum. life and sees how necessary it is merely to uphold civil justice; if one then considers the demands morality makes upon a hum. being’s innermost self if one is to be called good―which, however, no one is; not even Xt wanted to be called that―and then to be good in such a way that one suffers for its sake. That this was so in Xt’s case is of course a completely

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different ma�er. But then it looks as though Xnty is rlly suited only for Xt. But to this the reply must be that this is in fact how things are whenever a hum. being or a Xn turns toward God; but he must allow Xnty to teach him that the world is so wicked that one can be very far from being the good and yet begin to suffer some persecution. And yet, yet, I dare not of course let the emphasis be on my life, to the effect that I suffer because I am good. What then is to be done, when it is in fact the case that if I refuse to let go of the good, I must bear the distinction of suffering for its sake? Nothing can be done about it except constantly, as much as possible, to turn my gaze inward so that I am before God, where I will not be inconvenienced by the thought that I am so good―and on the other hand, if possible, to be as if absentminded with respect to the sufferings that the world inflicts on me. On the other hand, it can indeed also be a misleading weakness if a God-fearing pers., because he fears God, almost makes it look as if those who treat him unjustly are themselves just. A Christian must of course have the open-hearted courage to witness against the world freely and openly; in his suffering he must not give rise to the erhabne Lüge that the others are just―it is not godly to be patient like this. What is to be done, then? This: that a Christian is to remember every day that Rome was not built in a day, that in one year he may perhaps be able to accomplish what he cannot accomplish today, if only he is honest before God. If he is so overwhelmed by his God-relationship that his patience is actually close to becoming guilty of the untruth that a�ributes justice to the others, who are unjust―then he is to hope and believe that in time he will surely gain open-hearted courage.

One can distress the spirit by venturing too much. This is true, but if this happens, the consolation is that chastisement will certainly come and help a person if he honestly humbles himself under it. But one can also distress the spirit by venturing too li�le. Alas, and this finally comes back, perhaps a�er many years have gone by, when one is living in the security one sought by avoiding the danger―and perhaps not until one’s old age, perhaps not until eternity, one must see then the truth, that one was untrue to oneself. But in any case, with respect to venturing too li�le, what 22 erhabne Lüge] German, properly “erhabene Lüge,” sublime lie. (See also

explanatory note.)

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is important is that when one does so, for the sake of God in Heaven, one humbly confess that one is sparing oneself, that one is sparing oneself in weakness, perhaps in cowardice―so that one does not become conceited by thinking that this was the cleverest thing―ah, for then a pers. is eternally lost. At that instant what is eternal in a pers. is extinguished, the God-relationship shuts down, the truth in him dies out, and he becomes loathsome untruth. On the other hand, if he makes the humble confession, well, perhaps he was sick and therefore so faint-hearted, perhaps in judging himself he was too hard on himself, but in any case he retains his God-relationship. The confession keeps him awake and sleepless, will not permit him to become happy in the security and distance from danger that has been purchased at so high a price―and perhaps tomorrow, perhaps next year, faith and open-hearted courage will arise in him so that he will be capable of venturing.

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It is a dangerous ma�er to arrive at eternity with possibilities that one has oneself prevented from being actualized. Possibility is a hint from God. One must follow it. Possibility of what is highest is in every hum. being; he must follow it. If God does not want it, then let him hinder it, but one must not hinder it oneself. Trusting in God, I have ventured, but I did not succeed: in this there is peace and repose and confidence in God. I have not ventured: this is an extremely unhappy thought, a torment for all eternity.

What I have said so o�en in jest―that I can live equally well under any government, as long as I know who Imprimatur is―it now occurs to me that this is in fact rlly Xnty. For in the story of the tax coin Xt of course says, [“]Whose image is it, who is Imprimatur[?”] And Xt’s view is obviously this: If you want to be a Xn, then first and foremost forget all about politics; whether the person whose image you see on the coin is named Peter or Paul, whether he is foreign or native, forget about it; give him the tax coin, don’t waste a single moment on such bickering―you, who as a Xn have enough to do in giving God what is God’s. For the emperor’s image is on the tax money, but the Xn bears God’s

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image and therefore he does with his whole person what it is commanded that he do with the coin: gives himself wholly to the one whose image he bears.

There is a form of religiousness that in a certain sense resembles despair without really being it, though neither is it the true, hope-filled trust in God: always to be afraid and to be prepared for the worst. With this it is by no means said that such a person lets go of God, by no means: he calls on God’s help precisely in order to be able to bear this thought, and simply prays for God’s love. If, for example, something happens to him, with his somewhat melancholic imagination he is quickly prepared for the worst; he says, Why should I be exempt from this, but God will give me the strength to bear it. Thus the movement he makes is religious. But it is a li�le too impatient. The cause of this can be that he is too much defined as spirit and perhaps has too li�le corporeality, because for most people hope is rlly a vegetative health, not a category of spirit. What is important for someone who immediately turns to God in order to be prepared for the worst (the religiousness consists in the fact that what occupies him primarily is the God-relationship or that the God-relationship not be disturbed by burdensome things that happen to him), what is important is that he ought at any rate consider that it would of course be well pleasing to God if he learned to make the opposite movement which, when faced by a threat, says, Yes, it hasn’t even happened yet―and which, when something does go wrong, does not straightway resign itself to being unable to do anything and resolve to endure the situation, but says, Patience, perhaps it will succeed next year. There is one sort of patience that, trusting and joyful in God, says, Patience, I will endure losing everything. Another sort of patience is that which says, Patience, with God’s help it will surely come to pass. But it is psychologically certain that the more a person is sheer spirit, the more difficult this la�er form of patience is for him, for unlike the former, the la�er does not straightway relate to eternity and to the consolation of the eternal, but to temporality, and therefore this sort of patience is most natural for feminine and immediate temperaments.

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Jn 14:27: [“]I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.[”] Thus, when the world gives, one has reason to be troubled and afraid. Here it is just as with those words in Heb: to shrink back to one’s own perdition.

In one sense there is something frightful in the thought of these countless millions upon millions of hum. beings. For a moment one is almost reminded of other animal species with their countless millions of specimens and of nature’s almost terrifying profligacy. And then, when one considers that every single hum. being is intended for what is highest in the religious sense―and the religious, again, is of course surely what is highest! But Governance is more than blameless, for it has of course lovingly made it possible for everyone and cannot be responsible for how many thousands squander it. But as soon as hum. beings become lazy and seek indulgence, they immediately take shelter in sociality, where the standard of measure becomes relative, a comparison to the others, and the hum. being becomes an animal species. It seems so striking and so enormously tempting―these countless millions, this vision of relativity―but it is untrue; for there exists only one ideal, it is intended for the single individual, not for society and company. People believe that by joining society they develop to greater perfection―thank you, no: it is retrogression. Such talk is just as deceptive as that which says that it is earnestness to seek a permanent post in the established order (as opposed to serving an idea freely, bound only to God). No, thank you: if this is earnestness, then all the paradigmatic religious figures are fantasts. But people want to have sense certainty and then, in addition, the honor of this being earnest.

It is quite true that it would be impossible to hinder gossip, slander, nonsense, etc., even if the press was not used to promote it. But it must also be noted that the use of the press to promote it intensifies the demoralization absolutely and qualitatively.

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With respect to something spoken, an individual is certainly always able to say, I have heard “someone” say. But of course because he himself cannot produce this “someone,” a part of the responsibility does, a�er all, remain with him, and by dealing with him adroitly it would be easy to make him the more important figure in this connection, and he can be a bit daunted. But the objective calm―and at the same time, the bravura and confidence―with which the individual says, Yes, I have read it in the newspapers―no, this cannot be a bit daunted. Furthermore, merely spoken gossip divides itself up; every social class has its own gossip, so to speak. But with the help of the press all, the most heterogeneous sorts of people, unite in speaking nonsense about one and the same pers. And nowadays, what a scale of diffusion!

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I do not mean natural existence but hum. society (for the song of birds is lovely, and the sparrow is pleasing, and the lily lovely, and the host of stars eternally unforgettable, etc.―but the hum. being, the wonder of creation―an adornment, as the priests say for money―he is the only blemish).

How, a�er all, can it really occur to anyone to praise this existence, this existence where one must either repress in abominable fashion (a crime worse than aborting a fetus) every endeavor of the more ideal sort and every possibility of true ideality, or at any rate rebelliously reduce it by half, in order thus to puff oneself up or become bloated with worldly honor and the disgusting fat of worldly respect―or if one does not want to do this, one is eo ipso a martyr. No, Xnty, a�er all, is the only explanation of existence that holds up. This earthly existence is suffering; every hum. being has his portion of it; his dying words are therefore, Praise God, now it’s over. This earthly existence is a time of testing, it is the examination. All this nonsense about accomplishing and accomplishing is thus something the priests have invented in order to make money, a sort of earnestness that abolishes God. No, neither you nor I have anything to do with playing Governance or with wanting to accomplish something. You are being examined, as am I, all throughout life. From

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this it follows naturally that you must work in one way or another quite differently from those who are accomplishing something, but you are freed from all conceit. Therefore the view that the world is progressing is also nonsense as well as a view of existence that abolishes God. Those who are busy with accomplishing things are indeed of the opinion that they have harnessed themselves to the human race, as it were, and are dragging it forward. Oh, spare yourself the trouble. No, you are being examined, and this existence is designed by God precisely as an examination to test the strength of self-denial. It is not you who are to change the world, but it is you who are to be examined by living in this world.

The fact of the ma�er is that Chrnty is rlly all too joyous, and therefore in order rlly to relate to Xnty, a hum. being must be brought to madness in suffering. Therefore most hum. beings will rlly be able to get an impression of Xnty only at the moment of their death, because death actually takes from them what must be surrendered in order to get an impression of Xnty.

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The Reformation abolished the monastery. Fine. Now I won’t say anything further about how the Reformation then in turn gave rise to the entire politics of worldliness. But take Xndom: if there is to be any possibility of Xnty at all, where is it to be sought other than in the quiet ones among the people[?] The quiet ones among the people are the only fragments of Xns we have. But the quiet ones among the people are rlly not Christians in the decisive sense; they do not live their lives in the double danger. The quiet ones among the people are rlly a more worldly version of the monastery; they are peop. who fulfill their civic duties, beget children, etc., and then in their heart of hearts also

[a]

What Arndt says in True Xnty, book 1, ch. 42, §42 is superb: denn das ist unserer zarten, schmeichelsüchtigen Natur Art, daß sie immer ehe will getröst seyn, ehe sie ihre Sünde, Unart, und Bosheit erkennet.

2 denn das … erkennet] German, for it is typical of our tender nature, hungry for fla�ery, that it always wants to be consoled before it confesses its sins, failures, and wickedness.

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concern themselves with Xnty; in short, they are the religious of hidden inwardness. But they entirely escape the other danger, suffering for the sake of the faith; they escape being led forth into the genuinely Xn situation. There is much that is beautiful in their lives, but this quietness is nonetheless not Xnty, not in the deepest sense; it resembles the view that makes Xnty into a mild doctrine of truth.

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I am not speaking with such a pers., but even in his presence about him. a

In all one suffers, the only consolation and absolute distraction is and remains that one look to God, refer everything to him, consider that it comes from him inasmuch as he permits it. In this way one becomes objective, in the right sense, and subjective, in the right sense: objective with respect to others and subjective with respect to oneself. In public meetings it is of course required that one address the person who presides over the meeting, not the individual person―why?―to avoid personalities. And thus, amid all persecutions one avoids all personalities. Someone spits in my face; I do not look at him at all, but at God, addressing my words concerning it to God, i.e., I remain personally u�erly on the outside, relating myself personally only to God.a You see, this is the victory over all villainy. Every hum. being would of course do this in relation to an animal, in relation to the elements, etc., where he does not acknowledge any personal relation. But the God-fearing person rlly has only one relationship: to God. He cannot relate himself to a representative of barbarity otherwise than he would relate to a dog that bit him. This was the truth in Socrates’ words when he reproved someone who wanted him to get angry because Xanthippe had wronged him―Socrates replied, [“]If a hen did the same thing, you would not get angry.[”]

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On the other hand, as I have remarked elsewhere, with most peop. the situation is the reverse of this. They are objective at the wrong point, because they permit themselves everything; and subjective at the wrong point, because when the least thing happens to them they immediately become subjectively affected, sometimes even almost by a dog, which is the most bestial admission a hum. being can make.

That a man acts with the thought of being victorious here in the world and is then victorious: yes, the world understands this and shouts bravo for it. That he acts with the thought of being victorious but does not succeed: yes, the world understands this, too; it understands his original intention, and now it passes various judgments on him concerning whether or not he acted rashly, etc., but it understands him. But that a man acts, takes a step, with the thought and consciousness: I must lose, must fall―the world regards this as madness. For the world has no notion of duty or of the obligation connected with the God-relationship; its explanations extend no further than to prudence. That a man sees that evil has won a victory at one or another point and then says to himself before God: It is impossible for you to be victorious, but you must act, and by doing so you will come to suffer; so you must act, doing so with the thought that you will become the sufferer―yes, in the world’s eyes this is madness. The world will say that this is hating oneself, and Xnty replies: the Xn must hate himself―for the sake of Xt. Here, by the way, one sees an analogy (though bearing in mind that qualitatively there is no analogy) to the statement that Xt suffers for our trans-

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gressions and bears our sins. When, in fact, the situation is such that evil has gained power and others remain silent, participating in it, and then the good is to be expressed, then the situation in fact reverses itself so that the good comes to suffer the punishment that the others should have suffered. The evil world most likely punishes the good for that for which the world itself should be punished. When an entire city, helped by a newspaper with thousands of subscribers, turns gossip and nonsense into public opinion―and then someone puts a stop to it: then people say that it’s foolish for him to want to talk about what nobody cares about. Thus―what a strange reversal―he becomes the only one, he who indeed must act because evil had a�acked just about everyone. But it is always be�er that one person suffers than that the entire people do so, and be�er that one person gets the blame and all the others go free.

Accurate, clear, decisive, impassioned understanding is of great importance, for it facilitates action. But there are great differences among peop. in this respect, more or less as there are among birds in the ways they take flight. Some easily and instantaneously let go of the branch on which they perch and ascend proudly, daringly heavenward in flight. Others (the heavier and more lethargic, e.g., the crows) make a great fuss when they are to fly: they let go with one foot but then quickly grab on again, and there is no flight; then they work their wings while they continue to cling fast with their feet, so that they do not so much let go of the branch as become something like a lump clinging to it―until they finally succeed in gaining enough impetus to come into a sort of flight. In a great many ways this is how it is with hum. beings with respect to starting from the understanding and gaining the impetus to act. In connection with this point, were he to make observations and then accurately describe the abnormal movements made here, a discerning psychologist could get enough work for his entire life. For the lives of most peop. are and remain merely a fictitious gesture, a feint, of a purely sensate existence. Some few push things to the proper understanding of what they should do―and there they turn aside. For if one is to act decisively in the ultimate sense, one must have unbounded trust in God and dare to commit oneself un-

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conditionally to him alone. Thus if the person who endeavors to love peop. in accordance with Xt’s teachings is precisely the person who will be regarded as selfish, he is indeed entirely in God’s power―in a certain sense, frightfully so―at every anxious moment. He perhaps has anxiety about himself, as to whether he truly is loving. If he had the consolation that peop. regarded him as loving, that would be some relief. But peop. in fact accuse him―see, this is a true God-relationship. Then at any moment he chooses, God could of course take the side of the peop., and then the wretch is the most wretched of all. But God is surely not like this, yet on the other hand, in order to have a God-relationship one must be so far out and so completely in his power.

What peop. regard as selfishness and lack of sympathy can sometimes also be melancholia. If a pers. is happy and cheerful, he is also more open. But if in his innermost self he feels unhappy, he encloses himself more. Yet this does not mean that it is selfishness; sometimes it can almost be concern for others, so that they do not notice how unhappy he is.

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This is how the hum. is related to the div.: the disciples sleep―while Xt suffers. It is this need to sleep that by its degree determines whether a hum. being has at least some spirit or is u�erly spiritless. I do not suppose, however, that the disciples slept because of indolence, i.e., that they were indifferent. No, they slept because of suffering. A hum. being can become so tired from suffering that he falls asleep. But the more spirit, the more sleeplessness, and therefore, if one is God and becomes an individual hum. being, that is already infinite, absolute suffering in and of itself, for spirit is sheer wakefulness and activity; hum. beings are more or less drowsiness.

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The passage Jn 10:1–10 is remarkable because Christ compares himself to the door and says that the good shepherd (the true teachers) enters through the door; whereas he later compares himself to the shepherd and says that he is the good shepherd. It is just like his being the truth and the way―he is both the door and the shepherd.

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This is an excellent saying by Antoninus: observe the same thing in a different way, it is a reexperiencing. Likewise: you would, a�er all, rather become good tomorrow than be good today. Likewise: the actions of our lives also include dying. Thus, also in relation to this it is sufficient to make good use of the present time.

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And thus I am wasted on Denmark; and everyone acts is if it were nothing, as if they didn’t know that I must carry myself well if I am not to become an object of pity. My first name is now a nickname for myself, which every schoolboy knows. The same name is used even more frequently by writers; now it continually turns up in comedies, and everyone knows it is I. And what was my crime, then? Was it that I had wri�en a bad book? In that case, however, such persecution would have been madly out of proportion. But that was not the case. Was it, then, that I had impudently a�acked something good, honorable, and beneficial[?] No, just the opposite. It was literary villainy that was insanely disproportionate to the size of the country. Among all those who enjoyed some respect there could be only one opinion, but of course it was u�ered only in secret; for each feared the tyranny of the mob. But true it is and certain that there lives scarcely one single respectable man in the country who has not a dozen or more times said in indignation, It is villainy beyond compare. Yet no one dared do anything publicly. Then people prodded me in various ways, at one point a�ributing to me a sort of hidden connection to this ironizing, at another by reminding me that I, a person of independent means, was the only one who could do it.

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So I do it―and at the very same instant, the envy of distinguished people takes advantage and says, He’s crazy to want to do it. This is where the calamity is found. The vulgarity had not managed to do anything to me. But this meanness―which, because it sensed my superiority, was too cowardly to dare confront me polemically, however much it wanted to do so―took advantage of this situation in order to give vent to its envy: this was and remains the calamity. And yet I could have borne all this easily and cheerfully. But there is another danger that threatens me much more profoundly and eats away at my delight in literary productivity. It is my economic situation and these confusing financial times, which leave a person completely baffled. My sort of literary productivity requires time and tranquillity. The more I venture forth, the impassioned will be the opposition to me from without―I who have already ventured forth so far that I am subject to the power of the mob. If I then have to worry about making a living, my literary productivity cannot continue. My literary production has always been a sacrifice; that is rlly why I am regarded as mad. But if I no longer have money, then continuing to produce is out of the question. And then, when I have been toppled, people will say, He was the extraordinary one, he truly willed the truth. Oh, Lord God! If I were to judge, I would say, He did have a bit of an understanding of the truth and did do a bit to express what was true. But what kind of a world is this, in which―a�er people have truly destroyed me―I become something so extraordinary that no one can compare himself to me[?] What kind of a world is that[?]― that is, what does it mean to speak of truth in relation to such a world[?] If every hum. being were as I am, and then there were also several extraordinary ones: that would make sense. But in this situation, however, it is sheer contemptibility.

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But whatever is to happen, however things are to be, I hope to God that what I have prayed for day a�er day for a long time will be granted: that these might be my very last words when I have repented my sin for the last time and have received the gracious forgiveness of my sins―thus, that in my last words, dying, I thank him for the indescribable good he has done for me, so much more than I had ever expected. And indeed this remains eternally true. For what I suffer either has its cause in my sin and

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my sins, or it is simply because God has done so extraordinarily much for me. In this world, indeed, the consequences of this can only be that a person suffers. But thus it is indeed entirely certain and true that God has done something extraordinary for a person.

The way things went with Socrates was relatively similar to how they went with Christ: they had many admirers, and among these admirers there were also some who understood how to admire―but they had very few imitators. The difference betw. an admirer and an imitator is that the imitator is ethically what the admirer is aesthetically. An admirer is himself a different being from the admired; an imitator is himself the admired. And this, then, is the only true admiration.―The truth of admiration depends on or corresponds to the power it exercises over the admirer. The maximum of such power is that oneself be or resemble the admired. On the other hand, it is of course not true that a person truly admires something if that something does not have the influence or power to transform him into the likeness of the admired. Such admiration is a counterfeit that is capable in a pinch of understanding the admired or what it admires, but it does not understand itself, or it does not understand itself in admiring. If it understood that, it would of course understand that its own unchangedness is like a satire over the admiration, making it into a lie at every moment. But such an admirer does not think of this. He declaims more and more vehemently; the bravos and bravissimos of admiration become more and more emphatic―now, dammit, I know he truly does admire―alas, and his satire on himself only becomes all the more biting. In general peop. seem to be entirely ignorant of the fact that there is, a�er all, a limit to the pathos of assurances, that this limit is to be found where the pathos of action is to begin. And if this is absent, then the pathos of verbal assurances merely becomes more emphatic, and the more shrill it is, the more it betrays the fact that (to put it politely) the person giving the assurance is lying through his teeth. But woe to the pers. who has understood existence so profoundly, and who truly says that he does not want to have admirers but is satisfied with one or two imitators. For one can, a�er all, acquire admirers―but one acquires them at the expense

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of the truth; and to demand imitators is to make life much too strenuous for peop. To admire is most o�en a so�ness of which many peop. feel a need. And then, if someone permits himself to be admired, then it is good; then the admirers pet him as one pets a rare bird dog of a very rare color, and what is extremely rare, a single white spot on its forehead.

As a Stoic, Antoninus naturally approves of suicide and praises it; on the other hand, he disapproves of the martyrdom of the Xns (XI, 3). He insists that the soul’s willingness (to die, to take its life) must be the result of one’s own conviction and not, as with the Christians, a mere refractoriness; no, this willingness must express itself with thoughtful dignity and, to convince others, without any tragic pomp whatever. Thus what he actually disapproves of is the entire Christian notion of contending with the world. What he requires is the thoroughgoing selfishness that does not choose death in order to serve a cause, etc., but because it is what most appeals to the self. The Stoic self is the most isolated self; it would therefore probably be an error if his death were to serve a cause. No, his death must merely satisfy himself.

What a consolation and blessedness it is, a�er all, that God, who is love, is the unchanged one (which, again, in another sense, could of course be understood as a property of his love, or as love; for a love that changes is of course not love!). Suppose there were a loving pers. with whom you had a relationship―he was, if you will, love itself, at the beginning; but now so many years have passed, and during that time so much has happened, that your relationship has indeed gradually changed him. But God is unchanged love―a spring, cool every morning, is not more unchanged; the sun, warm every dawning day, is not more unchanged; the sea, refreshing every morning, is not more unchanged than God is unchangedly love.

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that I had from the sale of the house. [b]

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When I sold the house I had considered stopping my literary productivity, traveling abroad for 2 years, and then coming home and becoming a priest. I had in fact made ca. 2200 rd. on the place. But then the thought dawned on me: You want to travel abroad, but why? In order to interrupt the productivity and have some recreation. But don’t you know from experience that you are never so productive as when you are abroad, in the great isolation in which you live there, so that you will return home a�er a two-year stay with an enormous pile of manuscripts. So I rented rooms, an apartment that had tempted me in a quite curious way for a long time and that I had o�en told myself was the only one I could like. But the plan of traveling abroad for 2 years was doubtless something of a caprice of the imagination. Undeniably, I had an entire work lying there, which was to come out, and as noted, by traveling abroad I would indeed have opened the sluice gates of my productivity. But the idea of traveling for those 2 years did serve as the occasion for my buying royal bonds with casha that I otherwise would not have touched―the stupidest thing I have done and that I probably should regard as a sort of lesson, for now I have indeed lost ca. 700 rd. on them. So I rented that apartment, had Christian Discourses printed, was si�ing in the middle of proofreading when the entire confusion erupted―they took Anders from me, and it was a good thing that I had the apartment. I moved there. In more than one sense, I suffered indescribably much in that apartment because of its unsuitability. But on the other hand, just as Governance always helps me to a�ain what I desire but for which I employ, or want to employ, the wrong means, so also in this case. If anything is to help me become less productive, reduce my speed, and generally limit me, it is precisely finite worries and inconveniences.

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Moreover, in that dwelling I wrote some of the best things I have ever wri�en; but in doing so I have continually had occasion to train myself piano in the idea of stopping the productivity or in any case of being somewhat more a�entive to my livelihood. This would never in all eternity have happened abroad, where in fact, in the absence of all distractions, to some extent suffering a bit from melancholia, I in fact plunge into the most enormous productivity. This past summer I drew R. Nielsen a bit closer to myself; this means simply that I am reducing my productivity and am doing at least a li�le to place limits on my efforts. Yes, if I were able to travel abroad without becoming productive, travel and travel for a while, it might perhaps be a good thing. But a lengthy stay in one place―and then my productivity is greater than ever. I have benefited much more by learning a li�le from having to do without Anders and other such conveniences, which perhaps favor my productivity too much. I wanted to travel for two years, for, among other things, I was so sick and tired of all the nonsense here in Copenhagen. But it wouldn’t help. I am precisely suited to endure all this sort of thing, if only I remain patiently. on the spot. But pecuniary ma�ers have burdened me quite a bit in these confused times. Though it’s certainly a good thing that I became properly aware of it in time. It also helps burn away whatever selfishness there may be in me and in my productivity, for my position as an author is truly becoming quite serious.

4 piano] Italian, gently, so�ly.

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JOURNAL NB8

JOURNAL NB8 Translated by Bruce H. Kirmmse Edited by Joel D. S. Rasmussen

Text source Journal NB8 in Søren Kierkegaards Skri�er Text established by Kim Ravn and Steen Tullberg

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It is a nice observation by Luther (in the sermon on Nicodemus) that the bronze serpent looked just like the other serpents, but the difference was not merely that it was not poisonous, but that it could save. In the same way, Xt looks like all other hum. beings, belongs to the fallen race, and yet he is not merely without sin, but is the Savior.

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There will necessarily come a time when there will be a total change in the way we look at or understand the press, but at this point this discovery (the press) still impresses peop. all too much. People must become even more accustomed to seeing abuses by the press in order to begin quite calmly to calculate the ratio between good and harm this invention has brought peop. All in all, with the upper classes of society people it has already almost come to the point that the press does infinitely more harm than good. I am speaking only of the daily press. The change of viewpoint regarding the daily press comes about when the legal distinction betw. what is permissible and what is impermissible is abandoned, as if the press (the daily press) could not cause harm by printing and disseminating something that could not in any way be called untrue or prohibited. A�ention must be focused on the disproportionateness of the medium of communication itself. For example, by reporting in print that a young girl (but with her full name―and it is, of course, the truth) has go�en a new dress (and this is assumed to be the truth), and by repeating it a couple of times one can make the girl unhappy for her whole life. And this is something one single pers. can bring about in 5 minutes. And why? Because the press (daily press) is a disproportionate medium of communication. Suppose someone invented an instrument, a convenient li�le speaking tube that, however, was so powerful that it could be heard all over the entire country. Wouldn’t the police forbid

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it out of fear that its use would result in the whole of society becoming mentally deranged[?] In the same way, of course, guns are forbidden. Books of course can be tolerated, though preferably large books, because their proportions do no put them into any relationship to what is momentary. In general, the evil in the daily press is that it is so totally calculated to making the moment, if possible, a thousand or ten thousand times more important than it already is. But all moral upbringing consists first and foremost in being weaned away from what is momentary. But this is certainly something I will not live to experience, though I am, however, certain that one day it will come to this. As China has come to a standstill at a stage of development, so will Europe come to a standstill at the press, remaining at a standstill as a reminder that there the hum. race made a discovery that eventually became more powerful than itself.

“In a Li�le While”―and “At Last”! A Discourse.

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That these words say one and the same thing; it only depends on how close the eternal is. If it is very close, then all our suffering and unhappiness and misery is “in a li�le while”; if it is far away, we sigh [“]at last[”].

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Get rid of the idea, the Stoic says, then the pain is also gone, for it is precisely the idea that is the pain. Now that is all right. But viewed religiously, to get rid of the idea is rlly to get rid of God, for the relationship to God begins in and with the idea. Piety indeed means precisely to submit the pain to

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God (but in that case one must of course have the idea), to understand that one is being brought up, etc.

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They preach about the rich man and Lazarus. They preach, then, that one must be merciful. But almost never do I see the double danger brought up in this connection. Because: be truly merciful, have money to give to the poor―and not just this: truly have a heart in your breast, be kind to every poor and needy person, be (and this is surely necessary in order to be truly merciful) either so unhappy in your innermost being, or be so sad that you are not tempted by worldly honor and respect, that is, be willing to be greeted by the poor and to return the greeting in friendly fashion (not formally, in the 3rd person, en passant, but affectionately, as one greets an acquaintance), be willing to converse with a poor person on the street, be willing to let yourself be addressed by him on the street: in short, be truly tender and merciful―and you will see that unless you somehow or other enjoy a quite extraordinary degree of respect as someone entirely out of the ordinary, you will be ridiculed and mocked for doing this. And if you do enjoy that extraordinary degree of respect, people will at best give you and your strange, peculiar behavior the benefit of the doubt. The frivolous mass of peop. will smirk every time they see you standing there once again, having a conversation with a poor person; and if, perhaps with the assistance of the press (which of course labors for the welfare of the simple classes!), this comes to be common knowledge about you, it will perhaps end with your being insulted by the rabble. Shrewd people who strive for finite ends will regard you as mad, not so much because you give away your money like this as because you lose people’s respect in doing so, for of course poor people do not always have the tact to avoid occasionally pu�ing you into awkward situations. And people of the finer sort, who do have a somewhat deeper understanding of things, will discover at a glance what is wrong with the situation and will quickly avert their gaze so as to avoid seeing you and then walk by, with the full support of worldly honor and respect, the object of veneration by the astonished crowd. And this sort of fine person will be capable of weeping on Sunday, when he preaches about mercy. He will explain emphatically that Xnty does not establish a separation, as if we were only to be holy on Sundays―no, Xnty

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must penetrate our entire lives, also the weekdays. And if tomorrow you were to consult him about what you should do in one or another situation―well, let’s not even say what he would advise you to do. And he would not blush in doing it, for he is no hypocrite; he is merely a sentimental windbag who edifyingly amuses himself and the congregation on Sundays with the diversion of these lo�y feelings, while on Mondays it quite literally does not occur to him to think of what he himself said the day before. I have seen this, and however much I can sometimes be disgusted with existence when I think of it, I am comforted by one thing, that by having seen this―and by having seen it, as I have seen it, close at hand―I am learning to understand Xnty. For fortunately things have happened like this for me in many respects. I have experienced something, a situation, and have pondered and reasoned about it―and then only a�erward do I arrive at the thought: But of course, this is what Xnty teaches. Most people go in the reverse direction, they recite the teachings of Xnty and take no notice of how they themselves behave or of how things are in the world. With me things are different: If I may say so myself, I pay extraordinary a�ention to the way things are in the world, experiencing that this is how things are―and only then do I come to consider, Yes, this is of course precisely the shape of things as taught by Xnty.

In the deeper sense, however, no one can rlly learn from the past, no ma�er how lively the fashion in which he knows how to immerse himself in it, because it is the past and therefore can only be understood through the imagination. But imagination and the medium of the imagination is a medium of the ideal and therefore is certainly capable of expressing what is great and splendid, but it cannot express the wretchedness of actuality except on a very foreshortened scale. But the point of the suffering that must be endured by the good person consists precisely in the sensuous character of actuality, time, and worldliness, or in the lower actuality. Thus in a certain sense one can say that Governance has carefully arranged it so that there can be actual suffering, in earnest, for each individual. If, in one’s imagination, one were totally, fully able to anticipate actuality and could, by means of such a movement in the imagination, come to know and develop

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oneself, etc. just as fully as one could in actuality, one would rlly have to say that actuality is superfluous, that God, if I dare say so, has behaved oddly. But that is not how things are. No, things happen differently. For example, now, in the year 1848, there lives a youth, an intelligent youth. He has imagination and ideality enough to be seized by what is great―he does this as vividly and as a�entively as is possible for the imagination― by everything that greatness must suffer in the world. This image then takes hold of his soul; he will not let it go; he himself wants to be it. Good. Now Governance catches him and now it becomes in earnest. Drawn by this image, trusting in God, he ventures so far out that he himself is now situated in actuality. Now actuality asserts its power. To suffer, even if it were only for one actual year, is quite a remarkably longer time than what can be depicted by the imagination. To be the superior one, but nonetheless to have to live in actuality with all these actual peop. who would prefer to regard one as mad: this is earnestness. In the imagination (that is, in relation to the past) the notion of superiority is so highly developed that it simply cannot be expressed in the imagination that these actual peop. regarded the superior one as mad. The imagination cannot reproduce this actual pressure of this finitude. Think, e.g., of Socrates. In the view held by the imagination, he is someone so infinitely superior that all these peop. among whom he lives become a sort of joke―that is, it is so infinitely easy. But in actuality it was different. Socrates suffered intensely under it. Ideality consists precisely in the contradiction of being in actuality. Only in the medium of ideality can a hum. being be so ideal that he is ideal at every moment; in actuality this is impossible. The consequence of this is that actuality has power over him. If the power it has over him is superior to his own power, then he is not great; but the power it has over him is the suffering.

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The person who is unable to seduce people, is not able to save them, either. This is in accordance with the category of reflection.

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(Mt 5:7) and said: Surely, either this is not true or we are not Christians. see Arndt. 2nd bk ch. 5, §2.

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For the person who is put to death because he wants to seduce the people is not, a�er all, a martyr, but only the one who is put to death because he wants to guide them or save them, when he also could have seduced them, for otherwise his wanting to do this is perhaps a conceited notion without any foundation, an impotent thought, etc.

Oh, but there is something very exhausting in this contradiction: I reflect with great concern on the question of whether it is actually permissible for me to earn money with my work, perhaps guaranteeing myself a steady income, which would reassure me just now―I reflect on this with great concern because I certainly understand that at the very moment I did that, my activity as an author and my work in general would be undermined, because I would have promoted a trivial definition of earnestness, of being regarded as an earnest man―who earns money, who is read more widely and quoted more frequently. And why? Because now I have become earnest, i.e., I am earning money. But now to the contradiction. Can there be any doubt that to work and to renounce any gain or worldly advantage is unselfishness[?] Thus I am to be judged, punished si placet because I am unselfish. This is Xnty. The secret is that the court that passes judgment is of course hum. beings. But would it ever occur to anyone that everyone, or that the majority of people, were unselfish[?] But if they are selfish, then of course they are also consistent enough to praise their own greediness as the good. For could it ever occur to anyone that everyone, or that the majority of people, at any given time were so honest that they straightforwardly admi�ed to being selfish[?] Oh, no, if he honestly admi�ed to himself that it is shabbiness―even that would be a very, very rare sort of lo�iness and also a dangerous companion for selfishness, because

26 si placet] Latin, if you please.

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then he himself of course rlly has no pleasure from the profits of selfishness. One sees how sin and lies go together. But it is exhausting. For what is worldly in a person naturally wishes very much that a person would take the profits of worldliness―and then be honored, respected, well-liked. For a man who says that he is now considering seeking a new position, but that it depends on its actually paying 200 more rd. than the previous position, and also on whether a fee of 50 rd. can be waived: he is not merely an earnest man―yes, indeed, when the parents tell the children that he visited them yesterday, they say, That is an earnest man. But he is also an interesting man, one can learn from him and from what occupies him. Such a man―the parents tell the children―such a man should be your exemplar. This is what the parents say on weekdays―for of course the children go to the priest, and on Sundays he talks of the lo�y virtues, etc.: that’s what he says on Sundays. And look, it is one and the same man, it is the priest. A wonderful task to be a child with guidance of this sort. But here again is an example of the difference betw. ideality and actuality. In this presentation it is even comical how ideality liberates itself so easily from such a priest, so that every youth must think like this: Of course a person can do this. But in the life of actuality (year a�er year of personal acquaintance, many sorts of contact) this sort of reverend or right reverend exerts pressure, so that what becomes earnestness―alas, what becomes earnestness―is that he is the earnest one and you are the fantast; contemporaries are all of the same opinion and lend weight to that judgment. And if there was someone who stood on your side and saw the way things in fact really were―he, too, who, it is true, has learned how to speak the truth quite a bit more accurately than it had been said before, he, too, will indeed adhere to earnestness―alas, and thus he does irreparable damage. There are only two acceptable forms. The first is to be truly unselfish, sacrificing, etc. The second is to be at least honest, confessing to others with real feeling that one is selfish but does not feel strong enough entirely to let go of worldly things. Ah, and such a priest would also be able to be of great benefit. A priest who proclaimed audibly: My entire position, the fact that I have a living, my civil-servant character or my character as a civil servant are fundamentally something false; this I a�est to audibly and solemnly: All this is not Xnty at all. But eh bien I am clinging to what is worldly.

41 eh bien] French, oh well.

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But people approve of youthfulness for a number of years. Then a person is to become earnest: i.e., look a�er money and finite things. People do not notice that just as the childlike is what is highest when it appears for the second time (to become a child again), so, too, when what is youthful and the recklessness of youth appear for the second time, they are what is highest―indeed, eternally understood, this is the only sort of earnestness. Temporality cannot know what earnestness is, for earnestness is of course the relation to what is eternal―and in earnest, i.e., recklessly, absolutely.

If other peop. were as financially independent and had also been brought up by the ideal, as I have been, they would also be be�er able to understand my concern and doubt about whether earning money, far from being earnestness, might not rlly be a sort of nefas, a degradation that one ought in all cases avoid for as long as possible. Then people would be�er be able to understand my doubts about whether the turn one makes in order to protect oneself in pecuniary ma�ers is not rlly a turn away from God―about the point at which one dares to say, Now I have to make this turn, now it is permi�ed for me to do so, now I have sacrificed enough. And if the others were developed sufficiently in this respect, perhaps, I would also be able, with the help of others, to have an easier time judging whether these thoughts of mine are whims or pride or the like. As the situation is now, it is not so good to speak with anyone about things of this sort, for he would immediately side with the worldliness in me, and it is therefore almost be�er for me to preserve my misgivings, so that there is at least one individual who has them.

When in connection with the gospel reading about the lost sheep Luther says that this is also how it is with a mothera “when a child is sick: then for quite a while it looks as if she loves only the sick child”―this is rlly to misinterpret the gospel. For in reality a mother of course loves her other children nonetheless, and it is rlly only an illusion that she loves only the sick child. But

17 nefas] Latin, ungodliness, sin.

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who has many children

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indeed God’s relationship to the sinner whom he loves is surely not like this―he does not in fact love the 99 righteous ones equally as much.

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Perhaps it would be best to publish all 4 of the most recent books (The Sickness unto Death; Come unto Me; Blessed Is He Who Is Not Offended; Armed Neutrality) in one volume under the title 1

[a]

Perhaps rather: Consummation’s Complete Works

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From on High He Will Draw All to Himself. The three—[“]Come unto Me[”]; [“]Blessed Is He Who Is Not Offended[”]; [“]From on High[”]— would then get a separate title page: A�empt to Introduce Xnty in Xndom; but at the foot of the title page [“]Poetic A�empt—Without Authority.[”]

Fulfillment’s Complete Works. so that The Sickness a�er Death came first, as Part 1. The 2nd part would be called [“]‘A�empt’ at Introducing Xnty into Xndom” and at the foot of the page: [“]Poetical―Without Authority[”]. This is where the two―Come unto Me and Blessed Is He Who Is Not Offended―will be placed as subdivisions. Perhaps there could also be a third one, the one I’m now writing,b but in that case discourse No. 1 would have to become a sort of introduction that was not counted as one of the parts. And then it should be concluded.

Arndt, 2[nd] vol. ch. 8, § 2: Denn wie Dich Go� findet (that is, in death) so wird er Dich richten. The notion of the orthodox that one remained forever in the condition in which one was found at death. From this, their terrific fear of dying and their attempts to try out dying or to experience in advance the situation of death.

24 Denn wie … Dich richten] German, For as God finds you, […] so will he judge you.

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Should there be any talk to the effect that at this moment I have gone a bit too far out (that is, I haven’t yet gone so far out; it is still within my power to turn aside, but I am considering the possibility of going that far out), then it would concern the necessity of suffering, of going down to defeat, i.e., that I do not keep things suspended, leaving to an uncertain decision the question of whether I perhaps might not be able to win or at least emerge from the situation somehow, etc. The fact is this: the ideal must necessarily suffer, perish, be a sacrifice in this world. Here this is absolutely necessary, for in relation to the ideal the circumstances of existence can be calculated absolutely dialectically. But no hum. being is pure ideality or the ideal, and naturally I am not that in any sense. Precisely for this reason there have been the various possible outcomes for me with respect to the result of my efforts, but clearly this is no perfection on my part; it is my imperfection. Moreover, neither does the ideal do anything in order that it come to suffer, because its suffering necessarily comes from the fact that it is the ideal―and that it must be in the world of reality. On the other hand, if an individual hum. being, who is not the ideal, were to think that he should do (i.e., venture) nothing whatsoever in order to come to suffer, perhaps in order not to tempt God―then in the final analysis existence cannot get hold of him, that is, cannot test him in spiritual trial, for spiritual trial is precisely voluntary suffering, or the suffering concerning whether one hasn’t ventured too much.

If I lived in a strictly religious age, as when in olden days people recognized that Xnty means― that the whole of this earthly life must be suffering: then it would be easier for me to find out whether, a�er all, there wasn’t a bit of self-torment in my religiosity. But I cannot find any help in this worldly, carefree state in which Xndom now lives, for when worse comes to worst, a bit of self-torment is far

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This, however, is something absolutely certain and true: that if a hum. being earnestly wanted to obey the words [“]Do unto others as you would have them do unto you[”]; that if, in the Godrelationship, God weighed on a pers. so powerfully that, having only God before his eyes, he became blind to all considerations and obeyed those words: then, at a minimum, his contemporaries would burst into laughter. For worldly wisdom is always relativity; in charity I must also be relative, take considerations into account, make distinctions between a person of rank and a humbler person and a beggar, etc., and adjust my charity in accordance with this relativity. If I neglect this relativity, then the comical appears. And then no one will care that I do it out of fear of God. It is absolutely, absolutely impossible for a Christian not to make himself ridiculous. For what is more ridiculous than the absolute in this world, which is the world of relativity (here, a dialectically exact categorial definition); but the true Xn fears God absolutely. He dares not be satisfied with expressing, relatively, that he finds a certain relative likeness betw. himself and a poor pers.; no, he expresses what is indeed the truth before God: absolute equality. And then it is absolutely impossible to avoid the world’s laughter. And aesthetically, the world is completely justified in this laughter; it is quite consonant with the rules of aesthetics. Here again, as everywhere, this―How wicked the world is nowadays!―is nothing I hit upon and perhaps make a fuss about. No, it was like this in the year 1, and the year 335, and the year 1848, and the year 10,008 will be just the same.

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Take a child whom people have not corrupted with nonsense and with rote learning about Christ’s crucifixion. Take such a child and place before the child various pictures, a man on horseback wearing a three-cornered hat, etc., Alexander, Napoleon, and the like. Then, among them place a picture of the crucified one. Then, with this picture, as with each of the others, the child will ask, Who is this? Say to the child, This was the most loving person who ever lived. Then the child will ask, But who killed him, and why did they kill him?

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Oh, even when one gets older, one preserves something childlike: In walking past a shop that has Nuremberg pictures in the window, how a person can be gripped by seeing this picture among the others. 5

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Then, a�er many centuries, there came times when people paid enormous sums to obtain a li�le piece of the cross to which he was nailed. And if it had been possible―this impossibility, that somewhere in Judaea, perhaps on a less- traveled path across a field, or the like, there was an actual footprint from him―what would people not have given to own that li�le bit of earth, in order actually to place one’s foot in his actual footprint[?]

Arndt 2[nd] vol. ch. 9, §2: Ein Jeder sehe auf sich selbst, und bessere einen, so werden wir alle gebessert. It is extremely well put, and yet entirely en passant.

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Lines spoken by a poetic individual. Granted―something of which I remain convinced―that eternity is too earnest for people there to laugh, then it seems that there must be an intermediate state in which one was permi�ed to laugh out loud. For the person who discovers the comical precisely by means of enormous efforts and great sacrifice, for him there is rlly no opportunity to laugh out loud here in life, for he is too exhausted and worried to do so. But thus it seems that an intermediate state may be supposed. And one also supposes that pious pagans, e.g., Socrates, will also be present in this intermediate state.

There is, a�er all, something remarkable in the thought that weeping is supposedly an invention of divinity―laughter, that of the devil. It is quite certain that if I were, or when I were, to consider absolute earnestness purely ideally, there would be nothing to laugh at, for that earnestness would always take ethical aim at 14 Ein Jeder … alle gebessert] German, Each one looks at himself and

improves himself, then we will all be improved.

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a pers., and thus not find anything at which to laugh, but something at which to weep. And it is also remarkable that the world manifestly tends in the direction of the comical, toward the greater and greater development of laughter, which in every respect is connected to the world’s regress. People nowhere come to a stop in pathos; they shrink back from nothing, but say, Let it go―and they find it comical. Human corruption is comical and people try to depict it comically. The demoralization of nations, all the insidious sickness of public life, all this wretchedness and deception and cunning, which merely surpasses itself with one new form of ingenuity a�er another―is depicted comically. (e.g., Scribe). This means that the view of life underlying it is despair: Everything is deception―so let us laugh. In a certain sense it recalls the era of drinking songs: Everything is wretchedness―so let us clink our glasses. But to laugh is a refinement. That a woman has loose morals is lamentable and of course immoral, but the woman who is capable of finding enjoyment in having loose morals comically understood has indeed sunk far lower.

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Though naturally there is an essential difference betw. a worldly craving for laughter and this need to laugh that has a purely aesthetic basis―and with respect to the peop. we laugh at, sometimes it’s simply because we don’t presume to judge them ethically (e.g., as hypocrites) and therefore prefer to explain the phenomenon aesthetically, as stupidity.

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In hum. terms, what is my problem? It is that I have too much modesty or inwardness―for in a sense they are one and the same thing, because modesty is what conditions the concealment of inwardness. I can well suffer a loss, and a noticeable loss―but I cannot cry out; I a�empt as much as possible to treat it as something insignificant. But the world demands impudence and is only all too dreadfully accustomed to it. This is especially the case with respect to money. The impudence with which nearly every pers. cries out that he needs support, that he is needy, is really frightful. The person who has modesty in this respect, who

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believes that this is precisely something he owes to his cause and his idea: he is eo ipso excluded. And fundamentally this is how it is with everything. I can well suffer, suffer deeply―but I cannot cry out, raise the alarm. I can see very well how a pers. is deceiving me, how shabbily a pers. sometimes misuses my generosity, but quarrel? No, I cannot, I am too modest for that. I cannot in any way keep from thinking that other peop. are as I am, and for me the thought of other people’s silence would be more than sufficient punishment.

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In order to be loved and well-thought-of, a hum. being must be very perfectible in a spiritless sense. For example, a person of that sort falls in love, but he does it at about the same time as his peers. People approve of that. Then he gets married―that’s good. Then his wife dies―people send their condolences. A year later people have naturally forgo�en this sorrow―and sure enough, he has forgo�en it, too. People approve of that, for even if he concealed his sorrow very deeply, if people suspected that he was secretly sorrowing, they would be annoyed―for there would almost be something a bit absolute in his feelings. Then he marries―people congratulate him. You see, this is a lovable man, full of triviality and nonsense exactly like the others―this is precisely what is lovable. But no ma�er how deeply it is concealed, peop. may still suspect that inwardness is there, which of course may happen in the absence of external circumstances―peop. do not love this; for them it is a thorn that would make life more strenuous. Momentary outbreaks and then platitudes tending toward action, lacking in character―this is what peop. love. A person ought to act as though he was inconsolable―it suits the sorrowing person so well. He must say, It will be the death of me, I will never love again―and then be married a year later. Then he will have done what is asked of him, he will have contributed to life’s amusements. But peop. shrink from the quiet uniformity of inwardness.

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Intellectual Lust The entire modern conception of clergy could be treated under this heading. People have complained so much about debauchery 2 eo ipso] Latin, by that very fact.

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in the monastery. Modernity is equally depraved and much more dangerous because in people’s eyes it is not as reprehensible as fornication. For it is not any specific lust, it is just straightforward worldliness for a shopkeeper, an artisan or tradesman, etc. to want to heap up money; for a lawyer, a doctor, etc., in short, for someone holding a worldly office, to seek worldly esteem. No, what is lustful, the debauchery, first turns up when a person in addition wants to be spiritual, when one wants to gorge on worldliness and get stuffed with holiness. All this moving people to tears, all this rapturous presenting and depicting how the truth has suffered in the world―when one is oneself worldly, it is lust. Oh, how true is the Old Testament expression that calls it whoring.

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What shabby deceit in sermonizing! They say that Christ did not go out into the desert or into a monastery, he remained in the world: ergo … yes, in saying this people believe they have defended all the infinite amount of worldliness in which the clergy live. No, wait. Undeniably, Xt did not go out into the desert or into a monastery―for him, that would have been a relief. He remained in the world―but he certainly did not do so in order to become a councillor of justice, a member of a knightly order, an honorary member of or one or another society, but in order to suffer. That was the profit he had from being out in the world, and he would certainly have avoided that profit by entering a monastery. Naturally, this is the sort of thing the congregation hears with u�er delight―the whole business is worldliness, and the only remarkable thing is God’s forbearance, that the scoundrel of a priest does not suddenly have a stroke in the pulpit. And, a�er all, he rlly ought to have it there, just before he takes off his gown in order to go over to the club.

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As children play war (in the security of the living room), so also does the whole of Christendom (or the priests, to the extent that they are actors) play Xnty. In the security of worldliness they play the game that the Xn gets persecuted (but there is no one persecuting him, the speaker), that the truth gets crucified (but he, the speaker, is already ranked among the councillors of

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justice). So the Middle Ages, with their godly comedies, were more honest.―For indeed, when I myself am living in security, then (with aesthetic accuracy) I should at most talk humorously about the truth being persecuted because, as for myself, people of course see that precisely the opposite is the case. Either what I am saying is a lie, or it is a lie that I am saying it―it is absolutely a contradiction, an extremely satirical contradiction.

Since the European catastrophe, has there rlly been any stronger a�ack on Xnty than previously? By no means. But previously all the priests said nothing, because at that time their livings were secure―then it was only Xnty that was betrayed, and who cares about that[?] Nowadays people are not a�acking Xnty (for that is not rlly what the rebellion of our times is doing) but clerical livings―and thus the clergy rise up. Quod erat demonstrandum.

Oh, but how dreadful, all this sentimentality about placing oneself beside Christ’s cross and viewing the world from there. People ought a�er all bear in mind that if this is done in earnest (and otherwise it is of course ungodly pandering) it must be in the situation of contemporaneity; but in that case one would scarcely have had the opportunity to sit for very long and view things, for in that case one additional cross would probably have been raised up―and then it would depend on whether a person felt in the mood to be an observer in the only true situation: to be oneself crucified alongside.

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I could be tempted to say that I have taken one examination more than have most people, although it is true that this examination is of a sort that some people who do not otherwise take examinations have subjected themselves to: I have allowed the inner intensity of my feelings to be examined by a woman. However much I myself suffered when I staked everything on that wish, and staked everything yet again when she asked me to do so, and staked everything yet again―I, who had to bear the responsibility and be the one who took action: I nonetheless had the strength to mitigate ma�ers for her by saying that I 15 Quod erat demonstrandum] Latin, Which was to be proved.

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was a scoundrel, a deceiver. Then a murder was placed on my conscience: it was said and repeated as solemnly as possible that it would be her death. Thus, this girl was the examiner. 1½ years later she was engaged again―since then I have scarcely spoken with any young girl, and no thought has been more alien to my soul than to want to fall in love again or even to think about it. If at times it has satisfied my anger to be like a sort of epigram on my contemporaries, here I have learned how mournful it is to be the epigram in this way.

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Only when a man disdains acting shrewdly, even if it would be very advantageous for him―disdains it just as fervently and in precisely the same way in which an earnest married man would disdain staring at every woman on the street: only then can one rlly speak of truly serving the good.

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Xt says: I myself have chosen them (the 12), and yet one of you will betray me. These words can be understood in different ways, but here it certainly seems as if there is a hint that the suffering is voluntary, that he himself has chosen the apostle who was to betray him.

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Oh, how frightful it is when for a moment I think of the dark background of my life, right from the earliest days. The anxiety with which my father filled my soul, his own frightful melancholia, the many things in this connection that I cannot even write down. I acquired such anxiety about Xnty, and yet I felt myself strongly drawn toward it. And then, later on, I suffered with Peter when he was morbidly seized by religiosity. As mentioned, it is frightful to think for a moment of this life that I have led in the most hidden inwardness, quite literally never a word spoken to one single hum. being, not even daring to write down the least li�le thing about it―and then, that I was able to cloak this life with such an outward existence of joie de vivre and merriment.

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How true, then, are those words that I have so o�en said of myself, that as Scheherazade saved her life by telling tales, I save my life or keep myself alive by producing.

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The miracle of the 5 loaves is indeed a beautiful commentary on the passage: Seek first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness, and all these things will be granted to you. It was in order to hear Xt that the people had waited so long―and then the rest was granted as well. But perhaps someone will say, One cannot wait for miracles, a�er all. To this I would answer, No, certainly not. But do you dare to measure your understanding and your imagination against God’s―that is, because your imagination does not extend far enough to discover possibilities, is God therefore not to have any possibilities[?] At every moment God has 100,000 possibilities without any of these possibilities being a miracle. But it is arbitrary for you to want to stop because you see no further possibilities. I cannot emphasize this enough. Just consider the relation betw. a more limited hum. being and a brilliantly gi�ed one. Perhaps there comes a moment when the more limited pers., who has confided in that brilliantly gi�ed one, says, No, now it’s over, no further help is possible. But by talking to the other person this limited pers. would discover to his embarrassment that he still has not a few possibilities. What is ungrateful and blameworthy is that this limited pers. breaks off and says, There is no possibility―instead of saying, I see no possibility.

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Perhaps someone will say, “But if your view of what it is to be a Xn is right, then there are as good as no Christians, or at most only as many as in the first generation―12.” To this I would reply, No, you do too much honor to my descriptive abilities or powers. I am not capable of summoning up something past so that it becomes entirely present in that way. But if anyone were capable of doing that, I think that the result would also be that becoming a Xn or being a Xn is as rare as in the first generation, or at any rate in the first generation a�er Xt’s death.

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[a]

Hum. compassion consists in reducing the requirement; div. compassion consists in formulating the requirement in such a way that it absolutely does not relate itself to the differences betw. one hum. being and another, but is something of which every hum. being is capable.

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If this same person were to go on to say, [“]So, then being a Xn is supposed to be so rare―that’s absurd.[”] Then I would reply, Why do you talk that way? Isn’t it because you want to impress me with the help of hum. compassion, which is of the opinion that the price must be lowered so that more or less everyone becomes a Xn[?] But if hum. compassion were the court that judges Xnty or the truth, how then, should one judge with respect to Xt: Why didn’t he lower the price[?] Or, not to speak of him, then, as for the apostles, Why did they not lower the price―but instead of lowering the price, raised the price as high as possible by permi�ing themselves to be put to death[?] No, Xnty is the absolute, and the absolute must get through. Even if 100 million defy or shout or scream, [“]We cannot[!”], the absolute must get through, not get reduced. And it will get through by permi�ing itself to be put to death. And it could very well be precisely this discipline that our times need in order to learn that there exists a must that will not be filed to an angle that pleases hum. beings, but absolutely will get through. That is what I would say. And when I had spoken thus, I would add: But in addition, I, too, am of course a hum. being, a poor, lowly hum. being. Nor, of course, do I pretend to be that sort of a Xn, and yet I trust that God in his grace will accept me as a Xn. But it is clear that there is one thing I will not do: I feel no need to go further than being a Xn. But when an entire generation dares to ignore Xnty as impudently as the most recent generation has done, wanting to go further, then it is high time that the ideal comes forth or is presented in order to pass judgment. And it is here that I believe my merit is to be found, or if not my merit then the rare gi� that has been granted me. I have won a victory. But it is not like when someone wins a ba�le against the Turks, and a year later maybe he or someone else will have to start all over again. No, the ba�le I have won is that I have succeeded in establishing the definitions of the categories related to being a Xn so firmly, in nailing them down so that no dialectician will be

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able to pry them loose. I have seen correctly that the resistance must come not from Xnty but from being a Xn; and then the concept of contemporaneity; and then the possibility of offense; and then the concept of faith at the top, as the highest of all concepts. But first, stringency (that of ideality), stringency, then gentleness. As much as anyone else, I myself need to be spoken to gently; my soul has a great tendency to speak gently―but in a time of confusion what is first must be done first, so that the gentleness does not become apathetic indulgence. And how strenuous, how enormously strenuous, this labor of presenting the ideal in this way has been is something I myself know best. This fear and trembling, this insomnia in venturing far out, losing sight of the whole of finitude, enduring it year a�er year at an ever greater pace: frightful. But praised be God, who has given me the strength for it. I have no right to jack up the price of being Xn in this way for a sorrowful pers.―and God knows how far it is from my temperament to do it. But I am permi�ed to do so when confronted by the impudence that wants to go further than being Xn―indeed, it is pleasing to God that it be done, and therefore it is granted to me to be able to do it. I have not joked about it, nor taken it in vain, nor pretended that I myself was the ideal Xn who was to judge others: no, first and foremost I have humbled myself under it. But it is certainly true that neither have I wanted―that is, dared―to take heed of a whining hum. compassion that doesn’t know anything at all.

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Being a Christian involves one in a double danger. First, all the sufferings of intense inwardness in becoming a Christian, of losing one’s understanding

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and being cruci�ed on the paradox.―Here is found Concluding Postscript, which presents this as ideally as possible. Then, the danger that a Christian must live in the world of worldliness and there express that he is a Christian. Here are found all the later works, which will culminate in what I have now lying ready, which could be published under the title Ful�llment’s Complete Works (see this journal, p. 21). When this has been done, then, with almost elemental force the question bursts forth, [“]But how could it occur to a human being to want to subject himself to all this[?”] [“]Why is he to be a Christian when it is so hard[?”] To this could be replied, �rst: Shut up, Christianity is the absolute―You shall. But in addition a second reply can be given: Because the consciousness of sin that is within him nowhere grants him rest, its pain makes him strong enough to bear everything else if only he can �nd reconciliation. This means: so deep must the pain of sin be within a human being. Therefore it must be presented, as it is, as being so dif�cult, so that it may become properly apparent that Xnty relates solely to the consciousness of sin. To want to involve oneself with becoming a Christian for any other reason is quite literally foolishness; and that is how it must be.

An example of a lack of reduplication in a situation. A speaker at a public meeting says: I am not courting any applause (universal applause!); I only want the truth (applause from the le�); I am walking straight ahead, looking neither to the right nor to the le� (applause from the right and the center), etc.

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This is the difference betw. Jewish and Christian piety: Christian piety is immediately aware that it is to suffer. We read the psalms of David: the entire struggle, supported by health in the immediate sense, that God will crush his enemies, ward off their a�acks, etc.―this is not rlly Christian piety. This is how the natural hum. being behaves, but the Xn of course knows that to be a Xn is to suffer and therefore relates himself at once to the suffering, occupied solely with suffering in the way that is truly well-

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pleasing to God. At the most, the biblical words are included in what is said: If it is possible that I could be spared this―but this thought is without force.

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Some Sunday it could perhaps have quite an awakening effect―and also prod the observational a�itude―to choose a morning hymn that simply speaks about this day, today, and starting from there, to make some inroads so that―instead of the observational a�itude, which speaks of these lo�y truths―what ma�ers is precisely to pray for this day, today―instead of the observational a�itude, which gazes out over all of world history and time―to pray for this day, today. And inasmuch as family devotions in the home have presumably fallen into complete disuse, once to use a Sunday in this manner.

That what is truly Xn, the true Christian, must become a sacrifice in the world can easily be seen from the way in which in their daily lives, on weekdays, absolutely everyone talks about how things are going and about what must happen and ought to happen in practical life. The part about practical life is what is decisive. People think that feelings like those of a Juliet and a Romeo belong in the theater―in practical life one marries 3 times. Similarly, people also believe that the Christian requirements concerning existence belong in the pulpit―but in practical life they are madness. Yes, to be sure. But now, what is Xnty? Xnty is of course precisely these requirements carried out in practical life: ergo Xnty is madness. Xnty is that the ideal and the ideality are to be preserved in practical life. But it is unbelievable how unashamedly people speak of practical life. I can remember that Bishop Mynster once said to me, “Yes, you shall see, a�er you enter into practical life, it will surely disappear.” What? Oh, the ideality. And I would bet my life that at the moment M. said it, he meant it as sincerely as possible, it was what he truly believed in his heart of hearts―that is precisely the problem, especially if one thinks thus on Sundays.

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They say that the good gives strengths. This is also quite true, but these are very delicate and fragile strengths. Evil, on the other hand, gives robust strengths. Why else could it be that when someone has done the good and then suffers, he suffers much more―unless it is because the good has made him delicate and fragile in a noble sense[?] You can test this on yourself. When you have done something wrong, evil will at once help you by giving you strengths, for the fact is that now you must pull yourself together, precisely because you are in the wrong. Compared to this, the good is weak. This is why despairing individuals who believe neither in God nor in eternity most o�en appear to be so strong in this life―they are entirely alien to the delicacy bestowed by eternity. Thus the correctness of the proverb: Weeds never die. It is equally certain that the good gives strengths, but it gives the sort of strengths that are not advantageous in the world.

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Alas, in the theater we all laugh at The Comrades, but in actuality we all laugh at the single individual, who literally will not be a part of any camaraderie. The person who will not do this will indeed miss out on all earthly and worldly advantages (money, honor, respect, etc.), and if he is someone who could easily a�ain these things if only he would get a couple of comrades to help him―well, isn’t it peculiar and ridiculous! God help us, for the moral the play conveys to peop., this wi�y familiarity with baseness, merely demoralizes them all the more.

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“Let Not the Heart in Sorrow Sin” Under this title I would like to write a pair of discourses, which treat what are, humanly speaking, the noblest and most beautiful forms of despair,a which “the poet” loves and which only Christianity dares to call sin, while from the hum. point of view the lives of such people are of infinitely more value than all the prosaic millions.

For what is the opposite of camaraderie[?] It is for oneself to will to be a single individual and to embrace the point of view of the single individual; and to put it into action consistently; unconditionally to establish one’s relationship to every other hum. being dialectically, in the idea; consistently to shield oneself from praise and recognition (as this so easily begets camaraderie) and to remain silent while under a�ack, so that they do not have the same effect. But now if, to the question of what, a�er all, he finds so odd and ridiculous about me, someone were to reply (assuming that he is not so beastly as to reply, Your thin legs and your trousers), he would have to reply, Precisely this. But Scribe, who knows nothing whatsoever concerning this ma�er, who even in a play in opposition to camaraderie, builds it up: he is admired. In actuality people cannot at all know and cannot at all see that in a manner which is much more thorough and ethical, I am the true existential opposite of this: no, they find me odd. They also said that about John the Baptist―which Mynster emphasizes so nicely in his discourse on him. But in life this would certainly be the last thing that Mynster would want to have said about himself: that he was odd. God knows, there is not the least thing in the whole of his [Mynster’s] existence that the worldly understanding could call odd: his existence is in the greatest conformity with that sort of understanding.

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unhappy love, grief over the death of someone beloved, sorrow over not having achieved one’s proper place in the world

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It is on such occasions that one so terrifyingly feels the pressure of being a hum. being―this contradiction: the ideal that is required of every individual hum. being, and then suddenly to see that a�er all one is merely like an animal.

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In his sermon on the gospel for the 10th Sunday a�er Trinity Sunday, Luther relates, following Josephus, that 90,000 Jews were led away from Jerusalem as captives, and that their price was so low that 30 of them sold for a penny. Thus one sees that there are cases in which the gospel’s assertion that we are worth more than sparrows does not hold up, for they sold at 2 or 3 for a penny. Though here it was of course also God’s punishment.

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Here we can see quite strikingly the contrast betw. Judaism and Christianity. Jewish piety always clings to what is earthly and actlly discovers a conformity of this sort: the more pious a person is, the be�er things will go for a person here on earth, one has a long life, etc. Thus a standard metaphor used by Jewish piety to describe ungodliness is: He shoots up like a tall tree, but in an instant it is over. Now I ask: Isn’t this, understood from a hum. point of view (if we refrain from lying by drawing on what we learned subsequently) a description of the life of Xt, a pers. who in three years shoots up so high that people want to proclaim him king, and then is crucified as a criminal[?] Judaism supposes the unity of the div. and this life―Xnty supposes discord. The life of the true Xn will be formed precisely in accordance with the paradigm that for the Jews was the paradigm for the ungodly.

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This, too, is a part of the world’s shabbiness: that when a person bears suffering in Christian self-denial, all those who out of cowardice and cunning refrained from coming to his aid take credit for it, as if they had nothing for which to reproach themselves. As I have shown, meekness makes the guilt of other people less, but it does not follow from this

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that the meek person does not see all their cowardice and wretchedness very well. And from a Christian point of view care must also be taken that the wrong be uncovered. Otherwise, of course, a meek person merely confirms the world in its evil, and the world could never find a be�er concealment than the meekness of the meek.

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Arndt 2nd bk ch. 20 §5. When we pray we should forget everything else―on the other hand, when one does other, external things, one must not cling to them with all one’s mind, but be distracted.

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The gospel about the Pharisee and the publican. Luther’s sermon. Luther rightly says that God’s judgment that, in contrast to the other, the publican went home justified, is not only at odds with reason but is offensive, i.e., it must be so to the hum. understanding, the worldly mindset. Luther admires the publican because in his prayer he combined such contradictory words as: me― sinner―merciful. But he is wrong in thinking that the publican must have heard the gospel; prayers of this sort are of course o�en found in David. With respect to sin, he rightly informs us that at first evil entices as if it were nothing, and then, a�er one has permi�ed oneself to be enticed, it terrifies. Therefore I, too, have remarked elsewhere that the repentance that comes the second time is true repentance.

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Mynster’s entire sermon about Xt’s relationship with his friends is indeed a tissue of lies. To call this relationship of Xt [“]friendship,[”] and on this basis

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to preach about making friends! Can anything more polemical be imagined than having to sort through one’s entire age in order finally to find a few people from the simplest class[?] If instead of having become what he is―perhaps with the help of friendship―Mynster had followed Xt’s example and clung so firmly to the truth that his relationship to all who might have been called his peers became polemical, so that he finally found a journeyman shoemaker and journeyman tailor who became his closest friends: would Bishop M. have laughed himself sick over that friendship[?]

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For example, Moses, he who could not speak, could not grasp what was going to happen to him; he said, No, send someone else.

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Blosius Consolatio Pusillanimium p. 381 “Satis rogat, qui morbum (sin) agnoscit; vehementer rogat, qui plorat et con�dit.”

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See, there we have Bishop Mynster. In the sermon on John t. Baptist (it is undoubtedly that one or the one about the power of prayer or 1 of the first 5 in the first group of sermons) he says that one must consider before God what one chooses as one’s task and work, “and as for what you cannot understand concerning how things will turn out for you, you can be certain that this is not your task.” In this way there is therefore no room for genuine religiousness: to venture, trusting in God. It becomes a pure and simple deliberation of the understanding, but there is nothing of religious action in it. One uses one’s bit of understanding and perhaps adds God’s name to it in elegant fashion, or God’s name for the sake of elegance.

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In the situation of contemporaneity they rlly would not have judged Judas very unfavorably.

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15 Satis rogat … et confidit] Latin, He who acknowledges that [sin] is a sickness prays a great deal; he who weeps and has faith prays urgently.

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The business about the 30 shekels would not have been emphasized very much. They would have said, How much or how li�le has nothing to do with the ma�er. But they would have emphasized that Xt had of course fundamentally deceived Judas, disappointed his expectations―therefore it was proper that he avenge himself, and as far as that goes, he could certainly have refused to accept the 30 shekels that the high priest had probably pressed on him more because he did not exactly want him as a coconspirator and ally.

How strange, indeed, is the view of the moment and the view taken by history. To a certain degree, it was of course cowardice for peop. to say that The Corsair was nothing, but although that was not in fact the case, most peop. also honestly believe that The Corsair will soon be forgo�en; all the other papers look down on it in this respect and console themselves that they are a part of history. Well, if I were to voice my opinion to the contrary, people would account for it by my supposed irritability. And yet sie irren. We are living the history of Denmark’s disintegration―and The Corsair is an absolutely normal phenomenon of one tendency, the March Ministry of another. But The Corsair has a longer life and has enormous coverage. It had a certain significance, namely in the area of evil―and to history it is in a certain sense a ma�er of indifference whether it is good or evil, as long as it is significant and is carried off with talent, consistency, and daring. To a certain extent this has been understood by The Corsair itself, and thus its a�empt at being a sort of moral undertaking, using ethical satire for the benefit of the good (a la Aristophanes). In my view it was very important to have exposed this as a lie, and I succeeded in doing so. But on the other hand, as opposed to most of his contemporaries, Goldschmidt was right; for insofar as the question was one of talent, their putative disregard was untrue, an a�empt to lie their way into being 23 sie irren] German, they err.

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able to overlook his talent because he misused it. In my view it is very important for my entire historical position that it be carefully recorded that I regard the two articles quite unconditionally as a part of my entire existence as an author, which is why―as I contemplated doing earlier―I must see to ge�ing those two newspaper articles I have wri�en published in a separate li�le book.

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In Luther’s sermon on the gospel reading for the 12th Sunday a�er Trinity Sunday (Ephata) there are some good observations on faith in behalf of others, but also the usual dialectical unclarity when he says that it is only when we are able to add [“]It will surely happen[”] that it does in fact happen. For the fact is, of course, that every prayer must be made dialectical, but Luther wavers betw. the immed. and the dialectical definitions of faith.

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But there is a question as to whether orders of monks have not once again become necessary in order to get priests or peop. who live only to preach. It was truly an error that resulted from the Reformation and its entire political tendency, that because Luther married (in opposition to celibacy), marrying became almost a perfection. If not marrying is but properly understood, religion needs always to have unmarried people, especially in our time.

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If Christ came to the world now, he would perhaps not be put to death, but would be ridiculed. This is martyrdom in the age of reason. In the age of feeling and passion people were put to death.

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Mk 7:36. “Xt asked them not to talk about it, but indeed, the more he forbade them to do so, the more they proclaimed it.” Here one could reflect that Xt himself must of course have known this in advance, and this was why he forbade them to do it. In

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addition, this is one of those difficult cases, for one’s conscience can command someone to do it, while on the other hand one’s understanding, alas, can almost foresee that the opposite will happen. 5

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Humorous Lines. “Did you hear N. N. preach today?” “Yes, I did.” “What did you think of the sermon?” “Well, there were some really good things in it, for example the Lord’s Prayer.”

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Christ says: To him who loves me will I manifest myself. But that is true everywhere: that what is loved manifests itself to the one who loves it. The truth manifests itself to the person who loves it, etc. For we tend to think of the recipient as inactive and of that which manifests itself as communicating to him, but the relationship is that the recipient is the lover, and then the beloved becomes manifest to him, for he is himself transformed in the likeness of the beloved; and to become oneself what one understands is the only fundamental way to understand; and one understands only to the extent that one oneself becomes what one understands. Moreover, one sees here that to love and to know (‫ )ָידַע‬mean essentially the same thing, and just as to love means that the other becomes manifest, so does it also naturally mean that one becomes manifest oneself. The relationship is so inwardly intense (a [“]to be or not to be[”]) that all assurances etc. about loving and love are neither here nor there.

This is also a concealment people have invented, this dispute about whether a person preaches in high-flown or in simple language―that is, whether one uses fancier words that only a few understand, or simpler ones. No, simplicity is to do what one says; to act is to make simple; what I put into action is also simple, for otherwise it cannot be done. But on the other hand, to use simple language, and then not to do what one says, to speak

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of suffering degradation in simple words and to want elevation for oneself―this, too, is high-flown.

Lk 10:23. Blessed the eyes that see what you see. This is the passage that has always been misused by the pandering priests and a pandering Xndom in order to make Xt worldly, as though there were something to be seen in straightforward fashion. It is certainly a misuse, but let us see whether scripture has not done everything to hinder it. Xt said to the disciples in particular (He turned to the disciples in particular). Strangely enough, in the passages of the Sermon on the Mount where Xt speaks of what can be required of Xns, the priests are quite a�entive to the fact that it says that he was there addressing the disciples in particular. But here it is most convenient for the preachifying to overlook this. Thus, he said it to his disciples in particular. And the entire chapter makes this clear, for Xt complains about the apathy and ungodliness of the others, who saw nothing (12, 13, 14, 15). It is precisely in contrast to this, to this hum. apathy and sensuousness, that Jesus becomes aware of his infinite significance or his God-consciousness, and it is then that he says this to the disciples. That is, all this glory is only for faith.

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In the sermon on the gospel reading for the 13th Sunday a�er Trinity Sunday (the good Samaritan), Luther remarks that the scribe merely asks, [“]Who, then, is my neighbor[?”], not [“]Who, then, is my God[?”], for he imagined that in relation to God he had fulfilled the Law.

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Basically, a reformation that pushes the Bible aside would now have about as much validity as Luther’s removal of the pope. Preoccupation with the Bible has given rise to a religiosity of

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scholarship and legalism, sheer diversion. A sort of knowledge of this tendency has gradually penetrated down into the simplest class of people, so that no hum. being reads the Bible humanly any more. But thus it does irreparable damage; its presence is like a fortress of excuses and evasions, etc. with respect to existence, for there is always something one must look a�er first, and always this pretext that one must first have the doctrine in perf. form before one can begin to live―that is, one never gets around to the la�er. The Bible societies―this dim caricature of a mission, a society that just like all the others essentially carries out its activities with money and is busy distributing Bibles in a manner just as worldly as other companies are in their enterprises: the Bible societies have done irreparable damage. Xndom has long needed a religious hero who had the courage, in fear and trembling before God, to forbid people to read the Bible. This is something just as necessary as preaching against Xnty.

The abolition of moral guarantees in order to replace them with legal ones was an invention of conceited and suspicious human shrewdness; but it was also something else, an a�empt to abolish God or to make God into a moron who is both paltry enough to be satisfied, for his part, with moral guarantees and who is also the guarantor of all the moral guarantees.

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When one has come to know the world’s selfishness only all too well, its striving a�er its own advantage, etc., then one is not, a�er all, so sanguine as to think that one will emerge unscathed from any sort of collision with the egoism of others. But then one does permit oneself to hope that by being truly unselfish oneself, by renouncing all worldly advantages, one might nonetheless move peop. That was my hope. But no. There is a much deeper egoism, namely that in which peop.’s egoism gets incited precisely because they must concede that a person has this unselfishness and thereby a certain heterogeneity. So this is where the final form of persecution begins. This is what Xnty teaches, and this is what Xt and all true Xns have expressed. I admit that I had not imagined so vividly what I have now come to learn from experience.

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Basically I have been all too ideally brought up in this respect as well: I go along quite foolish in the thought that one should do everything to make peop. aware, the thought that every pers. is something tremendous, that not even one single one, let alone 1000, is to be wasted. Well, Good night! Basically, it is appalling, this objectivity with which most people know―as, indeed, their daily lives express―that there are thousands and thousands and thousands who simply go to waste, the prey of all cunning or cowardly demagogues―and no one says one word in opposition. Yes, basically peop. would roar with laughter if someone were seriously to say that it was a person’s (thus also his own) duty to make the world be�er. [“]Oh, Lord God,[”] people would say, [“]So you want to be a reformer―no, my friend, you are too li�le for that, etc., etc.[”] And yet (this is a new confusion) people would not have anything against a priest (i.e., someone who speaks in general terms) or a textbook saying that it is every hum. being’s responsibility to work for a be�er world. People are certainly willing to hear it said, preferably anonymously. But if someone―that is, an individual (for when action comes, the single individual comes)―wants to do it, people find it laughable. That is, people do not find it laughable to link x to the ideal, but they certainly do find it so to link a single hum. being to it; that is, people are at most willing to have what is highest spoken of, but if it is to be done, then it must be [done by] the single individual, and this they find laughable. Here one sees the deeper meaning of anonymity and sociality: they are for fending off the laughable things that an individual wants (i.e., to render impossible what is true). People find it excellent when an anonymous person speaks in the lo�iest tones about what is highest; people imagine that an anonymous person is more than an individual― at any rate people do not get the impression that an individual will do it. It is rlly appalling, the despair with which peop. regard the world as something abandoned once and for all and, as in fire, merely try to grab what they can and avoid the dangers. When one observes their actions, it can be seen that this is their view of the situation. In words and speech they are philosophers, optimists, who praise this, the best of worlds. But the Xn is precisely the opposite: he teaches that the world lies in evil, but despite that, he does not abandon it but risks

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everything in order to contribute what he can so that it might become be�er and that the good might come.

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In the whole of Mynster’s presentation of Xnty one notices that he has never existed in Christian fashion. Assisted by the hum. understanding, he has conducted his personal life with a sort of pagan integrity. What he preaches is a gold-plating that comes on Sundays and that he himself perhaps has in an observational moment. This is why in every one of his presentations there is always the possibility of an evasion, an indefinable something, to the effect that at other times and under other circumstances one behaves differently, etc. And therefore he rlly has something against a presentation of Christianity that depicts it so precisely that no evasion is possible. For a man who holds such a high position, and who is as acquainted with worldliness as he is, he surely has a great deal of religiosity, but nonetheless his entire existence is a sort of bargaining and haggling. He rightly censures those who give up everything because they must give up something, but the question is whether he himself has taken too lightly the ma�er of giving up. If Xndom is something true, then Bishop M. has defended Xnty; if Xndom is something false, then Bishop M. has contributed enormously to the abolition of Xnty.

What a change! In antiquity each play was usually performed only once; now they put on festival performances by subscription. That a play is now performed so many times rlly means that (in contrast to antiquity) interest has shi�ed from the poetry to other things: the production, the actor, finally to the scenery painter, the sets, the hairdresser, the tailor.

With my writings I hope to achieve this: to bequeath so accurate a depiction of Christianity and its relationship to the world that a noble-minded, inspired young person will be able to find in it a map of relationships that is as accurate as any topographical map produced by the most famous institutes. I have not had

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the assistance of such an author. The teachers of the ancient Church were lacking in one aspect: they did not know the world.

Thus the supreme power is impotence: how impotent it is that Xt is the only one who never received justice, for even his death was of course a good deed, and even for his murderers.

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This business about the congregation is also the situating of eternity within temporality. This can be seen right away from the medium. The congregation is in the medium of being, which implies growth and reassurance. The single individual is in the medium of becoming―and this earthly existence is the time of testing; therefore there is no congregation here.

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In this respect, too, as in everything, there is an infinite difference betw. her and myself. She wished, or at least had wished, to shine in the world―and I with my melancholia, and my melancholy view of suffering, and of having to suffer. For the time being she would probably have been pleased with her relationship with me, which perhaps at first would have satisfied her with respect to shining. But then, when it was to become earnest, either by my withdrawal into insignificance or by my navigating out into actual and Christian suffering, where no honor or respect are to be won: then she would easily have lost her good humor. And I―well, I would never have become myself.

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From the standpoint of immediacy, if one is to do combat in the world, one knows only one danger: whether one in fact has the strength with which to fight. Immediacy is unacquainted with the insidious danger that a person could be admired and enlisted in support of what he had wanted to combat. In immediacy there is thus a desire to polemicize; one does not know one’s own strength, has a notion that perhaps the opponent has greater strength: this is the entire drama of conflicts. How much more exhausting it is to fight when one has superiority and only has to

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deal with the opposition of spiritlessness in the sensory world of actuality, with the numerical.

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In finitude, the power of superiority is indeed powerlessness. Socrates had the power of superiority, therefore he was executed. Had he been like ordinary peop. he would have wept and blubbered in court, fla�ered the people, and then he would not have been condemned. Thus the strong person, who can bear lightly, smilingly, all the mistreatment of baseness, is for this very reason the powerless one. Were he the weak one he would have sympathy on his side, and then he would not come to suffer at all.

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And then, when I am dead, they will say, Yes, he was the extraord. one, we all agreed on that. And if a naïf (that is, an ironist) were to ask them: “But how could it be that he was mistreated like that and subjected to the persecution of the rabble?” I would answer him, Yes, my friend, that happened precisely because everyone agreed that I was the extraord. one. In the case of other people who were subjected to similar vulgarity, things soon blew over. Why? Because there were some people who did not regard them as in any way extraord. And those whom no one at all regarded as extraord. got off easiest of all. But precisely because they regarded me as such, and because they could not wear me down―rather, every one of my new achievements testified to this very fact―I thus had to be tormented by everyone and without ceasing, the victim of envy. Poor Denmark, from having had a great name as a European state, you have now sunk into insignificance, finally to being a market town―that’s all.

I have always known the advice shrewdness enjoins in connection with the entire rebellion of the rabble against me. I should have traveled abroad. That was rlly the concession that envy demanded of me. Had I done it, my shares would in fact have risen in value. But no one understands my reckoning―and, alas, I live in Christendom where of course we are all Xns―and my reckoning is quite simply Christianity. Blasphemy is certainly rather alien to

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my temperament, so I do not say that a pers. should imagine that he is Xt, but everyone should have him as his exemplar, and in this case suffering is the trump suit. Well, had I been someone who yearned for honor and respect, for which everyone yearns nowadays―then it probably would have been a faux pas for me to have taken so marked a step as that which I took, and the right thing would have been to have expatriated myself in order to win a new victory. What is exhausting, what is rlly the test, is every day, every day, with the help of what is most high, to have to endure the most wretched injuries, every day, with the help of what is most high, to have to endure being, as it were, u�erly superfluous. Therefore, the person who wants the approval of the crowd must always be shrewd in amassing sensational effects, in pu�ing on half-hour performances―because the mass of peop. has no notion of greatness that lasts any longer than that, it cannot endure longer than this. Therefore an expatriation with éclat and a return with something even greater. But my entire life as an author is an operation that has been systematically carried out, indeed, with perhaps ten times as much shrewdness as is possessed by the shrewd, systematically carried out in the opposite direction. I always take the wrong approach. I never appear at the time of year when there is excitement in the literary world. I always appear in huge volumes, never in such a manner as to provide the reader with a chance to show off by reading it aloud or that sort of thing, etc., etc. And this runs through everything, down to the most insignificant detail. A li�le theater piece about Mrs. Heiberg―yes, that could easily have become a li�le firecracker, but for safety’s sake it came out in the summer months, precisely at the time when no one cares to read theater pieces. It should have appeared at the beginning of the season, opening the season: well, no thanks. And in general I know more about these arts than anyone―but I disdain the use of them, indeed I make efforts to do the very opposite. For up to now I have always been in the minority, and I want to be in the minority. And I hope with God’s help that I will succeed in this until my final, blessed end―even though I am far from daring to say that my life resembles Xt’s (God forbid), it must not, on the other hand, be a satire on his life: that I was honored and respected because I spoke truth―and he who was the truth was crucified.

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Hum. beings never rlly get farther than going and talking about the good, about what one ought to do, but that there is so much to hinder it, etc.―and regard doing it as a ridiculous exaggeration.

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When the father of John the Baptist would not believea the prophecy that he would have a son in his old age, he was punished by being struck dumb―this is how doubt is to be treated: at that very moment it must be told, Hold your tongue. Furthermore, today while listening to Pastor Helveg I noticed something he also touched on: that if John the Baptist’s father had spoken, no one would have believed him, but that the very circumstance of his having been struck dumb was what was required in order to awaken a�ention and get people to believe that something extraord. had happened to him.

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Oh, but it is exhausting, and a school for patience, year a�er year, every single day, to be reminded so many times and almost everywhere of one and the same thing (now by a child, now by a shoemaker’s apprentice, a brewer’s boy, a university student, a burgher, etc., etc.): my poor thin legs. And then these collisions of reflection everywhere: that I am simultaneously to express that I am a sort of man respected by the people, etc., etc. And then that I am in fact so extraordly gi�ed that I can continue to produce―for were I a simple citizen, all this mistreatment would be unthinkable, people would have become bored with it in the course of a week. That is how excellence is recognized in the market town of Cph. Unselfish effort such as is unknown here, a talent without equal, a simple Christian willingness to be equal with everyone: qualities that, it seems to me, would have to move this li�le nation that I certainly do not put to shame: this is how it is rewarded. And how easy all this would be for me if only there were a few who could properly dance with me. But there is no one, they lack the courage to leap so high, and the stage is too small― therefore they all oppress me, for all are more or less complicit.

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because he doubted

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Even the single individual who at the beginning was most indignant has over the years become more or less deadened and finally comes to pass judgment on me. And why do I endure this, why haven’t I long since gone abroad? For the time being, I cannot do otherwise. Were I abroad, I believe I would repent of having traveled as unfaithfulness to my idea. I have to remain on the spot for as long as possible, in the faithful assurance that when I have endured, Governance will place emphasis on my life and will let all this serve to illuminate Xnty, in service to my cause, which I have the honor to serve.

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It is the case with almost all peop. that they go forth into life with one or another accidental aspect of their lives about which they say, That is just the way I am, I cannot do otherwise. To this Governance replies, So, you cannot do otherwise, that’s something I will certainly teach you. And then it begins working on them―and most peop. are ground down by life in this way. This is the mass of peop. in each generation. Then in each generation there comes a small contingent who stand so firmly on their [“]I cannot do otherwise[”] that they lose their minds. Finally, there are in each generation some very few who despite all the terrors of life stand more and more intensely and passionately on their [“]I cannot do otherwise.[”] They are the geniuses. Their [“]I cannot do otherwise[”] is an infinite thought, for if one were to cling so tightly to something finite, a pers. would lose his mind. And if he does not have character enough to endure it, he is ground down.

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There can be no doubt that Joh. Climacus is right in everything he says about the sentimentality of the so-called childlike Xnty. The festival of Christmas is rlly heresy―that is, as it is celebrated nowadays. It is linked to the enormous illusion of an established Xndom. How it consoles me (for I have long had a suspicion along these lines, but have not quite dared to express it) that the festival of Christmas did indeed only make its appearance in the 3rd and 4th cent.―and as a surrogate for a pagan festival.

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Infant baptism may very well continue, but confirmation must be postponed until the 25th year.

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Something on “Praying”

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The correct remark by the Ancients: that to pray is to breathe. Here one sees the stupidity of talking about a Why, for why do I breathe? Because I would otherwise die―so it is with praying. Nor by breathing do I intend to reshape the world, but merely to refresh my vitality and be renewed―that is how it is to pray in relation to God.

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It is of course to some extent in my power to put an end to all this nonsense around here―just a gesture and I can win peop. over. But I dare not do so. If help arrives it would make me happy, but I dare not do anything other than what I have always done: present my case clearly, distinctly, vividly, convincingly―but no private handshakes in order to have someone do something in my behalf.

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Even if one had a pair of seven-league boots, not everyone would be able to use them. The suddenness with which one was moved 7 leagues in a second would make this step an extremely serious step for which a person would scarcely have the courage. The hum. being is a�er all intended for the Almählige.

The removal of relative differences of time and space seems comic: e.g., if there were a railroad to Hirscholm and then a man who worked at the Exchequer, for example, went home in the middle of the day and came back to the office in the a�ernoon, all of which could be accomplished with the help of the railroad. 26 Almählige] German, gradual.

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What isolates one in being made a laughingstock is that it is of course not in the faintest sense a cause, but in the very strictest sense something purely personal. Thus in connection with such an a�ack it is impossible for others to join with one, which is possible when it is a cause.

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I cannot very well speak with anyone about my innermost self, for what cheers me up in so many ways is my trained eye for the historical perspective, which, in addition to my faith, is already able to see the justice of my cause. I cannot very well make anyone else intimate with all this―in a way it is none of their concern, and they could of course not share it with me.

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That it is the press that has demoralized states can also be seen from the following: Only a very cultured person is able to read newspapers without being harmed; in every generation there are always very few such cultured people, and of course these few hardly read newspapers anymore. But the mass reads newspapers, the mass for whom this food, unwholesome in itself, is absolutely the most unwholesome. One can see the same thing in another way. The means by which the press wants to have an effect is through diffusion, but diffusion is precisely the power of the lie, a sensuous power, like that of fists. One thinks of Goethe’s words: We have abolished the Devil and have go�en devils.

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Had I lived in a large country I would never have been in a position to illuminate Xnty and Christian suffering in the way I now do. In a large country I would have had an opposition that I would have had to acknowledge as something I had come to combat openly. Here in Denmark, from the very first moment, I easily saw that I was superior to everyone, that there was no question of any actual opposition. Thus, as a victor without hav-

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ing struck a blow, I have had to suffer the opposition of everything that is pe�y-minded and wretched. But this is precisely Christian suffering. When one really fights outwardly, it is a ba�le against actual entities, and inwardness never gets the peace needed to meditate, in a deeper sense, on its responsibility alone, before God. But Christian suffering is actlly neither more nor less than the suffering of responsibility solely and alone, for in the outward sense one is the victor even if one is spat upon.

One will get a profound insight into the Christianity of every age by looking at how it regards Judas. Abraham a St. Clara is naively convinced that he was the most dastardly of all villains, concerning whom one is only to say all imaginable evil―but not explain him. Daub becomes much too profoundly metaphysical.

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The only person I can say I envy is he, when he comes, whom I call my reader, who will be able to sit in peace and quiet and enjoy, purely intellectually, the infinitely comical drama that, by my existing there, I have had Copenhagen perform. Doubtless, I see the value of this drama be�er than he does, but I have had bi�er and loathsome experiences daily, as well as this additional misunderstanding: people did not even dare laugh along with me because they were suspicious and could not get it into their heads that in the midst of all this nonsense I could still have an eye for what is comical. From the point of view of poetry, it is of no interest―indeed, poetically, it is all wrong―that this drama was performed every single day, year a�er year. From the point of view of poetry, it must be abridged. And that is how it will be for my reader. On the other hand, the religious begins in and with the daily routine, and that is how I understand my life: for me, this infinitely comic drama is a martyrdom. But it is certain that were I not aware of myself as being under an infinite religious obligation, I could wish to travel to some isolated place and sit down and laugh and laugh―even though it would pain me that this Krähwinckel is my beloved native land, this prostituted city of residence of bourgeois philistinism, my beloved Copenhagen.

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[a]

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as in the Evangel. Hymn Bk. 573, 2nd verse: the li�le child on mother’s lap.

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The festival of Christmas as it is now celebrated in so-called Christendom is pure paganism, mythology. Its idea or thought is thus as follows: a child is what saves, or to become father and mother is life for a second time, something that purifies, ennobles. Life’s earnestnessc truly begins when one leaves a new generation a�er oneself and only then comes in a deeper sense to live in love for one’s offspring, with responsibility for their upbringing, etc. But this thought is not specifically Christian; it is pagan, sexual-psychical sentimentality. Here people have once again pushed the whole of Xnty a dialectical step backward. Jesus was born of a virgin, and thus―if we are going to speak of the festival of Christmas―is not related to marriage and the nursery and all the things that rlly gain Christmas favor with the mass of hum. beings, so that they regard it as the supreme Christian festival and become sentimental at the thought of becoming children again, which is understood to be dancing around the Christmas tree, wanting to play board games and eat pfeffernusse. No, the Christ child is related to the spiritual category of being a hum. being, and thus is not related to marriage, father, mother, child, but to every individual hum. being qua spirit.

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In relation to the whole of my times, things will probably go for me as they did with my engagement and, before that, with my father and at every decisive point in my life. A young girl says a word to me, a word that is not of great significance to her (for she was not very developed religiously)―and she produces an enormous effect, though she hasn’t the faintest notion of this, and marries again. In the same way, the times have doubtless imagined that they could joke with me a li�le bit. They don’t realize that, given my imagination and given that I was brought up to follow orders religiously, to the le�er,

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the ma�er becomes something entirely different. The same thing will happen with the times as happened with that girl: suddenly they will discover what they have set in motion, and only later will they rlly come to regret it.

It is not unthinkable that―precisely in order to show the disciples that his kingdom was not of this world and to show them how close at hand the confusion could lie―in earlier conversations Christ had shown them that with a single gesture he could make everything into an earthly kingdom and himself into an earthly messiah. He would thus have used this as an occasion to warn them about the manner in which they proclaimed his teachings, for what is rlly decisive is always in the second time, in the manner in which what is true is spoken, in the reduplication of existing and acting. One can, for example, proclaim a kingdom that is not of this world and fail to take care that the whole thing not become worldly by the manner in which one proclaims it. But as mentioned, perhaps in earlier conversations Christ has shown the disciples how close the one thing lies to the other, so that only one li�le push was needed in order to make everything worldly. And perhaps this was what moved Judas to betray him, in order with this li�le push to force him to give the ma�er a different direction. Or, another interpretation: Judas was a skeptic who was suspicious and could not quite believe in Xt’s holiness, but had a worldly-wise suspicion that there must, a�er all, be some ambition concealed beneath it. So he risks an experiment in order to expose the supposed ambition, in no way considering that the catastrophe would be so frightful. Thus his words: I have betrayed innocent blood. For indeed there is something in these words that makes it seem as if it is only now that he has truly satisfied

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himself that Xt was the pure one. And how so? Well, now Xt had passed the test and had remained true to himself. In general, Judas must be understood much more profoundly than as a mere villain. He, too, was of course included when Xt says, I have chosen them myself. And the entire situation, rather than the immediate impression of it, must be much more actual.

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In everyday, worldly life one can scarcely get by if one isn’t a councillor of justice or a member of a knightly order. But one gets paid back, for example by being made a saint a�er one’s death. True enough, the age of saints is past; no more are being created; but Protestantism in particular has actually come all too much into conformity with worldliness to be able to do this without having it sound satirical. For example, someone who in life had been a councillor of justice, a Knight of the Dannebrog, the father of 5 children, two boys and 3 girls, one of whom had married Mayor Marcussen, another of whom married chandler Nielsen, the third unmarried, one son married to the divorced wife of the merchant Jespersen, etc., etc.: this Geschichte would be a total satire. A saint’s existence requires a significant degree of heterogeneity during the saint’s life. But from this one sees, in a way, how shabby “actuality” is: by having involved oneself with it one becomes ludicrous to the next generation.

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The error of the Pharisee (the Pharisee and the publican) is not at all that he feels himself superior; it is true that, humanly speaking, he is superior to the publican. But the error is that he does it in God’s house, before God. In my dealings with human beings it can easily be an exaggerated and pusillanimous fear and trembling for me to use God’s criterion; there I speak as a hum. being. And when others obviously are merely seeking worldly advantage, doing so impudently, with the appearance of doing good, then I say, [“]No, I do not, a�er all, do that―I am, a�er all, be�er than that.[”] But I do not have the cheek to come to God with such nonsense.

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19 Geschichte] German, history, story, tale.

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In these times the priests are busy talking about equality. But they do say: There must be some differences betw. one hum. being and another. This means: The difference that constitutes my (the speaker’s) station is not so great; it is another ma�er with (here follows one of the greater differences that the priest does not think will be his lot). Rubbish, rubbish, rubbish!

A dreadful misproportion! Scripture says that in eternity a hum. being is to give God an accounting for every careless word he has spoken―and still it is one’s final consolation that at least in eternity one will be free of newspapers. Just think. The accounting.

True enough, I suffer treatment so villainous that it is rarely encountered by anyone, for I suffer it daily, and it comes not so much from people misunderstanding me as from their envying me. And therefore it can never come to an end, because envy always craves this satisfaction. As Aristides was exiled because he was just, so am I mistreated by the rabble―to the delight of respectable people, the middle class, the bourgeoisie, etc.―because, as they know in their hearts, I am extraordinary. This is precisely the seat of the villainy and the arbitrary lust for demoralization that is symptomatic of a state of disintegration. But, look, this is repaid, because few, very few authors are as fortunate in their historical situations as I am. This li�le country is my misfortune, but it is repaid. Denmark is still so small that it is only intended for one person. Sure enough, I have been that one person from the minute I started out as an author with Either/Or; and it is the disintegration of Denmark; and I have seen it right from the beginning, so that the whole of my literary productivity is rlly related to it. Look, this is rare good fortune of which one can only partake a�er having endured all the suffering and mistreatment that is a consequence of living in so small a country. But then comes the good fortune: that one does not become a single author on the list of the country’s contemporary literature, but someone who takes a small country along with him. Essentially no literature has been published since I started out with Either/Or. Heiberg stopped. The Stories of Everyday Life

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stopped. Blicher wrote nothing more. Oehlenschläger only insignificant things. And so on in every direction. No books have been published, and all the renowned figures we have are older and not a part of the disintegration of Denmark. Here I sit, having produced, in the course of 5 years, a productivity such as Denmark has not had―and never in prose. If I were to say this to those who are now alive, they would be furious, they would perhaps put me to death―perhaps. It doesn’t help, I’m quite certain that by pu�ing me to death they merely prolong my life in history. Look, here is a boundary, and you thousands of actual peop. who either have taken part in the mistreatment or have quietly delighted in it, how impotent you are[!]

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Example of a climax that is complete gibberish. Alas, and the speaker was Bishop Mynster, on the day a�er Christmas. He strikes a pose full of terror and says, “If the time confronting us is that of apostasy” (splendid, that is precisely the secret―but as we will see, for M. it is merely the simple use of a biblical term) “then I nonetheless will remain faithful to you (Xt)” (almost too proud, but grand―if it is something other than a turn of phrase) “and I hope that the whole of this li�le people, praised by history as a Christian people, will remain faithful to you”― Good night, Ole, the money is in the window. For apropos of what we spoke of at the beginning, “apostasy,” is this mærkvürdige apostasy: that everyone will remain faithful. Phooey!

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Conditions are so wretched here in Denmark that if I were now to publish, all at once, everything that God has permi�ed me to finish, I would be positively laughed out of court and accosted by every bully on the street. And if someone were to say to them, [“]But is it something bad he has wri�en[?”] they would surely reply, [“]No, not at all, even though we have not read a word of it, we rlly have no doubt that it is something extraordin., but a�er all, it is so enormously funny to see such a literature here in Denmark, where people otherwise write at most a pamphlet; indeed, it was extremely wi�ily put by Prof. Heiberg in his day, and quite in keeping with our views: that an auth. could let people see his books for money.[”]

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24 mærkvürdige] German-Danish, strange, notable.

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And the few who do, in fact, actlly know more or less how to evaluate it (Heiberg, e.g., Martensen and their like), they keep silent and quietly take pleasure in it, for they are envious. And the university students and the nation’s clergy and the like―they keep silent and quietly take pleasure in it, in the fact that there will nonetheless be prospects for their trifles. And the few who actually mean well by me almost in fact disapprove of my having done it; they think that I ought not expose myself to that sort of thing. Merciful God, was it something wicked I had done, then[?] That once again, in the year just past, I had been so diligent[?] That God had granted me these abilities[?] Was that a crime, then[?] And that I should deny God out of fear of the people of this market town! Show me an auth. who has suffered on this scale in any other country! If you can show me him, so much the be�er―then I will have someone with whom I can commiserate.

It is a very capable sermon by Luther for the 19th Sunday a�er Trinity Sunday. Here he shows that a Christian’s piety is the forgiveness of sins, that the forgiveness of sins has its place in the pure relationship to God, far beyond sin―and virtue. The forgiveness of sins is a category of totality grounded in the fact of my relationship to God. Here one sees once again how terrifying Xnty is in a certain sense: it summons a hum. being first and foremost to everything that could be called civic integrity―and then, just when the man now wants to claim to having done something, then Xnty casts the whole thing into nothingness for him, goes a step further, into what is genuinely Christian: that he is wholly and totally a sinner.

How li�le awakening there is in life, a�er all, for almost never does one get the clear intellectual impression of an endeavor, but always a mixture that includes the illusions of finitude. Let us take Hegel. How was it that he became the great philosophical author of the 17 volumes[?] Well, perhaps he was a very bright fellow, very diligent; then he received his bachelor’s

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degree, then his magister degree, later a prof.―and now he begins to work. What is there in it that awakens a person[?]―in the background there is always the trivial fact that it is his way of making a living. Then perhaps he earns money from his writings―there we have it again. To be sure, there is high-toned talk about no one thinking of such things: Yes, take this―no it’s the world’s hypocrisy, which fundamentally wants, tacitly, to have a shabby explanation of everything―and then to have high-toned talk. Try it: Place an endeavor right in front of peop.’s noses (here in Cph. or wherever you want), but an endeavor that does not include one single illusion (not money, nor position, nor honor, nor respect), an endeavor that also involves so much diligence at strenuous labor that it cannot be explained as a sort of pleasure―and you will see that if peop. are given any sort of encouragement to speak quite freely and openly, they will regard this pers. as mad or at least as so odd that he borders on madness. In the world there is no end of talk about wanting only the truth, etc., but something else is always implied. A journal that wants only the truth: yes, people find that quite in order―if it has several thousand subscribers. To want only the truth in this way makes sense. And why? Because the great number of subscribers shows that great sums of money may be made and that the journal may have great influence. Think of a journalist who wants only the truth, and of course, if he originally had many subscribers, they steadily become fewer and fewer. Finally he has so few that it is obvious that he is subsidizing it with his own money, and yet he works with more diligence and zeal than anyone else―and you will see that he gets ridiculed or is at least regarded as odd. Woe, woe, woe to these priests, who either are brute beasts who have no idea of what is going on, or, owing to financial concerns, are wretched enough not to reveal it. I have opportunities to discover this, even in places where I did not in fact expect it. I can remember that once, a year or a year and a half ago, I said to Peder, [“]I think I will entirely give up being an author and go in for horseback riding or things of that sort,[”] and he replied (in all seriousness), [“]That would be the best thing.[”] That is how pointless my endeavors look to him. Had I chanced to be a major author, had I earned a lot of money, he would have said, [“]Are you mad[?”]

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More and more, God becomes my only consolation. To whom should I turn? The way in which I am genrlly understood is not quite correct, and thus people are still a bit capable of reconciling themselves to me. They think that I am a dreamer and that I am driven by ambition. Great God, to be ambitious in Denmark! What honor, indeed, does this li�le speck have to give me―I who had in fact captured a place of honor even with my first work. But if I were to tell peop. quite straightforwardly what it is that motivates me, that I know very well that I work counter to myself in every forward step I take, I would simply be called mad.

The fact that not one pers. read my books, that in this way it was made plain that I am u�erly superfluous: this I have easily borne and can bear. My inner conviction, my faith is too great for that sort of thing to occupy me in the least way. But on the other hand, what is certainly, certainly painful is this intensification that is calculated to make me feel truly the contrast betw. my ideality and what is called actuality: year in and year out, day a�er day, to be reminded of the same thing―my legs―and that it is these that people write about. The animal health with which a shoemaker’s apprentice, a journeyman butcher, etc., guffaw, seizing on my physique: it is disgusting. And to endure it every single day! And then―even in relation to those who are most well-disposed―to have to bear the burden of their embarrassment, of their inability to avoid being embarrassed! But couldn’t I say what a man might well say in other circumstances: I am, a�er all, probably the most unselfish person in this country, and probably also the most gi�ed, so of course I ought to win. And it could surely be done if I were to use my shrewd intelligence in finite fashion. But to this the answer is No. To win in that way is to grieve my spirit, and from a Christian point of view is untrue. And on the other hand, had I triumphed in that way, I would not have helped my cause, either. It is certainly true that my life would have given people the impression that in the end an honest effort does succeed. People would get this impression both because they were unable to see through the shrewd intelligence I would thus have had to use―and because, if they could, they would entirely approve of it.

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But this awakening is entirely illusory and u�erly nothing in comparison to the demoralization of the times. No, they must be permi�ed to trample me down―but they are caught, and I am the stronger. Only in this way can such a demoralization be opposed. It must go so far that once they themselves have been allowed to do everything and have permi�ed themselves to do everything, the consequences and the responsibility falls on them―but then it will be a�er the fact. In physical terms the mass is stronger; in physical terms no individual can triumph over the masses. But if the single individual is the one who is truly justified, he is infinitely the stronger. These circumstances are expressed as follows: that he must succumb to the mass, which is thus the winner―but at precisely this moment it has lost, because now he has triumphed. Ah, with a certainty that nothing, nothing, can shake, I sense how I am thus infinitely the stronger; all the mistreatment merely increases my certainty of this.

Well, to speak in lo�y tones about truth and self-denial and then to live in the opposite categories―is just the limit. But to permit peop. to understand the nature of one’s self-denial, what one wants and what one sacrifices for it: this is at any rate hum., and this, a�er all, is rlly what has been done by everyone I read about. So have I perhaps gone one dialectical step too far, precisely by concealing the nature of my self-denial? But on the other hand, if I myself am to explain the nature of my self-denial, then it seems to me that I could just as well put a stop to my selfdenial, for of course it then becomes nothing but shadowboxing. Certainly it is true that when one adds the reduplication, the extra dialectical step, as I do, the self-denial becomes as profoundly inward as possible, and the God-relationship becomes absolutely, absolutely, the only thing one can call upon. In the other form of self-denial one has gradually assured oneself of a bit of support from peop., witnesses―if God should leave one in the lurch. Is this to have faith, is this to love God? Look, here again it is hypothetically infinitely more inward than all this certainty. Here there is in fact an either/or. Either God is love, and then what ma�ers is absolutely, absolutely, to stake everything on this one thing―blessedness is precisely and solely to have God. Or God is not love, and then, yes, this loss is so infinite that whatever else I lose is a ma�er of infinite indifference―yes, everything is a ma�er of such indifference that I must

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indeed regard as infinite happiness every moment I lived in the illusion that he was love―infinite happiness for which (oh, what a strange way to speak!) I must thank God with all my heart―if he were love. 5

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Instead of all the nonsense about mediation, it would be better to postulate a doctrine of the media: the medium of imagination―actuality, or the various forms of being in which the truth is and which transform all the conditions of truth: that in the one medium everything behaves straightforwardly (the good receives honor, etc.), in the other everything is reversed, the truth is recognized precisely by the fact that it suffers.

If my melancholia has misled me in any way, it must be by having led me to want to view as guilt and sin what perhaps was only unhappy suffering, spiritual trial. In one sense, this is the most frightful misunderstanding, that is, it was the signal for almost insane anguish; but even if I have gone too far in this direction, it has nonetheless served me well.

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Thus I have encountered hum. egoism on an unusally large scale. The truth was truly in me when I started out as an author, desiring nothing, neither honor nor respect nor money; this was connected to my melancholia and my view of myself as a penitent. Indeed, it would have caused me pain to have gained anything in this respect, for then I would have to come to think of her, while on the other hand, when I suffer all possible mistreatment, the thought of her consoles me, because that was what I wanted. So this was how I went forth into the world. As for whatever honor and respect might come my way, it was then my wish that it be immediately transferred to the older people whom I held dear. There was something sad in it, which appealed to me, and it is quite certain that compared to my melancholia and worries, even Bishop Mynster was a youth. But see, of course even the various egoisms could not imagine such a thing, or get it into their heads, or believe in such a thing:

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therefore they thought in egoistic fashion that they ought to protect themselves against me. That became their misfortune, for I certainly felt that I was the strongest and that my case was the strongest. I wanted to advance the cause of Xnty, those were my orders, or it was my consolation in this way to at least to do some good in return. But honor and respect [and] money―no, I did not strive for them, absolutely not. I did not wish to a�ack one single actual pers. unless it was directly required by considerations of decency, and I have also honestly always taken on tasks where no reward was to be expected. Alas, but Prof. Heiberg was an egoist―indeed, it became obvious because this was precisely the situation. And this is how it has been with all of them. And sure enough, it has constantly been said of me that I was the greatest of all egoists―sure enough, for I indeed was not an egoist. But it is this ventriloquism that is rlly the secret of evil. Had I been an egoist, I would have emerged well from dealing with the other egoists, for then I, too, would have coveted honor and respect, money, and the like, just as they do, and then I would have covered up their egoism, and theirs would have covered up mine: that is what one calls solidarity, friendship, amiability. But I would necessarily have been injured by revealing the egoism of others.

In every generation there are perhaps not 20 peop. who, in the final analysis―when in life they must make judgments and not provide assurances in preachy or poetic fashion―do not view earnestness as an overindulgence. A preacher of repentance who is truly earnest of course exposes himself to danger, even experiences misfortune for his efforts―this is precisely the earnestness: but look, all his contemporaries agree that it is an overindulgence. And, on the other hand, if he had a contemporary who was one of these half-corrupted, pandering types who learn a li�le from the preacher of repentance and then play at being a preacher of repentance, then he of course makes a great uproar and everyone says, It is earnestness, true earnestness. Naturally everyone says it, for what else could it mean when he makes such a great uproar[?] It is the same with a satirist. Yet with the help of such a preacher of repentance and such a satirist the world of course does not advance, but merely sinks deeper. And if one examines the situation, one will see that here, as every-

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where, what peop. pay a�ention to is finitude. Therefore they say that he is a competent and earnest satirist or preacher of repentance because he benefits from it―he of course causes an uproar. Ah, this view, that the truth can be directly recognized by the majority, by the acclaim it wins, etc, is so deeply rooted in hum. nature. I have experienced it myself and o�en am still able to catch myself ge�ing carried away by the immed., even if only for a moment.

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A sophistical observation could be made in connection with the gospel account of the unmerciful servant: the lord cancelled his debt of 10,000 talents; he would not cancel the fellow servant’s debt of one hundred pennies. But isn’t remission proportionate to the wealth of the person who grants the remission, so that the 100 pennies were perhaps more to the servant than the 10,000 talents were to the lord[?]―Of course the poorer one is, the greater perhaps is the damage from a minor injustice. But to this the reply must be that the 10,000 talents were not merely in themselves a greater sum, but every single one of them was a greater guilt, for of course (in the parable) it is a sin against God, and what provides the criterion for guilt is in turn the one against whom the sin is commi�ed. I must view a sin against myself as something insignificant precisely because I must judge humbly concerning myself.

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JOURNAL NB9 Translated by Bruce H. Kirmmse Edited by David Kangas

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In the end all merely human categories are abolished. Yesterday, in reading aloud the list of births and deaths in the parish of the Church of Our Savior, Pastor Visby informed us that so and so many had died, but that one could not be entirely certain of this number, as it only included “the buried.” How inhuman, to identify dying with being buried in this way! No wonder the poor are so concerned about ge�ing buried! And suppose there was someone present during this sermon, a poor person who in accordance with what Pastor Visby also informed us―namely that the dead buried by the poorhouse were not included in the number―could not expect to be buried: that this (oh, inhumanity!) means not to die. And what a parody that Visby―precisely in this sermon in which he garrulously cha�ered on in grand fashion, extending individualized New Year’s wishes (calling to mind those cards one buys for a shilling and that extend good wishes to a father, a mother, a brother-in-law, a child, to someone who is turning 24 years old, someone who has turned 30, 50, etc., etc.)―also spoke of those who will hardly live to see the next New Year’s Day, i.e., who will die during the present year: that here as well, he did not also make the distinction betw. those who will die and those who will be buried during the year that has just begun.

When one examines it closely, what most people say―that a poet ought to develop a moral view of life in his work―is of course nonsense, just like everything most people say. The fact is that their lives have remained in mediocrity; they have not become anything great―not, indeed, because they did not want to be great, even per nefas―that is, not because of their moral maturity, but because the conditions of their lives did not permit it. Now they want the poet to have to present how the “lo�y dreamer” ends up in a wretched state, as absolutely nothing― this is what they call developing a moral life-view, and they want this so that with the help of the poet they can have consolation and compensation in their bourgeois philistinism: Oh well, it is be�er, a�er all, to become local judges and councillors of justice, or greengrocers and captains in the civic militia, as we are.

26 per nefas] Latin, by foul means.

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A person who actually has a moral view of life can very well bear the sight of immorality enjoying great success and becoming something great―king, emperor, etc.―and he has no objection to the poet presenting this sight. He sees through all this and sees the immorality, and that is enough for him.

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Even if someone were to assume that by wanting to establish a rapport with every Tom, Dick, and Harry, etc. when I started my work, I set up too lo�y a standard for my efforts, no good pers. could be angry with me―he would have to realize that what determined me to do this was love of humnty and a Christian upbringing, so he would sooner have to weep that I had not succeeded. But naturally, all refined worldliness (especially the literary sort), which is egoism itself, could be angry with me. And why? Because refined worldliness contains nothing of goodness, even less of Xnty; it very well saw my significance, my power, and wanted to exploit me for the benefit of its egoism, it realized quite correctly that my squandering the respect I enjoyed might become harmful to the respect they enjoyed, because my talent was too great for them. What did that egoism want, then? It wanted me to join their faction, but I was not to belong to humnty. And this egoism of course―quite naively―found it inexplicably and inconceivably stupid of me that I was not smarter about valuing the gi�s I had been granted, that I cast my pearls before swine.

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It is obvious that a person who has div. authority can go infinitely farther out than an ordinary pers., however gi�ed the la�er may be, because the former always has one thing certain: the order from God. An ordinary pers. has a dialectic in two places: the conflict with hum. beings―and also the relationship to God: Do I have permission to go so far out[?]

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It certainly high time that Christianity was taken away from hum. beings in order to teach them to appreciate it a bit. One thinks of the yield of 1800 years, thinks of what individuals [have achieved] over these long periods of time―the chosen individu-

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als who became more or less unforge�able―thinks of this entire yield of thoughts, moods, feelings, expressions, etc.: the sermon has all this at its disposal in the form of observations―and one only gets that much farther away from existing. 5

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It would be a frightful satire on Christendom if someone published a work such as, e.g., Blosius’s consolatio pusillanimium, in order to show what a pastoral counselor of an earlier age found it necessary to say―naturally, because in those days people existed. Nowadays there are no longer any pastoral counselors, but simply observers―naturally, because people no longer live.

I never had the joy of being a child. The frightful torment I suffered disturbed the peace requisite for being a child, for being capable of diligence, etc., in order to please one’s father, because the unrest within me caused me to be always, always outside myself. But then it not infrequently seems to me, a�er all, as if it [my childhood] came back, for despite how unhappy my father made me, it seems to me as if I now experience being a child in relation to God, as if all my early life had been so terribly wasted in order that I might experience it all the more truly a second time, in relation to God.

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In Denmark there is of course no question of there being any judgment, any real criterion, for an artist, a poet, a thinker, etc. We are just a few peop. who all know one another, all play together in total equality, and the judgment is therefore this: Is he well liked[?] It is just as things are in a school where all the boys are in fact one another’s equals―simply use this criterion: Is he well liked[?] That is why life in Denmark is so much fun for all those people who are nothing: They play with everyone, and we are all equal. Except that the few, the very few individuals who amount to something, are treated all the more infamously.

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Hostrup has surely never deserved any status, but this is how it is: He was built up under the patronage of the public. And now I am convinced that he will fall down again. And why? It is it because he has wri�en something worse than what he usually writes? No. It is for a li�le article against Lange, the theater director, about which the public will say, I don’t like Hostrup for that.

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There is a nice remark by Luther. At the very moment that the synagogue leader’s faith is most tempted, there comes word that his daughter is dead and that therefore there is no point in inconveniencing Xt―at that very moment the woman suffering from hemorrhages was healed, as if to strengthen his faith.

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If I hadn’t been strictly brought up in Xnty, hadn’t had all the inner suffering that began in childhood and intensified at the very moment I set out decisively on the course of my life―if I hadn’t had this, and yet had known what I know, I would have become a poet, and I would rlly have become an interesting poet ϰατ᾽ εξοχην. There has scarcely been any poet before me who has had so profound an understanding of existence, and especially of the religious. But here I turn aside, and the position [is] the old one from Either/Or: I don’t want to be a poet, as A states in one way and as B confirms in a much more profound way―indeed, he declares that it is the only one of A’s many ideas of which he entirely approves. What is it to be a poet? It is to have one’s own personal life, one’s actuality, in quite other categories than those of the poetic production; it is to relate oneself to the ideal only in imagination, so that one’s personal existence is more or less a satire on the poetic and on oneself. In this way all modern thinkers, even the outstanding ones (I mean the Germans, because there are no Danish ones at all), are poets. And on the whole this is the maximum that life can show us. Most hum. beings live u�erly devoid of ideas; next, there are the few who relate themselves to the ideal poetically, but deny it in their personal lives. In this respect,

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priests are poets, and because they are priests, they are “deceivers” (as Socrates long ago called poets) in a much more profound sense than the poets are. But here, as everywhere, the demoralization came about when the No. 1 position disappeared and the No. 2 position became No. 1. Relating oneself to the ideal in one’s personal existence is never seen. Such an existence is that of the witness to the truth. This rubric has long since disappeared, and priests, philosophy professors, and poets have taken over the place of servants of the truth―by which they doubtless are well served, but the truth is not.

And when it seems to you as if now God can no longer forgive you because you have sinned yet again, as if Xt can no longer pray for you―oh, consider this: He allowed himself to be born; for 34 years he endured living in lowliness and poverty, persecuted, mocked, finally crucified―in order to save you, too: and when you turn to him in repentance, he supposedly does not want to forgive you!

Oh, but it is strange to live in such a situation! As R. Nielsen says (and as I myself have said―before he said it―in print in the postscript to my own Concluding Postscript): if only I were dead, then R. N. would really come into his own―and with what? yes, with my work. Thus, what is present in me in the extraordinary fullness of its originality, is something I have served with a selflessness and sacrifice that are equally rare―it is present to excess, indeed, almost to the point of madness. And, when it’s R. N.’s turn to serve up this same brew, things will be extraordinary! Still, R. N., in being great, is li�le enough to be great in Denmark. But one of the things I can see from the way in which he speaks of his position―if only I were dead―is that reduplication is something that does not exist for him, something that he only talks about under my auspices. But what is inexplicable is that he rlly thinks that if I were dead and he stood alone, he would triumph brilliantly and appear as the extraordinary one―without

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considering that this could only happen if he stopped reduplicating. But it is precisely in this respect (in addition to his talents) that he is, as I say: li�le enough to be great in Denmark.

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The truth, a�er all, is always defenseless in this world in which there so rarely are even 10 [people] who have the abilities, the time, the diligence, the moral character to endure the pursuit of truth―but of course here in the world the judge is the mass of one’s contemporaries, and they are much too confused to understand the truth, but understand untruth very easily. I have regarded it as my religious duty to draw a hum. being to myself in order that I not entirely bypass the hum. tribunal. He is now receiving from me communications that he never would have received under other circumstances, and is receiving them privately. Here again is the possibility that I could become u�erly defenseless. If he gets carried away by worldly-mindedness and vanity, he will broadcast a confused version of these things as his own, and he will create an great sensation. My protestations would be in vain. Alas, and someone who is already married, a professor, a knight: what hope is there, in fact, that he is rlly capable of serving the truth[?] What relish can he really have, in a deeper sense, for an undertaking in which all these a�ributes are just so many warning signs, when at any moment he could of course turn to the other side, where they are qualifications[?]

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If what one has to communicate is, e.g., a view concerning something historical and the like, then it may of course be a good thing for another person to embrace this view, and all one rlly has to work at is ge�ing this view acknowledged. But if the point of a person’s activity is to do what is true, then having one more docent is a new misfortune, especially if he is being privately and covertly subsidized.

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The fundamental misfortune of the world is this confounded lecturing and that one great discovery a�er another makes peop. able to lecture impersonally on an ever greater scale. There no longer live any hum. beings, any thinkers, any lovers, etc.―rath-

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er, with the help of the press, the hum. race has been enveloped in a sort of atmosphere of thoughts, feelings, moods, even decisions and intentions, that are no one’s, that belong to no one and everyone. It is painful to see the toughness or callousness with which a pers. can sneak to the place he supposes the truth to be, in order that he might learn how to speak it, so that he could include this piece in the repertoire of his barrel organ―but doing anything simply does not occur to him. Truly, there is only one thing to do with respect to serving the truth: suffer for it―it is the only possible sort of awakening. A terrible web of reflection―such as the one in which the race is caught―which captures everything, everything, cannot be broken by means of reflection. Greater powers are required. And martyrs are the only people who are needed. Naturally, not adventurers such as Robert Blum, who has nothing whatever of the martyr about him. For not only did he work in the service of untruth, but even apart from that, viewed purely formally, he himself did not have the least inkling of wanting to be anything of the sort―he gets caught and shot. In our times this is what is called a martyr. Ah, people perhaps think that many clever manipulations and no li�le perseverance are required in order to become a cabinet minister, but truly, in our time, the time of reflection, the preparatory work required for someone who truly is to become a martyr is that he undertake a gigantic task of reflection, even while remaining in absolute passion, which is higher than the most eminent reflection, for otherwise he will not become a martyr. But if he has not employed the most eminent reflection, he doesn’t rlly do any good as a martyr.

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The situation is what is decisive. If in a situation of actuality I were to say what the priest says on Sunday, which everyone approves, then everyone will be offended, embi�ered, indignant with me, or they will find it foolish. People regard it as a lack of breeding, as being too personal with a pers., to say to him, specifically to him, that which he himself approves of when it is said in a general way. The priest says, [“]You must have no care for the morrow[”]―and we approve of it. Were I to say the same thing to a merchant who had gone bankrupt that very day, he would regard it as a personal affront. The preaching is about sacrificing everything for the truth―we approve of that. If tomorrow I were

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Strange linguistic usage: [“]ge�ing personal,[”] meaning an offensive remark. We are so far removed from what is personal (and yet this is the whole secret of existence) that being personal―speaking to a person and doing so personally―is [“]ge�ing personal,[”] i.e., is something offensive.

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When we preach about the Good Samaritan, we understand that what is being taught here is that someone who has mistaken views can nonetheless act correctly. But when we preach on Mt 25 (about works of mercy), we forget the gospel about the Good Samaritan―here we learn that only believing Xns can perform works of mercy.

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In the God-relationship the orders given to a hum. being (and thus to every hum. being) are: “Don’t concern yourself with the others, not in the least way. You are only to do my will precisely, or as precisely as is possible for you.” Fine, but this hum. being lives in actuality, and of course God does not go walking about as some actual being in the external sense. So if a hum. being obeys God in this way, solely and exclusively concerned with his will, paying no heed to the proverb that says, [“]When in Rome, do as the Romans[”]―that is, if in this way he thinks only of understanding and obeying God’s will and not of being understood by hum. beings: then he is eo ipso sacrificed. Indeed, it almost looks as if the God-relationship were a seduction; Indeed, God is cunning, as it were: he is the invisible one who, in all secrecy, is

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actlly responsible for this hum. being’s life developing the way it does. But God does not show himself in any way, and thus the devout person becomes the sacrifice. In a way, it would be quite proper for God to intervene in some extraordinary fashion in order to help a devout person, as in days of yore. The response to this doubt must be: Keep still, believe. There is absolutely no need for miracles. God holds everything in his hand and at every moment has an abundance of possibilities. And in any case, this is indeed very much a part of the absolute relationship to God: that from a hum. and external point of view it seems as if a person were abandoned by God―for the true relationship is that the relationship in itself is what is highest. This is also how one can understand being abandoned by God: that it is God (if I dare put it like this) who sits and whispers to a person’s conscience, [“]Concern yourself only with me.[”] And, of course, as a sensate being, I am in the external sense at the mercy of my contemporaries. And, see, the more a hum. being solely and exclusively follows God’s will (without the falsifying middle term of paying due respect to one’s contemporaries in order to be understood by one’s contemporaries in following God’s will), the more complicated and full of suffering his life becomes. But only believe―and the relationship becomes all the more inwardly intense.

It is very correctly noted by Luther (the gospel for the 27th Sunday a�er Trinity Sunday) that the parable about the wise and the foolish virgins makes the distinction not between Xns and pagans, but betw. Xns and Xns, i.e., those who are Xn in name only.

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Religion is not taken seriously, and that is why nowadays not a word is breathed concerning spiritual trials. There is simply no religious existence; this can be demonstrated indirectly by the disappearance of spiritual trial. In sermons it is said that every hum. being is to relate himself to God in everything and is to refer everything to God. Yes, every hum. being: that means XX; and everything: that means YY. One

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certainly does not discover spiritual trials in this way; and nowadays nothing more is done: at most, sermons are delivered. A spiritual trial is the div. repulsion in the quid nimis and it can never be absent when one is to exist religiously, that is, as a factual, particular, individual hum. being―e.g., I, Søren Aabye K., 35 years old, slight of build, Mag. artium, brother-in-law of Merchant Lund, living at such and such an address―in brief, this entire concretion of one insignificant detail a�er another: that I dare relate myself to God, refer my life’s affairs to God. There has never lived a hum. being who has truly done this and has not discovered (with a shudder) the shudder of spiritual trial―as though he had in fact been ventured too daringly, as though it might rlly be madness. But sermonizing to the effect that every hum. being must always refer everything to God: Yes, as noted, this does not produce spiritual trial. Every hum. being who will close his door, who will become aware of himself in all his concreteness, and then think of God, the infinite, and then refer―not his life, that is too grandiloquent―no, refer one or another portion of his life to God: if he does not discover spiritual trial, I’ll eat my hat. Luther says that the moment Xt comes aboard, the storm begins immediately; this storm is spiritual trial, which Luther a�ributes to the devil. This is more childlike than true, however. No, it is a spiritual trial because it seems to a person that it is as if the relationship contained too much tension, as if involving oneself, quite literally, personally with God and Xt was too daring. And, indeed, it is something so lo�y and daring that one would ordinarily be regarded as mad, mad with pride, if one told someone about it on a Monday―for on a Sunday, and especially if one is a priest, this can very well be said in a sort of genrl way. The concealment sought by a religious person (if one were surprised while praying, one might blush and be ashamed, just like a young girl) is thus quite certainly of the erotic sort, a modesty with respect to one’s feelings―but it can also be cowardice[,] which does not dare seriously to be that which looks so fine in the priest’s sermon on Sunday and which, according to geography, we all are, inasmuch as we are of course all Xns.

everything reminiscent of her is to be found. A li�le packet of le�ers that at the time had been sent from Berlin to Emil Boesen, 3 quid nimis] Latin, too much.

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but which he subsequently turned over to me, is to be found in a drawer in a sealed package on which is wri�en: “to be destroyed a�er my death.” Nothing can be done for her. I dare not risk it; clearly, she cannot bear the truth. She can endure it, perhaps become happy, as long as she believes that I had desired greatness and that this was why I le� her―that I didn’t actlly love her. But the religious would immediately disturb everything. I am certain that, loving as ever, she lovingly forgives me, bears no grudge against me. But if she were to understand me, she would be unable to contain herself, because what steadies her is precisely the fact that, while conceding me everything with respect to my talents, she nonetheless believes that she behaved be�er toward me than I did toward her.

No, nothing can be done for her. By becoming head of an office at so early an age, Schlegel has now in a way become a bit of a success. This will cheer her up as an approval of her marriage by Governance. She will be reconciled to her fate, will lovingly forgive me, will (in her way of pu�ing it) believe that she understands that despite my extraord. gi�s I was unfaithful to her, while she was the faithful lover. When she is in the mood to do so, she will occasionally regard what has happened to me in recent years as a bit of punishment of me, and will occasionally understand that it was a�er all a good thing for her that she did not come out there with me. And thus everything will be mitigated. I am becoming a vanishing memory that will in the end visit her rarely, and then with a bit of sadness, because it pleases her not to pass judgment on me, and because it pleases her that I did not in fact marry. All this would be disturbed if she were in any way to be informed of the true state of affairs, for she has no clue about the specifically religious. She would instantly come to understand the ma�er entirely differently, would reproach herself for having treated me unjustly, would lose her notion of herself and of the superiority of her feelings as compared to mine; and then she would become confused, her imagination would take hold of her again and then, look―yes, then all would be lost.

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It is indeed as Luther says somewhere in the sermon on the epistle for the 1st Sunday in Advent: either a hum. being indulges the flesh too much, so that in sophistical fashion he regards altogether too many things as being among life’s necessities; or he mortifies his flesh, but then the error―that this is supposedly something meritorious―immediately lies close at hand. In the first case a pers. perhaps notices this himself, but he makes God into someone altogether too loving, a bit like an overly indulgent father. If, however, if a pers. indeed honestly confesses before God that he does not dare venture any farther, leaving it up to God whether to take away this preferential treatment (although, with God’s permission, enjoying it as long as he has it), then things are not so dangerous. The other error, that of meritoriousness, is always more dangerous. When one is weak in the way mentioned above, it is easier to be weak before God. But when one is a devilishly strong fellow who can master himself, one all too easily becomes self-important.

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To have to live entirely independently is undeniably the most strenuous life. Things that fall into place quite automatically when one has the ties and bonds of relationships (this one cannot do, that cannot be done, etc., etc.), so that no time whatever is wasted in deliberation because the thing is simply impossible. When one is entirely independent, these things o�en take a great deal of time and give rise to mental agitation. But on the other hand, one certainly learns about oneself and about life in quite remarkable fashion.

Indeed, it is something that peop. cannot and will never be able to get into their heads: e.g., that if I really were able to see what is the most intelligent thing to do, I would not do it. But, God in Heaven: We are all Xns―what is that supposed to mean? For a Xn must necessarily understand this category. But in my case, it is indeed quite so that at every moment I can see what is the most intelligent thing to do. It is also the case that I am perhaps the only person who knows which things are dangerous to myself, who knows how an a�ack against me should be directed if it is to be really dangerous. It is an awkward business to speak with anyone about it, however. For this is

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the situation in which I live here in this country: if, e.g., someone were to know about this and then used it against me, no one would care if I were then to say that he had learned it from me. I am in fact excluded, no one has any responsibilities toward me, but everyone is permi�ed to envy me.

I have learned one thing from the ground up: peop.’s wretchedness and lack of character. But how sad: I did, a�er all, possess something of the truth―and when I am dead, at that very instant, everyone will praise me; and for the youth who comes a�er me it will look as if, a�er all, basically I was honored and respected during my lifetime. This is also a part of the transformation of the truth when it takes place not in the medium of the imagination, but in actuality. As soon as one dies, the contemporaries who have in fact been a part of the villainy will exploit the opportunity, using it to say the opposite [of what they had said], thus confusing everything. But rarely has anyone experienced villainy as I have, for in my case, it was not that people actually misunderstood me, that people actually could not comprehend what I concerned myself with―no, in their heart of hearts people concede me everything, but the enviousness of the market town takes all the more pleasure in satisfying its lust. As soon as I am dead, Fædrelandet will make a great fuss about what an extraordinary person I was. Fædrelandet wants to make itself be�er than the others, so it will of course be quite profitable to praise me then. And yet Fædrelandet has betrayed me as much as anyone, and Fædrelandet is just as cowardly, as envious as all the rest. Giødvad is my personal friend, that’s another ma�er. And it is fundamentally inconceivable that I have had a friend who was a journalist, and inexplicable that so kind and honest a man can be a journalist, for it is of course impossible to be a journalist without in one way or another benefiting untruth and lies every single day.

It could be the text for a Friday sermon: My Savior Is My Judge. (no. 131 in the evangelical hymnal ends with these words).

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The doctrinal teachers of the Church also o�en insisted on this: Appeal to Xt, for now he is your advocate, your defender―if he does not become your judge. But if you appeal to him, how could you be judged, if the person who is to judge you is your defender[?]

In the situation of actuality, true God-fearingness indeed sounds like sheer madness. Take the words of Xt: Not a sparrow falls to the ground; the hairs of your head are numbered. But now forget that you have learned them by heart from childhood on and that therefore they make no impression on you. Nor may it be a priest (one of those liars) who says it from the pulpit, saying: [“]This is something every pers. ought to believe like this, the faith ought to be this strong in everyone.[”] No, let it be a man in everyday life who says that he believes it quite literally, so that he is surrounded by God every second―when he walks in the autumn and the leaves fall off the trees, not a leaf falls off except by God’s will: Watch out, he will be regarded as mad. But the fact is that peop. have come up with so many artifices and equivocations in the way they say something that they rlly do not reflect on it at all. They talk objectively.

The exhortations Paul gives about indulgence for the weak― how do they relate to Xt’s words, Let the dead bury their dead[?]

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Luther says (in the sermon on the epistle for the 2nd Sunday in Advent) that Paul calls the scriptures the word of the cross― this is indeed not entirely true, but the name is good.

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Example of rhetorical deceit. Bishop M.’s sermon for the day a�er Christmas, “What Has Been Accomplished by the Witnesses of Xt.”

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p. 70: [“]My listeners, if we had been present at this scene, it would not have seemed u�erly tragic to us.” But then we would have been present merely as spectators. This is where the untruth is lodged: he forgets that had we been present―that is, contemporary―we would have been among the persecutors.

In a book Nanna oder―well, it’s probably the mental lives of plants―by someone named Fechner (which I’m reading at the Atheneum), there are a number of nice things. E.g., the beautiful remark about an analogy: the pupa lives on the leaf, the bu�erfly on the flower, and, as the auth. sentimentally remarks, perhaps being eaten gives pain to the leaf, but it is sweet for the flower, and thus this pain pays off.

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If I had a son, or if there were a youth who confided in me in this connection, I would say to him, [“]If you notice in yourself signs, so that you dare believe yourself called to become an author, then for the sake of God in heaven, do not be an auth. in Denmark; as soon as you can, strive to learn a foreign language so that you can write in it. Do not write a single line in Danish, but begin right off with the foreign language. Not only is Denmark a small country where you will have no readers, where you will almost have to pay money in order to be an auth., but Denmark is simply not a country at all, it is a market town, a dive. In this country, where everyone of course knows everyone else, by becoming an auth. and someone of significance you will be singled out to the bourgeois philistines as a scenic a�raction and a curiosity. In this way they will take advantage of you and will treat you as an amusement, a figure of fun, something to gossip about. And because the language extends no farther than this, the market town is u�erly unembarrassed. There will be some few who understand you and who have some notion of your worth; these people will either envy you or will be too cowardly to dare do ba�le against bourgeois philistinism.[”] [“]Learn this from my life. Yes, in a certain sense (if I didn’t have a quite particular view of my life) I could say, [‘]What a fool I am not to have a�ended to my father’s words,[’] for I heard

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it thousands of times from my father, who did not suffer from [‘]hysterical nationalism[’]: that if one wants to be an auth. one should write in one of the European languages and not in the hole-in-corner language called Danish.[”] That is what I would say. But it will not be necessary, for Denmark is scarcely likely to have any more authors: its downfall, its self-dissolution, is sealed.

My entire view of Denmark makes my life here unpleasant; there is something unpleasant in knowing and being certain about a country’s downfall while everyone is celebrating the idea of a matchless future. And who understands me?―that what I am expecting is to be abused in every way; that this is why I am remaining in this place, in order that this wretched and villainous meanness―which has for many, many years been Denmark’s sin and guilt―might at least now be made properly manifest in its [Denmark’s] downfall. This is my thought, it satisfies the religiosity within me―me, a penitent, and my entire view of existence, of the country. But the means I employ are precisely to work ever more diligently, ever more unselfishly, and God blesses my efforts, making them ever more meaningful. If this were not the situation, then I would of course not reveal the wretchedness. It is like what is wri�en in the diapsalm in Either/Or: “… if indeed these people could force me to commit an injustice, yes, then they would have go�en power over me.”

For this, then is the summa summarum of the wisdom of all now-living peop., of the entire generation, and of virtually every individual: the court of humanity. If the people side with me, if I have the majority on my side, who the devil would touch a hair on my head: that is, there is no God―and so we are all Xns. Were I, out of fear of God and God’s judgment, to endure the persecution of the majority: this would of course be madness, and furthermore it would be untruth, because vox populi is indeed vox dei; that is, there is no God―and so we are all Xns. To let go of what is certain, of the certainty that I have triumphed (and 29 summa summarum] Latin, sum of sums, sum total. 36 vox populi] Latin, the voice of the people. 37 vox dei] Latin, the voice of God.

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this means having the majority on my side), in favor of what is uncertain is of course madness; for suppose, then, that there were no God, that is, that there is no God (for when, by being compared with one’s life, which expresses that there is no God, the hypothetical proposition is put forward in this manner, it is a denial―it is otherwise when the hypothetical proposition is compared with a life that expresses existentially, through sacrifice and renunciation, that a God does exist: then it is positive, affirmative; then one sees that there is nothing incorrect in the hypothetical proposition, but that what is decisive is one’s life)―and so we are all Xns. Climb as high up as you can and peer out (a li�le a la Satan―in Job―and an observer) over peop.; you will see that you will find no one for whom this is not existential wisdom. Be as uncurious as possible about others, direct your gaze entirely inward, toward yourself, but then (and this is of course a natural consequence) let your life express that a God exists―and you will come to feel, to feel markedly, what the wisdom of most people is; they will hardly let you remain in peace.

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On the day a boy is confirmed the priest calls him a young Xn. Permi�ing such a boy to bind himself with a holy oath is a mere affectation or is done in order to conceal something impermissible. Strange that people haven’t introduced the custom of also having the confirmand wear a false beard, so that he might look like a man and it would make some sense to require that he make a promise of this sort. Confirmation, which ought to be the most solemn act, is nothing but a game in which children play at being adults.

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I will scarcely be able to push the entire project through to completion; it is too much for one pers. Precisely because it was a ma�er of reflecting Xnty out of an enormous mass of refinement and cultivation, out of the confusions of scholarship, etc., I myself had to possess all that cultivation, in one sense as sensitive as a poet, and sheer intellect as a thinker. But physical strengths and a different sort of rigorous upbringing are needed for what comes

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next: to be able to live on li�le, to have no need for many comforts and conveniences, to be able to use part of one’s mind on this self-discipline. Therefore take a child, healthy and strong, bring him up to have this sort of self-control. He will take a couple of well-spent years to acquaint himself with the whole of my intellectual plan; he will not need one-tenth of my diligence and my exertions in reflection, nor the sort of talents I have had and that were precisely what were needed for the initial a�ack. But then he will be the man who is needed: tough, rigorous, and yet sufficiently armed with dialectic. But truly, I dare say the task I have had was Herculean. I have had the absolute prerequisites for this task: marvelous good fortune and blessing―but I do not have the prerequisites for what comes next. I would have to become a child again, and preferably not a son of old age, for they tend to lack physical strength; I would have to have be�er physical health and much less imagination and dialectic.

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My position during the a�ack by vulgarity has been made difficult by the fact that no one knows how to dance with me. If I had simply been a�acked by it, then I would certainly have conducted myself as everyone else who was a�acked, and the tactic would have been to get it consigned to oblivion, to get away from it as quickly as possible. I have a credit balance with my contemporaries, for the truth was and remains that I did them a good turn: it was absolutely magnanimous of me, I myself was of course the provocateur. But naturally this means that my tactics cannot be the same as theirs. But the misfortune is that this, like all my efforts, is much too lo�y and grand for a dive like Denmark. And what has really caused me difficulties is this: that by including me among those who are a�acked, they have done everything to make a step as daring as this one sink back into the old indolence. All my contemporaries continually explain things with simple arithmetic, and therefore they misunderstand me. Then I took the step, calculating that I had the personal strength to defy the whole of Cph.―and I had it, too―if necessary. I was not going to shirk it in any way; instead, I showed myself even more than I usually do―and I know that I had the

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strength for it. When I saw what had happened―that a�er being a�acked, one person a�er another got out of the way―my idea was precisely to remain standing there and quite calmly make the a�ack on me into a subject of my conversation. I went to Mini’s, I requested The Corsair, which they wanted to hide from me (the same thing happened at Pethau’s), I read it in the presence of others, spoke with them―and I succeeded as always in managing a light conversational tone. But what happens? Gjødvad comes by one day and tells me that people are saying that this is the only thing I talk about, etc.―this is supposed to prove that I have been affected by it. You see, there it is: I (that is, my tactics) am interpreted on the basis of tactics used in the past, and Giødvad, Ploug, etc., did not know what to do other than the old ploy of trying to consign the ma�er to oblivion.

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It’s a sad thing―as I once said to Christian VIII―it’s a sad thing to be a genius in a market town. Naturally, I said it in such a way that it was a compliment to him; I said: [“]Your Majesty’s sole misfortune is that your wisdom and intelligence are too great and the country is too small―it is a misfortune to be a genius in a market town.[”] To which he replied: [“]Then one can do all the more for individuals.[”] That was the first time I spoke with him. He said many fla�ering things to me and asked that I visit him, to which I replied: [“]Your M., I do not visit anyone.[”] Then he said: [“]Yes, but I of course know that you will have no objection to my sending for you.[”] To which I replied: [“]I am your subject, Your Majesty has but to command―but like for like, I lay down one condition.” “Oh, and what is that?” “That I be permi�ed to speak with you privately.” Then he extended his hand to me and we parted. In the course of the conversation, at the beginning, he also said something to me about my having so many ideas and whether I couldn’t spare a few for him. To this I answered him that I believed that all my work was, among other things, beneficial to every government, but that the point in it was precisely that I was and remained a private citizen, for otherwise people would insinuate some mean-spirited interpretation. And moreover I added this: [“]I have the honor of serving a higher power, on which I have staked my life.” As I came through the door and gave my name, he said: [“]I am particularly happy to see you; I have heard so many good

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things about you.[”] To which I replied (and of course, while I was in the antechamber, I had sat there in fear and trembling, not knowing whether I was to go through the door on my head or on my feet (someone standing with me out there indeed asked me if I was going to bow three times when I came in, to which I replied that it was ridiculous to ask me that question, that this was the sort of thing an old courtier could decide in advance, that I didn’t know whether I was to come in there on my head or on my feet), but then, a�er having come in, I came up so close to him that he took a step back and fixed his eyes on me, a�er which I immediately saw what I wanted to do): [“]And I―Your Majesty―I have always said to myself that in the end the king will be the man to whom you will have the best relationship, because this requires that I have someone who has sufficient intellect and who is so eminent that it could not occur to him to be pe�y with me.” In general, my conversations with him were well worth writing down.

The second time I spoke with Christian VIII was at Sorgenfrie many months later. Furthermore, in a certain sense his conversations were not very significant for me, for he wanted me to do the talking. But talking with him was very animating, and I have never seen an older man so animated and fired up, almost like a woman. He was a sort of voluptuary of the intellect and spirit. I immediately saw that this could be dangerous for me, and therefore cautiously kept myself at the greatest possible distance from him. In the presence of a king I found it unseemly to use my eccentricity as a pretext for not visiting, and therefore I employed another tactic: that I was in poor health. Christian VIII was brilliantly gi�ed but had rlly gone astray in his great intelligence, which lacked a moral background of corresponding proportions. If he had lived in a southern country (and I imagined a cunning member of a religious order) Chr. VIII would have been such a person’s certain prey. No woman, not even the most brilliantly gi�ed woman, could have had real power over him. For one thing, he was too intelligent for that, and for another he was a li�le too given to the masculine superstition that men are more intelligent than women. But a Jesuit―he could have twisted and turned Christian VIII, although this Jesuit would have to have

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had at his disposal the interesting, for that was what he rlly panted for. But charming, extraordinarily fine, with a rare eye for what could please or delight an individual, precisely that individual―that he was. So I went in. He said, “It has been a long time since I have seen you here.” To this I replied, while still standing at the door: [“]Your Majesty will perhaps first and foremost permit me to explain myself. I must ask Your M. to rest assured that I very much I appreciate the grace and favor you show toward me, but I am in poor health, and that is why I come so infrequently. I cannot really endure waiting in an antechamber, it exhausts me.” To this he replied that [“]I did not have to wait, but that in any case I could write to him.” I thanked him for that. Then we started conversing, part of the time while walking about. He always preferred to talk about ma�ers concerning government or to make a genrl observation on one or another political ma�er. That day he turned the conversation to communism, about which he was clearly worried and fearful. I explained to him that as far as I understood the ma�er, the entire movement of the time would remain a movement that had no contact whatever with kings. It would be a ba�le betw. one class and another, but it would always remain in the interest of the hostile parties to have good relations with the monarch. The same problem that had arisen in ancient times was recurring now, and it was easy to see that the king would in a way be above the fray. There would be hostilities similar to those in a house, between the cellar and the ground floor and between these two and the next floor, etc., but the landlord would not be a�acked. I spoke next of how one does ba�le with “the crowd”: just remain very calm―that “the crowd” was like a woman against whom one never ba�led directly, but indirectly, helping it to get carried away with itself, and inasmuch as it lacks ideas, at the next moment it would always run away―but just stand firm. To this he said: “Yes, that is what a king especially ought to

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do.” I did not reply to that. Then I talked about how what the entire age needed was upbringing and how what in larger countries became violence would in Denmark be naughtiness. When he said some nice things about my intellect, etc., I used the situation to say: [“]Your M. can certainly see by looking at me that what I say is true, because for me everything rlly comes from having been well brought up―and therefore it rlly comes from my father.[”] Then we talked a bit about Guizot, about an a�ack that had been made on him just then. I pointed out the meanness inherent in this equivocation: although modern states actlly have made scandal into an official ma�er of state (and thus the tactic is to ignore it), one day they suddenly have the idea of saying that an a�ack of this sort is something to be taken seriously. “I imagine Guizot. He read about the a�ack, and then he at most looked at himself in the mirror in order to reassure himself that his smile and his appearance were entirely as usual―and then, then someone has the notion that this is supposed to be serious. And, yet, if at some other time he had taken such an a�ack seriously, he would have been ridiculed as a country squire who was not used to living in the big city.[”] Then he thanked me for the book I had brought him on my previous visit; he had read in it: “It was very profound, but too lo�y for him.” I replied, [“]Of course, Your M. does not have time to read books, nor is what I write intended for you. On the other hand, you have recently had a visit from natural scientists―that is something that appeals to you, something that satisfies your sense of beauty.” He was apparently a li�le offended at this and said, [“]Yes, yes, the other can also be good of course.[”] I had several times made as if to leave and said that I did not want to detain him any longer. To this he replied, every time, [“]Yes, yes, I have plenty of time.[”] What it happened the 3rd time I said: [“]Yes, Your Majesty yourself will realize that I have plenty of time, I was afraid that Your M. did not have the time.[”] A�erward, a more experienced

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Then he said something about Sorøe, gave a sort of lecture on it, and therea�er asked me about it. I replied that I had never had any thoughts about Søroe. He asked if I might not like to have an appointment there. Now, I knew that he had been out fishing that morning, and my reply therefore contained an allusion to that: In addition to their regular lures, fishermen like to have an odd li�le lure with which they sometimes catch the best fish―and I am such an odd li�le lure.

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man to whom I related this informed me that I had behaved like a clumsy oaf, that when one was with a Majesty it was impolite to try to be polite in this manner, because one must simply wait until he bows. Finally I got away. He said that it would be a great pleasure for him to see me. Therea�er he made a gesture with his hand, which I recognized from the previous visit: he wanted to extend his hand to me, but because that same man had told me that when a Majesty offers a person his hand, one is to kiss it―and I could not bring myself to do that―I acted as if I didn’t understand it, and bowed. Meanwhile I promised myself that I would visit him as infrequently as possible. The third time I visited him he was at Sorgenfrie. I brought him a copy of Works of Love. Pastor Ibsen had told me that he had indeed go�en it into his head that he couldn’t understand me, and that I would not be able to get that idea out of his head again. I had that in mind. I went in, handed him the book. He looked at it for a bit and noticed how the first part was organized (You shall love. You shall love your neighbor. You shall love your neighbor), and it instantly became clear to him; he was really an intelligent man. Then I took the book back from him and asked him to permit me to read him a passage, for which I chose the middle of p. 150 in part one. It moved him, as he was in general easily moved. Then he went over to the window and I followed him. He then started to say something about his government. I said that I doubtless could tell him a few things he perhaps would not learn elsewhere, because I could tell him how he appeared from the street. [“]But should I or shouldn’t I speak, for if I am to speak, I will speak quite straightforwardly.” He replied: “Just speak, then.” So I said to him that he had let himself be seduced by his personal gi�s and that in this respect a king’s situation was something like that of a woman, who ought to conceal her personal talents and simply be the mistress of the house―and that he ought simply be the king. I have o�en reflected on how a king ought to be. First of all, it would be good if he were ugly. Next, he should be deaf and blind, or at least act as if he were, because this would get him out of many difficulties: a foolhardy, untimely remark that, in having been said to the king, acquires a sort of significance, is best brushed aside with “Pardon me?”―that is,

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His Majesty has not heard it. Finally, a king must not say much but ought to have a proverb he u�ers on every occasion, and that is therefore meaningless. He laughed and said: [“]A delightful description of a king.[”] And then I said: [“]Yes, and there is indeed one more thing, that a king must take care to be sick once in a while―it arouses sympathy.[”] Then he erupted with an odd interjection of something close to joy and jubilation: [“]Aha, that is surely why you say that you are sickly―you want to make yourself interesting.[”] Yes, it is quite true, talking with him was really like talking with a woman―that was how empassioned he could become. So I then pointed out to him how he had done injury to himself with his audiences, that he became too familiar with every Tom, Dick, and Harry, and that in so doing he had alienated himself from his top civil servants, who became impatient at this sort of random influence exercised by outsiders; that he himself must a�er all realize that it was impossible to govern in this way, talking with every subject. He hadn’t considered that everyone with whom he talked in this way went out and spouted nonsense about it; that the error was visible at this very moment, when I stood there speaking with him like this, even though I was certainly an exception because I felt religiously obligated to remain silent about every word. (Which is indeed true: I did not speak to anyone about it as long as he lived, and a�er his death only to one particular individual, and then only fragmentarily). He replied that I certainly must not believe that he had simply been misled by whatever talents he might possess, but rather, that when he ascended the throne he had believed that being a king could no longer be a ma�er of prestige although he had also gradually changed his view. I had said [to the king] that I had already made some of these observations as early as the day he ascended the throne. To this he replied, [“]Yes, isn’t that right―that was the time there was a general meeting where you were the president.[”]―He did have a memory.―At that very moment the door to the adjoining room was opened but was quickly closed again. I took a step back. He went over to the door, saying that it must surely be the Queen, [“]She has so very much wanted to see you; now I will fetch her.” Then he came back, leading the Queen by the hand―and I bowed. It was really a discourtesy to the Queen, who did not get to make a very a grand impression; she indeed looked rather insignificant―but is anything else possible when a queen is to make an entry in this manner[?] 29 prestige] Latin, conjuring trick, sleight of hand.

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Then the King showed the Queen the copy of the new book, to which I replied: [“]Your Majesty has put me in an embarrassing situation―I have not brought along a copy for the Queen.[”] He replied: [“]Oh, we two can certainly be satisfied with one.[”]

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The Queen said that she certainly recognized me, for she had once seen me on the ramparts (when I ran and le� Tryde in the lurch) and that she had read a bit of “your Either and Or, but that she could not understand it.” To this I replied: [“]Your Majesty will appreciate that it is so much the worse for me.[”] But there was something even more remarkable in the situation. Christian VIII immediately heard the error “Either and Or,” and I certainly heard it as well―I was amazed to hear the Queen say exactly what is said by seamstresses and the like. The King’s gaze met mine; I avoided it. Then we said a few more words, a�er which the King said to the Queen: [“]Is Juliane alone in your apartment[?”] To which she replied, Yes―and le�. I then continued talking with the King. He asked me if I was going to travel this year. I replied that if I did it would be a very short journey, to Berlin. “You must surely have many interesting acquaintances there.” “No, Your M., in Berlin I live entirely isolated and work harder than ever.” “But then you could just as well travel to Smørum-Ovre” (and then he laughed at his own joke). “No, Your Majesty, whether I travel to Smørum-Ovre or Smørum Nedre, I would have no incognito, no concealment by 400,000 people.” This was a sarcastic li�le remark to which he replied: [“]Yes, that’s quite true.[”] Then he asked me about Schelling. I made a few a�empts to give him a brief impression of Schelling. Then he asked about Schelling’s personal relationship to the court, about the sort of reputation he enjoyed at the university. I said that Schelling’s situation was probably like that of the Rhine, which becomes stagnant at its mouth―so he is becoming anemic in his capacity as a Royal Prussian Excellency. Then we spoke a bit more about how the philosophy of the government had at first been that of Hegel, and that now it was supposed to be Schelling’s. This last visit was an example of Christian VIII’s delicacy in displaying the sort of a�entiveness that was precisely calibrated for a particular individual;

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this was extremely gratifying, making it into a sort of family visit. I did not speak with him a�er that. I had made a firm decision to visit him as infrequently as possible, preferably only when I had a book to bring him. But I do not regret having visited him; indeed, these are cherished memories for me. Had he lived longer, it would not have been a good thing for me, for he rlly did not approve of anyone being a private citizen: he thought it was a part of royal governance to assign absolutely everyone to his task. And in fact that was why I went to him as soon as I began to think of taking an official position. The entire relationship is a charming memory for me; he had no opportunity to get anything other than an absolutely animated impression of me, and I always saw him as the soul of amiability and liveliness.

Moreover, in a certain sense I owe Christian VIII something, and a great deal, namely the pleasant and salutary impression of life he imparted to me. I have always had all too much of a tendency not to care about finite ma�ers. Had the expedition out to the King taken an unpleasant turn for me, it would surely have had a significant influence on me, making me tend even more toward indolence. Just the opposite was the case. This relationship was also beneficial to me in another sense. Surrounded as I was by all the vulgarity and by so much pe�y envy; lacking the support of the least li�le illusion, as I then was and still am a private citizen, pure and simple, I had―owing to the wretchedness of the situation in Denmark―become an eccentric in the eyes of many because of the excellences I possess, because they could not comprehend me. To this extent, however, it was also a good thing to give the envious notables (who had continually and secretly used the vulgarity against me) a li�le difficulty on which they could gnaw. Therefore my existence had to be accentuated a bit. In this situation my relation-

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ship with the King was of some importance. In a certain sense this was just the task for me: only one single hum. being, an absolute monarch, and on top of that, Christian VIII. I easily saw that the relationship could be dangerous for me, that Chr. VIII might get too much of a taste for me; therefore I was extremely cautious in making use of it, as will surely be acknowledged by everyone who knows how much he favored me. But on the other hand, the relationship was at the point where I could have made more of it at whatever moment it might have become necessary. Chr. VIII was just intelligent enough to be almost superstitious regarding his own intelligence, so that when he perceived a superior intelligence he became almost fantastic and constantly feared ghosts. He did not have strong nerves, and his life had le� its mark on his entire intellectual constitution: he lacked an ethical posture; religion touched him almost exclusively aesthetically―and he was also clever. It can readily be seen that a constitution of this sort lacks proper proportions, and it is as though it was designed to be the prey of duplicity―albeit, please note, in the most comfortable and pleasurable way. Fundamentally, he was very domineering. His preference for using others than those officially appointed was a deception perpetrated by his cunning. He feared anyone with real character: if someone of that sort was so powerfully built that it was visible in his muscles, so to speak, he got rid of him. But an inflexible character, concealed in the suppleness of intelligence and imagination: that would be his match. That [“]x[”] was something he could not solve, and, as if in accordance with a law of nature, he would be in such a person’s power. In general Christian VIII enriched me with many psychological observations. Perhaps a psychologist should make a special study of kings, and especially of absolute kings, for the freer a hum. being is, the be�er he is bound in the concerns and considerations of finitude, the more a hum. being can be known.

Sometimes it indeed almost disgusts me to have to do with hum. beings; I would rather remain stock still. When one speaks with them, one on one, about the highest things, about a li�le sacrifice, about serving only the truth: they all approve it, saying: Every hum. being ought to behave like that. But the peerless skill with which they act in their own behalf when seeking worldly

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ends: indeed, it is frightful. In this way I am becoming entirely isolated, singled out as an eccentric and as someone half-mad.

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To Consummation’s Complete Works a very brief preface could be wri�en. Just as when a government minister steps down and becomes a private citizen, I am stopping as an auth. and laying down the pen―I have truly had a portfolio. Just one more word―but no, not one more word: now I have laid down the pen.

Oh, it is truly frightful to contemplate what will become of the next generation, what sort of upbringing it may have had when, with the help of the press, it has literally been the case that parents and children have agreed to play childish pranks together. For, a�er all, what else was The Corsair[?] In my day something similar happened at school among us boys, but naturally we were afraid that the teachers or parents might find out. But nowadays the parents themselves set the example for the children―it is entirely official. And the schoolmaster himself is afraid of it, as, e.g., that spineless wretch M. Hamerich, who preferred to let a teacher (Høedt) leave the school because he had been persecuted by The Corsair, and the boys had brought it to school with them. What a generation!

It is excellently put by Luther (in the sermon on the epistle for the 4th Sunday in Advent): to pray to God for something and then not to believe that he will give it is to make a fool of God. Also, at the conclusion of the same sermon: God is to be everything to us, and we are to be everything to our neighbor.

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J O U R N A L NB 9 : 48–50 1849 With respect to every finite object it is the case that in circumnavigating it there must come a point when it has been circumnavigated, and from then on it appears smaller. It is otherwise with the infinite. This is why God outgrows most people as their notion of the infinite gradually develops. For the longer and the more one concerns oneself with the infinite, the more one discovers how infinite it is―that is, the more relativities one leaves behind as things that do not, a�er all, exhaust the infinite. Therefore one could almost be tempted to say that for this very reason one does not get any closer to God in eternity, because the law governing the relationship is precisely the opposite: the infinite becomes more and more infinite, while on the other hand one oneself disappears more and more. But in eternity one is not subjected to the successiveness of time, and being æterno modo is the intensive point.

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Christ rlly relates tangentially to the earth (nor can the div. relate in any other way): He had no place where he could lay his head. A tangent is of course a straight line, it only touches the circle at one single point.

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To grow in a spiritual sense, or spiritually understood, does not mean to become greater, but to become less. The child is the purely immediately defined egoist and is far more sure of itself than is an older person who has had even a modest bit of involvement with the infinite. With respect to the spirit, all development consists not in something being added but in something being taken from me, all the things I assume, and so forth, which I possess, and which had been my strength in the realm of immediacy. Here one can see how stupid is all this bawling about the positive. Consequently as well, the supreme religious act is to become nothing before God. Most peop.’s misfortune is by no means that they are weak, but that they are too strong―to take proper notice of God. A tree, an animal is even stronger, and it therefore takes no notice whatever of God; a stone is strongest of all and therefore takes absolutely no notice of God.

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14 æterno modo] Latin, in the mode of eternity, from the perspective of eternity.

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People say that every hum. being has a conscience, and they presuppose it. And yet there is no skill (neither a physical one, e.g., dancing, singing, etc., nor an intellectual one, e.g., thinking, and the like) that requires such lengthy and demanding schooling as that which is required before a hum. being can rlly be said to have a conscience. Just as gold in its natural state is found mixed with all sorts of base and varied materials, so does conscience in its immed. state contain elements that are precisely the opposite of conscience. Herein lies the truth of what Hegel says about the conscience being a form of the evil. But on the other hand, Hegel expresses it in an indefensible manner. For he ought to have said, What many, indeed most people call conscience is not conscience at all, but the vapors, acid indigestion, silly pranks, etc.―the conscience of a bailiff. One must say that eternity, where every hum. being is to be judged, will first and foremost require that every hum. being has acquired a conscience. That will rlly be the fundamental judgment: Have you or have you not had a conscience―but mark well, if you haven’t had one, then you are condemned.

There is something tragi-comic in my situation with R. Nielsen. He has gradually read his way into my works in such a manner that at every second instant there appears a metaphor, a clever remark, which I recognize and could cite in its context―but he does not seem to notice this.

It could be rhetorically beautiful and powerful to conclude a discourse with a verse from an old hymn, as is o�en done, and then, at the very moment when the listener is quite sure that it is over, to give a lyrical but brief exegesis of the individual words. For example, the discourse is over, now comes “a verse from an old hymn”: And when all the world’s consolation is dead, I will find you doubly sweet… and that is indeed how it will be; indeed, that is how it must be, for the vinegar we are served becomes more sour and the gall

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more bi�er: Oh, then the least bit of consolation― which we scarcely tasted in happy and fortunate times, when we were fed sweets―becomes doubly sweet; in itself it isn’t sweeter, but the vinegar is more sour and the gall more bi�er. Thus:

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Brorson no. 104, 9.

And when all the world’s consolation is dead, I will find you doubly sweet, O, Jesus, friend of the poor sinner, O, draw me entirely to yourself.

Indeed it could be beautiful to take a single verse like this and develop it a bit at a time, while working a lyrical commentary into it.

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It is from Brorson’s “Svanesang” no. 49, 1, p. 867, but I cite it slightly differently, dropping the first line and pulling the two subsequent lines down to the 4th.

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It is early winter, “the winter snow” is far from having finished falling: it remains there, tormenting the air, making the air so unpleasantly cold that one shivers: shivering-cold.

D[evout] l[isteners]: in the hymnody of earlier times the relation of the soul to Xt was o�en presented as a conversation, using the metaphor of the relationship of bride and bridegroom. The soul was the bride and was o�en named Shulamite. In this case there is an old hymn that depicts the soul (the bride) as having become impatient, finding itself unable to put up with the sufferings of this life and impatiently awaiting the hour of deliverance. Then Xt is depicted as conversing with the bride; he says:

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“While the air is still so full Of winter snow’s shivering-cold” thus it is still in the middle of the heart of winter. It is a long time until spring, and therefore to wish to have spring now is to be impatient. A great deal more must be endured before the hour of deliverance strikes―indeed, perhaps the suffering has scarcely really begun. The air is still filled with snow―indeed, it is not merely cold, it is so cold that a person shivers, unpleasantly cold, for when it is merely cold it is not always so cold that a person shivers. There-

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“While the air is still so full Of winter snow’s shivering-cold Why, then, do you open the window?” Thus the bride is depicted as si�ing by the window and opening it. But a person who opens the window at that time of year is waiting impatiently, asking for change every hour, every minute. Ah, and yet it is still in the middle of winter: “Why, then, do you open the window? Always staring at the top of the clouds”

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as if spring might come, springing out like buds on a branch. And already staring “always”―oh, it is much too early! Or, staring “always,” that is, continuing to stare―oh, then you will come to stare for a long time, while your impatience merely increases and makes the long time even longer, and the winter even colder, and the air even more unpleasant with its shivering-cold. Thus Why, then, do you open the window? Always staring at the top of the clouds, Why do you do this so o�en My Shulamite.”

διϰαιος really meant equal, and according to what Rosenvinge has told me, it is used in this sense somewhere in Xenophon’s Cyropedia, where it refers to a wagon. In the gospel passage about the unfaithful steward: the unrighteous mammon. What if one understood it as the unequal mammon, i.e., mammon that has the characteristic of reinforcing the differences betw. one pers. and another and in a completely uncaring (i.e., unrighteous) manner. For of course that is precisely the nature of “money.” 26 διϰαιος] Greek, originally “equal”; right, just.

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The question is: When should all the latest works be published! That I have �nished them is indeed something for which I can scarcely thank God suf�ciently. And had I not been kept on tenterhooks with the addition of new sufferings, I would perhaps never have �nished them, because once I fall out of the momentum of productivity, I never get back into it again in the same way. Now things have succeeded; it’s enough for me that they exist in fair copy and �nished, containing the ful�llment and the complete structure of the whole project, which goes as far as I can possibly go in the attempt to introduce Christianity into Christendom―but, be it noted, “poetically, without authority,” for I am―as I have always maintained so �rmly―I am no apostle or the like. I am a poetical-dialectical genius who is, religiously and personally, a penitent. But when should they be published, then? If I publish them while still in the position of heterogeneity I have occupied up to now―that is, independent, free, unbound, free-�oating―if I publish them while remaining in this form of existence, then all the in�nitely exact, dialectical categories and de�nitions contained in the writings will be of very little help in protecting me against the unholy confusion through which, despite everything, I will be confused with such a man. On the other hand, if I have �rst gotten myself an of�cial position in the established order, my existence will prevent that sort of misunderstanding. I am completely convinced that if I had �rst taken a position of that sort, I would never have been able to produce the writings―and this is rlly easy to understand. But now they are done, and now publication is merely being delayed. Situated as I am, I myself will be subjected just like everyone else to “the judgment”―if you will―the judgment contained in these works. But precisely this will be what will keep me from being confused with an apostle or the like. Poetically the works are as if written by an apostle, but I have stepped aside because I am not the apostle―nothing could be further from being the case―I am the poet and a penitent. I have always kept an eye out for that reef: being confused with an apostle. Were this to happen, I would have ruined my work and would be guilty of a breach of faith.

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To be sure, Governance has supported me indescribably much; this is something I know better than anyone, but this has not happened in any extraordinary fashion, as if I had a special relationship to God. The effect of this entire “monumentum ære perennius” will be something purely ideal. It is like a judgment, but I am not “the judge”; I subject myself to the judgment.

But I will not be understood at all. People always want to explain everything as pride, as if I had wanted to be something great in the world. People do not understand me at all―that is, they understand me with respect to what is lower, but not to what is higher. Were I to say to someone, “Now I will travel; I need recreation,” he would reply, “I can understand that.” But the fact that I had not been willing to travel until then, that I had wanted to strain myself as I did―that he cannot understand. Were I to say to someone, “Now I will seek an official position,” he would reply, “I can understand that.” But the fact that I had not been willing to do so until then, that I had renounced all such advantages―that is something people cannot understand.

A person who lives in modest circumstances (Stilleben) easily lands in the difficulty of wanting to bring the God-relationship to bear upon―or place God into relation with―the most insignificant things, e.g., that it is smoky today, that yesterday the food was burned, and the like: it is “God’s punishment,” or in every situation such things prompt a person to think of God. The entire beginning portion of “Der Jahrmarkt,” a novella by Tieck, is wellconceived in this respect. Those who live in the tumult of the world easily land in the difficulty of having no situation arise in which the thought of God or thinking about the notion of God truly becomes passion and earnestness. They have so many concepts and experiences coursing through them that everything is immediately categorized, and nothing rlly makes a passionate impression. For example: a priest who buries 10 people every day, who marries 5 monumentum ære perennius] Latin, monument more lasting than bronze (see also explanatory note). 24 Stilleben] German, still life.

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20 people every Sunday, baptizes children by the dozen, who, in short, is never out of his gown. Therefore a good way to measure the degree of ethical earnestness a priest has is the amount of passion with which he manages to endow every one of these repeated ceremonies. This is the case with Bishop M., and in this he is rlly greater than he is by virtue of all his eloquence. As a preacher Mynster undeniably has something in common with the sort of wisdom and virtuosity that enables a clever mistress of the house―who is also a lady and thus has something refined about her―to give a dinner table the appearance of plenty even though the opposite is the case. I cannot forget the virtuosity with which my aunt from Købmagergade could say: Won’t you take a li�le piece of chicken[?] And there was about one wing le�, which of course everyone let pass by, saying, No thanks, I’ve had enough. And it was almost as if all of us really had had enough. Mynster’s strength is in the presentation, and this, although for him a moral virtuosity, sometimes produces feats that to a lively imagination recall the miracle of the 3 li�le loaves. This is of course not a deception but a noble wisdom; in fact, from a religious point of view there is an insatiability that is anything but religious.

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This is the law for the relation betw. God and hum. beings in the God-relationship.

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could be meritorious (for in that case the Divisio or major premise is abolished, and here we are of course in a minor premise), what does in fact ma�er is daring to involve oneself with God in childlike fashion. If Divisio is to be everything, then God becomes so infinitely lo�y that there [is] rlly no relationship whatever―or no actual relationship―betw. God and the individual hum. being. One must therefore be very a�entive to the Subdivisio, without which the life of the individual rlly acquires no buoyancy. In general one must listen very carefully to make sure of who is speaking, for Divisio or its content can be said in such a way as to express the most profound fear of God. But this can also be done in such a way as basically to commit fraud by elevating God so high. This, in turn, can be done either in order to get permission to live exactly as one wants, in accordance with a worldly view of life, or at any rate to get permission to live a religious Stilleben without really venturing forth into danger.

In our time what is especially important is regaining a childlike condition, so that it at least becomes possible for a hum. being, an individual hum. being, truly to relate to God concerning the minor ma�ers of his life. For it is of course genrlly acknowledged that God is so infinitely lo�y that indeed it would hardly occur to anyone to want simply to play at being God’s chum. But the problem is that the lo�iness a�ributed to God has become something trivial and is actlly an indulgence, releasing one from the God-relationship. And, as noted, here, with its doctrine that God does everything for us and that we are capable of nothing whatever, the strictest orthodoxy can easily come to deceive itself, for of course the incommensurability can also be indulgence.

In view of the fact that Peter is my brother; and in view of the fact that he obviously of course has the religious prerequisites that enable him to pass judgment; and also because when I am dead, my life’s dialectical tangle of self-denial will get sorted out and interpreted through its pains: I do bear a sort of responsibility for having placed him in a situation in which he will experi-

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ence the humiliation of actlly having judged me erroneously; I have, albeit very cautiously, in fact pointed out to him that he should watch his step. But he is, as he says, quite sure of his judgment. Then it’s his business―I didn’t do it for my own sake. I understand him very well: he is in fact only rlly able to explain my life as a foolhardy striving a�er greatness. This is of course very easy, for people have indeed long known that this sort of thing exists; it is very easy to do this instead of venturing out just a bit into the intellectual exertions my writings contain, precisely because they point out the fine line betw. what can be true self-denial, on the one hand, and egoism, on the other. In great measure my essence as an author consists precisely in having practically discovered the passion of sympathy. But all that sort of thing costs effort; it is much easier to explain my life the other way―and then in self-satisfied fashion to find that one’s own Stilleben is somewhat lo�ier in the religious sense. To me he is an example and a proof of the fact that a pers. does not understand more than his own life expresses. Hence his opinion that the opposition that has been my lot in recent times is nemesis or God’s punishment. Now this is pre�y much a ma�er of indifference, as far as I’m concerned; but I do believe that I have lived up to my responsibility, if I have one.

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Christ says, Why are you so fearful, ye of li�le faith[?] He uses two terms, and yet what wonder is it that one is fearful if one is of li�le faith!

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It is really quite a strange title: A Groatsworth of Wit Bought with a Million of “Repentance.” It is by an R. Green, appeared at the end of the 16th cent. Mentioned by Ben Jonson in his play Epicoene, translated by Tieck in his Collected W., 2nd vol., p. 371, first column, in a note.

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Christendom’s misfortune (and it is also the misfortune of the few genuine Xns there are) is that the notion of God’s lo�iness, of Xt’s lo�iness, has become so infinite that it has actlly become fantastic, and there is no longer any sort of actual Christian life, but at most a li�le Jewish piety. The scriptures of course repeat again and again that we should suffer as Xt did, or in common with Xt. But it is an obvious distortion to understand this as meaning ordinary hum. sufferings (losing one’s wife, losing one’s fortune, becoming ill, etc.) which of course were equally present in paganism. Monastic asceticism, etc. was a youthful adulthood. But what is rlly required of everyone is to witness to the truth, and, please note, not from within an illusion―as, e.g., by being a priest (official position―living―), but by supporting the truth. If he does that, genuine Christian suffering will certainly also come. But, for Xns, both God and Xt have become altogether too distantly, infinitely elevated for the single individual to be able to link the particulars of his life with the thought of them in such a way that he truly becomes the single individual. Evasions and excuses and cowardice and fearfulness constantly say: Are you, among all these countless millions, supposed to be such an individual[?] Look, this is nonsense, for the answer to this must be: No, every individual should be like this. The difficulty, especially for intellectuals, is first of all, truly to have the infinite notion of God’s lo�iness and Xt’s lo�iness, and then, with respect to one’s own personal life, to have the childlike, open-hearted courage to involve himself with them in entirely childlike fashion. What ma�ers is this introspection. Who in all the world could―or would dare―involve himself with God when he thinks of himself as having a serial number in the human race, e.g., no. 27 trillion, etc.[?] But the fact is that he does not indeed have to do this; he must just close his eyes and simply think of God, become a poor, individual hum. being to whom God’s infinite love gives childlike, open-hearted courage, and then for the rest rejoice in the thought that this is something every hum. being is permitted to do―indeed, it is something he must do. But precisely because it has been so fantastically elevated, the notion of God exercises no power over hum. beings’ lives. People say, What good is the li�le bit I can do, what need does God―he who is infinitely elevated―have of it? It is best that I make use

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of human shrewdness to look out for myself and my life, humbly bearing in mind that God does everything. Oh, nonsense, I would reply. And I would add: Lamentable evasiveness, for here the expression of God-fearingness can be a cover for the laziness, cowardice, and reasonableness of a purely worldly mindset. The ma�er is quite simple. A person must be a great blockhead to believe that God has need of him. No. A person is to love God with all his heart, and then a person is to have the childlike assurance that he, who sits in the heavens and who thinks of every sparrow individually, will permit a person to do his task to the best of his abilities―indeed (understood with childlike simplicity), that God is pleased that a person, having first asked his permission, does do so. Would that a hum. being might learn to think of God in hum. fashion! This has nothing to do with the childish and crazy notion of simply becoming God’s chum. No, first of all, first of all, the infinite notion of God’s infinite lo�iness, and then, then what comes next: the childlike, open-hearted courage to involve oneself with him earnestly and truly. But Xndom has elevated God so much that it rlly means that he has been spirited away. And sometimes, even among the few people of the more religious sort, one sees that with all this talk about God’s lo�iness they actlly spirit God away. From the words of the apostles one continually gets the impression that they had personally associated with Xt, lived with him as with a hum. being. That is why their words are so human, despite the fact that they of course never forget the infinite qualitative difference betw. the God-man and other hum. beings. But finally, it has now become the case everywhere in Xndom that every individual says: Am I, among all this countless multitude of hum. beings, supposed to be such an individual[?] And then (if every individual says this, and every individual is of course equally entitled to do so), the summa summarum is that God does not get one single one. And yet, God must have hum. beings, he indeed has use for them. Therefore the situation is rlly exactly the opposite: every individual should actlly be such an individual, this is God’s requirement. And this will indeed be the case with every individual who, in fear of God, begins not with the many, but with himself.

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In relation to good as well as to evil, to demonic as well as to the religious, what ma�ers is to be a great egoist, that is, a great egoity, subjectivity. Most peop. do not have sufficient subjectivity for Governance truly to get hold of them, and therefore in the deepest sense they are neither good nor evil, but a mélange. The same egoity who is a despot, a tyrant, one of the great figures of that sort, can be the truly religious person―but then the egoism is crushed and is subjected to God in absolute obedience.―Most peop.’s lives are like that of grass: the storm only takes hold of the trees, and a large tree experiences a great deal; the grass experiences just about nothing. The religiousness of the person who turns to another hum. being at the decisive moment of his life―when what ma�ers is absolutely involving oneself with God and receiving the coup de grace―his religiousness will become hum. compassion. For a hum. being cannot essentially conceive of or believe in anything higher than that in which he himself has his life. One can say that to turn to another hum. being at such a moment is natural, is human,a is duty. But the question is nonetheless whether it is not also a lack of trust in God―for God, a�er all, is what lies closest to a person. But it is a daring venture. The religiousness of a person who acts in this manner will instantly resemble cruelty. Indeed, this is Xnty. If hum. compassion were the truth, then Xt’s life and the lives of every apostle would of course be a misunderstanding. True enough, an apostle also speaks mildly. Quite true, and at other times he speaks severely; he changes his speech. But while he is changing his speech in this way, his life remains unchanged; every everlasting day he expresses the official exchange rate; he does not dabble in compassion, but lets the ma�er reach the extreme of being put to death, that is, of le�ing others become guilty of a murder.

If I am essentially endowed with reflection and am in a situation in which I must act decisively, what then? Then my reflection shows me just as many possibilities pro as contra, exactly as many. And what does that mean? It means that I, as every hum. being, must deign to notice that there exists a Providence, a Governance, a God; it means that my or another hum. being’s reflection is capable only of noticing that this is so; it means that at this point, if I dare put it this way, the toll must be paid.―And what is it, then, that I have run up against? The absurd. What, then, is

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the absurd? The absurd, as will be seen, is quite simply that I, a rational being, must act in a situation in which my understanding, my reflection, says to me: You can just as well do the one thing as do the other―that is, when my understanding and my reflection say to me, You cannot act―but where I nevertheless must act. But this situation will arise every time I must act decisively, for then I am in an infinite passion, and this is precisely when the misrelation betw. acting and reflection emerges. If I do something like this as part of a daily routine, I do not notice the secret about reflection, and I imagine that I am acting by virtue of reflection, despite the fact that nothing is more impossible than that, because reflection is precisely the equilibrium of possibilities.―Thus the absurd, or acting by virtue of the absurd, is acting in faith, trusting in God. Quite simply. I must act, but reflection has blocked the way, so I take one of the possibilities and turn to God in prayer, saying, [“]This is what I am doing; bless it, then; I cannot do otherwise, for I am brought to a halt by my reflection.[”] Every hum. being will experience this, whether he has a great deal of reflection or li�le of it; for the nature of reflection is the same, even though its degree differs in different individuals. But the reason this is experienced so infrequently is that an individual is rarely so introspective; when the difficulty begins he turns to someone else for advice, and that person then provides him with a reflection, and so it goes. This happens very simply. A is at his wits’ end. Instead of enduring it and then coming to act by virtue of God, he goes to B, for example. A is assumed to possess 5 measures of reflection; B, on the other hand, possesses 7. If the reflection in A had been kept strictly within him, it would indeed have pointed out the equilibrium of the 5 possibilities or 5 counter-possibilities. Now he receives one possibility from B. Inasmuch as this possibility is not A’s own, he naturally does not possess the counter-possibility (and B either does not think of it or does not speak of it), and thus A acts with the help of this possibility, thinking he is acting by virtue of reflection. It is sheer fantasy and illusion. Nothing is more impossible and self-contradictory than to act (infinitely―decisively) by virtue of reflection. The person who says that he has done so merely reveals either that he possesses no reflection (for the reflection that does not possess a counter-possibility for every possibility is not reflection, which is of course doubleness), or he does not know what it means to act.

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Lines for a Poetic Individual. If there is to be any talk of regarding a person who has made slander and the like into a profession and an industry (e.g., Goldschmidt) as once again belonging to society, the requirement is this: first and foremost, that he apologize unconditionally and that he do so once a year for at least as many years as he had been in the profession. One could also require that he give back the money he earned―Judas, at least, did as much; he at least gave back the 30 shekels.

No. XXII: [“]How We Could Expand and Strengthen Christ’s Kingdom,[”] could serve as an example of how Mynster’s talk about Xnty actlly abolishes Xnty, dragging it down into what is u�erly insignificant. In this sermon (especially at the conclusion), the way in which he more or less explains that to a�end church on Sunday is to confess Xt, so that those who do so are confessing Xt, the others are not―it’s just all wrong. Great God! If this is confessing Xt, how much, alas, the Christian requirements have been reduced!

Goldschmidt wants to win a public again. Well, in one sense I cannot blame him for that. A�er all, he is who he is, possessing a certain amount of self-contempt, despairing, greedy, lacking in character―just the right type to profit from an age of dissolution such as this. This is what I have always said about him, that he is a not unremarkable phenomenon―he is associated with moral dissolution as the cholera fly is associated with cholera. I find it in a way annoying to be obligated to emphasize this point a bit, for I would prefer to grant his talents their due. But I must emphasize the ethical. I earn only a meager reward for this, because it will surely be misunderstood as irritability.

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When you consider them, these are strangely gripping words: He (Xt) has me at his side, With his wounds he does me hide to hide someone with one’s wounds―instead of doing what seems obvious, to hide someone with one’s might and glory, strength and power, and the like.

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I see in a sort of review of Birkedahl’s sermons in Kirketidende (for Feb. 2 ’49) that he simply will not recognize a State Church and combats it in his sermons. Excellent, here we again have one of those confused phenomena: he ought to realize, a�er all, that the first thing he would have to do would be to resign from his position as a priest in the State Church, his living. But it is clear that he would quite readily reply, Then I would have nothing to live on. And it is clear that he would be understood by the whole world, which would find the business about the living to be quite in order, but that what I am saying is overwrought. There is, however, no doubt that this is what B. ought to do for his own sake, so that he can see if his conviction is so firm that he could make a sacrifice for it.―

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The same objection with which the Judge in Either/Or traps A (instead of lecturing him and admonishing him, he saddles him with a young man who wants to ask his advice. [I]t is moving; see especially the second essay in the second part) is the same objection that existence itself raises against a person when he wants to venture forth into the decisively religious categories of which cruelty is one aspect. Existence gives a person occasion to notice the many, the great number of less talented, weak, simple peop., women, children, the sick and sorrowful, etc., among whom one lives. And then existence says to the religious person: With respect to these people, can you find it in your heart to jack up the price of religion, of salvation, as high as you do, you cruel person[?] And if the religious person is truly the religious person, and thus possesses love, this objection makes a profound impression on him, who would so much prefer to be among those who suffer, whose only consolation and joy, deep down, is to console those who suffer.

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But this objection is the spiritual trial occasioned by “hum. compassion.” What does the Exemplar teach[?] Did Xt spare himself or others[?] Was it hum. compassion for him to say to someone who was willing to follow him―but who merely requested that he first bury his father―Let the dead bury their dead[?] Humanly speaking, is it not cruel―humanly speaking, almost atrocious―to deny him the performance of an act of piety? We don’t say, [“]Christ was of course someone great, and therefore he had to refrain from dabbling in compassion. That is a misunderstanding, for Xt was not someone great, but he was love, and therefore, as his love was great, the cruelty must have been less.[”] No, the fact is that Xt is the absolute, and this cruelty is inseparable from the absolute. Or is there, in fact, the least trace of hum. compassion in the reply to poor Peter, Get thee behind me, Satan[?] Peter of course meant well by Xt, in his way, i.e., hum. compassion―and then to treat him like that[!] The fact is that the religious person absolutely shall and may have compassion toward all who are weak; he would prefer to remain among them, console them, etc., but he does not dare do so; that is, he does not dare to situate his life in this compassion in such a way that instead of remaining faithful to God he scales things down and remains in the religiousness of compassion. So as soon as a religious person no longer feels that the situation is that [“]I dare not, I cannot do otherwise[”] (that is, he is subjected to the power of the absolute, and absolute obedience is required of him), he should turn aside and remain in the religiousness of compassion. The danger for the religious person who is in the religiousness of the absolute is of course meritoriousness: that it becomes presumptuousness instead of piety, that he wants to be be�er than other peop., or, as it were, to make himself deserving of merit in God’s eyes, or at any rate to have the self-satisfied consciousness of having done his part. Therefore a religious person of this sort will usually have a secret note, similar to Paul’s “thorn in the flesh,” which gives him the open-hearted courage to endure, because it teaches him simply that he is nothing, truly making this into truth in him. That is, no one can venture forth into absolute religiousness on his own: one must begin in a very special sense with God. Otherwise what in absolute religiousness is dialectical cruelty becomes cruelty pure and simple, sin, guilt.

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Strangely enough, the Chinese have the same custom as the Jews. Confucius’s name is Khu or Ju, but when the name occurs in holy books people are forbidden to say it; they are instead commanded to read it as Mou. Just as with Jehovah. In Christendom, on the other hand, the frivolous way in which people say Xt’s name is really all wrong. Oddly enough, it seems to me that I have experienced this myself: I have had long periods of time when I could not say Xt’s name to another person because I think of it as too solemn. I have also expressed this in the “Psychological Experiment,” where quidam saysa that the girl has bound him with the name that he does not dares to u�er, which is the name of Xt. see China historisch-malerisch Karlsruhe p. 223.

Deliberations. Oh, is only all too clear that my intelligence and my melancholia have once again wanted to deceive me. I had now almost decided to publish nothing other than the 2nd edition of Either/Or. 1) The situation of the times: such impassioned and confused times―and then to have to speak as I must speak; and then, finally, to be known and singled out as I am: indeed, almost every danger is possible, and in fact it is as if one plunged into them.―And it seems to me that what I need right now is precisely a li�le peace and quiet. 2) My financial circumstances make it a necessity and even a duty for me to consider an official appointment. But if in one way or another I now become the extraordinary one in the eyes of my contemporaries, it might of course be possible that precisely this would be a hindrance.―My understanding has also wanted to convince me that it would be humble of me to refrain from publishing even the things I have completed. 3) It would almost be unpleasant for me to live if peop. have any sort of solemn idea that I am something extraordinary.―Though in that case I could of course travel a bit. But the reply to this is that this is nothing but prudence and melancholia. As for the danger: its magnitude merely makes it all the more of a duty not to plunge into it, but rather to ven-

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ture into it, trusting in God. If I were to remain silent, then there would of course be no danger.―As for an official appointment: here, too, there is something underhanded. The whole business is a�er all only a possibility for me, a possibility that looks as if it were something as long as it is merely employed in disturbing me and preventing me from taking action in the opposite direction. But when it becomes something serious, I can certainly see, once again, there is something suspect here: ergo it is an evasion. The great question is whether I am suited for an official appointment. And now suppose that I got exactly what I wanted―but that I then shrewdly refrained from acting decisively at the most decisive moment of my life: what then? Well, then it would immediately become a torment for me, a punishment, as if I had go�en it by shirking my responsibility or go�en it on the sly, by having deceived God, by having deceived him concerning the inner truth of all my writings, as if I had allowed them to remain in ambiguity in order that their completion not hinder me in obtaining an official appointment or not cause me too much trouble. And what help would an official appointment be to me then? And it must also be borne in mind that publishing the two books in question would by no means make it impossible for me to obtain an official appointment; on the contrary, in one sense it would perhaps make things much easier for me, inasmuch as I would be viewed more plainly as a religious author. But it is quite true that this possibility does not lie within the power of my understanding, not until I have ventured to do what my understanding believes will contribute to making it difficult. Thus this possibility is only in God’s hands. But if it is his will―and if I have ventured what I ought to venture―then I can calmly accept it. And as for it being humble to refrain from publishing: that is of no great significance because the publication itself will be bi�er enough for me. I have another concern with respect to The Point of View for My Work as an Author: that I may in some way have said too much about myself, or that God might in some way wish that I suppress something. As for the first: in A Cycle of Ethical-Rel. Essays I have stressed as emphatically as possible that I am without authority; moreover, in the book I have said that I am a penitent, that all my work as an author has been my own upbringing, that I am like a secret agent in a higher service. Finally, in Armed Neutrality I have prevented as emphatically as possible every misunderstanding to the effect that I am an apostle. I cannot do more than this; these are the most important stipulations. In addition,

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by reading through the book again I can take additional precautions―and I am fully convinced that God will once again keep an eye on me―not to let a single word escape me that makes me into something too great, because I and God know how foreign this is to me deep down, and how concerned I am that a single word of that sort could ruin the entire significance of my life. As for God wishing that I remain silent concerning what is most important: it must be noted that what has rlly led me to think this has been a fear, rooted in my understanding, that such acknowledgment would prevent me from obtaining an official appointment―plus all my self-enclosedness, which tends altogether too much toward silence and cra�iness. But I simply owe it to the established order to give a proper account of myself before I accept any official appointment. In one sense, my entire viewpoint has been in the service of the established order, altogether conservative, and to my way of thinking it would be a gross misunderstanding on the part of the established order if it were not to accept me as a civil servant. But the other hand, if I publish the writings, that misunderstanding is still possible. I ought to expose myself to this danger. Thus, if anything, I owe it to God, myself, the established order, and my cause to publish the two works in question. Finally, here is an extremely crucial point. The 2nd edition of Either/Or will appear. But I have stepped into the character of a religious author since those days; how can I now dare let it be published without a careful explanation―that would of course simply awaken offense. As for the thought I have had all along, of holding finished works in abeyance in order to slow down my productivity: I am still holding 4 works in abeyance. Thus, if anything, I must give God thanks that my mind has finally been pushed to make a decision―it is a mercy of Governance. I had go�en all too much into the habit of postponing decisions, of producing but then pu�ing things off in my mind by raising possibilities: at one time to travel, at another to seek an official appointment. All the while, time was passing, and even though my productivity continued, in another sense I in fact became slack. Of course, at this moment my melancholia raises possibilities that are so dreadful and multifarious I cannot write them down, nor do I want to. This sort of thing can only be combated by saying, [“]Shut up![”], by directing one’s gaze away from them and looking only at God. And yet there is something within

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me, a presentiment or an intimation of faith, so that it seems as if this step, far from being my downfall, humanly speaking, would make my future life easier and happier. Ah, yes, greatly exhausted as I am, very worried as I always have been, suffering as I have recently in many ways: I could use some encouragement, humanly speaking. Humanly speaking, I can say no more, for it could well be that if only I venture forth, I will have more strength. But the fact is that I cannot act by virtue of this presentiment. If things were to turn out this way, it would truly be a gi� of God’s love, and in one respect unexpected, because I must act by virtue of precisely the opposite: that everything around me is growing darker, and that I must nonetheless break through.

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Oh, from the point of view of shrewdness it looks so satisfying to let day a�er day go by like this without coming to a decision; it sounds so splendid, this humble business about not venturing too much. And so in this way one arrives at eternity unawares and then has an eternity to gnaw on having allowed oneself to be cheated by time’s succession, by this li�le by li�le. Truly, truly it is therefore a beneficence of God toward a hum. being when he has mercy on him in such a way as to constrain his soul into making a decision. This is especially true in relation to a hum. being who is as private as I am, whose life has no outward events whatsoever, in which it is therefore all the more difficult to come to the leap.

I undeniably have a wish that I be permi�ed to sit very quietly and grieve over my sins. When one exists on so great a stage as I do, and in a certain sense intervenes so much in life, it seems to me that it could easily happen that the fact of my own sin could come to appear less important to me than it is, because of course it is of the greatest importance, infinitely more important than all my achievements and my many books. But then again, here I am consoled by the thought that this wish is perhaps more a melancholy thought that actlly is not the least bit well-pleasing to God, for he does not want there to be all this si�ing and moping over the consciousness of one’s sin. And next, I take consolation in the fact that my work as an author is my penance. As long as I was enjoying success as an author, it was also quite natural for this

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wish to emerge; but in recent times my life as an author has not been so fortunate or happy, and if I now were permi�ed to sit by myself like that in some out-of-the-way place, it would be more like an escape into something easier. But in any case I will not forget―and God will also prevent me from forge�ing―when I act decisively, I will not forget first and foremost to remember my own sins. Ah, it is so dangerous when, from a hum. point of view, one looks as if one were capable of so much, that one does not go and imagine that one possesses something meritorious, which is worse than going and losing one’s mind.

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My melancholia has indeed gained all too frightfully much power over me. Much of what terrifies me is surely, as usual, imaginary, largely as a consequence of my not having had fresh air in a long time, and I have instead suffered from worries about finite things, something to which I am not accustomed. But whether or not it is imaginary, it is extremely exhausting to be compelled, as I am, to li� the pillar of reflection when one must act. For this reason alone, action must be taken in order to save life; then God will probably bring―ah, how can I say [“]probably[”], no, it is eternally certain that God will bring the best out of it. The business about the official appointment was an indolent possibility that will merely hinder me in the other.

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NB. The Point of View for My W. as an Auth. must not be published. No, no! 1) And this is what is decisive (everything else I have thought up about risks to my �nances and a living is of no importance): I cannot present myself entirely truthfully. Even in the very �rst draft (which I in fact wrote without any thought whatever of publication) I was unable to accentuate what was the principal thing for me: that I am a penitent, and that this is what explains me at the deepest level. But then when I took out the manuscript with the thought

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of publishing it, I had to make some minor changes because, despite everything, the emphasis it contained was too strong for it to be published. But only when this can be spoken of just that emphatically, when the emphasis can resound just as powerfully (as it does in my innermost being when I consider the matter),a only then can I and will I speak of the extraordinary things that are or have been entrusted to me. Otherwise it is as if I took the extraordinary in vain. 2) I cannot quite say that my work as an author is a sacri�ce. It is certainly true that I have been unspeakably unhappy ever since I was a child, but nonetheless in this connection I must confess that the avenue of escape God provided for me by permitting me to become an author has been rich, rich in enjoyment. So I have surely been sacri�ced, but my work as an author is not a sacri�ce―it is indeed what I would absolutely most like to continue doing. Consequently I cannot be entirely truthful here either, because I cannot talk about my torments and my misery like this in print― and then the enjoyment becomes what is actually most prominent. But I have also been something of a lofty dreamer, and therefore I could possibly have deceived myself concerning the degree to which I might prefer being put to death, if it came to that, over seeking some quieter activity. 3). Once I have spoken about what is extraord. in myself, even with all the reservations I have employed, then I will be stuck with it; it will be a torment and a frightful responsibility for me to go on living when I am solemnly regarded as something extraord. 4). The fact that I cannot present myself fully means that I am, after all, essentially a poet―and here I will remain.

But the fact is this. Last year (when I wrote that piece) was very wearing for me, I suffered a great deal. In addition to this, abuse at the hands of vulgarity has disturbed my incognito a bit, and this has tended to force me into an immediacy―instead of the dialectical, where I always am―forcing me beyond myself. My incognito was to be a sort of nothing, eccentric, peculiar to look at, with thin legs, a drifter, etc. All this was of my own free will. Now the rabble has been taught to stare at me bestially and caricature me, day in and day out. At times this has caused me to tire of my incognito. So I was in danger of a complete turnabout.

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This must not happen, and I thank God that it has been prevented, that I did not go ahead and publish The Point of View for My W. as an Auth., (which something within me had indeed always resisted). The book itself is true and, to my way of thinking, masterly. But this sort of thing can only be published after my death. Once a bit has been added to emphasize the fact that I am a penitent, about my sin and guilt, a bit about my inner misery―then it will be truthful. But I must careful about the idea of dying, so that I don’t go and take some step in the thought that I am to die in half a year―and then live to 82. No, this is the sort of thing one can �nish and put in one’s desk, sealed and labeled: To Be Opened after My Death.

And, to speak in quite human fashion, suppose that I had ventured too little or that I could have ventured a little farther out. Well, the Lord God, the God in Heaven who is love, my Father in Heaven, who forgives my sins for Christ’s sake: surely he will also forgive me that. He is of course not a cruel master, not a jealous lover, but the loving Father. I certainly dare say to him: I do not risk venturing farther, I fear becoming untruthful, becoming too familiar with you. I would rather remain in my incognito and let everyone view me however he pleases than solemnly become a somebody, the extraordinary. There is in fact no one to whom I can make myself entirely understood, because, in my possible extraordinariness, I of course cannot speak of what is of decisive importance to me―my sin and my guilt―in this manner. Then God will surely make everything good for me.

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The rest of what I have written can very well be used―if I am to continue being an author at all―but then I must have it be by a poet, a pseudonym.

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But this is in fact what provides the best proof that The Point of View for m. W. as an A. cannot be published; so it must be made into something by a third party, into [“]Possible Explanation of Mag. Kierkegaard’s Work as an Auth.[”]; then it would no longer be that book at all, because the point of the book was precisely that it was my personal statement.

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And then I must travel in the spring.

But it was through God’s solicitude that I �nally was chased out of that indolent literary production in which I produced and produced (in one sense, superbly), but never felt like thinking about publication, and in part was also hoping for death.

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It was indeed an act of Governance that I did not come to publish The Point of View for My W. as an Auth. at this time. And what melancholy impatience? [sic] Historically, it was wri�en a�er a great deal of productivity that came in between and that had to be published first if there was to be any talk at all of publishing it while I am alive.

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That was something particularly gripping for me to read, precisely today, (in accordance with the regular rotation), Luther’s sermon on the epistle for Septuagesima Sunday. First I was moved by this: that only one a�ains the prize; though even more powerfully by the next: to miss the goal, which L. develops so nicely right at the start.

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It is true that religion, Christianity, takes on the most definite contours when instead of becoming mild in times that are very turbulent, it jacks up the price even higher. This, as I have shown elsewhere, is the case with Christ. But I neither dare to venture so far, nor do I have the strength to do so; it would be presumptuousness and my own downfall, and the consequence of it would be to increase the confusion.

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In general it is becoming more and more clear to me than when existence itself undertakes to preach in awakening fashion, as it is now doing, then I dare not raise the stakes any further in that direction; I have not been entrusted with something extraordinary like that, and it could hardly be entrusted to any hum. being. In a so�, refined, overcultivated time I served and ought to have served to awaken. Now I ought to come closer to the established order. Stopping being an author was also an idea that occurred to me from my earliest days; I have o�en said that there was still a place available for the author who knew when to stop. In fact, I actually had already thought of stopping as early as Either/Or. But I was never closer to stopping than I was with the publication of Christian Discourses. I had sold the house and had earned two thousand on it. Spending the money on travel appealed to me very much. But I’m no good at traveling and would probably just have remained productive, as I very much tend to do when I travel. So I stayed home, had all the bother of the confused times, lost money on the commercial paper I had bought, etc. During all that time

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JOURNAL NB10

JOURNAL NB10 Translated by George Pa�ison and K. Brian Söderquist Edited by K. Brian Söderquist

Text source Journal NB10 in Søren Kierkegaards Skri�er Text established by Niels W. Bruun, Leon Jaurnow, and Kim Ravn

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The large preface to A Cycle of Ethical-Religious Essays can’t be used because it undermines the impact of essay no. 3 (can a hum. being allow himself to be put to death for the truth)[;] or [if it is to be used] a remark must be included in the preface itself that indicates that the catastrophe of 48 has placed martyrdom in a different context.

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[… all that time] certainly remained productive (and have produced something I would never have managed in the absence of these afflictions and a certain melancholia) but got more and more used to ge�ing slowed down. Now the 2nd edition of Either/Or is being published; but A Cycle of Ethical-Religious Essays would correspond to it perfectly, and the publication corresponds to the turn I must make. What I’ve finished will remain in abeyance. It is gold, but must be used with great caution.

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If the age itself were to ask me, of its own initiative: who are you, really? I would answer that it has the right to consider me to be whatever it wants me to be; I think I’ve done various things to prevent it from overestimating me, but I cannot do more. There is something that prevents me from speaking completely openly about myself and therefore I won’t speak of what might possibly have been entrusted me in an extraord. sense; for then it would be untrue.

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Incidentally, the “appendices” to The Point of View could very well be published―also by themselves. They would surely be widely read. In general, I would like to, and ought to, confront my contemporaries.

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The conclusion of Luther’s sermon―for Shrovetide Sunday on 1 Cor XIII, where he infers that faith is greater than love―is sophistic. In general, Luther will always interpret love merely as love of neighbor, as if it weren’t also a duty to love God. In essence, Luther has inserted faith in place of the love of God, and has then indicated that love is love of neighbor.

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[What] lamentable superiority―in a sense. There is no one here [in Denmark] who could interpret me with as much wit as I myself could. And if I were to pass that on to someone orally,

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who were then to steal it and use it against me in an a�ack, if I were to complain the entire market town would consider it quite in order.

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R. Nielsen will now presumab. create a sensation using something he took from me. It depends on the degree to which he is honestly willing to acknowledge that he is indebted to me. If he doesn’t, he will come off as a brilliant figure. Here lies the test of his honesty. We’ll see.

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“The Seducer’s Diary” had to precede everything in order to illuminate the “psychological experiment.” The la�er lies in the very border region betw. the interesting and the religious. If the Seducer’s Diary had not come first, the result would no doubt have been that the community of readers would have found it [the “Psychological Experiment”] interesting. As it is, the Seducer’s Diary helped the cause, and they found it [the “Psychological Experiment”] boring―correctly so; for it is the religious. Frater Taciturnus himself also explains this.

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That which causes my suffering is a kind of shyness coupled with a kind of pride. With regard to finite ma�ers, I can’t focus on or protect my own interests. I’m ashamed when I say that others have deceived me; I thus offend myself for the sake of others. And yet I see it very clearly; but it is also a kind of pride and, in the end, to have recognized that is enough for me.

What I’ve wri�en about Adler could perhaps be published sometime under the title: [“]Literary Review[”] and the large preface to A Cycle of Ethical-Religious Essays could be used there.

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too intimate to speak of.” I then answer, “[T]hat’s beautiful.” Ah, he is sly in his own way. In a love affair in which both parties contribute equally, silence is indeed fi�ing and praiseworthy. But for an author like R. N.―who obviously makes use in his works of what he takes from me―this silence is an especially easy matter. I wonder if he’s so caught up in illusion that he doesn’t notice it himself or that he thinks that I haven’t noticed it. We’ll see.

No, I am certainly not “that kind of extraordinary.” In part, because I have not collided with the established order, but [only] with the universally hum. (a hardship that o�en befalls a genius) and in part because I am a penitent; and finally, what is extraordinary about me could not be further from bringing about something new; so far from it, that it is just the opposite[:] I intend rather to maintain the established order. Here, I also see more clearly that I’ve correctly understood that only in a slumbering, enervated time ought I to be considered, or am indeed, an instrument of agitation or awakening (for I am a more ideal version of the established order); but in a time of rebellion, I am very clearly conservative. What R. Nielsen told me is also true: that, in a way, Bishop Mynster considered me to be an exaggeration―in a time of peace. But now he thinks I’m a be�er fit.

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This was the despicable and cowardly side of Goldschmidt: given the impression and conception he had of me, if he had possessed [the] slightest degree of honor and respect for himself and for his own explicit judgment, he would have taken up his polemic, but would have chosen to do so in a respectable place. He would then have been crushed; he certainly knew that. But what a disgusting lie he engaged in, hiding behind all that contemptibleness―right in front of me. Likewise with P. L. Møller. Signed in his own name in Fædrelandet, he responded very briefly, and with respect, despite my scornful article against him. And why[?] [B]ecause he signed it in his own name in a respectable place. But if there had been the slightest [degree of honor] in Goldschmidt,

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then indeed he would have been punished by the effects that he himself caused. For I told him myself that he could manage to incite the mob against me. And he did it; and the one who did it was the one who best understood what a vile lie it all was that these―in some sense―completely innocent peop. were misused by him in an appalling way for malicious purposes, for which he denied all responsibility. If there is a judgment, he stands condemned.

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NB. This must now be done carefully; there must be a new direction. There are three possibilities open to me. 1) in the sphere of reality, to straightforwardly and decisively become the exceptional character, denying that I am essentially a poet, denying that it is essentially in a poetic way (though in an unusually ethical way for a poet, given that I am willing to be my own artistic creation) that I have related to it [the role of the exceptional], denying the fact that I have been graced with fortuitous circumstances: wealth. This would be untrue of me, and is thus impossible for me. 2) as a poet, to retire to the poetic life and, on a personal level, to organize my life completely as a poet, seeking the aloofness of a poet in order to avoid the possibility that I myself might be confused, existentially, with the artistic creation. This makes some sense. 3) to seek an appointment, my original intention. The problem is that my �nancial worries, especially in these confused times, have been a bit hard on me. With favorable [�nancial] circumstances, I would have been able to keep myself above it all, despite hum. mistreatment, and to be able to become something similar to the artistic creation. But this worry has gnawed a bit at the dialectical tension in my spirit, and the mistreatment and all the maliciousness I am enduring have made me a bit impatient, so that I very nearly said something about myself (to be sure, in such a dialectical manner that I didn’t say [“]I was,[”] but rather that [“]I had been[”]), something that isn’t exactly untrue, but something that I, religiously speaking, have considered to be my duty to conceal in self-denial; nor can I reveal, in a consistent way, what lies so deeply hidden. Therefore, no. 2 in the Cycle of Ethical-Religious Essays (the universal―the individual―the exceptional individual), cannot be published either. Despite all the quali�cations, it will be understood as [a portrait of] me, and it also contains the explanation of the Seducer’s Diary, even though it will least of all be understood that way, but rather as the explanation for why I exposed myself to the mob.

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And as so often noted, the whole production that now lies �nished (the most valuable I have produced) can perhaps also be used but, for the sake of God in Heaven, in such a way that it must be guaranteed that it be artistically delivered, an artistic awakening.

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It is quite strange when I think about it. If I were to compare my life to that of a judge (apart from the fact that there is, naturally, a qualitative difference between us), the difference is that in an earlier time, the judge came in order to judge the government. I have faced just the opposite. People haven’t understood this ([they] found it strange that it comes from a private person); I have hardly understood it deeply enough myself: but now, from 48 onward, it appears perfectly clearly that if Governance is to send future prophets and judges, it must be solely in order to help the government, to lend assistance so that there is governance. And what has Mynster rlly done in this respect? Yes, he has sat there and enjoyed governing, handing out appointments, etc.

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Most of my worrying about the fact that my production could position me incorrectly―as the exceptional and so forth―is only hypochondria. Concerning A Cycle of Ethical-Religious Essays, I have again seen that they are in every way correctly delivered. From the outset, I have indicated that the rest of the production is [“]poetic experiment―without authority[”]. Furthermore, “Armed Neutrality” contains this sentiment as exactly as possible. The question arises therefore from the opposite end: to what degree I am allowed to withhold the remaining production at all.

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In one sense, I would prefer to remain free of it; I would prefer to remain free of putting it into the world, just as if I were free of responsibility if I were to refrain from putting it out there. 5

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This deserves, perhaps, to be wri�en up. Goldschmidt has never had an idea (aside from his lack of character and despicableness), though he has talent. During the time he edited The Corsair, it never exhibited a lack of talent, and for that reason it will not be forgo�en. I noticed, by the way, that he now says someplace in Nord og Syd, in defense of his actions, that owing to the of the baseness of the other parties, he took an ironic stance toward them. With this, it all comes together. If The Corsair had ideas, then the degree to which it had them depended on, and was tested by, the degree to which it was dialectical enough and the degree to which it had enough personal courage to express absolute negativity. Goldschmidt had no inkling of such things. The Corsair was liberal, thrashed Christian VIII, civil servants, etc.; The Corsair was the opposition’s specimen. Ideas are something Goldschmidt never had. Then, some time ago, I dropped a hint to Goldschmidt that, despite the immorality of the phenomenon, if it [The Corsair] or some such venture was to contain any idea at all, it would have to be directed against everything in equal measure and I hinted that it should not be so stupid as to be directed against the government in times like these. I dropped the hint en passant in the dignified manner that I always maintained with him. But I knew my man; and I experienced only a bit of awkwardness later when he came right out and told Prof. Nielsen (in Aarhus, at the secondary school) that I’d said so.

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He changed directions at that point, and a hint of an idea appeared in The Corsair. Then he went in completely the wrong direction, became comfortable with a most despicable personality, a�acked private personalities, etc.―and he immortalized me. A�er that, the moment also arrived for me when I should be seen in a new existential light; I thought, even then, that I owed that to my native country, the consistency of negativity. For I’ve always considered negativity to be a means of education, leading toward the positivity I wanted to advance: religiosity. But that I had a right, and was the only one here [in Denmark] who had that right, became apparent as I took this step[:] as I changed course, I completed my idea by turning negativity against myself, something that would have happened regardless of whether or not P. L. Møller’s a�ack had come. Among my papers, there is also an older li�le article, more or less occasioned by my immortalization; this was all the more the case because Goldschmidt did indeed become dangerous with the publication of Jøden, when he became the object of a kind of sentimental sympathy “because as a child he had suffered so much, etc.” With reg. to Goldschmidt, my thinking about taking the step was this[:] 1) understood eternally, either he would end up condemning himself eternally because he completely lacked substance and even come to despise himself. [T]hat happened. 2) or he would respond: no, I can’t go ahead and ridicule a production that I admire, and that I’ve said I admire, when it has remained unchanged. I’ll limit myself to the one small article in Fædrelandet. 3) or he might have said: no, I won’t a�ack Mag. K. In this last case, it would have been my intent to pass a small judgment. In that case, in order to make peop. aware of the abyss above which they were hovering, I would myself have shown how such things ought to be handled (but by a�acking fictitious names, completely void of any sting,

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When he sought an audience with Chr. VIII in 48, I don’t doubt that he wanted to use the occasion to his advantage by pointing out that he hadn’t a�acked him recently, but rather the opposition. As far as that goes, I would have tried to hinder him by telling him that Chr. VIII wouldn’t have anything to do with him.

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J O U R N A L NB 10 : 20 1849 purely aesthetically), and also how dangerous it is when it is about real people. With this, it was my intention to tear G. away from it [The Corsair], to get him to become an aesthetic journalist in respectable circumstances, with a respectable paper. He was a shrewd head, the only younger person I rlly a�ended to. He could have been useful to me with regard to the aesthetic. This would have been highly beneficial for him. He needs an influence like this. As is now clear, he can help himself though it all, a�ract many subscribers, etc. But his life will never have an idea. The test he was put through was strictly administered. The same day that the P.L.M. article was published, or the day a�er, he got hold of me on the street, apparently so that I could tell him privately what I wanted him to do. I didn’t [tell him]; in fact, I treated him coldly. A�er the whole load of abusive words was dumped on me, I met him on the street the next day. He passed me, I called out to him and said[:] [“]Goldschmidt[!”] He came over to me. I told him to walk with me. I told him that he must have misunderstood everything I had impressed upon him with regard to giving up The Corsair; that he had perhaps lived in the illusion that I kept up appearances with him to avoid becoming the object of his a�acks. At that point, he could see that the situation was quite the contrary. Therefore I wanted to repeat, in the most serious terms, what I had already told him. I did. I impressed upon him in the most serious way that he must leave The Corsair. One could both laugh and cry when, with tears in his eyes (because he, as is o�en the case with that kind of pers., was so easily moved to tears), he said: [“]And you can pass judgment about my conduct in this way and not say a word about the fact that I nonetheless have some talent.[”] A�er I’d spoken to him, I said farewell, but in a good-natured way, which was always my practice with him, but also in a distanced way, which I always maintained with him. Since that time, I haven’t spoken with him. Truly not for my sake; not only do I forgive him for what he’s done to me, but I’m not even angry about it. I’m not that inconsistent. No, I thought that I owed that to the situation. I was still universally taken to be “the ironist”; I kept up appearances during those events; I would have very much liked to have supported him by giving my sanction that irony was his cra�. As affable as I am, it has in

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truth been a burden to me that I have had to play the role of the angry one. He has, however, continued to imitate me in small ways. As noted, he explained that The Corsair was aimed negatively at the parties, and that he will again orient himself toward the parties―positively. He reads (and I probably have few readers who are so eager) that the negative is the passageway. So he’s directing the same comedy. For him, The Corsair becomes the negative in somewhat the same way that one says that it was a stage of development in one’s life, that one has been in a correctional institution. The public can’t understand me; but they hear that there’s nonetheless something deep in it [my work]―and then Goldschmidt directs the comedy, and becomes popular. In this ma�er, as with everything, there’s been a silver lining, a [“]more[”] from the side of Governance: I have learned indescribably much, am perhaps closer to being delivered from my hypochondria and more distinctly influenced in a Christian way.

(Aside from the difference that I’ve had my freedom), in a sense, I’m only different from someone who has an office and is thus officially in the service of the establishment insofar as I haven’t received a salary or benefits but rather have been taxed with and collected abuses; insofar as I haven’t had the security, power, influence, item the occasion to be idle, which is tied to the profession, but, rather, have worked in an almost sleepless unwearied way, have dared to face dangers, all in the service of the establishment―all of which the esteemed, cultivated newspaper-reading public has found strange: that someone will work so strenuously for something when it is not his livelihood, will work so strenuously in service of the establishment when it is not his job, that someone will work so strenuously and then expose himself to abuse, will freely and independently work so strenuously and then doesn’t even belong to the opposition.

25 item] Latin, as well as, also.

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NB. What a hypochondriacal oddity I am. Today, I took out my latest production to see if it indeed revealed too much. And you see, it already reads: [“]poetically, without authority.[”]

Bonaventure

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…. In comparison with a copyist and calligrapher like Mag. M. Hamerich, I will never be more than a flour-and-oatmeal grocer.

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It’s funny to read: “the question about Germany’s head of state”[;] one is tempted to say [“]is there any question at all [about Germany?”]

It could be fun to give a play three titles He Who Laughs Last Laughs Best or He Who Laughs Best Laughs Last or Wie es euch gefällt Musical Comedy or Ballad Opera or A Painting of Fruit in 3 Acts 10 desideria occident pigrum] Latin, The craving of the lazy person is fatal. 25 Wie es euch gefällt] German, As You Like It.

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This is ridiculous, but it’s clear that something like this could be a retort a la Falstaff. The crazy third one, the line about the fruit, is characteristic of him. One sees in his insults, his metaphors, that even a�er he’s served up enough lunacy, he adds a final, completely ridiculous remark. It also happens in life. I remember from my childhood (it was one of the Wahlgreen boys who lived with Agerskov at the 8th Blegdam) that a�er he had exhausted every insult against another boy, he burst out a�er a long pause, half desperately and half ecstatically: [“]you canary.[”]

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If I imagined that I was suddenly asked the question, in public, if I am a Christian, and perhaps was asked so formally that I was forced from my dialectical position and made to stand front and center, I would then answer: um, of course I’m Christian, just like everyone else is. But I can’t say more without designating myself as Christian in comparison with other Christians. That which has been my evasion and my cloak, to be Christian like everyone else, will also become satire. There are a few people who will do doubt feel my sting, and who would like to make me step forward; for if that happened, I wouldn’t sting. And if I were to position myself in that way, I would be in an in�nitely better position with regard to hum. beings. Mynster would fear me and do everything to win me over (unlike now, where he rlly misuses the impression he has of my integrity and devotion, [assuming] that I really have no �nite aspirations and that I want the truth so unsel�shly that I could never be dangerous to him in this world; for he is really too congenial with worldliness [to think otherwise])[.] Others would admire me and praise me, and then everything would be wonderful. That’s how it is. In this world, it’s always a matter of forgetting God and making one’s contemporaries the �nal authority.

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on an even lower plane. Consequently, not a single word by him, not a single comment, will be passed on to the next generation because his life contains almost no idea, and he doesn’t even remotely express the notion that a God exists, but rather the notion that in Cph., a more distinguished world exists, a world that one must be on good terms with in order to meet the demands of the day. He has an important post (indeed, his contemporaries make that clear). He is a prof., he influences the fate of the students and is thereby esteemed as a significant person by many, many families; he is a priest at the royal court, a knight; it all takes place only once every 6th week, for three-quarters of an hour, in the most ornamented church that the king and queen a�end. He is an a�raction in social circles in Cph.; people make arrangements to go and hear M. and they make these arrangements at balls and masquerades. I think it would be be�er to be a hawker at the entrance to a show at Dyrehaugsbakken―that is more serious than being a serious man in his way, preaching that the truth was not crucified (for that’s not Xnty) but that the truth is crucified. It is impossible to keep from laughing, as one can, perhaps, in the case of the hawker.

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This is how it goes. I presented the problem, the problem confronting the entire race: the equality betw. pers. and pers. I acted it out in Cph. That’s something different than writing a few words about it; I expressed it asymptotically with my life. In a Christian sense, I have leveled the field, but not in a rebellious way aimed at power and dignity, which I have insisted upon with all my might. But you see, peop. don’t know what they’re talking about― and I am sacrificed, and my offense is said to be that I was arrogant, I, who along with every other sacrificial victim, have fought for equality. And the consequence? Well, the consequence is simply that I, were I not so strongly affected by the religious, would have had to retreat and seek the company―of the distinguished because I had become so arrogant. Oh, you fools!

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To know―to be so strongly affected that one senses that the truth is only reached through suffering―that the degree of truth corresponds to the degree of suffering―and then, secretly, to be willing to take from someone the thoughts and the expressions of suffering poured from my heart, in blood―to be willing to take it secretly in order to publish it as one’s own.

Today (Sunday before Lent), Visby began with something like this: “We shall speak today about the covenant that we have all made, and that most of us have renewed”―unfathomable that it didn’t occur to him to add: [“]and that all of us have broken[”]― and then to rearrange the entire discourse as a sermon about penance on the theme: Our Baptismal Covenant.

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I have drawn R. Nielsen toward me because I considered it to be my religious duty, so it couldn’t be said of me that I had completely ignored that initial level of responsibility with regard to another pers. Naturally, he cannot be of benefit to me in an infinite sense; he is too heavy, too think-skinned, too tainted by Christian VIII’s era. But if I am to be brought back into finitude, naturally, he can be of service. I have had to distance myself from him, for otherwise he sits and spews out an asinine version of my cause in the form of good-natured cha�er, my cause, which must either be unconditionally intensified or hidden away in the deepest silence.

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To some degree, R. N. can understand me, but he can’t resist himself; he’s mesmerized by all the profundity, he rushes home and draws it all up and publishes it―instead of first making it

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a personal practice. His call to truth will never, in all eternity, become practice.

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There can be no doubt that “the exceptional person,” as he is portrayed in No. 2, is in no way me. I have never collided with the established order; I have always been solidly conservative. But I have collided with something universally human: I broke an engagement. But this is rlly no one else’s business. It isn’t a collision with history understood as the established order; such collisions have this internal dialectic: they bring about something new. But I have never claimed to have done so. In addition, I’ve done everything possible to ensure that my example, my collision, won’t harm anyone, as if it was something great not to marry.

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In truth, I can indeed say that I have worked in the service of the establishment. And even though I pushed it in the direction of becoming a reformer, using the highest criterion imaginable, I am nonetheless in the service of the established order. For “the masses” are what I consider to be evil; if I must fall, I must fall; I will take up, and have taken up, a front against them [the masses], with all my might, supporting the government and Governance. But to the degree that I come into contact with this abusive organization driven by livelihood, it is certainly not because someone ought to be deprived of his livelihood or that someone ought to become uneasy and, for that reason, abolish it. The issue I’m �ghting for in this context (which, however, is greatly subordinate) is again an idea: an idea concerning the way in which one views one’s livelihood; [my idea is to coerce a person] to admit to himself that it is a relief and a convenience that he has a livelihood, and not to �ippantly turn the tables and to make his “livelihood” seriousness―and to make Christ and the apostles dreamers. What I said to Christian VIII was indeed true[:] it was my sincere opinion that I deserved credit from the establishment; but something else I said to him was also true[:] the point was that I was a

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private person. The establishment needed awakening and rehabilitation in such vulgar times, now that everything is explained with base motivations, and when one, in a sense, undermines capable public servants by saying: he is a salaried servant of the state. 5

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If Mynster, at any moment, fails to completely acknowledge that I have been in the service of the establishment (which he does deep down and as soon as he thinks about his mortality), he does so only because of his worldly craving for power, which will remain the highest power, and because he will not acknowledge (as long as he lives―for he will in death) a God relationship.

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It is a delicate business to publish even the slightest hint that remotely explains this matter of the extraordinary. It is certainly true that I am not such a person, but from this, from this, it does not follow that―despite all the exceptions―it will not be understood to be about me. But if it is characteristic of such an extraordinary person to hide it, I ought not give any signals in that direction. The one side of my extraordinariness is that I am a penitent. It is impossible for me to portray it in such a way that the accent falls at the right place. For what does the world rlly care about such a person when they get a chance to simply stare at the extraordinary[?] But if I can’t say A, I can’t say B. Surely there’s something sad about that. My life, my literary activities, will be explained höchstens as some peculiar genius, not at all as serious as, and as consistent as, so many other lives. None of my contemporaries peer any more deeply. I am the only one who can explain it (for to explain in this case is to have made the discovery, to have made the discovery alone, which consequently does not exist for others)―alas, and I am silent. It is as if someone owned a great treasure and guarded it so carefully that he threw away the key. 29 höchstens] German, at the most.

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What worries me is whether or not I have the right to do so, whether this silence with regard to God is permissible, whether it is permissible to let a production, the ingenuity of which is so in�nitely indebted to him, remain a mystery and remain a peculiar something or other for so many people[.] [A]nd why? [B]ecause, in part, the auth. considers it to be self-denial and because, in part, he doesn’t think he can handle every misunderstood consequence, in the actual world, that would follow from having provided the explanation.

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A Cycle of Ethical-Religious Ess.―if the part about Adler is omitted (and it must be omitted, without question, for to have anything to do with him is utterly crazy, not to mention that it is perhaps also unfair to treat a contemporary from a strictly psychological perspective)―has the �aw that there are certain parts that, in the context of a larger study, didn’t originally stand out but that now stand out far too much and draw attention to me. The same applies to no. 3, a more recent work, even though it was originally written independently. But if no[s]. 2 and 3 are left out in addition to the parts on Adler, then A Cycle can’t be published at all. On top of this, the second edition of Either/Or ought to be accentuated. Thus, either [I should publish it] in quarto format with all the most recent productions (as I had originally planned), or just a little bit of it, but I must make sure that it stands in proper contrast to Either/Or. The “3 Notes” on my work as an auth. �t here as if they were planned that way, and this really appeals to me. If I do nothing at all to assure an understanding of my literary production as a uni�ed project―either directly (by publishing The Point of View for My Work as an Author) or by telegraphing it indirectly (by publishing A Cycle etc.)―what will happen? There will be no evaluation at all of my authorship as a totality; for no one has enough faith [in that hypothesis] or time or competence to look for a comprehensive plan in the production as a whole. The verdict will thus be that I have changed a bit over the years. That’s what will happen. And it saddens me. I know down deep

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that there is another sort of coherence, that there is a unity to the whole production (especially through the assistance of Governance), and that there certainly is something more to be said about it than the meager idea that the auth. has changed. I keep this hidden deep within me, where I also hide this tension: in what ways did I become guiltier than other peop.[?] These proportions really appeal to me. I have something against being viewed with any kind of sympathy or representing myself as the extraordinary. This really appeals to me. The best incognito I could now choose is quite simply to take an appointment. The enticing thing about the total production (that it is aesthetic―but also religious) will be very faintly intimated by the “3 Notes.” If something is to function as enticement, incidentally, it’s wrong to explain why. A �sherman wouldn’t explain his bait to the �sh by saying: [“]This is bait.[”] And �nally, even if there were no other dif�culties attached to explaining something about the totality, I still couldn’t accentuate in the right way that Governance is rlly the directing power and that, in so many ways, I didn’t understand that until afterward. This is written on Shrove Monday. On this day one year ago, I decided to publish Christian Discourses; this year, I am inclined to the very opposite. For just a moment, I’d like to introduce some peace and friendliness into my situation. I don’ think this can be better achieved than by publishing a second edition of Either/Or, and then the “3 Notes.” The moment I think about breaking it off, however, about starting a polemic, which I nevertheless won’t respond to, a polemic (which is unavoidable because of no. 1 and no. 2 in A Cycle), I also feel strange. My part will be mild; but if someone wants a �ght, [they had best understand] that I’m truly well-armed behind this facade.

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This time, daring to take action looks different to me. Earlier, I’ve always remained committed to publishing what I had written; now it’s a matter of refraining. A Cycle of Ethical-Religious Ess. is indeed from an earlier period. Its composition is also somewhat

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And, by the way, it has been set aside, shelved, more than once already.

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unusual because it is made up of a larger work hacked to pieces, and the motif for the whole thing (Adler) has been omitted while a new theme, in no. 3, has been added. I can’t get behind it enough to want to publish it.a With regard to The Point of View, etc. the problem is that it was written in a state of mind when I never expected to see its publication. It’s like the confessions of a dying man. It is no doubt good for me that I managed to get it written, and if I had traveled abroad in the spring as I had originally intended, I would never have got something like that done. It requires pains of a quite different kind, and I sink even more deeply into myself than ever. This past summer has been extremely important to me in this sense. As far as that goes, it was good I didn’t travel. I’ve reached a kind of productivity that I’ve never reached before. But it doesn’t follow that The Point of View is to be published. [Publishing] the second edition of Either/Or with the 3 Notes: this appeals to me. It’s so much a part of my nature to hide the best things deep within me. I endured being considered a villain once, even though it wasn’t exactly true, so let me also endure being considered an oddity, even though it isn’t exactly true. But back then, the circumstances didn’t in�uence me so painfully and I was tempted to show that I wasn’t [what they thought I was] but perhaps just the opposite. With regard to my literary activities, the circumstances have pained me more, and it is also a public matter is a different way. I must remember that a new danger has been added to the mix, a danger that is unfamiliar to me: the security of my future. I presume taking a risk approaches this territory: that trusting in God, a person ventures into a danger that he nonetheless imagines he can endure. This I’ve done, and I’m willing (on the original conditions) to go into battle against human beings, their power, their scorn, etc., for I understand myself in light of the possibility that with God’s help, I will emerge victorious. But I can’t manage the other danger at the same time. I’m not strong enough; here, I would consider it foolhardy to dare such a move. From the beginning, it had been my plan to break off my literary activities and seek an appointment in a small parish. It was my hope that if I, qua auth., were to invest money without seeing any return on the investment, that I nonetheless would be able to leave it with a kind of honor intact. If anything, I’m somewhat embittered about the fact that I, as the object of abuse, must leave my literary activities. It pains me that ceasing my activity as auth. will be interpreted as weakness. This bitterness has perhaps caused me to want

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to propel myself to a higher stage than I’d ever imagined. It’s true that one must also remember that a person only receives his orders successively, and, as far as that goes, that my situation might still retain some authenticity if I were to go beyond what I had originally imagined. But it is also a matter of being true to oneself.

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It was my mission to rouse people by posing this riddle: a balanced aesthetic and religious production, simultaneously. That’s been done. There’s even a balance in the quantity. The Concluding Postscript is the midpoint. The 3 Notes just shift the balance toward the religious. What comes next can’t be added impatiently as a conclusion. For at this point, it is right that this is the conclusion. What comes next would be the beginning of something new.

Why can’t Christ be called a martyr? Because he wasn’t a witness to truth but was “the truth,” and his death wasn’t a martyrdom but was the reconciliation.

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A martyrdom of laughter is rlly what I’ve suffered. Indeed, I can say nothing more profound about myself than this: I am a martyr of laughter. For not everyone who is laughed at, even for an idea, is truly a martyr of laughter. When, e.g., a man, who is serious in every way, is martyred for a good cause, he doesn’t have a deeper relationship to the martyrdom he suffers. But I am a martyr of laughter; and my life has been designed for it; I identify myself so completely with the martyr of laughter, that it is as if I now understood myself for the first time―on the other hand, I find it difficult to understand myself as someone who, e.g., is put to death and even more difficult to understand myself as a success in the world. No, in the martyrdom of laughter I

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recognize myself. This is possible because I am the wi�iest of all, eminently in possession of vis comica, could myself have represented laughter on an unsurpassed scale, could also have deceptively lured others out onto thin ice by doing so, so that I became just what the age demanded―this superiority, this self-determination is the criterion of the more ideal martyrdom. Quite rightly, I must be the one who commands the laughter to a�ack me (as Ney commanded the soldiers who shot him). And the one who was to carry out the order would gladly have been my lieutenant; and it has certainly never dawned on him that my rank could be anything but no. 1.

A “Postscript” authored by Anticlimachus could well make a complete li�le book under the title:

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Climachus and Anticlimachus For Climachus is already well-known and the idea that emerges here (by placing the two together) is authentically dialectical.

My elaborations in an earlier journal (from the summer of 48)―where I suggest that reduplication and absolute indirect communication (betw. hum. beings) are somewhat demonic―are true in one sense. The question is whether or not a hum. being has the right to side completely with God against hum. beings; is it not treason toward hum. beings and an indiscretion toward God[?] Here the life of Xt illuminates nothing, because he himself was God. But if a pers. is to remain among hum. beings, we get no further than the religiosity of hum. sympathy. Here as everywhere I see only one way out: if a person is going to side with God in this way, it must not be as an impeccable hum. being, but rather through the misery of being subordinate to the universally hum., an exception, and thus, as a sufferer and as his only possibility, constrained to relate absolutely to God.

2 vis comica] Latin, comic talent.

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My Last Word about Goldschmidt If I were to speak, I would say something like this. I have nothing to reproach him for. I must reproach myself for perpetrating an injustice against myself, because I, perhaps motivated by exaggerated good nature and kindness, had too much faith in him and had hoped for some hidden good in him, for doing him the wrong of testing him in such a way that it would all come out into the open in a de�nitive way. Everyone regarded him with contempt; no one I associate with had anything to do with him. I thought that this attitude was perhaps an injustice to him. He wanted to become an auth. and with that in mind, came to me. In an honest and kind way, I did everything I could to advise him and tear him away, if possible, from the aberration and perdition of The Corsair. I laid myself open to the possibility that many would take exception if greeted or accompanied by that man on the streets (and, in fact, several people have told me they did). I laid myself open to rumors, circulated by certain envious circles, that I secretly indulged in vulgar irony. I had entertained the thought of becoming more involved with him. But there had to be a test �rst. Given that I was his only object of admiration and given what he himself had said in print, would he then have the courage and self-respect to say: [“]No, I won’t attack him[”] or [“]I’ll attack the little article he’s written but not the earlier books I personally have admired and immortalized and to which I’m deeply indebted.[”] He didn’t pass the test. For me it was punishment―if it can be called punishment―for being the only person in Denmark who wronged Goldschmidt by placing too much faith in him and by hoping that there was something good hidden deep down inside him. An Eastern proverb says: [“]He who �rst praises and then insults someone lies two times.[”] That was the trap I set for him―an exaggeration[?] Oh yes, I could have been satis�ed with the positive assurance of all the others that he was contemptible.

To “remain silent” while reflecting implies being able to speak, and speak about everything else imaginable; for otherwise, it is conspicuous and suspicious to remain silent, and then it isn’t exactly silence, not complete silence.

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Isn’t it a kind of inhuman cruelty, or a cruel pleasure (like that of the tyrant who, with the right mechanisms, transformed the shrieks of the martyrs into music), to preach in an elegant church to an elegant, honored, cultured gathering about those noble ones who suffered for the truth etc.[?]―and that the result of it all is that the audience has enjoyed [“]the pleasant hour[”] and the orator is admired[?] Is it not brutish cruelty on the part of the audience and blood money for the speaker―for, in fact, he turns the martyrs into money. This kind of presentation ought to be arranged sometime― everything would be as it should be, [“]the pleasant hour[”] would almost have come to an end―and then they would be assaulted, shown what a lie the whole thing was. Revival preachers, in general, must be cunning. “The cultured” shrewdly stay away when they hear that there is to be such a preacher or, if they come, they come mentally armed with a thousand prudential rules and evasions. Therefore, they must be fooled if they’re to be caught in the downpour. Or has the world (the actuality in which you and I live) now become so perfect that there is no occasion for you to suffer a li�le for truth? But you see, this is the deception that’s been devised[:] to do what you say is said to be extremism. A quiet, modest, retiring rural priest probably can’t preach any differently [than he does]; the theatrical se�ing for great showdowns is lacking. He can nevertheless humble himself and his listeners before something greater, so that it becomes a li�le more than [“]a pleasant hour.[”] But to preach this way in the capital is treason against Xnty.

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NB. It’s not rlly necessary for me to provide any information about myself via direct communication for the sake of my contemporaries. For they haven’t rlly misunderstood me, they’re just rude, de�ant, and envious.

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It is so dif�cult for me to say something about myself as auth. in toto because I can never properly accentuate the role that Governance had played, or my deepest conception of it all. And that can’t be done until I’m literally dead. In this case, remaining silent is consistent self-denial. The only dubious point has to do with a relationship to God, whether I owe it to him to speak. One can deceive by being a hypocrite. But it is also a kind of deception to encourage and lead people to believe that one is far less than what one is. And the dialectical point lies here, for if I reveal that I am extraordinary with respect to talents etc., yes, with respect to being an author―I am nonetheless unable to say anything about what is also essentially part of the story: all my misery, my sin, etc. But if I can’t, then the extraordinary is taken to be vanity and it is therefore untrue.

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There is a notable ambiguity to all the answers Christ gives to the tempter, insofar as we understand each of them differently if we consider that Xt, (the one speaking), is himself God.

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“Strike anywhere” matchsticks have been prohibited―on grounds of abuse (as in Russia today); but it occurs to no one to prohibit the press on grounds of abuse. Wouldn’t it be wise to recognize that the daily press is a commodity, the abuse of which far outweighs the benefits[?]

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And what was all this commotion about The Corsair? It was the public seeking power―and it was a Jew who wanted to be the instrument. Just as a whore was once the goddess of reason in France, I’m convinced that only a Jew has the capacity to lead this tyranny, the most ambiguous of all tyrannies, even more ambiguous than the tyranny of a loan shark (which Jews are also best suited for), a tyranny that says: [“]I have him, and him too, damn well in my power[”]―though it, [tyranny] itself, is kicked down the stairs. It was the public seeking power. Thus, in one sense, all those who were a�acked escaped in a tolerable way. For it didn’t interest the public to force the issue to the bi�er end; the public just wanted to be able to feel a bit of sympathy for

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them, to spare them from more a�acks, etc. I alone became the object of its rage. [A]nd why? Sure enough, because I started it.

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Cf. Goethe, Westöstlicher Divan, Sämtl. W., 6th vol. pp. 33ff.

Mohammed protests with all his might against being regarded as a poet and the Koran as a poem; he wants to be a prophet. I protest with all my might at being regarded as a prophet and want only to be a poet.

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(On the fact that I voluntarily exposed myself to ridicule) … In this respect there is something that filled my soul with sadness. The so-called simple man, the common man, has scarcely been loved as Christianly and as unselfishly as I have loved him, especially not in Cph. On the other hand, here as everywhere, we have plenty of people, who in the capacity of journalists, want to take his last nickels―in exchange for false ideas, that can only make him unhappy and make the relationship between classes more embi�ered. We have plenty of people who, in the capacity of agitators and things like that, want to exploit his numbers in order to shoot him down; meanwhile, an elite group views the ma�er erroneously and says: The simple class is demoralized; they must be shot down. No, no, no―the tragedy of the whole thing lies at the feet of the bourgeois, and if anyone is to be shot down, then let it be the journalists for the ways they’ve exploited and profited from the simple classes. God in Heaven knows that blood-thirst is foreign to my soul, and to a frightening degree, I also think I have a concept of a responsibility to God. And yet I would, in the name of God, take responsibility for giving the order to fire if I, first of all, with the precaution of a most anxious conscience, had convinced myself that there was not one single other man facing the rifles―yes, not one single living creature other than―journalists. This is said of the whole class. There have been honorable and excellent princes and clergy, though they are evaluated with a different standard―and yet at times, and with a certain truth, it was said―of this entire class―that evil comes from the princes, from the clergy.

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The idea that contemporaneousness with Christ is the criterion for being Christian is still in need of some commentary. My treatment of contemporaneousness as the criterion, found in several works, is poetically, historically, and ethically absolutely true, and thus valid; and as far as that goes, it is valid with re. to Christ as a real historical person. But Christ is also [understood] dogmatically. Here’s the difference. His death is the reconciliation. The category changes qualitatively here. When it comes to the death of a witness to the truth, I’m to learn to want to die for the truth as he did, to want to resemble him. But I can’t will it in the same way with regard to Christ’s death. For Christ’s death is not to be imitated; it is the reconciliation―I don’t dare view or understand Christ as a merely historical person, either. When I think about his life and death, I think, or ought to be thinking, that I’m a sinner. But it should also be noted that, in a sense, it’s become easier to become and be Christian for hum. beings [who live] after the death of Christ than it was for his contemporaries. His reconciling death must be taken as a means to this end. Moreover, during his lifetime, his mission was to live as Exemplar and to raise the price on truth, before he was killed. But after his death, he can also aid the Christian. Therefore it’s not only a question of being willing to imitate Christ as Exemplar. First of all, I need his help in order to imitate him; and, secondly, insofar as he is the redeemer and reconciler of the race, I can’t imitate him. The medieval conception of Christ as Exemplar, the beautiful zeal to imitate him―this is youthfulness that wants to get at it immediately. But the older one becomes, the deeper becomes the qualitative difference between the ideal and the person who wants to imitate it. That’s why Luther fought against an overly zealous and enthusiastic desire to reduce Christ to a mere Exemplar―and then it’s even more strongly apparent that the Exemplar is something else, too: the reconciler, who cannot be imitated but who can aid us. In the end, this received such emphasis that the idea that he is Exemplar almost disappeared as something altogether too transcendent. This, however, must not happen.

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It’s true that Christianity must be presented in such a way (here lies the possibility of offense) that if an individual’s motivating force is not a consciousness of sin, then that person is mad to get involved with Xnty. An end must be put to all the chatter that Xnty satis�es the deepest longings, etc. No, only “the struggle and distress of the anguished conscience” can help one dare to want to have anything to do with Xnty; otherwise it is and must be an offense.

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the Exemplar must also aid the one who is to imitate him. And in one respect no one can imitate him or even think of wanting to imitate him (it would be blasphemy), inasmuch as the Exemplar is the redeemer and the redemption.

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With respect to a merely human exemplar―and here there can be no question of worship, of course―there is no time for admiration; just get to work imitating him. The ethical truth of the matter is just this: admiration is suspiciously like an evasion. With respect to Christ, however, this can’t be the case. Here it is again apparent (as I have so often pointed out in Concluding Postscript) that the Christian-religious is a unique sphere where the aesthetic issues reappear, but paradoxically, as higher than the ethical ones, which is just the opposite of how it otherwise stands. Aesthetically (taking here only the relationship to a human exemplar) admiration is the highest; wanting to imitate has no place in the aesthetic. Then the ethical comes along and says: As a matter of fact, the will to imitate is decisive; admiration either has no place or is an evasion. Then comes the paradox-exemplar (God-man). Here we have the aesthetic paradox again. If I want to interfere ethically here, I take the Exemplar in vain. Here it is �rst and foremost a matter of worship―and only through worship can there be any question of wanting to imitate. Herea

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Humankind and the ideal are different from each other in this way. One comes closer to being able to live for an idea, closer to being capable of spending every hour of the day doing so, as one orients oneself toward the ideal―although, of course, when the ideal is Christ, there is the in�nite qualitative difference between him and one who comes close to him. But what about people, the great majority of people, who must use most of their time earning a living, in menial work[?]―With regard to them, it would be cruel to raise the price. Here, however, human comfort and consolation ought to be extended to such people because it might be the case that their deepest and truest concern is that they are pained by not being able to live for something higher. Truly, truly I’ve always felt this way and I’ve always acknowledged it: I’ve always been indescribably inspired by the fact that, before God, it is just as important to be a servant-girl, if that’s what you are, as to be the most eminent genius. This is where my almost overexaggerated sympathy for ordinary people, the common person, comes from. And this is why I can be so saddened and sorrowful about the fact that they’ve been taught to ridicule me, i.e., they’ve been robbed of the one person in Denmark who loved them most sincerely. No, the cultured and af�uent class, who, if not the elite then the upper-bourgeoisie―they ought to be the targets, and for them the price ought to be jacked up.

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Situation A theologian without an appointment. Through a period of years he has worked in such a way that he has achieved a kind of fame that will unquestionably guarantee that people will stream to church to hear him, especially the elite, etc. He has it announced that he will preach, and he chooses the most prominent, most elegant church in the national capital. Everyone is in the church, including the king and queen. He ascends to the pulpit and prays; he reads his text about Jesus driving the money changers out of the temple.

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Immediately afterward, he begins in the following manner. So let the word be declared, my word to the world, for which I have prepared myself my whole life; Let it be said: Preaching Christianity in these surroundings is not Christianity; be it ever so Christian, it is not Christianity. Christianity can be preached only in real life. And I hereby transform this building into reality. I am now in your power, I, a solitary human being, but now I shall speak― and thus it becomes real. I shall speak on the theme that Christianity can be preached only in real life. An attack on this entire elegant church and this elegant congregation. Christ was not an elegant man, who preached to an elegant assembly in an elegant church about suffering for the truth―in reality, they spat on him. An uproar breaks out in the entire church; they cry: down with him, out of the church[!] But he raises a thundering voice that deafens everything: Now this is right; now I am preaching Christianity. If my intention had been suspected I would have been kept from this pulpit or everyone would have stayed home. But here I stand and I am speaking, and I charge you in responsibility toward God to listen to me, for it is the truth that I speak.

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Like everything else mediaeval, the origin of indulgences, etc.―their disappearance is another ma�er―was a childish misunderstanding. By reading such and such a prayer, repeating it over and over again, such and such an indulgence was granted (e.g., cf., Liguori, Betrachtungen und Gebetbuch Aachen 1840, p. 599 note). But didn’t my father do the same with me as a child[?] He promised me 1 rd. if I read one of Mynster’s sermons aloud to him, and 4 rd. if I’d write up the sermon I’d heard in church. I didn’t do it, of course; I also remember pointing out that it was wrong to tempt me like that because he knew I wanted money. But it wasn’t really my father’s fault that I’ve never been a child; it was my own. For a child, who doesn’t have a be�er sense of things of greater importance, this method isn’t wrong at all; the assumption is that child will gradually be under the governance of higher conceptions and then, later on, will have the opportunity to appropriate them in a deeper sense.

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It’s true that my original intention was always to try to get an appointment in a small rural parish. But at the time, I was rlly thinking of it in contrast to my success in the world, despite my efforts, as an auth. Now the situation is different; my circumstances are so unfortunate that, for the time being, it’s �tting for me, a penitent, to stay right where I am. Humnly speaking, if I were to advise myself, I would give it up; this generation is reprehensible when an author of my facility and devotion is treated like this. I have no interest whatsoever in clashing with them, for there is hardly a single one of them with the competence to judge me. Christianly speaking, my only concern is obedience to God. It’s true, too, that I’ve always claimed that there’s not an auth. who knew when to stop. That’s right. But I ought to go at least this far: to the idea of trying to introduce Christianity into Christendom, albeit poetically and without authority (so that I don’t make myself into a missionary). I’ve done that. But the trouble is that it nauseates me to have to say one more word to this generation, a word that will merely require new sacri�ces and expose me to new round of nastiness. And because it’s lying there securely, it can just as well lie there until after my death. But Christianly, the only question is that of obedience. If this kind of nastiness were taken seriously, Christ would never have opened his mouth. It is more dif�cult for me to decide whether it is more humiliating to straightforwardly declare that I can no longer afford to be an author and then take on the burden of �nite matters, or to expose myself to everything that might follow if I publish something but, of course, not something that transforms me into the extraordinary one who acquires some disciples. Finally, there’s one thing to remember―that my original thought must still be subject to a kind of inspection. For how many times have I said that a warship doesn’t receive its orders until it’s out on the deep[?] And therefore it might be entirely in order for me to go farther qua auth. than I had originally intended, especially since I’ve become an auth. in an entirely different sense[.] Originally, I’d thought that being an auth. offered a temporary escape from moving to the country as a priest. But hasn’t my situation

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already changed inasmuch as I, qua auth., have begun to work for the religious[?] First, I wanted to stop immediately after Either/Or. That was rlly my original thought. But productivity took hold of me. Then I planned to stop with the Concluding Postscript. But what happened[?] I got involved in this vulgar persecution, and that was the very thing that kept me where I was. Now, I said to myself, now it’s not an option to abandon these splendid conditions; no, now it’s a situation for a penitent. Then I wanted to stop with Christian Discourses and travel, but I couldn’t―and 48 was the year of my richest productivity. Thus Governance itself kept me in my place. I’ll ask myself: Do you believe that out on a parsonage you would have been able to write 3 religious works like the 3 that followed Concluding Postscript? And I have to answer, [“]No![”] It was the tightening conditions of reality that put new strings on my instrument, forced me to become even bolder. And then again in 48. Now, however, it’s only a question of publishing a couple of ethical-religious essays―and 3 cordial notes. But as noted, I’m sickened at the thought of addressing these contemporaries, for whom, humnly speaking, the only proper response would be silence. I really have to travel this spring.

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The beginning of my authorship is indirectly explained in something correlative, the essay “The Dialectical Relations: The Universal, the Single Individual, the Special Individual.” The more recent turn is indirectly explained in the essay “Does a Human Being Have the Right to Let Himself Be Put to Death for the Truth?”

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It is clear that the contradiction would also be avoided, for I would cease to be an auth.

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How saddening that I became too much of a poet. If I had found myself in fortunate financial circumstances, I could have, with God’s assistance, continued to cultivate myself as an ethical figure qua auth.; without those fortunate circumstances, I become too despondent and collapse in light of the contradiction that my life isn’t an expression of what I preach―I will take a job―ah, and live an illusion.a And yet I think I owe myself this thought: my mission hasn’t been like that of a purely ethical figure, either. A figure like that doesn’t produce literary work, and certainly not such an enormous amount.

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Oh, what can one do in this world with regard to truth? It was considered vanity that I dared to live a personal existence that corresponded to a literary production, that I dared to make reality a theater, dared to walk down the streets! Ah, and I was the only one who understood that it was all in the service of the truth, item, that it was a way to weaken the impression I made on others, a way to serve the truth by dispelling illusion. And now that I withdraw and am seen less o�en, my honor and esteem will grow. God in Heaven. And why[?] Naturally, because I no longer so tirelessly serve the truth, but instead an illusion has come as assistance. Woe is this life!

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The words from Philippians could be the text for a Friday sermon: “For me, living is Christ”; but no more, not the next phrase, “and dying is gain.”

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In the evangelical hymnal, no. 5, v. 6, is the following:

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The prophets announced you, The apostles proclaimed you, And the flock of martyrs praised you In the hour of death, solemnly. These verses could be a theme for different ways of proclaiming the word.

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I have always thought that the moment to give up being an auth. was when I could no longer live without concern for my livelihood. During my activity as an auth., it was my thought to become a priest in the countryside―but at the time, that thought stood in contrast to the brilliant possibilities of my existence as an auth.―and I didn’t do it then. Now the ma�er is somewhat different because I’ve entered into this belligerent relationship with my contemporaries; now it might seem as if it were an alleviation, or as if I were abandoning the more difficult situation in order to find the easier one. It doesn’t help to talk to anyone else because, at that very moment, I’m immediately pushed away from enduring [with my project] and toward more certain prospects. I know beforehand what every pers. will say. I must therefore continue to abide with God; with every consultation with another person, I’m immediately directed toward finitude. Rather than encouraging me to continue, he would perhaps admire me because I’ve endured so long, and then with all his might, impel me not to endure it any longer.

NB. An understanding of the totality of my literary activity, its maieutic purpose, etc. requires also an understanding of my 1 Te deum laudamus]

Latin, God, we praise you.

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personal existence as an author, what I qua auth. have done with my personal existence to support it, illuminate it, conceal it, give it direction, etc., something that is more complicated than, and just as interesting as, all the literary work. And in this way, it all leads back in a more ideal sense to “the single individual,” who isn’t [“]me[”] in an empirical sense, but is the author. The fact that Socrates himself was a part of his own teaching, that the conclusion of his teaching pointed to his own person, that he himself was his own teaching, that, artistically, he was what he taught in his actual context―people have learned to ra�le this off by rote, but they’ve hardly understood it. Even the systematicians talk this way about Socrates. But now everything is supposed to be objective. And if they imagined someone using his own person maieutically, they imagined it in a form a la Andersen. All this is needed to illuminate my position during the development of the authorship. Objectivity is believed to be superior to subjectivity; it’s just the opposite. That is, objectivity within a corresponding subject is the endpoint. The system was an inhuman something that no hum. being as auctor and executor, could answer.

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NB. The second edition of Either/Or rlly can’t be published without something accompanying it. Somehow the emphasis must be on the fact that I’ve made up my mind about being a religious auth. It’s true that because I’m seeking an ecclesiastical position, this is emphasized. But it can be interpreted as something that came later. Do I have the right (�rst, out of concern that I say too much about myself, and secondly, because of a disinclination to expose myself to possible offences) to allow my production to be interpreted as something inde�nite and thus to give the impression that it is much less than it is, though to announce the opposite will no doubt embitter a few people when they see that there is such ingeniousness in the whole authorship[?] It is, in fact, easy to regard me as a kind of half-mad genius―it is dif�cult to be confronted with the extraordinary.

20 auctor [and] executor] Latin, author [and] agent.

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And all this concern about an appointment and a livelihood is a combination of both melancholia and exaggeration. And a second question arises: Will I be able to stand it if I admit to myself that I have acted prudently and avoided the danger that the truth could require me to confront[?] On to other things. The other works (a“Come unto Me,” “Blessed Is He Who Is Not Offended”) are extremely valuable. In one of them in particular it was granted to me to illuminate Christian[ity] on a scale greater than I had ever dreamed possible; crucial categories were directly discovered there. Yes, it must be published. But if I publish nothing right now, I will again have something in reserve. The Point of View can’t be published. I must travel. But the second edition of Either/Or is a critical point (as I understood earlier when I wrote The Point of View as a companion piece; for otherwise I would hardly have seriously considered publishing the second edition), and it will never come again. If this opportunity passes, virtually everything I’ve written, viewed as a totality, will be dragged down into the aesthetic.

The best proof of the depth to which the fundamental demoralization of the age has fallen is the fact that a judge’s call to repentance in ancient days (that is, presented ethically, in ethical character) has now become a refined mission for the intellect, which entertains the age with wit and thought-provoking observations―with the sins of the age. And we all laugh. And the author is not a bit be�er than the evil he portrays. Appalling! Who has more talent than Scribe for depicting the vileness of the age, the power that untruth, egoism, and sordidness exert over the world! And those comedies (nauseating, that it is comedy!) are admired and relished by the age―and Scribe himself is absolutely just as sordid as the world he depicts. What an abyss of perdition! At the bo�om of it all lies despair. To want to do even the least bit to stop this demoralization, to want at least to save oneself―this would be regarded as laughable madness. No, let go, they say, let it sink into abyss―and while we sink, we entertain ourselves with wi�y comedies that expose the perdition. We’re finished, they say, we’re all done for;

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nobody should complain about anybody―let’s laugh! The crazier the be�er, they say. Let’s not only be miserable villains but let’s refine it with wi�y, erudite discussions about the virtuosity in depicting it dramatically. This is how judgment is delivered in the world! Even though the age is as bad as it is, the la�er makes it one hundred percent worse. In the end, they’ll want the judgment in the next world to be wi�y!

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It would be irresponsible to allow the treatise “Has a Human Being the Right to Allow Himself to Be Put to Death for the Truth[?]” to be published right now. It would try the times in an inadmissible way. And there would also be a kind of obstinacy involved if it were published now, accompanied by Either/Or. No, “Two Ethical-Religious Essays” will not be published.

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This is the appalling thing about having my abilities in such a tiny land as Denmark: I must always have an idea, but precisely because my situation is so out of proportion, it’s not far from the truth to say that in order to arrive at new ideas in this age, I’ve had to lower myself to the point of being put to death; this is the only possible means to awaken this age and it is a consequence of the fact that a tiny frivolous agea has been allowed to play on an instrument of my size.

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The actual Johannes Climacus (author of Scala Paradisi) says: There are but few saints; if we wish to become saintly and saved, we must live as do the few. Cf. Liguori, Betrachtungs und Gebetbuch Aachen 1840. p. 570.

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Although “the pseudonyms expected just a few readers,” it can still be quite right that the aesthetic production “was used maieutically to seize hold of peop.” For one thing, the human masses are inquisitive about aesthetic productions; a second matter is the concept of “reader” that is relevant for the pseudonyms. Who hasn’t read Either/Or[?]―and yet how many really read it, or rather, how many really know how to “read”[?]

Goethe observes (in the notes to West-Østlicher Diwan S. W. 6th vol.) that the murder of the Egyptians by the Jews was just the opposite of the Sicilian Vespers. There, the host murdered the guest; here, the guest murdered the host. But this will probably become the Jews’ relationship to all of Europe in our time.

Because the Middle Ages had gone further and further astray in accentuating the aspect of Xt as the Exemplar―Luther came along and accentuated the other side, namely, that Christ is a gi�, and the gi� is to be received in faith. In other respects, the more I look at Luther, the more I am convinced that he was a confused character. A reform that amounts to casting off burdens and making life easy is always appreciated―and one can easily get friends to cooperate. True reform always makes life difficult, adds burdens, and therefore the true reformer is always put to death, as if it were enmity toward humankind. To me, Luther’s line, [“]Hear me, O Pope,[”] etc.―is almost offensively secular. Is this the sanctified seriousness of a reformer who, worried about his own responsibility, knows that all true reformation occurs deep inside the self[?] Those kinds of words are reminiscent of a journalist’s war cry or something like that. That unfortunate politicizing, that business of dislodging the pope, is and still remains Luther’s confusion. But now, in our time, it’s clear that the aspect of Xt that must come to the fore is Xt as Exemplar. It’s a ma�er of learning to avoid the errors of the Middle Ages. But it’s this side that must come to the fore, because the Lutheran emphasis on faith has now become a fig leaf for a highly unchristian evasion [of the truth].

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Ah, one looks back at a past age, at a time when Xnty had a different type of authority over peop. than it does now, when the most painstaking and thorough methods of education were used to exercise the mind in the ways of Xnty, to reshape the mind so that it became conversant and intimate with Christianity―a comprehensiveness. The detractor could say that when it comes to losing your mind and seizing hold of a fixed idea, that age couldn’t be outdone. And look at us now, when hearing “a contemplation” on Sunday is everything, when even doing that much is already considered a great thing, when those who go to church every Sunday are almost considered to be overly Xn. Appalling! God in Heaven! As with everything else, on this ma�er my life is pushed to the extreme: either―or. To be Xn in that sense, to just throw together a Sunday serm.: No, I can’t do that. And on the other hand, to live up to what I call being Xn: I almost faint under those demands. To a�ack Xnty―God forbid. Never, never. And yet when I portray what Xnty truly is, there are thousands who think I’m a�acking it! What devastating collisions one experiences with Christianity! And yet Xt was a collision himself: To come into the world to save hum. beings―and then, humnly speaking, to make everyone as miserable as possible. Even if my life were at stake, I cannot understand how, humnly speaking, it should be possible, humnly speaking, to comfort anyone with the help of Xnty; to the contrary, it makes a pers. more miserable than he’s ever been! Humnly speaking, Xnty is misanthropy; humnly speaking, paganism was right to call it odium generis humani. And Xnty says so itself: it is hatred of the world.

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And is it then a joy for me to introduce something like this into the world[?] It’s as if I weren’t a hum. being, I, who have so much of the poet in me. But I am a penitent. And I can’t comprehend that it would please God if I were to begin flagellating myself (as the Middle Ages piously believed), but certainly it can please God that the truth be spoken. That is just the mission for a penitent. What I 30 odium generis humani] Latin, hatred for the human race.

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say, from a div. point of view, is the truth, this is eternally certain. But the point is that the truth, divinely speaking, is, humnly speaking, inimical to what it is to be hum. Xt was himself God. He could do nothing but express the div. truth. He called the apostles. But in the course of time (I cannot understand it in any other way) there must be a penitent to express the truth in this way, for only a penitent can be so anxious and fearful before God that he dares say nothing else but that which, humnly speaking, makes himself and everybody else, humnly speaking, unhappy.

The 3 cordial notes must not be published either. Forget them. They’re about me. For a moment I thought it was important, but it isn’t necessary.

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A literary form I could use in the future would be to publish books that seem as if they had been wri�en fi�y years ago.

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The words of Pilate, “What is truth?” say essentially the same thing as his [“]Behold the man,[”] for Christ, who is the truth, does indeed stand before Pilate and this (What is truth) means: Here (in Christ right before me) you can see what truth is, that is, you can see that it is in the world. Christ before Pilate: who is the judge, who the judged[?]; certainly an inversion of the immediate. Incidentally, Kolthoff said something like that today (in a sermon on the words from the passion story), although it was, perhaps, not expressed as precisely.

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I stood face to face with a pers., to whom I was religiously obligated to speak, and felt it necessary, religiously, to remain silent.

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Shouldn’t I then be completely without worrya when it comes to the public[?] What is the public and that entire hoard in comparison with that li�le girl, who, by virtue of the fact that I became involved with her, was in an ethical relationship to me[?] But with regard to myself as an auth., might I be obligated to speak straightforwardly? Fine, if I weren’t bound to my own personality in silence. For if I, qua auth., were to say what I consider myself to be, I would also have to explain something that has always accompanied that understanding: my guilt and my transgressions as a hum. being. But I can’t speak in that way, in print, to John and Jane Doe. So I can’t speak about the first part, either.

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I haven’t said a direct word about myself yet: the postscript to Concluding Postscript contains nothing of the sort; I simply assumed responsibility for the pseudonymous authors and spoke hypothetically (“according to what I have understood”) about their ideas. The information given in Concl. Post. about the structure of the pseudonyms is by a third party. The conclusion of Works of Love (“The Work of Love in Praising Love”) contains nothing direct about me; to the contrary, it says that “the most self-loving person” “may be the one who undertakes to praise love.” The review of Two Ages has one li�le hint about me, but that isn’t direct communication either; [it is] concealed [by making it seem] that I’d learned it from the novel.

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The title page of each of the later books has: “poetic,” to suggest that I don’t pretend to be an extraord. Christian or pretend to be what I describe. “Without authority,” to indicate that I don’t put oth-

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ers under any obligation or judge others. “For inward awakening,” to show that I have nothing to do with external changes or that kind of reform.

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A Comment on the Work

“Come unto Me All You, etc.”

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There is no specific reference to Christ’s entry into Jerusalem, but then on the whole there is no reference at all to the historical. The poetic aspect of the work (and this is the stimulus to an awakening) lies in the stamp of modernity it has, without, however, missing the points. The trick was also to avoid sticking too closely to the historical facts because they have become trivialized in the minds of peop. who have heard them since childhood. As far as the entry is concerned, it is a fairly isolated event, nor can it be regarded entirely as a triumphal procession. A man who is so despised (that exclusion from the synagogue is the consequence of allowing oneself to be helped by him; so despised that they say, “I wonder if any of the teachers of the people listen to him, or only the crowd”; so despised that he must seek or seeks the company of sinners and tax collectors, etc.)―any entry he makes must be understood more as a disturbance than a prestigious affair. With poetic propriety I have presented his life in two phases[:] the first phase in which his reputation is a problem and in this phase the ba�le for public opinion that concerns him[;] the second in which the crowds are influenced by the judgment passed on him by the elite. But, as noted, the center of interest in this work doesn’t lie in a strict accuracy about the facts (although, of course, there is nothing that directly contradicts any facts) but in the modern se�ing, in that fact that that it happens right before our eyes in contemporary costume.

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for this reason the parents of the blind child don’t dare say anything about who helped their son.

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What’s presented is the absolute that exists in the medium of reality and in the form of a single human being, who is like one of us. This is the paradox. The particular factual details and words are utilized as cues, and therefore the effect is an inversion of what’s expected. People usually stick to the purely historical; here, the work seeks to interpret it poetically such that the way particular sacred words are employed becomes a commentary on the content. The issue was handled correctly. It would have disturbed the effect had I adhered too closely to the historical.

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Until the very end, Judas shows that he was astute with money: he received 30 pieces of silver for someone who was as scorned as Xt―or else he met with the high priests at a moment they were feeling generous.

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Public lies are always avenged. Here is an example from our literary world. A silent polemic is stellar, but it must absolutely concern the truth, and can only be used in truth. Heiberg wanted to use this against me, ignore me. It was a fundamental lie, because I wasn’t only an ebenbürtig opponent, I was his superior. What were the consequences? The mob mentality emerged; for it was completely satisfied that the silent polemic (which in truth should have been used against it) had now become ambiguous, that the silence could just as well point to the exceptional. Martensen wanted to ignore me. It was a lie; not in the slightest way could he have engaged in ba�le [with me]. What were the consequences? Magnus Eirikson emerged; he was well served by the fact that there was no rejoinder and, in a sense, was then placed in a class with me. Later, Fædrelandet likewise used a silent polemic about falsehood.

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The temporal and earthly ma�ers that hold one back seem so important at the moment (all the possible dangers and sacrifices, 22 ebenbürtig] German, equal.

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etc., are so great). And when the time comes, in death, to review one’s life, one will then see that what held one back was so very insignificant, and yet it is one and the same. One ought to fear this contradiction. 5

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I ought to see that I have again received my orders out on the open sea, as I always do, and that things are set up for me to go a step farther, that the catastrophe in 48 also has signi�cance for me. If there is anyone in Denmark (and I’d like to know how many there are in other countries) who was destined to be a sacri�ce, it is me. I’ve always understood this but I ought to understand it more deeply now. If I had understood from the beginning what I understand now, I wouldn’t have been able to persevere. This is how Governance educates. But I should therefore obediently and gratefully accept this understanding. It is my shrewd side that withdraws somewhat―in order to help me, in an eternal sense, be deceived. Faith and trust alone; God tests no man beyond his powers. The other day I went to Mynster and casually mentioned an appointment at the aseminary. That helps. If it were offered to me, it wouldn’t tempt me. But it’s good I’ve done it so that I don’t have to feel suspicious of myself for having plunged into big decisions because I was too proud to seek an appointment. But God knows that this is very far from being my case.

It is appalling and untruthful to unite, to become allies, in order to become victorious in the world. In a situation where it is obvious that one must succumb, be put to death, an alliance is acceptable. But not an alliance forged in order to avoid it, but rather an alliance in which each individual is willing to suffer that fate. But it goes without saying that there cannot be so many people willing to suffer death that they end up as victors in the world.

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I understand myself and my sprödigkeit as “the single individual.” This was an expression of the fact that I lived in a time of peace, and of my superiority. As the single individual, I was already much too strong on my own; unfortunately, I was the victor. Because of this, others wanted to join with me (for that would mean partaking in the victory) and I, who wanted to express just the opposite idea, had to create opposition against me and become repellent. When circumstances change in such a way that I’m overpowered by them, and it’s probable that others will also succumb, I ally myself with them, not in order to prevent it, as noted, but just the opposite. For in a Christian sense, suffering defeat is truth.

Humanly speaking, it is apparently my misfortune to have been brought up so rigorously in Christianity―if I must live in so-called Christendom. To experience a martyrdom with all the sensitivity of a poetic soul is horri�c enough. But in my mind’s eye, I constantly see that Christ was spat upon. Thus, when the world thinks it is frightening me off, it is merely thrusting me forward. I could perhaps give up certain things if it were a matter of abandoning something magni�cent in order to seek the essentially Christian. But as soon as the world beckons me in the direction of persecution, I promptly follow the beckoning―there I would dare not give way.

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Christianity inverts everything. At the top of the list is being cruci�ed; then comes protracted martyrdom, etc. I am approximately in a class with other secretaries, and will probably never rank higher than a councillor of justice.

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humility, he says that both God and the world resist the proud but love the humble. In his next point, he shows how the pious must suffer, and thus why he stands in need of comfort. (Cast all your cares on God.[)] Here in his first point, Luther has obviously forgo�en to accurately define the Christian collision. Nor is it true that the world loves the humble person. The world laughs at the humble person. And Christianity is consistent on this issue: do good and, for that very reason, suffer.

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Peter must have been in a horrified state during the days Xt was dead―for Peter had denied him. This was how they parted from each other. This occurred to me while reading Luther’s sermon on the epistle for the third Sunday in Trinity. It would be beneficial to present Peter in this light.

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Summa summarum When, in such a small country, the mob mentality so disproportionately prevails in such an appalling way, everything is literally turned upside down. When, in such a small country, a country so small that it doesn’t even have a single literary journal while the organ of vulgarity has 3000 subscribers and the total increases year by year; when the most important contemporary auth. sometimes loses money and, in any case, only receives a paltry honorarium as an auth., but could make a fortune if he were to demean himself by writing to the mob, particularly if he were to write about himself (one of the most profitable enterprises); when this repeats itself year a�er year, when the elite class is silently indignant and says that something ought to be done though each of them excuses themselves from doing so; when there is finally someone who, in their opinion too, is capable of doing it, perhaps the only one capable: He is then the only one immortalized by the mob (correctly so, dialectically speaking); he, whose favors the mob seemed to have courted; he is unmarried, independent; he, the most beautiful young literary firm, who remained spotless until that moment. When he, then, altruistically makes the move. When he, then, acts and exposes himself to all 18 summa summarum] Latin, sum of sums, sum total.

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the consequences issuing from the mob, when the well-respected figures in the literary world appeal for decency, the same figures who o�en complained about the nastiness, when they all remain silent and develop an opinion that this auth. is crazy to expose himself to that sort of thing, it amounts to high treason against this author. The collision is truly Christian: to be put to death by the elite―but in such a way, of course, that it is the mob and the crowd that carry out the sentence. This auth. is unable to speak to his contemporaries about this ma�er. For all of them are guilty in one way or another, either by being a part of the mob or, as a member of the elite, by remaining silent. The ma�er is quite in order. It has only, in casu, revealed that the world is always what it has been. The only thing I occasionally wonder about is what it means that this country calls itself Christian, that everyone is a Xn, that there are 1000 salaried Christian priests.

From a small piece of paper a few weeks ago[:]

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In general, I feel anxiety about saying anything about myself. I will now move beyond it. But none of my contemporaries sense what lies hidden in the totality of my authorship, the dimensions it covers. Why say something that will only be a burden to me, will provide my contemporaries with weapons to use against me by demanding even more of me than I can or will provide, and why do it at the very moment that I’m ready to move on[?] Everything about the martyrdom is my secret. If I say something about it, they’ll have enough to use it as a claim against me. I don’t have enough money to be an auth. That’s the misfortune. If I did, and everything were taken care of in that sense, it would never have occurred to me to betray such things, but I’ve suffered.

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make the nasty mistreatment he suffers appear to be nothing. It is immed. apparent when someone suffers bodily and physically and it is also immed. apparent when someone suffers heroically. Every third party understands that being tortured is suffering. We say it is heroic to remain calm under torture, as if it were nothing. But suffering of the soul isn’t immediately apparent; it’s only disclosed by a scream. But it is heroic to smother the scream, indeed, to act as if nothing hurt―and thus heroism is confused with managing to keep one’s composure, to act is if it were nothing; it is confused with the nothing of suffering. Furthermore, I cannot speak with a single person about the suffering of reflection, even if I wanted to. To suffer like this― which in itself is nothing and which would be insignificant if it only happened once in a while―to suffer like this at the hands of 100,000 peop., at the hands of everyone (the most dignified and the most abject beggar), and to experience it 100, [even] 1,000 times a day; truly, this must also be ranked among the different forms of the suffering of the martyr. But even if I wanted to, it cannot be spoken of, and here again lies the intensified agony of suffering. For in speech (this form of communication), the duration of suffering is quickly abbreviated[;] the perpetual nature of suffering is reduced from what it is, in and of itself. Suffering is indeed insignificant when experienced at an isolated moment, in and of itself―for [genuine] suffering is precisely perpetual and constant. To be broken on the wheel is something in and of itself; I can say what it is and it is visible as I say it. But when asinine treatment is perpetuated year a�er year, day a�er day, it can be horrific―but I cannot speak, and it is horrific; for speech’s form cannot capture the duration of time nor the perpetual nature of the category of reflection. Furthermore: Physically, it could be proven, e.g., that a man could be killed from 100,000 mosquito bites―and that it was essentially only a mosquito bite. But it can’t be proven in a spiritual or psychological sense. It happens successively. And it wouldn’t be possible to get peop. to participate if they were all gathered together at once; in that case it wouldn’t be enough. But each individual can do it en passant, and over the course of time, the effect would be the same for the one who experienced it all.

Another aspect of the nastiness with which I’m treated is this: With the help of the mouthpiece of vulgarity, a signal was given

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to call me by my first name and it has since become an epithet shouted out at me. Now it’s even used by the more reputable class. It will very soon be a rarity to see a new Danish play without a character named [“]Søren.[”] Hostrup has one in all of his dramas; Carit Etlar has also added such a character. And―Prof. Heiberg, too. There’s nothing to say about any of it; the parties in question could simply answer: [“]How absurd. It’s a common name.[”] But that’s not entirely true; if it were, a list of characters from an earlier time would show a similar ratio. And finally, with regard to Heiberg, it’s not so clear either because the name is used differently there. This Søren character represents the younger generation; he even has this line: [“]You should have done what the youth recommended[”] (or something like that). And later they all shout [“]hurrah[”] for Søren. The gallery and the mob think it’s superb that there’s such refinement added to the delight of going to the theater―and the authors are outside, remorseless. If I were to complain about my name, there would be new fodder for laughter.

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It is rlly Xnty’s discovery that the sin of the world is a lie, or [be�er], that sin is twice a lie: first, it is a lie to do something wrong, in untruth; and it is again a lie to say that this was the right thing to do, and to be honored for doing so. It is a lie of the first order to gain earthly advantages using words of truth―it is a lie of the second order to claim that it is earnestness to gain advantages in this way, this this it is to be respected as earnestness, that it is wisdom as opposed to fantasy.

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It becomes apparent how extremely difficult it is become a contemporary of the ideal when one hears debate about what kind of clothing Xt wore, whether he wore a hat or a cap; it becomes almost irresistibly comical. But in contemporaneousness, earnestness is a tremendous intensification of this fact; for earnestness is characterized precisely as the comical, i.e., the fact that there is absolutely no escape through delusion, or by reimagining a more ideal form, etc. Likewise with regard to the question how he made a living. For in the case of recollection, he is so ideal that the question simply cannot arise, and if it does, it almost becomes comical. What terrible earnestness! In contemporaneousness, the

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ideal has all of these accidental and finite hum. characteristics― “as we are,” “like one of us”―and yet he is God.

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My suffering is, in a certain sense, indescribable. My earliest misery was enough to make me eternally (i.e., for this entire life) despondent; and this was intensified by the fact that I felt the pain of making another pers. unhappy, in addition to my own pain―and now to be an auth. under these conditions. With regard to the la�er, it has always been within my power to travel, to make sure I could get away from it all. Humnly speaking, that would have been the only prudent thing to do. Humnly speaking, I am mad to continue to endure it, and to endure it at the same time that my contemporaries think I’ve lost direction. But I cannot do otherwise. On the day of my downfall, it will be clear whether it was pride and vanity, or perhaps despondent self-torture―or whether, in the end, it was martyrdom that was called for. Every martyrdom―up until the final, most burdensome moment―has always appeared to be madness, a laughable madness because “he was willing to endure it.” But then everything became clarified and transfigured in the richest sense. This is how it must be; otherwise a martyrdom isn’t very serious. But the form of evil that had been targeted by the martyr was dealt a blow―and as the martyr falls, it falls too. My view is that the masses and the public, etc., are evil, and that asininity is the most demoralizing thing of all. This is what my martyrdom is about. But there is need for an awakening aimed in that direction; that I’m eternally sure of. I must not preach this for my contemporaries and win their approval, however. No, my death itself must be the sermon. The material that is finished and ready for publication awaits just one thing: my death. Then everything will be as it should be. The fact that I’ve understood myself and my age is clear enough, but the point is simply this: that as a living person, I wouldn’t say so. But I am primarily occupied with one thing, which I have prayed to God about unceasingly: “that I can thank him for the indescribable good things he has done for me, and that these words will remain my last words, or some of my last words to him when I, for the last time have repented for my sin, and have received forgiveness of my sins through grace.”

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How easily I fall, at this moment, for every contemporary; ah, I am an eccentric, who is laughed at by everyone. But I will fall heavily on every one of them―when I’m dead. 5

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yes, they even speak about the fact that so many speak about the highest life without living it, without doing it themselves.

This also belongs to suffering: a�er someone has died, peop. occupy themselves with talk about the depth of suffering, etc.―while he was alive, the same people ridiculed him, condemned him, said that it was because of his vanity, an exaggeration, or that it was his own fault. One thinks of the greatest of all. This vapid talk about the suffering of Xt, now that it’s over.

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Rhetoric, “the sermon,” makes a complete confusion of Christianity. You hear or read a sermon that laments over and criticizes the fact that so many people speak about the highest life but don’t live it. You take it seriously―yes indeed, and while you observe the speaker, you see that he himself is just such a person; but the deception is raised to the second order. The first-order deception is this: to speak about the highest life without living it; the second-order deception is this: to speak about the fact that many speak about the highest life, but don’t live it. The deception can become more and more refined. The 3rd order deception is not merely to speak about it, but to weep as one speaks―ah, and when we look at the speaker, who even weeps as he speaks, weeps about the fact that so many speak about the highest life and yet don’t live it,a you see that he himself is just such a speaker. The deception can be raised higher and higher in terms of refinement. It is not always refinement, however; most o�en it is stupidity.

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Oh, the dangers one can expose oneself to! Danger―that’s just my element. But there is one danger, or more correctly, there is one thing, that runs contrary to the constitution of my entire personality, something that is essent. in revolutionary opposition to it: namely, speaking about my interior life, about my relationship to God. With regard to that step, I would simply like to be excused; it seems as if it would crush my soul. I have been, and am willing to, expose myself to anything; but this is another matter―it is not about polemics, but submission. You see, this is rlly why publishing my most recent works causes me so much suffering. Yet it may well be my duty to God. To be compelled to talk about how I spend my time in prayer, how I literally live in relationship to God as a child to a father (mother), etc. Oh this exposure―if I dare say so―is so heavy, so heavy on me; it seems to me as if my interior life were too true to put into words. And yet it is perhaps my duty to God, and the hiddenness of my interior life may be something God has permitted until I’ve grown strong enough to speak about it. My unhappy childhood, my abysmal melancholia, the misery of my personal life before I became an auth.; all this has contributed to my hidden interiority. I can quite literally say, in this regard, that never in my life have I conversed with someone as two people ordinarily converse―I’ve always kept my interior life to myself, even when I spoke more con�dentially; but never have I been able to speak con�dentially. Until now God has permitted it but, in one respect, it has been a form of coddling. God has been so good to me, so loving, that I can truly say that my association with him has been my only con�dential relationship; and he, in all my misery, has permitted me to �nd the strength to endure it all, yes, to �nd salvation in it.

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But the moment I’m to speak about my interior life with others, something cringes within me, lest I say too little or too much; yes, just speaking about it seems to be, as noted, an untruth. In God’s con�dence I can manage my con�icts with people, I can put up with anything, I could even accept being put to death; but I can’t endure that human beings view me, pathetically, as the extraordinary; to me it is like death. If I hadn’t already considered the possibility of traveling, I would have to travel far, far away, and, if possible, remain there.

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Oh, one can truly learn to love the abuses one suffers if one suffers for a good cause; learn to love others who suffer the same fate; learn to love with the same intensity with which the worldly person loves honor; learn to love the place one is abused, such that one refuses refuge elsewhere to make the matter easier, humnly speaking; for with God as one’s intimate in suffering, it is far easier [where one is].

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The one aspect preaching almost always lacks these days is this: to occasion the listener to apply what he’s heard at that very moment, to get him to begin to act, to commit himself at that very moment to a very specific kind of action. (In the work of a Catholic, who understands these things, I’ve also read that one ought never go to communion without making a very specific resolution for a very specific purpose.) But the problem is that priests don’t themselves live religiously; thus, they’re almost afraid that their sermons might lead someone to take it seriously right at that very moment. With priests, it’s like a person giving swimming lessons on dry land: he doesn’t dare let the moment of decision arrive; indeed, he would be anxious and fearful if one of the listeners took him seriously and jumped into

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the water; for in that case, the swimming instructor (the priest) wouldn’t know how to help him at all, so confused would he be at the sight of someone actually diving into the water. With 1000 swimming instructors like that, a nation can really come a long way in Xnty!

In our age, interest in a�acks on a man’s character has long since disappeared. The despair runs far too deep in this respect, making it impossible to put a collective stop to it. No, what interests our age is asininity, laughing like naughty schoolchildren or like a group of snickering prostitutes. Prostitutes don’t chide each other for being immoral, either, who cares, no, but they’re interested in finding something to snicker about, giving each other nicknames, etc. The age continues to say that one shouldn’t a�ack someone’s character―as if that were to be feared more than anything. Hypocrisy, hypocrisy.a

Voluntarily exposing myself to a�ack by The Corsair is no doubt the most intensive thing along the order of genius that I’ve done. It will have results in all my writing, will be extremely important for my whole mission with respect to Xnty and to my elucidation of Xnty, to my project of casting it entirely into reflection. It is frequently said that if Xt came to the world now he would once again be crucified. This is not entirely true. The world has changed; it is now immersed in “understanding.” Therefore Xt would be ridiculed, treated as a madman, but a madman at whom one laughs. This antinomy must now be resolved: one shall believe something rendered ridiculous through laughter, which can be done in a secular and earthly way. This is an even higher accentuation than credo quia absurdum. To the simple person it simply says: 34 credo quia absurdum] Latin, I believe because it is absurd.

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As I have so o�en explained, irony is this: the ability to entertain oneself with small coincidences and that kind of thing, while giving the impression that it is completely and passionately driven by the regal and except[ional] within a pers. It is as if Goldschmidt, in all his actions, had understood it as vanity. He neglected the la�er and wrote for the crowd, which naturally lacks any passionate receptivity. But then it becomes appallingly crass, far, far more demoralizing than the most appalling character assassination. For it is a demented a�empt to help the crowd to the position of intellectual superiority.

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It’s just a ma�er of believing. To the comprehending understanding it says: It is diametrically opposed to the understanding, but you shall believe. Here the shall is stronger precisely because it is in opposition to something. In relation to the most extreme form of the caustic mockery of intellectuality, it says: Yes, from your perspective it is ridiculous, extremely ridiculous, the most ridiculous of all―but you shall believe; it is a ma�er of heaven or hell, you shall. This is a frightful shall precisely because it makes such a great concession to the opposition. I now understand be�er and be�er the original and profound relationship I have to the comic, and this will be useful to me in illuminating Xnty. It is thus appropriate for my own fragment of life to express this dialectic: I have allowed myself to be laughed at―but what I say is true. When no concession at all is made to the opposition, then the “shall” related to it is not nearly as strong. The greater the concession, the more frightful this [“]shall.[”] The concession is, so to speak, the most intense part of the downpour. Thus, someone who preaches Xnty must have to an eminent degree what the most caustic scoffer has at his disposal―precisely in order to preach this [“]shall.[”]

If Xnty were what the priests said it was, I would have to renounce Xnty. Why? Because it isn’t sublime enough for me? No, just the opposite, because it wouldn’t be and isn’t simple enough for me. If Xnty must be accepted because of good arguments, then I must ask for something quite different from what the priests provide. The fact of the ma�er is that one shall assent to Xnty. It is the power, in heaven and on earth, that says to each and every hum. being: You shall believe. You see, this is neither too sublime nor too pedestrian; it is just as it should be. The priests’ cha�er is neither one nor the other.

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The Dialectic of a Market Town. With the help of the press! Something is wri�en about a man’s clothing, and in such a ridiculous way that even the article itself

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admits that it’s ridiculous. For if there is nothing striking about a man’s clothing except that one pant leg is a thumb-width longer than the other, it’s almost impossible to detect (especially when it’s not true). But naturally, someone who passes by on the street must be even more a�entive (by order of the press) if they are to see it; he has to put on glasses. And the group belonging to the mob must stand still and stare you up and down as if you were an exotic animal. Fine. But the country is so small, and the dissemination of the page in question is so out of proportiona that, literally everyone―the most dignified man in the country, the ministers, the girls and women of the upper class who, in this case, unite with the garbage collector, the street urchins, and the mob―wants to be witnesses to the same event. All this, which is really nothing but nonsense, nevertheless has a certain tenacity and eventually becomes something quite different. Since it’s in print, it must be true, even if it can’t be seen. And thus this nonsense becomes an ethical judgment about the person in question: He’s trying to be unique; it’s ridiculous that he won’t dress like everyone else does. The accused can’t say a word. If he did, and were to show that the whole thing was nonsensical, the response would be this: the whole thing is ridiculousness; it’s nothing; why worry about that[?] And the whole country is untied in this base mentality: as noted, everyone from the king to the beggar, from the most gracious ladies and young misses to the women of the street. Here we find true equality. And this must be endured year a�er year, day a�er day. But I will record all this for the sake of history. Everyone denies it, of course, but with that very denial, they make it unconditional. It’s as if they are possessed, brought on by an altogether deranged use of the press.

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For Life My friend, you’re now living in the world, in the hum. world, and will perhaps live many more years in this world where peop. naturally have unqualified superiority over you, as a single indiv., and you dare not count on God’s direct intervention for your sake. If, then, you expect in a hum. sense to see happy and pleasant days, then never let yourself become seriously involved

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in Xnty―seriously, for you can easily get involved in the way advocated by priests. No, don’t even mention it. If you do, you’ll discover what will happen, how busy the clergy will be preserving the cherished illusions of the congregation―in which the congregation so comfortably lives―and the illusions that also guarantee their own salaries. If your life in any sense indicates that you love God in earnest (i.e., as God sees it), you will be badly treated by hum. beings; and the more your life indicates that you love God, the worse will be the treatment. To dabble in hum. sympathy, to haggle, is not Xnty. If this were Xnty, then Xt’s life wasn’t Xn and is thus no paradigm at all. Don’t even mention it, for it points again to the illusion of trillions of Xns and then to the illusion of the “salaried.” Humnly speaking, there is an almost insane selfcontradiction in Xnty’s requirement, which is the anguish of being Xn. It makes a demand, saying: To the very degree as you succeed [in fulfilling this demand], to that degree you will suffer. You will continually think: “But, Lord God, if I love men as I ought―then……” The Xn answer to this must be: [“]You stupid pers., or presumptuous pers., did not the Savior of the world love hum. beings as he ought[?] And he was mocked, spit upon, etc.; has it not been this way for all true Xns[?] And if not, it merely indicates that they weren’t Xn, for the Exemplar se�les everything. This contradiction between what Xnty requires and predicts is like a father who says to his child, “Your job is to do such and such, that’s what you must do―do you understand me?―If you don’t, you’d be�er watch out”; on top of this, it adds, “This, then, is the job, but to the same degree, precisely to the same degree that you exert yourself, the more and more diligently you work, the more vigilant you are, etc., to the degree you succeed, to that same degree will you suffer.” If a father were to speak like this to his child, it indeed would seem like insanity to the child, and the child would be right (aside from the fact that the child confuses suffering in itself with suffering as a form of pun-

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ishment), if he said: [“]In that case it’s be�er not to start at all because I’ll be just as well off in the end, so I’m be�er off to avoid all the trouble and effort in the first place.[”] But this is the way Xnty speaks to a pers. (as that father to the child)―this is Xnty. But then Xnty adds: Remember eternity. But this means, of course, that if you want pleasant and happy days, humnly speaking, then don’t ever get seriously involved with Xnty. If you do, there is only one hum. consolation for you: death, for which you will learn to long more impatiently than the most infatuated girl longs to see her lover again. Yet death is no consolation either. But there is one consolation―eternity. If you love eternity, you will hate this life―this is Xnty. If you love God, you will hate this world―this is Xnty. If you love Xt, then you will be hated by all peop.―this is Xnty. You see, this is Xnty. If you aren’t conscious of being a sinner to such a degree that, in the anxiety of the anguished conscience, you dare nothing other than commit yourself to Xt―then you will never be Xn. Only the agony of the consciousness of sin can explain the fact that a person will submit to this radical cure. To become Xn is the most horrific operation of all. Just as li�le as a pers. feeling a li�le under the weather would submit to the pain of a major surgery, so li�le would a person submit to Xnty if sin didn’t cause him excruciating pain―if, of course, he knows what Xnty is, and hasn’t been told that Xnty is gentle, life-beautifying, and an ennobling comfort.

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You’ve got be careful when priests say, [“S]ure, you can be Christian even though you possess all sorts of earthly goods and enjoy wealth, honor, recognition, etc.[”] To show that this is the case, priests must always resort to examples from the Old T. Aha! But I’d really like to see a passage in the New T. where you find anything like that. And I’d also like to see a decisive articulation of the Christian paradigm in which suffering isn’t included. But this is the issue: in Xndom, there is so viel wie nichts of Christianity; one finds only a bit of Jewish piety.

What if, at the end of the second edition of Either/Or, I wrote:

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I hereby revoke this work. It was a necessary deceit in ordera to deceive peop. into the religious,

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if possible

15 so viel wie nichts] German, as

much as nothing.

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as was ever my task. Maieutically it has indeed had its effect. Yet I by no means need to revoke it because I never claimed to be its author.

It is said of Satan (in Job) that, as he himself said, he came to scout around and wander throughout the world. This implies that there is a certain way of being an observer that is evilly motivated, as the curiosity involved in being an observer is always evilly motivated.

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Job put up with everything―and it was only when his friends came (in order to comfort him) that he became impatient.

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There is rlly only one thing one ought to be serious about: one’s sin. As regards all other cares, the more lightly you take them the be�er. But to take one’s sin lightly is a new sin, which is precisely what shows that this is where things are serious.

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If understood correctly, Job (IX:20) implies that even if he was in the right, in relation to God he could not maintain that he was in the right on account of becoming anxious in the presence of the judge. This is an idea I developed in one of the discourses on the [“]Gospel of Sufferings,[”] the misrelationship or the qualitative difference betw. God and hum. beings.

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Luther (in his sermon on the epistle for the 8th Sunday a�er Trinity) is right in saying that if the point of the forgiveness of sins was to make good works superfluous, then, instead of calling the doctrine [“]the doctrine concerning remission of sins[”] one ought to call it [“]the doctrine concerning permission for sins.[”]

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“The poet” dreams about great deeds that, however, he himself never carries out, and he becomes eloquent. Perhaps the reason he becomes eloquent is precisely because he is the unhappy lover of great deeds, whereas the hero is their happy lover; he becomes eloquent because of what he lacks and this is what makes him eloquent. For “loss”―Oh, hum. beings, in misapprehension, speak badly of you, as if you were merely something cruel and were not also just as merciful, as if you merely took away and gave nothing [in return]―But “the poet” is essentially a product of loss. A passage that wasn’t used in the first discourse on The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air.

As far as I know nobody has yet had the idea of writing a comical play: Drama in 5 1/2 or Almost 6 Acts.

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NB. It is clear that as far as I am concerned, things will turn out the same way in my public life as in my private life. My endurance with regard to my idea (which is also obedience to God in fear and trembling), by virtue of which I carry on as a writer despite everything and despite the manner in which I am treated: they take this endurance and my obedience to God to be vanity, imagining that because of my vanity, or something of that kind, I am dependent on them and cannot do without them. Ah! It makes me think of a certain young girl. Her vain or proud heart took my religious fear and trembling with respect to our relationship to be vanity, in such a way as to think that she was the one I adored. And when it then came about that we had to separate, it became apparent that, in a certain sense, she was the one who couldn’t do without me. All things considered, it is and continues to be my misfortune, humanly speaking, that I have such a strong sense of God that I involve him in my relationships. This is never understood in the world but is always taken to be vanity.

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What, humnly speaking, led to Xt being put to death is, however, obvious[:] the manner in which he never eased the pressure he exerted on the people. Humnly speaking, he could have spared the people by, e.g., living in concealment for several years and then reemerging. Of course, this would have been untruthful. But it is certain that it was precisely because it all happened in such a short time while, on the other hand, the people were never allowed a moment in which they were permi�ed, as it were, to take a breath, that the catastrophe hastened to its conclusion. It was all over in a single breath. They receive the extraord[inary] with shouts of rejoicing and, in almost the same moment, it exerts such strong pressure on them that a catastrophe is already intimated. This is the dialectic of what is extraordinary, condensed into an instant. The concept changes. The first impression comes again a second time, and the cries of rejoicing turn to the cry: Crucify, crucify. If, for a moment, we were to forget that Christ did indeed come into the world in order to suffer and to die, and if we were then to suppose that he lived as a teacher for 30 years instead of 3, and, in addition, that he had, humnly speaking, allowed for appropriate intervals in order to give the people time to catch their breath―then it would have been possible that he would not have been killed. But introducing such intervals would certainly have been an untruthful accommodation. In the case of a hum. being, it is another ma�er, for he is usually compelled to do so for his own sake, because he can’t endure incessantly.

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On Why I Didn’t Travel in Spring 48. A thought that has often forced itself upon me in recent times has been whether it wouldn’t have been more appropriate for me to have traveled in the spring. Because no matter how much I have been developed and enriched in the year that’s passed, it has also taken a lot out of me. When I sold the house in 47, my idea was to travel in spring 48 and beyond. I therefore let time pass and didn’t rent any rooms. In the meantime, it became clear to me that if my primary intention

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was de�nitely to give up being an auth., then traveling wouldn’t help me much; quite the contrary―because I’m never so productive as when I’m traveling abroad. So time passed. Then an apartment on the corner of Tornebuskgade became vacant, an apartment I’d fallen in love with from the moment they’d built it. So I decided to rent it and then take a shorter journey in the spring and early summer. So time passed. Now I began to work on getting Christian Discourses into print. As I sat and read the proofs, the troubles in Holstein began and all the idiocy associated with them. Traveling was now impossible; indeed, if I hadn’t at that point had rooms to move into it would have hugely disturbed me. Then I moved in. But the apartment was disappointing in the highest degree and �nancial chaos and all sorts of other things got a hold on me. And yet it is certain that it was precisely during that period that I produced some of the best things I have ever produced. Even if I had gone away earlier (which was in any case impossible, as I �rst had to attend to the publication of Christian Discourses), it would have ended with my coming home again at that instant. To have had to go through such a �nancial crisis abroad would indeed have been even more frightful. It is therefore as far from being the case as is possible that it was in any way my fault that I didn’t travel. This is the only thing I’ve been preoccupied about. In general, it is remarkable that every time I take seriously the idea of moving away from being an auth., something happens that makes me have to continue with it and thus I simply get a new and richer impulse to productivity. This has also been the case this time. But I have suffered so much in other respects that I’ve become impatient, and this impatience has doubtless given birth to those melancholic fantasies about it having been better to have traveled, which circumstances prevented me from doing. Furthermore, this is also a test of patience[:] to develop, as is the case, more and more ideally, and also to endure the agonies of this time and the daily nonsense. Ideally, I am in faith more and more clear about why I am here; in terms of the moment, it appears more and more to be the case that I’m a super�uous man. Now, at this moment, getting my thoughts going is something I might almost despair of―while, on the other hand, I can be abused by the mob every day.b But summa summarum: I cannot suf�ciently thank God for the indescribable goodness he shows me, which is so much more than I had expected.

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A beautiful word to express that all of creation serves but one Lord and looks only to One: uni-versum. (The universe.)

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Just think what it actually means that the Exemplar is called a “lamb”; this is already offensive to the natural self; no one has any desire to be a lamb.

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It is not exactly stated that meekness serves to bring about our peace, but one may say: if you are meek, then you have peace, even if the whole world was at war and at war with you.

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Goldschmidt has two considerable strengths: he is despised; and he is the object of pity. The first is owing to The Corsair, the la�er owing to Jøden. In a demoralized world this is the safest situation: he occupies that position from which all a�acks can be made on those who have honor and on those who are feared, but no a�ack can be made against him, the very idea of it is inconceivable. He is despised―this is already a very secure position, although it is thinkable that indignation could reach such a level as to get him to feel it all the same; but ach wei mir, he is an object of pity and he himself has so movingly portrayed what he has suffered as a Jew.

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In order to proclaim the truth, it is first of all requisite to have understood the truth and then to be able to proclaim it without being dependent on hum. beings. But as rare as it is that there is one who has apprehended the truth, rarer still is the one who, in proclaiming truth, does so regardless of the consequences. But without this, the truth is warped in such a way that the truth becomes untrue because the hum. beings to whom it is proclaimed become the final authority. 4 uni-versum] Latin, universe (from unus and versus, literally, “turned toward one”). 22 ach wei mir] pseudo-Yiddish, a mimicking of the Yiddish oi wei mir

(“Oh, woe is me”).

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One cannot have two fixed centers, for then one would be unable to move. So, either this is what holds firm: that this is the truth―and then one’s whole personal existence is commi�ed to the gesture of sacrificing oneself. Or else one fastens oneself to the other: my living, my good name and reputation, my promotion, etc. and this is what cannot be negotiated―and this gesture is helped by being quit of truth.

Rats are trained to get rid of rats and that is how every generation educates the one or ones who are serious about proclaiming Xnty to them. The more they persecute and mistreat him, the more he turns his mind away from the world until he cleaves solely to God. And it is only when someone is so unhappy and so tortured here in this world that his sufferings are like enmity toward hum. beings, only then does Xnty start to exist for him. All this cheery café cha�er about living a jolly life and being so comfortable in animal-hum. categories and then icing the cake every Sunday with Xt’s name―that this double-talk should count as Xnty is naturally an u�er lie. The saying: [“]Come unto me, all you who labor and are heavy laden,[”] must either have been said by Xt at the start of his life, in which case it is merely a preliminary invitation―and the truth is a�ractive to all at first sight. Or else the saying must be understood, as I have elsewhere explained, in terms of the div. sublimity that, despite knowing how few would follow, nevertheless, with regard to who is speaking, says: [“]All you.[”] Xt indeed knows that all ought to follow and that he is their Lord. That is why he says [“]All you,[”] although he knows that it will be but few. No hum. being could talk in this divine way, knowing it all in advance; the invitation would be tinged with a hum.-polemical tone, as he would suffer because there were so few. But God, who is “the Truth,” can only direct his address to all―even if there was only one who took up the invitation. Indeed, even if no one followed it, and he knew it in advance. He cannot speak of himself or of the truth in any other way but this: it is addressed to all.

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Psalm no. 22 in the evangelical hymnal could be sung beforehand.

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A Sermon. One could give a sermon on the theme:

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If you have not become aware today that God is here and that you are before him, then your visit to God’s house has been in vain because whatever else you have seen and heard is a ma�er of indifference—just how indifferent it is you will yourself recognize if I but mention it, and it will perhaps seem to you that I desecrate this holy place by talking about such things. But this is not so, for only those who, instead of being impressed with the thought that they are before God, have only seen and heard such things desecrate it—and you could just as well have remained home; indeed perhaps it would have been be�er, for then your visit would not have been a sin, as David says: the prayer of the ungodly shall become sin (Ψ. 109:7). On the other hand, you can get a very lively sense that God is there and that you are before him at home in your house and so there is another sense in which you might do well to stay home. For this place is indeed God’s house, but the task is precisely that your own house should become a house of God. And this place is indeed a holy place, but the task is precisely

31 Ψ] Greek, Psi (a common abbrevia-

tion for “Psalms”).

that God is here in this moment. Prayer You, who are present everywhere, when I was reflecting on how I would speak and what I would say, you were there; when the individual decided to go to your house and went, you were there, but perhaps this was not really present to him; therefore bless our devotions, that especially in this hour, we might be aware of your presence and know that we are before you.

It is obvious that the misfortune of Xndom is that Luther’s doctrine of faith has removed the dialectical moment in such a way that it becomes a den of pure paganism and Epicureanism; one simply forgets that Luther emphasized faith in order to counter a fantastically exaggerated asceticism.

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When Paul insists that by means of grace he is able to do all things, his way of speaking brought about the intended effect, because paganism wasn’t used to this kind of speech. But in Xndom, it has long since become a way of talking, so that reflection cunningly plays along; and just as it can be fashionable to go about casually dressed, despite the fact that one is casually dressed for the sake of fashion, so too does the assurance that [“]one can do all things by means of grace[”] become a cunning

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that the parlor should also become a holy place; and the relationship to the holy is not so much a ma�er of going out to find it but a ma�er of taking it home with you. In relation to pleasures and distractions, it might be appropriate to go out to find it, and it is not beneficial if you indulge them at home; but with regard to the divine, it is not so much a ma�er of going out to find it; and, in any case, each time you do go out to find it, you are to strive to take it home with you.

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A word. I have not known a single honorable or upright pers.―and I do indeed have an unus[ually] broad circle of acquaintances here in town―who hasn’t, at one time or another, been of the opinion that what was done with the help of The Corsair and its crew of louts was a monstrous shame that dishonored the nation. They all said that something ought to be done about it. If, then, I am guilty of anything, it is of having had sufficient resolve to do something about it. I am quite well satisfied with being guilty of this and I will even take it with me into the grave and onwarda into eternity and into history. On the other hand, one might think that it easily becomes another kind of guilt, if, in the end, I am thanked for a good deed by being treated a�erward as though I was guilty. And why? Is it because they only understand the good as theory, not as action, and that while they unqualifiedly share the view that something ought to be done, when it actually is done they become afraid and regard it as too extreme?

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A new exercise for theologians must be introduced (as I remarked in one of my earliest journals): practice in the Christian art of speaking; not, that is,

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in the art of preaching, in rhetoric and all that goes along with it, but in the art of being able to preach―Christianity. For Xnty has a specific character re. communication, which results in its having entirely singular categories. 5

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There is only one entirely consistent interpretation of Christian[ity,] [which is] to be put to death for the truth’s sake, to become a martyr, naturally not with the kind of heigh-ho, thesooner-the-be�er a�itude, but with the most penetrating reflective awareness of being in service. Corresponding to this one true consistent interpretation of Xnty (every other being a worldly, temporal, earthly, cowardly or just stupid form of procrastination) is the error of suicide, occasioned by being unable to endure the protracted preliminaries to martyrdom.

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What has confused everything, and especially everything to do with Xndom and everything to do with Xnty, is that one constantly takes one’s contemporaries, the race, etc. as the final authority with regard to truth. Everything hinges on the individual. This category is the point with which and through which God is able to come into contact with the race―if this is taken away, then God has been dethroned. Because this is how it is, then of course the very fact that I address a single pers. in an entirely direct way concerning religious truth is an a�empt to make him into an authority, and thus it is a deception.

One way or another, the dialectical always ends with pathos (among other things, this was my idea regarding a problem that is lying around somewhere in my papers: the difference betw. a pathos-laden and a dialectical transition). In the Middle Ages, this was manifest in a remarkable way, in that at the point at which dialectics stopped, the fantastical entered in. Today Rosenvinge raised an example of this problem, which led to me to think about it again. The issue of the degrees of affinity in relation to marriage naturally brought about colossal dialectical movement in the Middle Ages. Finally it became so

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J O U R N A L NB 10 : 138–140 1849 nit-picky that it couldn’t make itself stop and so they stopped at the 7th degree―and why? [“]Can you guess?[”] Rosenvinge asked. I answered: [“]Because God rested on the 7th day.[”] [“]Exactly so,[”] answered R. Now I surely have a certain rapport with the Middle Ages, but oddly enough, they took seriously what I, in fact, said as a joke. But this is where you can see the pathetic in the form of fantasy and that’s how it always was in the Middle Ages. It was the knot that was needed in order to tie up the thread of dialectics.

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A true martyrdom, omnis numeris absolutum, is rlly only possible in opposition to “the masses,” that is to say, that the martyr falls victim to “the masses.” Whoever becomes a martyr by attacking a single person (a king, an emperor, the pope, etc.) is not without a certain conception, that is, he is supported by the conception common to the crowd. And Socrates is the only “martyr” in an eminent sense, the greatest of hum. beings―while Xt is “the truth” and so it would be blasphemous to call him a “martyr.”

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The ma�er is quite simple. Put the NT in front of you. Read it. Can you deny, dare you deny, that what you read in it about renouncing everything, giving up the world and being mocked and spat upon like your Lord and Master, can you deny, dare you deny, that it is so easy to understand, indescribably easy, that you do not need a lexicon or handbooks or anybody else’s help in order to understand it? But, you say, “I must nevertheless first take others’ advice before I risk such a decisive step.” Shameless, disobedient,a you know perfectly well that this is a prime example of mocking God, because, you, you deceiver, are looking for a way out and an excuse; you know perfectly well that anybody you ask will advise you in such a way as to give you an excuse to follow what is more pleasing to flesh and blood, he will say: for God in Heaven’s sake, go easy on yourself. But the fact of the ma�er is (Oh! what an unfortunate confusion) that hum. beings think that God is far away, that it is 1800 11 omnis numeris absolutum] Latin, absolute in all cases.

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years since Xt died. But what would be the verdict of a father if, instead of carrying out an instruction that was easy enough to understand, his child first took the advice of another boy as to whether he should do the father’s will? Wouldn’t the father say: Precisely the fact that you have dared to discuss with even one of your pals whether you should do what I have told you to do or not is sufficiently culpable to merit every kind of punishment. And even if it was the case (which you yourself have conceded isn’t so and, truly, certainly isn’t so), if it was the case that the order, the instruction, was harder to understand, it would still be disobedient to take advice about it from anyone but God himself. That’s how the father too would talk to the child: why should you go and discuss this with other boys when you can come to me?

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A�er such an enormous productivity that’s been going on for nearly 10 years and only now to be ge�ing started on what is the most decisive point―this is hard. It is like an army that, having made a forced march for 3 days arrives in the early morning on the 4th day, must still go into ba�le that very same day. And yet perhaps the issue is precisely about using the moment. And now―the moment! For one who has an imagination like mine! In a li�le country that languishes and struggles in the midst of its dissolution, where nationalism has been stretched to its highest pitch, at war externally and with party strife internally, there lives a solitary man who stretches out his enormous wings and, as “every sacrifice shall be salted,” this solitary man has already been salted by the contempt heaped on him by the mob. And now his moment has come! Truly, it is like reading an old tale in which one goes on to read that the man was killed. And yet the opposite is also possible.

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Being an observer in the sense in which one talks about it is rlly sin: sin is being objective, looking outward instead of inward.

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In a deeper sense, none of the writers, etc., can rlly have sympathy for me. They feel my enormous superiority only far too well, and that no association or anything of that sort can be conceived of in this case. In short, I am a phenomenon and the circumstances are as fatal as possible: being a phenomenon in such a dive as Denmark. The rule for the persecution I suffer is quite simple: it is carried out by the mob while the more distinguished group keeps quiet out of envy. And Heiberg, to whom I apparently rendered the greatest service possible by launching myself on P.L.M. and The Corsair―he doesn’t just keep quiet, no, he secretly sides directly with the mob.

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Time and again I have found it interesting to note examples of the meanness with which I have been treated; such [notes] can survive my death so they can see how accurately I have seen through them. Naturally, I don’t care to talk about this while I am still living. Something I was curious about at the time was what was rlly going on in this connection with the Swedish novella En Nat ved Bullar-Søe, which was printed as a feuilleton in the Berlingske. That it contained many, many allusions to me is certain, but when it was wri�en and whether Nathanson was thinking about that and so on, I’d really like to have known at the time. As a rule, my particular fate is that every single word that could refer to me is of enormous interest to the market town―but my books? No, they are merely plundered by other auths. What I am experiencing is quite simply the domineering and envious resistance of a market town to―Spirit. The fact that people got me wrong from the very beginning and had no intimations as to my incognito, that is precisely what will become the nota bene. Where I do feel the pinch is with regard to my physical strength, because spiritually I feel myself to be immeasurably and infinitely stronger than it all.

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with authentic Danish embarrassment and pusillanimity in relation to strangers and their almost Jewish jealousy of one another); [it is] frivolous envy grounded in the glorification of one’s equal and the idolization of mediocrity, so that compassion is the only virtue recognized in Denmark. But this evil (this fundamental flaw in Danishness) has never gained ground in such a way or been so absolutely at home in making itself the sole power, the sole thing, the public opinion, as it has in the years that I have been an auth. If I experience a downfall, I fall as I should with respect to being a religious auth. and a public figure, because I myself gave the order to take aim at me to those on that side of the fence. To say that I myself was responsible for it is naturally to put things back-to-front, because, as is self-evident, it is precisely in this that my service consists.

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But if someone says: “You should have seen how it was going to end before you took that step.” That needs to be answered. I was religiously resolved and to that extent unconditionally ready for everything; I’m certainly not complaining, either. But it is nevertheless a fact that, humnly speaking, it really couldn’t be foreseen that the situation would become as crazy as it did, as li�le as it could, humnly speaking, be foreseen that the distinguished ranks would betray me, indeed, that their envy would rlly be the danger. And finally, the primary thing that pains me is my financial circumstances; this is what makes the ma�er hard for me. But the ma�er will no doubt become serious, even if it was almost set up in the form of a joke. Nor do I demand anything more, no ma�er how crazy it gets, than to have revealed the hypocrisy of our public life inasmuch as they still talk hypocritically about how a�acking a person’s character is a danger, while lampooning and so forth, which is the true danger, is used entirely without embarrassment. As I deliberated about the ma�er at the time, I thought the operation would turn out to be as easy as possible. Just a word from two or three from the distinguished ranks, in print, a word to me as I took the step, a word like [“]thank you[”]―and the ma�er would have ended there. For all of them, including Goldschmidt, basically believed that I was, unconditionally, the man for the job. But the danger lay in the way the step was falsely

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interpreted higher up. If it had turned out as I imagined, not even Goldschmidt would have suffered an injustice, because I was not unfavorable toward him. But the fact of the ma�er is that it would perhaps have been a falsehood if Denmark had got away from The Corsair as easily as that. Now it gets serious. But it should not be said that it is my imagination that makes The Corsair such a public sin. I constantly have in mind the pure scale of its extent. And this is indeed factual, it is not my imagination. Therefore it is just as wrong to say that my conception of the ma�er is a delusion as it is wrong to say that it is hot today when the thermometer shows 84o in the shade.

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But if someone wants to say: the unfortunate thing is that you let yourself get too involved with the simple folk, that you wanted (if not qua auth., then personally) to live for them. Answer[:] I know well enough that it is more prudent to live in hiding―but what then becomes of Xnty[?] And if, e.g., Mynster boasts of his prudence regarding the hidden life (not the life hidden in Xt) in the concealment of refined circles, then he writes an appalling satire about himself.

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some perspective has been arrived at, it will sound rather different and will be regarded as when thieves strike back at the police and say, in their defense, that they started it. But we had sunk so deep that immorality had formally been endowed with civic rights. The time has yet to come, Goldschmidt is still concealed behind the public―behind the broad skirts of the great contemptible and wretched public like their darling nursling, for his courage has always consisted in being: cowardly.

There are crimes that do not concern the police. Such are defamation, slander, lampooning, etc. and if they go too far, then the clergy ought to deal with it. I am truly grateful to the clergy! Mob-rule began by a�acking the police and, if possible, u�erly weakening them; but the clergy―I am truly grateful to the clergy. The clergy in specie, and insofar as it was an abuse of the press, the other journalists were responsible for le�ing the mob outlook take such a widespread grip.

Really it is indeed a kind of cruelty, that I (the believer) should rejoice in Xt’s suffering and death.

Discourse about death has been misunderstood, [it is] a leap from the ethical to the aesthetic, when one hears that it’s not our own death or the fact that we shall die that is the heaviest burden―but rather the death of our friends. For the only serious matter is that I shall die and then on to judgment. One must have begun with an unethical misconstrual of the point of death in order to spew out this trash about whether it is more of a burden to lose someone else or to die oneself. 18 in specie] Latin, especially.

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How sad it is that even all this rubbish about my trousers―and God knows that’s crazy enough―is also tied (figuratively), in a melancholic way, to the melancholia of my life. It’s just not true that there’s anything at all striking about them and it’s a lie that I am said to have ordered them [cut in that fashion] or been motivated to draw a�ention to my clothing. But the ma�er is entirely simple. If you pay a�ention to how people are dressed, you will notice that old people prefer shorter trouser legs. People of a younger age, and youth in general, are naturally interested in clothes and especially in legs. With age, one thinks only about comfort and there’s nothing one thinks less about than how one looks. My father was an old man and I never knew him otherwise. And the entire misfortune of my life is, at bo�om, that although I was a child, I was confusedly taken to be an old man and this was also apparent in my clothing. I have a very clear memory from childhood of how downcast I was that I had to wear trousers with such legs and I also remember my brother-in-law Christian’s constant jokes about it. Then I became a student, but I was never a youth. I never acquired the impressions of life that young people get,a or the desire and feeling for one’s external appearance that come from them. I comforted myself in another way. My spirit developed prodigiously and I thought least of all about such things. But as with all other ma�ers, what had been habit in my father’s house, eating at midday at the set time, and in the evening, etc., etc. also applied to my clothes. They were basically unchanged and I may truthfully say that when people a�ack my clothes it’s rlly my late-departed father they are a�acking. In a melancholic-mournful and ironiclight way, I understood myself as suffering from the fact that I was an old man when I was 8 years old and had never been young. Eminently equipped in the spiritual sphere, I ironically raised myself over

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everything that was in any way connected with the animal element in being hum. But that this should become the object a literary a�ack and that thousands would, in u�er seriousness, regard it as an attack on my character―no, I’d never thought of that.

“Bearing witness” is the form of communication that most truly finds the midpoint between direct and indirect communication. Bearing witness is direct communication, but it does not make those among whom one lives into the sole authority. For when the witness’s “communication” turns to those now living, the“witness” turns to God and takes him as the sole authority.

At the time when I hurled myself against the mob spirit, a certain kind of dignified envy was used against me; [they] said: “he is a fantasist, wanting to expose himself to something like that that he will nevertheless be unable to endure.” But when I kept standing and remained entirely calm―and now that they must admit that I did indeed endure―the envy became different; now they are chagrined by the fact that I am strong enough for it, item, they are chagrined to see that it has become a serious ma�er and they become suspicious that there was a native seriousness behind this step.

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Insofar as it is permissible to think about such things in such a purely hum. manner, one would have to say that if a hum. being had been in Xt’s place when Peter denied him, he would have had yet another reason to be angry with him, namely, that no hum. being can make it his intention to want

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What rlly causes us hum. beings grief (and it concerns almost everything in our lives), is that it is only a�erward, i.e., a�er we have done something and o�en done it wrongly, that we know whether we should have done it.

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If, a�er my death, they publish my journals, they could do so under the title:

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The Book of the Judge

What I wrote somewhere in one of the journals is so true:

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My last word to my contemporaries: Let me then see whether you, who lived at the same time as me, adorn my grave and say: if we had lived at the same time as him, he would not have been treated like that. 25

They don’t understand me even a li�le bit. How honest have I not been in all of my dealings and interactions with Bishop Mynster, preserving all the dignity of my first impressions of him―but he does not place any real value on it; he merely takes it, without further ado, as the tribute due to him. Nevertheless there should be a li�le bit of fear in there.

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When a pers. [(]whose circumstances in life place him among thea privileged class, and who, through talent and abilities and the use he makes of them, belongs among the most well-regarded of them[)], lives in a tiny community―a community that, because of its small numbers, is understandably compelled to try to be genial, which also applies to each individual―is willing to live as far as possible by expressing his equality with everyone, this, I thought, this was geniality, and Xnty, and I thought such a way of living was entirely fi�ing in li�le Denmark. Those were my circumstances, and that’s how I lived. But then, at the same time, a revolting and immoral literary phenomenon developed in the literary world, which is only all too frightfully disproportionate, a literary phenomenon that, if it can be said to have any thought at all, must be this: to level, to weaken those who are respected, the superior class, to make them all equal. Then I discovered―if for no other reason, then because of this―that my life had been organized as it had been, and I was called and summoned to throw myself up against this literary immorality. That’s what happened. But something else also happened. A certain superior part of the literary world, which had regarded me from the beginning with a suspicious eye, took advantage of the favorable circumstances. The view was spread about that I was mad to expose myself to such a thing, item, that it was because of pride and vanity that I lived as I had lived: expressing equality. On the other hand, this literary immorality did all it was capable of, which, by the way, was to be expected. Anyone who can summon up any thought at all will easily see that there is an infinite difference betw. what one does voluntarily and what is forced upon one by a brutal act, even if the result is the same. This difference explains the alteration in the way I live. I am not a god, I am only a hum. being. It is easy enough for the market town solidarity of a small country to make such great demands on a pers. that presumably even a god would not be able to satisfy them. But a small country should still recognize that it doesn’t have much to joke about.

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spend the day dreaming. He understood that if he didn’t condemn Xt, he wasn’t Caesar’s friend―and he condemned him. How amazing, that Pilate’s wife, who dreamed during the day, was basically more awake than Pilate, who didn’t dream during the day.

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True enough, the matter of the mob has become more serious than I had imagined at the time; that is, no matter how seriously I pondered the step and how religiously resolved I was, I discovered that the baseness and demoralization was much greater than I had imagined; that’s clear. Because I remained upright, it was also nearly completely exposed. But I must say that precisely for that reason, it was good that I came along; for the more serious the issue, so much the greater my obligation and my call.

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There is indeed a sha�ering reversal in all hum. categories that are applied to the God-man, because if one could talk about Xt in entirely hum. terms, then one would have to say that the words: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me” come from impatience and are not of the truth. They can only be true when God speaks them, or rather, also when the God-man speaks them. And truly, i.e., because it is true, it also expresses the greatest pain.

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I must now watch out, or be�er said, God will surely watch out for me, so that I’m not led astray by staring much too onesidedly at Xt as Exemplar. This is the dialectical moment that corresponds to Xt as gi�, as that which is given to us (to recall Luther’s consistent distinction). But dialectical as I am by nature, I always look at where the passion of the dialectical moment directs me as if the complementary idea just didn’t exist―and then that element takes precedence, and strikes me most forcefully.

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I am feeling indescribably weak and it seems to me that it can’t be long until death makes an end of the ma�er. And truly a dead man is exactly what Cph. and Denmark need if there is to be, or will be, any end to all this mean, envious, grimacing baseness. And so I don’t complain, even if it could seem like a heavy fate that I, who in every other country would have earned a great fortune and would have been counted as a genius of the top rank, with broad and radical influence, that I, quite consistently, as a result of having been born in a demoralized market town, came to be a kind of crazy Meyer, known and insulted by every street urchin (quite literally), even by slaves―while envy followed behind and gloried in and exulted over its victory. I do not complain, even if my grievance is that quite literally everyone has kept unqualifiedly silent for more than 3 years, while this continued daily. I do not complain. In ancient times, they entertained themselves by le�ing hum. beings fight with wild animals; our time’s baseness is more refined. But there have been sacrificial offers, and tears have been silently poured out by women (the wives, daughters, etc. [of those who were persecuted]) and all the while, there was joyful laughter and the number of subscribers rose. Those who were sacrificed went off to the side and died―and no one took proper notice. The women concealed their tears and no one took notice, for those who were suffering naturally did all they could to hide it. Then I consecrated myself as the sacrifice. I dared to believe that I was a li�le bit too great for Denmark to continue in its ways without further ado, and that is what brought me to my death. Only a dead man can stop and avenge such baseness, of which the whole country is more or less guilty. But retribution there shall be for you, for all of you, who have suffered. And I feel indescribably content, I, who, if anyone did, found a life mission that corresponded to the given conditions of my life. It was easy enough for my contemporaries to allow me to put a stop to that evil, to allow me and all my sacrifices to guarantee that P. L. Møller and Goldschmidt were kept in line―and, at the same time, to satisfy their envy by watching me suffer what I had to suffer, which was intensified by the fact that the dignified rank declared me to be mad for being willing to expose myself to that kind of thing. Repayment will follow. And now I turn to the other side, with much fear and trembling, to consider my personal life and its sins, but hoping and believing that God will forgive me for Xt’s sake―and then “ein seliger Sprung in die Ewigkeit.”

41 ein seliger Sprung in die Ewigkeit] German, a blessed leap into eternity.

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The Epistle for the 25th Sunday a�er Trinity.

There is always this kind of difference betw. the distance involved in aesthetic representation and what is actually said in a situation. When Xt (Lk 8:53) said “The girl is not dead, but is sleeping,” they laughed at him―when the priest preaches about the beautiful and comforting thought that death is a slumber, we weep. This is because in church, there is no dead person present about whom it is said [“]he is not dead, but is sleeping[”]―we are all alive. In a situation that involved someone who was actually dead, this would become comical. As far as we’re concerned, one must also remember that the expression has become trivial for us. Incidentally, there is a notable distinction concerning the biblical term for falling asleep in 1 Thess 4:15, to which Luther,a too, drew a�ention: [“]We who are alive at that time shall be changed―but [we will by no means precede] those who have fallen asleep”

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“Paul does not say, we shall not all die, but: we shall not all fall asleep. For he distinguishes between dying and falling asleep.” Luther.

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1) The smartest move is to live in concealment, entrenched behind a sensory illusion, known only to the elite; that this is the smartest move, the only smart move, is something I know and knew very early on―but now comes the question: does one have permission to do this Christianly speaking, is it not a worldly falsehood and a lie for which one will have to give account on judgment day quite otherwise than for reg. offenses, for particular offenses are one thing and that one’s whole life has

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been guilty of this every day, that one’s whole life from first to last has consistently carried it out? 2) Daring to make the hum. masses a�entive to the truth by pu�ing aside the sensory illusion of distance by thus ge�ing involved with the masses, so they must conclude: this is a dangerous ma�er, it is the sure way to get yourself martyred, humnly speaking, it’s crazy to do it―but now comes the question: does one have permission to excuse oneself, won’t one be required on judgment day to take responsibility first and foremost for, so to speak, the total set-up of one’s whole life? 3) When someone organizes his life like that, on Christian grounds renounces worldly prudence, dares to face a bloodless martyrdom―and suffers it: how can it then make sense that the place or the country where such a thing happens calls itself Christendom, or is there any trace of meaning in becoming a martyr―in Christendom―because one expressesa

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a [what it means to be] Christian? Is this not proof that it is untrue that the place where such a thing happens calls itself Xndom?

NB The “Three Notes” shouldn’t be published either. I must not speak directly about myself; and if indeed much more ought to be said, The Point of View should be published. All of that material ought to be le� ready, as it is, until a�er my death. Nothing ought to be said directly about me personally: 1) because essentially, I am only a poet; but a poet’s personality always contains something mysterious, which is why he should not be portrayed as, and, at all costs, not be confused with, an absolutely ethical character in the strictest sense. 2) Insofar as I am a bit more than a poet, I am essentially a penitent, but I cannot speak about that and thus must not speak about the possible extraordinariness, with which I have been endowed. 3) I cannot ensure myself, and [ensure that in] the communication [itself], that the emphasis falls strongly enough on God. 4) There is an inconsistency tending toward self-denial. For me, therefore, wanting to do it was: 1) senseless, wanting to talk about myself now as if I was to die tomorrow or it had been decided that I was going to give up being an auth., since neither of these is the case. 2) It was a case of impatience and willfulness (a consequence of my having been a sufferer) that I wanted to plan my own fate in advance or to contribute to my being still farther forced into the character of a martyr, even if I am one silently, though without demanding the satisfaction of being so regarded.

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It was a divine fortune that I didn’t do it, didn’t publish “the notes,” or that God didn’t permit it to happen. It would have disrupted my life in all sorts of ways, regardless of whether I must now continue to be an auth. or am brought to the point by other means. Thus, I can rlly only feel remorse for the time I spent on all that nonsense about tinkering with “the notes,” a word here, another there. I have suffered greatly, but God also helps me learn. The degree to which it is God who directs the whole thing is clearest to me from the fact that the discourses on the lily and the bird were produced at that time—and that was just what I needed. God be praised! Without fighting with anybody and without speaking about myself, I said much of what needs to be said, but movingly, mildly, upli�ingly. And then, travel: I have to get away, both for a moment’s recreation and for a longer period; for this is tied to the fact that I am essentially a poet. If I am to communicate anything directly about myself personally, I must be forced into it by something external, and even then it will have to be dragged out of me, because, in the end, it’s not I who am productive but a higher power.

As a mo�o to the three pieces of writing (for awakening in inwardness: Come unto Me All You; Blessed Is the One Who Is Not Offended; From on High He Will Draw All unto Himself), I shall add: I still do not feel that I am strong enough to die for Xnty; I am content with the lesser task, which is something I need just as fully[:] to thank God that Xt has died for me.

The Three Godly Discourses.

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In the three godly discourses, the petition “your kingdom come,” from The Lord’s Prayer, is not used, because in relation to the theme,a the emphasis must fall most strongly on: [“]hallowed be your name[”]; moreover, it is also because it more specifically appears in discourse no. 2 in the plea [“]your will be done on earth as it is in heaven,[”] which fits more closely with the theme there (obedience). The petition [“]forgive us our sins, as we, etc.[”] has still not been used: .. for in that re., the lily and the bird cannot be instructors; finally the petition [“]give us today our daily bread[”] is not used because it was so exhaustively dealt with in earlier discourses.

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Another thing that belongs to the insanity of my circumstances here in Denmark is that a whole swarm of peop. have been enabled to pass judgment on what I say about the public and the individual, that whole swarm of peop. (earning their crust, etc., etc.) who are also writers and think they know how one ought to talk to the public, because they are the authors of advertisements in which they recommend themselves and their wares, etc., to the satisfaction of the honored public.

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Whatever you say, it was weak and cowardly and treacherous of the distinguished rank (e.g., Heiberg and all that gang, and, on the other side, also the more reputable journalistic literature) to behave as they did at that time. I was the proudest young firm in literature; it is quite literally true that the distinguished men of literature sat there and were chagrined, while taking care not to risk giving ba�le; I was an unconditional power and there was not even one who dared to say even a single bad or even censorious word about me, which was so emphatic that Goldschmidt knew how to stress the point. Then I resolved to turn all of that mob-mindedness against me, so that it might, if possible, be brought to a standstill. It is unconditionally the least self-seeking action carried out in public life since I have been a part of it. And what happens[?] Refined envy thinks like this: [“]Aha! He’s trapped himself now; we didn’t have the power to weaken him, but it’s certainly going to happen now. The step he has taken is rash, the ba�le as unequal as possible: one single man, known to everybody, set against the mob, which, moreover, is concentrated by means of a single organ with a talented man as its boss. It is not impossible, however, that he will achieve something, because he has outstanding powers and he seems to have a great faith. Now, eh bien, if he does it, so much the be�er, it will benefit us; but in any case―and this too will also benefit us―he will weaken himself.” Thus refined envy kept silent and the opinion was spread around that I was crazy for exposing myself to such a thing. Huh! Yet I did achieve something―indeed, when I think about it, I’m astonished. Goldschmidt was plainly crippled, the point of The Corsair was lost, he travels―comes home and behaves decently. P.L.M. was as good as silent a�er that―and travels. 32 eh bien] French, Ah, well!

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In a certain sense, refined envy acquired an even greater impression of me, but it is constantly important to them to undermine me and therefore important to keep up the opinion that it was madness on my part―and, in addition (amazingly enough! For if this is so, then where does the madness lie!), that it means nothing, nothing to become a sacrifice to the mob. Incidentally, there was a hint in that novella En Nat ved Bullarsøe that really tempted me to imagine that it could have been about me (as the whole novella had an amazing relation to what I have produced, almost like a combination of “The Seducer’s Diary” and the “Psychological Experiment Guilty―Not Guilty?” which would be very strange, because the novella is older); it was the crazy crusade that the hero undertook in order to convert the Finns―it almost seemed contrived so as to provide a pendant to my expedition against the mob.

Lk IX:21. Peter answered: You are God’s Christ. “But he instructed them strictly not to speak of it to anybody.” Here you can see how Xt held to his incognito, quite clearly retaining a teleological reticence within his having come in the form of a servant. Lk IX:25 what does it help a man, if he …. but lost his self or suffered damage to his self; for losing one’s self is not straightaway the same as ge�ing rid of one’s self; it is to retain one’s self, but as damaged goods.

Lk XI: 5–8 could become the text for a sermon on

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That we should be shameless in praying

Lk XI: 38, 39―cf. v. 45. But it was really an act of impoliteness on Xt’s part that was needed to provoke conflict. He was invited to dinner by a Pharisee; he accepts the invitation; therefore he is a guest. Then the Pharisee makes the innocent remark (as it seems to him), as to why he does not wash first (v. 38)―which Xt then uses as the occasion to thunder against the Pharisees, at dinner.

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And then, (v. 45), when a lawyer says: [“]Master, in saying this you insult us,[”] a new outburst of thunder follows (v. 46ff.). This helps show how untrue the priestly conception of Xt is.

Ah, but how inexplicable it nevertheless is and if I suddenly find myself thinking about it, it can sometimes overwhelm me, that I, who, melancholic and Christian as I am, had as my only joy being able to express my equality with all hum. beings and thereby exposed myself to the disfavor of the elite―that I, precisely I, should be persecuted on account of my pride by the simple classes, that I, precisely I, am the sacrifice demanded by the whole movement we are now entering―and that I was the very one who expressed it long before anyone took the problem up. Yet it really can hurt me if I think about how I have had to change my ways in some degree, it can hurt me deeply. I, who previously had a warm greeting for every worker and a friendly word, an expression of concern for everyone―I am now terse, I avoid contact, I make li�le variation in how I greet people, I look half-distractedly at those who greet me (Ah! I who loved to be the first to give a greeting) and greet them as if I were a third party. And I have to do this, I have to systematically remind myself to do it―because I’m not capable of being the world’s redeemer and if I don’t restrain myself a bit, it will end with my being killed. But you can see from this that the misfortunate concerning the press is that it always brings about the things it speaks of in such a way that if it wasn’t there before it nevertheless comes to pass. For it has now become more true to say that I am proud. But whose fault is that? The press’s! If I open my eyes and look at everyone in a pleasant manner, then I pick up dozens of looks from these grinning mugs; ergo, I have to (and this is a necessary defensive move) proudly turn my eye in upon myself. If I was willing to have a friendly word for everyone, as I was before, a whole crowd of giggling idiots falls on me; ergo, I have to (and this is a necessary defensive move) proudly speak tersely. Such conflicts once more produce the situation that I a�end more to those individuals who are devoted to me or to whom I am devoted―as I am forced to do (yes, it is a necessary defensive move)―differentiating among them.

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But there is one thing I have learned: the auth[entic] Christian collision. This collision was not originally part of my stock and it is only thanks to the conflict with the masses that I have it. My collision is the genuinely Christian one: I am persecuted―because of having been well-intentioned. It is not merely that the world wishes to be deceived, i.e., that (in an earthly and worldly sense) one gets a long way by deceiving; no: it wants to be deceived and goes wild if one doesn’t deceive it. Proudly despise peop. and they will love you―love them and they will hate you. This shouldn’t scare me off, however, but the circumstances are far too crazy and so I have to cool it down. The fact that the press is involved is what makes this evil so fearsomely powerful. If the press wasn’t involved, I would still dare to place my hopes in my own personal strength. But that a single pers. can, every week or every day, get 40 to 50,000 people to say and think the same―that is frightening. And one can never get hold of the one who’s responsible for it in person, while the thousands he stirs up against you are in a certain sense innocent. Woe, woe, woe upon the daily press! If Xt came into the world today, I swear by my life that he wouldn’t take aim at the high priests, etc.―but at the journalists.

What a frightful Christian untruth the so-called Christian state is based on. It is such a small particle of those now living who rlly make up the state. Beneath them lies chaos―and no one dares go so far as to try to make these thousands aware of it. Take Denmark! Bishop Mynster at the head of the clergy. His life is organized around worldly eminence with the greatest possible worldly prudence. His preaching is an official function, taking his turn once a week or, nowadays, every 6th week. For the rest, all that ma�ers is to keep his personal life at as great a distance, as great a distance as possible, entirely apart. God in Heaven! Is this a Christian cleric? He knows very well about the thousands and thousands who are bringing about confusion―but that he should get involved with them[?] Ah! God preserve us from being so imprudent! God in Heaven! Is this a Christian cleric? And he is the model a�er whom all try to model themselves. God in Heaven! And this is Christianity? No, even the most unchristian objective observer would regard such a thing as crazy. God in Heaven! Are we all, then, Christians?

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The Christian state is so godforsaken and in such despair that there isn’t even a li�le bit of sympathetic pathos for the one who dares to do what they don’t. No, viewed with extreme unchristian objectivity, they consider such [daring action] to be madness! God in Heaven! Are we all, then, Christians? And this is why a martyr for our times would experience yet another form of suffering, one more degree of intensification: that no one had a clue as to what to make of him and, in the midst of his sufferings, to be accompanied by the cry: but he’s crazy to want to expose himself to that kind of thing.

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Yet Governance knows how to set up a collision for every hum. being such that it corresponds precisely to his powers. The collisions of my life, presumably granted to me because of my superior powers, have an intensity that makes me take them seriously and are such that, through them, I straightaway recognize myself, the peculiarity of my personality, so that I can infer from the nature of the collision the peculiarity of my spirit. But it is also certain that such collisions occur very rarely. My erotic collision was intensified in this way: it was no external power that separated us, still less the girl who broke with me, but it was I myself who had to annihilate a real love so that in addition to my own erotic pain, I felt the pain of sympathy for the one I was making unhappy, and, finally, the suffering for being responsible for it was doubly sharpened by the fact that what caused me to take that step was remorse for a prior life, and melancholia. It can’t be denied that this is as complex an erotic collision as is possible. My second collision is the one with the world. Here again, the intensification has to do with the fact that I am the one who freely exposed myself to the whole thing. In addition, the collision with “the masses” is already an intensification; but let it be understood that there is no single hum. being living, with whom I could collide in such a way that it would strike me as meaning anything great or even being an equal struggle. My superiority with regard to the humanly commonplace is straightaway recognizable in my life’s collisions by the fact that when I collide with anything, it is always in such a way that I experience it as a “spiritual temptation.” The spiritual tempta-

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J O U R N A L NB 10 : 179–180 1849 tion consists in the fact that I myself am the one who is acting, I myself the one who has to take the decisive step, I myself the one who has to expose myself to suffering. But it is precisely this spontaneous situation that turns into a spiritual temptation, which always goes like this: well, have I not ventured too far[?] That is to say, in every one of my collisions, there is also a collision with God. It is precisely this element of the collision that makes it become frightfully serious with regard to what I suffer. Just think how different my life would have been if it had been a girl who had not wanted to love me or had broken with me―I imagine I would have been wild enough to have fought back. But I didn’t have that opportunity―Ah! because I had to be the one who acted and had to strive with God: what a frightful collision. Just think if it had been a single man who fell upon me in a literary dispute: I think that at the very moment be a�acked, he’d have broken his neck. But “the masses,” in themselves, are already a very different and difficult kind of collision. But even they landed only a li�le blow, and I myself was the one who acted, I strove with God: what a frightful collision. But this once more bears witness to the fact that I relate to what is Christian, for these are genuinely religious and Christian collisions.

It is indeed notable that the Erinyes can be predicated like this: µνηµονες Εριννυες. cf. Solger: über den Ursprung der Lehre von Dæmonen und Schutzgeistern in der Religion der alten Griechen. Nachg. W. 2nd vol. No. XI, p. 655.

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It makes me think of the figure of speech: [“]I’ll remember that.[”] One could therefore emphatically say: a[“]Justice remembers![”] In the cited text, Solger himself draws a�ention to the German usage of [“]ahnden[”] in the sense of punishment. The Greeks says that Fate follows along: µοιρα ἑπεται or also that it sees everything. “Dieses begleitende Bewußtsein ist auch die Zeit, in einem höheren gö�lichen Sinne gedacht, und daher ist auch 25 µνηµονες Εριννυες] Greek, the Erinyes, who remember, keep (e.g., a crime) in remembrance. 32 ahnden] German, avenge, take action against. 33 µοιρα ἑπεται] Greek, fate accompanies. 34 Dieses begleitende Bewußtsein … die fernste Zukun�] German and Greek, “This accompanying consciousness is also time, thought of in a higher, divine sense, and thus Kronos is also a deity of fate, who views all individuals as one and the same.” … This unknown, dark, all-seeing being thus knows very well the misdeeds of men and punishes them, even if much later; for it accompanies in an unbroken unity: as in the present, so in most distant future.

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χρονος eine Schicksalsgo�heit, welche alles Einzelne als eine und dieselbe anschaut.” ... Dieses unbekannte dunkle, alles anschauende Wesen erkennt also vorzüglich auch die Vergehungen der Menschen, und stra� sie, wenngleich noch so spät; denn dasselbe begleitet in ununterbrochener Einheit wie die Gegenwart so die fernste Zukun�.” It is an a�ribute of time, as such, to disclose. But how deep the Greeks were. I have only to think of Plutarch’s treatise on the slowness of divine justice, a gripping ethical treatise.

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If there is any such thing as necessity in an individual, then, in my case, it is this: to be where there is danger. And so it might be possible that I alone, of all my contemporaries, saw something wrong and launched myself against the rabble and the grinners and I ventured out against a danger―which was no danger! Oh, you fools, or, rather, you equivocators! No, there is no danger in the world that is feared as greatly as laughter; and how it was feared here in Denmark and here in Cph., I know be�er than all, I, who lived in company with everyone and yet am a li�le bit knowledgeable about hum. beings; how it was and is feared by the most courageous journalists and public figures―that I knew; that when everyone kept silent, it was precisely because of cowardice―that I knew. And look, that is how I found out that this danger, which also had a deep rapport with my particular personality, was a danger for me. It is the only danger in Denmark that I have found large enough for my capacities. A polemic with Heiberg? That was a joke. And even if he had had 10 more people on his side, it wouldn’t have amounted to anything serious and would have been soon forgo�en. But now it’s in its 4th year―and Cph. is still interested in my trousers and legs with the same passion it shows for Tivoli, masquerades at the Casino, or the war.

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NB. All the treatises (except the one on Adler) in A Cycle, etc., could well be published. But they ought to be published one at a time, individually, or two together at most, and by the

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pseudonyms: HH, FF, P.P. They could then be like a reconnaissance unit that accompanies the publication of the three writings for awakening. But precisely because they are to serve as a reconnaissance unit, they must be given out in as small a dose as possible.

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This was the cunning deployed against Goldschmidt. He was allowed to act as crazily as he wanted―I myself had demanded it. But he didn’t pay a�ention to the fact that it would come back to haunt him, that a moment would come when he would stand without defense, as I myself had demanded, that a moment would come when all eyes were on him and it would become obvious what he was made of.

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It is self-evident that when vileness thinks and knows that it has gained power, it grows circumspect in a certain vilely shrewd way, and when everyone wants to bow down to it, then it is as shrewd as every other tyrant. The issue, then, is to force it out of its shrewdness, to get it to run its course, so that when the fullness of time has come, it ends up bringing about its own result: it collapses.

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I have made yet another �nal attempt to say a word about myself and my entire authorship. I have written “A Supplementary Note” that should be called [“]The Accounting[”] and should accompany The Discourses. In my opinion it is a masterpiece; but that doesn’t matter[;] it can’t be done.

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The thing is, I see exception[ally] clearly the in�nitely ingenious idea in the total organization of the authorship. Humanly speaking, now is precisely the moment, now that the second edition of Either/Or is to be published. It would have been grand. But there is something false about it. For I am a genius of such a kind, that I cannot take ownership of the entire operation too directly, too personally, without coming too close to trespassing on Governance. Every genius is predominantly immed. and belongs to immanence, lacking any [“]why[”]; and my genial nature is what lets me see so clearly, now, after the event, the in�nite [“]why[”] in it all―but then this belongs to Governance. On the other hand, I am not religious in such a way that I can attribute everything directly to God. Therefore, not a word. If anything is to be said, it is only this. Or if the world compels me to give a clari�cation and explanation: then this. I suffer indescribably every time I begin wanting to publish something of this kind about myself and the authorship. My soul becomes restless, my spirit is not at ease as it usually is when I am productive. I am preoccupied with every single word with a fearsome passion, it’s on my mind the whole time, including the time I’m not working; my prayers become unwholesome and distracted because every insigni�cant thing takes on an exaggerated importance as soon as it’s put into this context. As soon as I let it go, either by drafting it but doing so with the thought that I won’t publish it or by producing something else, I straightaway become calm again, my spirit is at ease, as is the case now that I have written and intend to publish the 3 godly discourses. It is too much, suddenly now to want to assume ownership of this enormous productivity as if it were a single idea―regardless of the fact that I see that it is. Nevertheless, it is by no means vanity that has guided me to toward this assessment; I don’t think so. It is, in origin, a religious idea; I thought I owed that to God. And that is why it is all lying ready―for [publication] after my death. Personally, I can’t take ownership in that way. To take an example, it is true that I was “religiously resolved” when I began as an auth., but it must be understood in another way. I wrote Either/Or, especially “The Seducer’s Diary,” for her sake, to help her get out of the relationship. In general, this is precisely the sign of the geniality in me[:] Governance takes what concerns me personally and forms it into something with wide application. I’m thinking here of what one pseudonym wrote about Socrates: [“]his whole life was a personal preoccupation with himself, and then Governance comes along and intensi�es it with world-historical signi�cance.” Or to take another example. I am polemical by nature, and I had understood the concept of [“]the individual[”] from very early on. Nevertheless, when I wrote about it for the �rst time (in the two edif. discourses), I was thinking in particular about this: my reader; for the book contained a little hint to her and, at the time, it was an especially deep personal truth that I only sought one single reader. This idea has gradually taken over. But here again, the role of Governance is in�nite. The rest of what has been produced may indeed be published. But not a word about myself. Then I must travel.

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; I was [a penitent], and that’s why I didn’t apply for a position.

Oh, if I only dared to say it as I understand it in my innermost being, where I understand myself so exceedingly well. I am a penitent. I was a penitent,a and thus I broke the engagement; I was a penitent, and thus I exposed myself to the rabble, because I thought that was just the job for a penitent; I was a penitent, and thus I persisted in keeping at my post and I refused to give ground—for I am doing penance. And yet I have been granted a share in the extraord. But this is also the very dialectic of the extraordinary: the lowest—the most exalted. But this I cannot speak of, not of being a penitent and so even less about the latter. Yes, and perhaps even in my deepest understanding [of myself], there is much melancholia. I am a poet—I must travel.

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There is also a contradiction in struggling against “the crowd,” exerting all one’s strength in order to show that it is nothing. Then the crowd says: It’s nothing, [but] he really doesn’t like it as you can see by looking at him―and thus it gets even crazier. On the other hand, if it notices that one is suffering, then pity is straightaway there to help. Ah! Even Xt had to put up with being the object of pity.

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As Xt said to the rich young man, sell all your goods and give them to the poor, so too might one also speak about the demand to give up all one’s dignity (i.e., what is earthly, temporal) to the poor in order to express the equality.

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Living in hiding, concealed behind deceptive appearances, and then winning the stuporous crowd is precisely what is untruthful. Among other things, this is what I’m fighting against. Ah, but the world is so wretched that no one understands me. In the

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meantime, the envious elite sit quite safely in hiding behind their illusory appearances and take pleasure in the resistance I’m ge�ing; indeed, the envious elite naturally interpret the whole thing to their advantage, seeing that such things are happening to me precisely because I’m not living the truth. And, in the end, they are really thrilled that I shall be brought down and that the lesson to be drawn from my life will be that I sought something false―and that is why I fell―but their illusions were the truth and thus the purpose of my life was to confirm these illusions and become a warning to frighten people back to the truth, i.e., back to the illusions. This would indeed happen if there were no such thing as Governance and a God in Heaven, and if it weren’t true that the greatest victory is that won in suffering and that the truest victory is submission.

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In the world, they ask “Who’s preaching today?” but in a godly sense one shouldn’t ask. For here in God’s house, whether the priest is preaching or the clerk, the most renowned priest or the most unknown student, there is only ever one who preaches and it is always one and the same: God in Heaven. The sermon is that God is present and that you are before God is the sermon’s content.

Something Poetic about Myself. … if, on the other hand, someone said to me: As one who is surrounded every day by the foolishness, jeers, bestiality, etc., of thousands of people, and have been for a long time, it seems to me that there is something rather artificial about your silence, never talking about all this stuff, or the calm with which you talk about yourself, as if none of this stuff troubled you.” I would answer:

Used as a “Supplementary Note” to “The Accounting” [a]

[b]

keep silent

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that they spat on Xt, that the crowd (“Those who passed by”) spat on him and said: Fie upon you. [d]

for even if there have also been moments, indeed periods, when it has been as if forgo�en by me, I constantly come back to this as to my first idea.

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The martyr of intellectuality

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while the mission up to this point has been primarily an intellectual one that has been championed in a religious way.

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First off. When I speak, there is a person of highest dignity who listens. This is also the case for every other hum. being, incidentally, but most don’t think about it, don’t think about the fact that there is a highly dignified person who listens: God in Heaven. He sits in heaven and hears what every hum. being says. I think about this. It’s no surprise, then, that when I speak, it’s not without a certain solemnity, for I’m not merely speaking with these thousands of people but with the individual, before God. Rather, it’s more surprising that my speech isn’t infinitely more solemn. Second. Already as a small child, I was told as solemnly as possible that “the crowd” spat on Xt, although he was the truth. I’ve kept this hidden deep within my heart and, in order to hide it the be�er, have even concealed the fact that I’ve hidden it deep, deep within my soul under an external appearance of just the opposite. For I feared that it might slip out too soon or be tricked out of me, like a cartridge of loose powder. This idea―which helped me understand directly and easily a less difficult idea that so preoccupied me in my youth: that simple wise man,e whom “the numerical,” “the crowd” persecuted and condemned to death―this idea is my life. I have the greatest possible assurance that I am on the right path from the fact that I am surrounded by such signs as “the crowd’s” foolishness, grimacing, and bestiality. It’s no wonder, then, that I don’t speak without a certain solemnity and that my speech is calm, as I myself am. For it is the right path, I am on the right path, even if a long way back. Granting, that those who, a�er having voluntarily suffered endlessly from their contemporaries’ coarseness, mistreatment, and slander (that is, a�er having been salted, as it were, for “every sacrifice shall be salted”), and a�er that having been mocked and spat upon (that is, a�er having received the ultimate preliminary initiation), then end up being crucified, beheaded, or burned at the stake or broken on the wheel―granting, that according to the Christian ranking these occupy the rank of first class, which is indeed indisputable; grant-

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ing this, I do believe, without claiming too much on my own behalf, that I am somewhere close to being in the lowest,g in the eighth class. I probably won’t advance any farther. But what a teacher once wrote in a report on his disciple indeed applies to my life―the only thing missing was that the report was wri�en about me: “He is going backward if not without some effort.” This was assuredly somewhat unfortunately expressed by the teacher and there is only one set of circumstances in which such a judgment can be said to be well expressed, as now with regard to my life. “Not without some effort” is nevertheless perhaps saying too li�le, for I put in a great deal of effort, I am very diligent and always striving, and yet I am going backward, that is quite certain, and the more effort I put in, the more I go backward, that too is quite certain, so that it is true that by dint of much effort I go farther and farther backward. It is in this way that I hope to enter into eternity; and how else would it be possible to enter eternity, philosophically speaking, without going backward[?] And how else would it be possible to enter eternity, Christianly speaking, without everything ge�ing worse and worse for you, more and more backward? They spat on Xt, who was the truth―and were I to forget everything else, I shall never forget, just as I have not forgo�en thus far, that this is what I was told as a child, nor will I forget the impression it made on that child. It sometimes happens that a child in the cradle becomes engaged to be married to the one who will one day be his wife or her husband; religiously speaking, I was already, in early childhood―previously engaged. Ah! I paid dearly for once misunderstanding my life and forge�ing―that I was betrothed! But in return, for once in my life I was able to experience something indescribably fulfilling to me, the most beautiful and most blessed satisfaction, because, as a result of that step I once took and the danger I voluntarily exposed myself to, I completely understood myself and understood myself as―being betrothed. Betrothed, betrothed to the love that from the very first moment until now, despite my many sins

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who has assuredly been remarkably successful keeping up this deception, a deception that was perhaps, to some degree, a fabrication of my melancholia, a deception [that led others to believe] that I was the most frivolous of all.

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and wanderings from the pathway, has embraced me―me, of whom it is entirely true to say that he sinned much but of whom it is also perhaps not entirely untrue to say that he loved much―with a love that infinitely exceeds my understanding, with a fatherly care, “in comparison with which even the most loving father is only a stepfather.” And then just one thing more, something I would like to emphasize most emphatically and, if possible, with the seriousness of the last wish of a dying man. I have (if I compare myself with the glorious ones, which I do only from the greatest possible distance and as the lowest in the lowest class, in the eighth class), I have what is assuredly a heavy and sorrowful advantage over them, but nonetheless an advantage in one sense, with regard to being able to endure. For it seems to me that if one is pure, perfect, and holy, then the world’s opposition to truth must make one so sorrowful that one would quickly die of it. I, on the contrary, am not a holy person, I am a penitent, who can be indescribably well served by suffering and who is personally gratified by suffering as a form of penitence. Indeed, if I was the contemporary of someone more pure, thenh to divert, if possible, all thei scorn and mistreatment from him to me. I think this is an advantage, that I, who have the honor to serve the truth, am a penitent (for my earlier as well as my current personal offences), and because of that (and only because of that) I think that mistreatment at the hands of hum. beings hits the mark when it’s directed at me.

NB. No, quite right, there shouldn’t be a word said about me, above all not about assuming responsibility for all my literary activity as if it were my own idea and my own intention. No matter how many quali�cations I might add while making the case, it wouldn’t be enough.

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I ought to keep silent. Above all it would be untrue if, at the de�nitive moment I decided to continue qua religious auth., I were to assure myself of the whole course of the foregoing. No, I am a poet. My writing is essentially my education, and just as juice is pressed from a fruit, Governance has, in a marvelous way, pressed me time after time into exiguous circumstances so that I might become as productive as I ought to be. Right now, I’m rlly at the point where there could be talk about stepping up into character, but this would then be something new and shouldn’t be confused with the idea of assuming all the foregoing work as my own, all the more so as I have constantly been thinking about breaking it off. I am a poet. I must travel. It’s because of �nances that I’m forced to stay put. I needed economic independence [earlier], but those fortunate circumstances concealed from me, perhaps, the truth[:] that I am essen[tially] a poet. Now I’ve understood it. Now patience.

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Imagine a man who wanted to start up the following project. He announces that he is of the opinion that it would be in the acknowledged interests of the most esteemed and cultivated public to know precisely which shopkeepers stock the best wares and where their various businesses are, etc.; and that it is also in the acknowledged interests of the most esteemed and cultivated public that, when looking for an apartment, one should be accurately informed about all its good and bad points, its visible and hidden drawbacks; and finally, that it is important for the most esteemed-cultivated public to know about the reliability and comportment of the man concerned, etc.―If, for these reasons, he alone―solely in order to serve the truth and the most esteemed and cultivated public, fully aware that his only reward for his efforts would be their appreciation and acclamation―had decided to publish a newssheet, a critical newssheet that would be devoted fully and completely to this ma�er, [what would happen?] Well, the be�er part of society, etc., would despair; they would see that the point was neither more nor less than to add a new way of taxing those who own businesses, a new tax theya would have to pay to the editor so “he wouldn’t write about them in such a way as to prevent them from making money.”

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And this is how it would treat the artists, the authors, etc.[:] in their case, they would be taxed with criticism. And [it could be done] in relation to society as a whole, (one could therea�er expand, e.g., with a precise inventory of the working class, [an inventory that] would serve the interests of the most esteemed and cultivated public who wish to secure servants; one could publish whatever good or ill there is to say about everyone seeking a position as a servant. And conversely, in order to serve the interests of the working class, one could provide a description of the families of the elite, the masters, mistresses, and children, which would be a new tax charged to them in connection with the newssheet). This project could be done at any given moment, if only there were a scoundrel with the talent for it. I’ll commit to doing so, at some given moment, and it will succeed, if assurance is continually offered that it serves the most esteemed and cultivated public. Oh, and you fools have lived and continue to live in this way here in Cph. And when a man finally comes, who wants, if possible, to put a stop to all this vileness, you persecute him. How true Moses’ experience was: the greatest of plagues is wanting to liberate―a race of slaves.

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I have perhaps demanded too much of myself, almost to the point of gruesome self-torment. But however that may be, with the help of God it will still serve me for good. But what I’ve learned, and what I hold to with eternal sureness, is that the farther one advances (ethically) in the good, the more the world will offer resistance. If, from the outset, I had planned on living as a poet, distanced from others, sheltered by my superiority, what honor and esteem I would have acquired. But ethically speaking, this kind of life is untruthful. My crumb of ethical worthiness stems from the fact that I have lived otherwise―and precisely for that reason (that is, precisely because I have done so, which is to my credit), I am persecuted and regarded as an eccentric, stripped of all dignity in the eyes of the crowd. The thing is, peop. don’t understand what’s most important. And of the few, the very few, who still understand it, the majority are far, far too cra�y to reveal that they do, i.e., they prefer to profit from deceptive appearances. But then there are still a few more in each generation―they are the martyrs.

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Even if it were irony from a purely aesthetic perspective, the fact that it [The Corsair] insolently directs its a�ention toward the mob and tries repetitively to gain a foothold there changes everything and transforms it into the basest calumny.

This too is a part of the situation, when one is situated dialectically as I am. If I were to say to someone “It’s so tiring to be constantly compelled to talk about a single personal issue,” he would immediately be provided an occasion to become self-important, to take an objective perspective and pass a comparative objective judgment on me, who is merely subjective. I won’t say anything about how easy it is to be objective in that way, in cases where one is indeed objective. For he is not the one concerned. He would then say: [“]I never hear anyone say anything like this.[”] He may well be partially right about that, but that’s not rlly what I meant either. Let them talk as much as they like―when I’m not there. But it’s tiring that―regardless of whether or not they’ve discussed it in my absence―the topic is broached as soon as they see me. It is wearisome never to have any distraction in the company of others because my mere presence is the object of curiosity and asininity. But the objective man imagines that he has judged the situation objectively, and that it is vanity that I have judged it differently.

And even if I wanted to talk to someone, I rlly have no one to talk to. Someone who might perhaps understand me would regard these powerful lyrical outpourings as a kind of pleasure; indeed, perhaps there is someone who could sit and listen and store it in his memory―in order to use it in his own works. With regard to me, the issue at stake is not whether anyone can understand me and so forth. No, everyone has a private conception of me, perhaps even an exaggerated conception, but I’m so colossal that this entire market town could unite in envy― everyone for his own reason―in order to try to tear me down, so they could then take pity on me and all together, tu�i, could praise me.

39 tu�i] Italian, everyone (from Italian for “all,” i.e., the full choir or full

orchestra).

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If I didn’t have Xnty, I couldn’t endure it; but if I hadn’t been brought up with Xnty, I certainly would have never go�en into this.

This is the dialectic to which I always return[:] Xt came into the world in order to save hum. beings and to make them blessed; angels sang at his birth: glory to God in the highest, peace on earth and goodwill toward men―and yet Xt himself taught that a true Xn is, humnly speaking, the most miserable of all, that Xnty thus makes a person, humnly speaking, far more miserable than he had ever otherwise been. I have only ever understood this in terms of there being a collision betw. the qualities of the div. and the hum., that Xt understood everything in a div. sense, but precisely this, to be raised up so high, is the greatest possible suffering for a hum. being, just as it would be for an animal that was treated as a hum. being or that was required to be a hum. being. But one must adhere to the fact that Xt didn’t come into the world solely in order to leave behind an example for us. In that case, we would return to the Law and merit. He came to redeem us and provide an example. The precise effect of this example is to humble us, to teach us how infinitely far we are from resembling the ideal. If we thus humble ourselves, then Xt is nothing but mercy. And in our striving to resemble the Exemplar, the example is once more of help to us. It alternates: in all our striving, he is the Exemplar; if we stumble and our courage fails, etc., then he is love and helps us back onto the right path, and then he is once more the Exemplar. It would be a terrifying torture for a hum. being to understand Xt merely as the Exemplar and to seek to resemble the Exemplar on his own strength alone. Xt is both “the Exemplar”― and precisely because he is so in an absolute sense―and the Exemplar that can only be imitated with the Exemplar’s help. As I always say, one must remember that the fact that being a Xn is the greatest of all miseries, humnly speaking, serves to infinitely emphasize the fact that only sin can drive a person to Xt, and that Xt must not to be taken in vain, as he is if one listens to priestly cha�er about a heavenly friend, the gentle doctrine of truth, the satisfying of deep longings, depth itself, and other such saccharine stuff, which the silk-clad priests serve up to their silkclad listeners.

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…. and pleased that I was already so thoroughly engaged with the mob―and that they could make use of it. I do not doubt for a single second that it is certain that Xndom could use such a wake-up call, or, rather, I am absolutely sure about it. That I could succeed is also something I am firmly convinced of. That, humnly speaking, it would be the apex of my life achievements―that I understand. But now comes the sad and untrue aspect. That it was important to me to fall. I had counted on having sufficient means to carry on for some years, and the catastrophe of 48 was extr[emely] helpful because I was relieved of all questions about my finances. I continued to strive against others and it perhaps satisfied my pride to let them glean that they had striven with me, for I’ve studied the passive way of going to war more than any field marshal has studied it in action, and the passive, suffering way is the religious and profound way. In my defense, it must be said that what made my relation to such a li�le speck like Cph. (if, note, I were to be a public person) so difficult, is the fact that I must have the idea with me. By coming into contact with ideality, the cha�er peop. u�er can become extremely serious, and this was rlly my thought. That my life should take the turn it has, not to mention ending in martyrdom: this didn’t strike a single one of those among whom I live. I am the one who cunningly directs the intrigue and my tactic is to ensure that my contemporaries don’t see it before it takes place and don’t say to themselves: look, now [he’s] giving it another shot. But there is also an injustice in this in relation to others. For hum. beings are but children and so it is unjust to them to be as relentless to them as one is toward oneself and to let them become guilty by being judged on such a scale. That is the final vüe. I’ve taken on my life. Now I take my leave of it, and go back to being true to what is original in me: that I am a poet and essentially must give up being an auth. as soon as I run out of money. Thus, I remove myself, I take distance. It becomes an entirely different ma�er: I am no longer in character as the one who is portrayed. But I shall never be able to thank Governance sufficiently for what it has granted me and for how it has helped me. Given the 33 vüe] French, view, perspective.

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extent to which I’ve thought seriously about trying to get myself put to death, I ought really to repent. But, on the one hand, it has never gone farther than just thinking about it, and, on the other (and God has helped me see this), as soon as I became aware of where this was leading me and felt my genius rebel against it, I too resisted it. And the infinite love of Governance has granted me this rich, deep fund, and I’ve been able to understand it as a privilege that I can manage it in a poetic way and also benefit others by communicating it in the right way, i.e., poetically. How should I then ever be able to thank God sufficiently? But I have learned one thing[:] what it means to serve truth. I have now carried on as an auth. for 17 years, on the greatest possible scale, sacrificing everything―and I have harvested constant ingratitude and been regarded as an eccentric; and why? Because I haven’t had any earthly benefit from it. Truly, my worldly good sense has given me a good eye for these earthly benefits. It is certainly not from vanity or pride that I have persisted. No, the fact is this[:] held in bondage by miserable melancholia, I didn’t think I could take on any position; in deep humility before God I felt myself lower than the universal. This is also why―and God is witness to the fact that I know it―I broke the engagement at that time. As a penitent I have thanked God for having granted me to serve the truth on a greater scale, purely ideally. But I have learned what this means in the world’s eyes and learned to estimate the truth of Xnty differently than priestly cha�er does. Thus has loving Governance now enriched me with an eminent understanding of truth seldom granted to anyone and, in addition, equipped me, by the same love, with eminent capacities for portraying it. In this regard there is only one thing under which I must humble myself: the fact that I nevertheless do not have the power to be what I myself have understood. If I had not been in financial straits and nevertheless understood what I have understood, this would not perhaps have been clear to me. But Governance has known how to humble me. Yet at the same time it has once again done things for me that so indescribably exceed all my expectations. With regard to my relationship with R. Nielsen, I find it easy to understand. At the point at which I change direction, I always need someone. He became, although to a much lesser degree, what the li�le girl once was. At the same time, he certainly has no grounds to complain of having had a relationship with me, for he has been thoroughly enriched. I have never initiated him into my idea, let alone its more intimate meaning. I have merely kept

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him by my side because, if I had go�en serious about it, he was the one I should have used. If I had stepped up into the character of a martyr, then he would have become a disciple. The difference betw. him and her is quite essential. Ah! I did deceive her in a way, because I didn’t understand myself at the beginning of it all. Governance caught me entirely that time. If I had not proposed to her but, with the security of having had an overview of all the circumstances, had secured her for myself with a more remote sort of contact―i.e., [if I had let her know] that if I were to marry, she was the one I would have been united to―and had then begun to consider the most basic factors concerning whether I could be married, then I would have escaped from that situation more easily. For the result would have been that I couldn’t marry. But at that point, Governance caught me and I came to suffer on a fearful scale, precisely because God was, in the strictest sense, involved because there was an ethical obligation betw. her and me. From the beginning, I have made my relationship to R. Nielsen as ambiguous as possible and I was certainly a benefit to him by enriching him with a whole wealth of ideas. But in her case, it was different, as stated. Yet it was certainly good for me; and also in such a way that, had I gone about it differently, and secured her by keeping a distance, I would have done her a much greater wrong so that she didn’t once get the satisfaction of thinking that I was a scoundrel for not taking her. I really do owe her indescribably much. She moved me. Hard as I was, even though I was tender in my innermost heart, a woman was the very tool used to wound me most deeply, for a woman fights in a womanly way, with entreaties and tears. And such a struggle is and remains one in which I am certain to be defeated. That is why both then, and ever since then, I struggle especially to maintain the pride of the other party so that we do not come to entreaties and tears and the naming of God’s name, for that puts me to flight.

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April 25th. Oh, God be praised, now I understand myself, and it was good that I didn’t travel last spring, perhaps becoming distracted by it or productive in the wrong way; and what I have suffered in the year that has passed has been so indescribably bene�cial to me, horrible as it was. I have become enriched, as never before, with a body of ideas, on an extraordinary scale―and with all the preconditions needed, I am now, in a certain sense, positioned as I was at the beginning. What I am to portray is Christianity and what I have to do in this regard is already present within me ϰατα δυναµιν and will suf�ce richly for the longest of lives. There is only one humiliation that qua auth. I am to take, like everything from God’s hand―and, personally, I have always been deeply humbled―namely, that I may never presume that I could express, in reality, what I portray, to the scale on which I portray it, as if I myself were the ideal. In this regard, I must make a concession in the direction of being a poet and a thinker. Melancholia, impatience, and anxiety have almost driven me too far out, which would have ended with my becoming splintered. That too (which I was also aware of early on, although not as clearly as now) would have been a misunderstanding of all the presuppositions underlying my life. It was a superhuman task that was perhaps unachievable: given that I shaped as I am, with my imagination, with my poetic sense for what is demanded, [it is perhaps impossible] to want to be, existentially, at the same time, the �gure I have portrayed. Normally the hero comes �rst, the ethical personality, and then the poet. I wanted to be both, at the same time, as I needed “the poet’s” calm and distance from life and the thinker’s calm, at the same time as I wanted to be in the midst of real life and to be what I poetically conceived and thought about. My self-torment, which has always accompanied me, and my melancholia, which is also mixed with a little dash of pride, sought out this task in order to torment me. God, as always, has helped me beyond all measure. It is now so clear to me; everything I came to understand last year about God’s guidance has led me precisely toward this aim: to throw light on Christianity and to portray the ideal of being a Christian. At the time, I certainly didn’t imagine it; I thought that I should die. That didn’t happen, I didn’t die; I was therefore momentarily at risk of not understanding myself. I seemed to understand that the world, or Denmark, needed a martyr. I had everything ready in writing and really thought about whether it was possible to back up my writing in the most decisive manner, by laying down my life. The misunderstanding was this, or rather, this was part of a misunderstanding that would wound me: I was unable to do it. And now everything is as it should be. I have taken a step back from wanting to be what I have portrayed, of making that my mission. I shall now exert even more pressure on Christendom. In relation to being the ideal Christian, I am the unhappy lover; that is why I am its poet. I shall never forget this humiliating situation and I will be different from a commonplace speaker, who thoughtlessly confuses talking about something with living it. I did not become a husband, but I became the most inspired champion of marriage. So too, in a similar sense, with this second mission. I do not have the strength to be a witness to the truth, who can be murdered for the truth. I am not at all naturally endowed for that. I become a poet and a thinker; that is what I was born to be, but oriented toward Christianity and the ideal of being 9 ϰατα δυναµιν] Greek, potentially.

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Christian. I can also perhaps be sacri�ced in a lesser sense, but essentially I orient myself to the matter of being a witness for the truth in true humility: I acknowledge that I am not a witness to the truth in the strictest sense. The fact that I acknowledge this is my way of being truthful. But that this is true of me causes a pain that is the very condition needed by a poet to produce; likewise, for a thinker. I have gone much, much farther than any normal poet. This, too, was necessary so as to �nd my mission: Christianity, the ideal of being a Christian. As the poet’s song echoes with a sigh from his own unhappy love, so too will all my inspired talk about the ideal of being a Christian echo with a sigh: Alas! I am not a Christian, I am only a Christian poet and thinker. a

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When I stop as an auth., there will perhaps be an uproar about the loss that the country is suffering, etc. To that I must respond: a�er the way I’ve been treated, it might be credibly inferred that Denmark had thousands of authors of my kind―unless the way I’ve been treated should be understood as a genuinely Danish expression for, and characterization of, the fact that―I am the only one! In the first case, it is a ma�er of indifference if I stop; in the second, almost too much is being asked of me, as if I should carry on―in order perhaps to gain a deeper, more constant understanding of what it means to be the only one in Denmark!

I dare not, and cannot, take ownership the whole authorship as if it were something I intended. For it is also the possibility that resided in my essence as poet (the possibility of the dialectical) that became a reality—that developed as something favorably endowed, that attained its balance in every way by the work of Governance, that was also supported by circumstances, though all this was beneath the threshold of my consciousness from the very beginning. I dare not say that I used the pseudonymous, aesthetic production maieutically; I cannot do so; but, as a matter of fact, for my readership the aesthetic production will be the maieutic for the authorial work as a whole when it is viewed in relation to the religious, which has resided much deeper in my soul; but, as stated, I dare not, and cannot say that I have used it that way.

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In the future, I must also speak mildly, in order to win people over. My acknowledgment that I am nothing more than a poet implies, in part, that I have no trump card that could be used to argue for, e.g., a martyrdom.

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Christ kept silent; there are two reasons for keeping entirely silent: either one doesn’t have a single word to say in one’s defense; or, it would be an untruth that would cry out to heaven to say a single word in one’s defense.

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Thomas a Kempis 1st Book, 20th Chapter. “As o�en as I was among people, I always came back a lesser person.” From Seneca epist. VII. “I return home again more inquisitive, prouder, more lascivious, crueler and more inhumane, because I was among peop.” I expressed this idea, a short time ago, in the following way: to what degree might hum. beings become hum. and lovely, if one could bring them to stand alone before God.

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One sees what it means to be a Xn, in reality, when one sees (Jn 12:10) that the Jews wanted to kill Lazarus―because Xt had raised him. This is how dangerous it is to be raised―by Xt!

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Zacharias Werner says in a sermon that the anc. church portrayed the three instances of people being raised from the dead as analogous to the degrees of perdition from which hum. beings are raised by Xt: Jairus’s daughter―she merely sleeps; the son of the widow of Nain―he is already being carried out; Lazarus― already stinks.

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From a le�er that was destined for Privy Councillor Ørsted, with thanks for the 3rd part of his work on the constitution [(]though the le�er wasn’t sent[)]. …. “Perhaps that is also the case with regard to horses?” I think there is something about which I should speak in Greek, something div. in this Socratic question and, not least, in this incomparable comparison with horses. And now, from a somewhat different angle; for in these times, one is tempted to give up speaking about hum. beings in order to speak about horses; or, it seems to be the case that when one speaks about hum. beings, it is as if one were speaking about horses. I, for one, was therefore indescribably satisfied that a city (Genoa) finally succeeded in finding the prototype for a contemporary government minister: a coachman. Truthfully, if an expert with horses cannot govern hum. beings, then nobody can. A coachman! How wi�y reality is! I don’t believe that even the wi�iest poet would have such Aristophanic brilliance to use a coachman. He would perhaps have chosen a barber, a turner, a brushmaker, a student who’d failed his exams, a janitor, a temporary worker, a messenger, a down-and-out, etc., but he wouldn’t have thought of a coachman. In The Knights, Aristophanes himself used a “sausage-seller,” but he didn’t think of a coachman. That could be explained by the fact that there were no coachmen in Greece. But even if they had had coachmen back then, Aristophanes might never have hit upon the idea of using one. Or if he had, perhaps he wouldn’t have used him a�er all, and perhaps he would have been right, because perhaps, even in their aberrations, hum. beings were still a bit more human back then than they now are. In a certain sense, “the coachman” has once more reconciled me to life. From this moment I am calm again. In my reclusion from life, I too have been told time and again that, “according to the barber,” throughout Europe the new government minister is a professor, or a university graduate, or a licentiate, or a polymath, or a procurator, etc. At times I was indignant, at times I laughed, but my soul found no rest, not being entirely satisfied either by indignation or by laughter. Finally along came―the coachman. Eureka, I cried. When one sets out for America and spies land, when in the midst of the age’s confusion one discovers law, one is calmed. In that very moment, I fell poetically in love with the coachman or, as I could be tempted to call him,

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J O U R N A L NB 10 : 208–210 1849 my coachman. Now my only wish was―alas, I was disappointed, for reality doesn’t keep its word―my wish was that the coachman might immediately succeed in displacing his two colleagues from the governing body and thereby mount up to become dictator of Genoa, and that he might next succeed by force of arms or other means to subdue all of Europe with his fatherly and wise coachman-dominion. Ah! What one wouldn’t give to see all of Europe, or the reins of power all over Europe, in the hands of―a coachman!

Oh, how pettily we measure out our relation to God! We have 17 other things to do―and then for a measly hour, we think about God. The same goes for the priest. How different from the time when the priest never went outside unless he was adorned in his cassock and when he thought about God the entire day, having nothing to do with the worldly―except to draw attention to God.

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It’s a very clever idea of Z. Werner (p. Sk. XIII B., p. 34) to interpret Zacchaeus as follows: he made himself comical because of his eagerness to see Xt. Werner says that the wild fig tree in the text is rlly a reference to the ridiculous fig tree insofar as its form made it the object of mockery, and that gave rise to a proverb; it was short, bent, its branches were stunted and twisted in the wrong direction “so the li�le Zacchaeus must have seemed rather comical in such a tree.”

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There’s a beautiful saying of Saint Theresa’s that’s o�en cited by Fenelon: “Oh, the blind, who give up praying when they should begin.” But that’s how it is; in good times, when everything is so easy to understand―or when they think everything is so easy to understand―they pray―or think they pray. When things go against them and prayer becomes a struggle, i.e., becomes real prayer, then they give it up.

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There is a saying, “Zacchary in the pear tree”; it is interesting to think that it might rlly be Zacchaeus in the fig tree. There is also a saying, [“]You pear, Zacchary.[”]

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“Every good and every perf. gi� comes from above, etc.” But perhaps there was one who said these words and yet privately thought: this saying seems almost cruel to me, for my lot has been one of constant suffering and misery; I can’t therefore deny that the saying is true, but I can only say that it doesn’t apply to me. But fight, fight, believer, and then that from which you suffer will be a good and perfect gi� that descends from above.

It isn’t seldom that one finds intelligent people, who in an extremely perverse manner, busily insist that what they say applies to everyone. With me, the opposite is the case to an almost perverse degree. I am modest with regard to the religious, as if it concerned me alone; I can’t communicate the inward reality it has for me. Moreover, I get confused if I think about preaching about it for an hour a week, I, who every day need several hours to reflect on it, and am scarcely away from it for more than two or three hours at a time. Finally, it is also so clear to me that the religious becomes more difficult the more one gets involved with it, and there-a

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The seriousness of the fact that God knows you personally, which you could deduce if you didn’t know it from the fact that here you are before him: In relation to men of power, e.g., the king, one regards this as pleasant, as something entirely good, a distinction; one is proud of being personally known by him and of

fore, if it didn’t have the power over a person that it has over me, taking it up would get him nowhere.

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personally knowing him. In relation to God there is something more, seriousness. The upli�ing and comforting. Whoever you are, however destitute you or your circumstances are, if perhaps―yes, let me say it as it is―if you are perhaps humnly foolish enough to feel fla�ered by the fact that there is a powerful man who knows you personally, and whom you know, and, alas, you feel downcast when he doesn’t know you: Oh, my friend, let all these great men go to the winds―you are known by God in Heaven, u�erly personally, he knows you just as personally as he knows the mightiest of men―and as he knows the sparrow.

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verte Conclusion If you have truly sensed―or if it is the truth in you that has sensed―that God is present here and that you are before him or, rather, if you are accustomed to come here o�en and each time it is true that you sense that you are here before God, then it should also be manifest in you. One should be able to see that a person is in love by seeing what he does; one should be able to see that a person is in the grip of a great thought by seeing what he does: why shouldn’t one be able to see if a person is standing before God by seeing what he does[?] So you should become still, and silent, as one always is when one is before God, inwardly warmed as one always is when one is before God; patient, forbearing, yielding, slow to anger, quick to be reconciled, as one always is when one knows that one is before God; you should be full of hope, rich in comfort, as ever-joyful―you should be a blessing for those among whom you live, because, knowing that you are before him, God constantly sheds the light of his blessing upon you. verte

14 verte] Latin, turn (the page).

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Journal NB10. An entry recorded on a loose sheet of paper, inserted between pp. 174 and 175 of the journal (NB10:213).

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Notes for JOURNAL NB6 Critical Account of the Text of Journal NB6 389

Explanatory Notes for Journal NB6 397

NOTES FOR JOURNAL NB6

Critical Account of the Text by Niels W. Bruun, Joakim Garff, and Finn Gredal Jensen Translated by Bruce H. Kirmmse Edited by Alastair Hannay

Explanatory Notes by Peter Tudvad Translated by Bruce H. Kirmmse Edited by Alastair Hannay

389

Critical Account of the Text I. Description of the Manuscript Journal NB6 is a bound book in quarto format. Kierkegaard placed a label marked “NB6” on the outside of the book (see illustration 1). The journal consists of sixty-seven leaves or 134 pages. One page was excised by Kierkegaard. According to H. P. Barfod’s catalogue of Kierkegaard’s posthumous papers (B-cat.), a le�er from Rasmus Nielsen had originally been affixed to the first page (see illustration on p. 5). Starting with Journal NB6, Kierkegaard begins a trend (which will become marked in Journal NB10 and NB11 and a�erward) of writing entire entries in his latin hand. The manuscript of Journal NB6 is preserved in the Kierkegaard Archive (KA) at the Royal Library in Copenhagen.

II. Dating and Chronology According to the label affixed to its front cover, Journal NB6 was begun on July 16, 1848. Only two of the journal’s ninety-six entries are dated.1 The journal must have been concluded no later than August 21, 1848, which is the beginning date of the next journal, NB7. In entry NB6:24 Kierkegaard considers whether to publish The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress in Fædrelandet. This entry must therefore have been wri�en prior to sending the manuscript for publication in that newspaper’s literary supplement, in which it appeared on July 24–27, 1848. The same is true with respect to entry NB6:27. Inasmuch as an intervening entry (NB6:25) is dated July 20, 1848, entry NB6:24 cannot have been wri�en later than that date, while entry NB6:27―which like NB6:24 mentions the possibility of publishing The Crisis―cannot have been wri�en prior to that date. The wording of entry NB6:29―“It was fortunate that I did it a�er all”―makes it clear that this entry must have

) In addition to the label on the front of the journal (NB6:1), the only dated entry is NB6:25, which bears the date July 20.

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J O U R N A L NB 6 been wri�en a�er the manuscript had been sent in for publication. The le�er from Rasmus Nielsen (NB6:2), which had been glued on to the journal’s first page, is dated simply “Thursday.”1

III. Contents As is the case with a number of the journals preceding it, Journal NB6 contains a number of Kierkegaard’s reactions to his clash with the satirical journal Corsaren [The Corsair]. There are journal entries that consider Corsaren’s demoralizing effect on the inhabitants of Copenhagen (see NB6:8 and 59). Other entries contain sociopsychological reflections on mockery; on the way in which admiration can change to envy; and on the character of the neutral a�itude adopted by the be�er sort of people, that is, by the entire complex that Kierkegaard labels the “great coterie,” in which he includes “Mynster, Heiberg, Martensen, and company” (NB6:55). At the same time, Kierkegaard frequently emphasizes how the episode not only provided him with invaluable experience but also helped to sharpen his sense for the qualitative difference between Christianity, on the one hand, and both bourgeois values and the objective detachment of the intellectuals, on the other. The question of Kierkegaard’s martyrdom is made urgent by his having been “educated in this school of mistreatment” (NB6:59). Entry a�er entry provides the theoretical basis for the inevitability of martyrdom. The code word here is “reduplication,” which is given a pithy definition in entry NB6:13: “Reduplication is rlly what is Christian. It not only differs as a doctrine from other doctrines, but differs in being the doctrine that reduplicates, so that the teacher is of importance. For Christianity what is constantly being asked is: Not only is what someone says true, from a Christian point of view, but what is he like, the person who is saying it[?]” Or, as it is put in entry NB6:57: “To reduplicate is to be what one says.” The distance between Sunday’s preaching and Monday’s practice is thus a recurrent theme in many entries, which can treat the problem in narrow, dialectical fashion and also expand the matter to a farcical breaking point or juxtapose Paul and Mynster ) Without providing any reasons for doing so, LD, 354 (B&A, 260) dates the le�er to 1850, even though there is nothing in the contents of the le�er that points to this particular year.

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Critical Account of the Text

1. Cover of Journal NB6.

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J O U R N A L NB 6 (NB6:86) in their vast difference. The priest must be “someone who exists in what he proclaims” (NB6:86); otherwise he merely contributes to the general aestheticism of the age, thereby confirming the alarming fact that “Christianity has been abolished” (NB6:61). Kierkegaard’s sarcasm, irony, and persiflage are expressed through violent rhetoric and are frequently accompanied by deflationary verbal gestures: “No, Dad, this too is a comedy” (NB6:13); “Ah, aha … Aha, no!” (NB6:14); “Phooey!” (NB6:16). Similarly, a series of new expressions eagerly reports for service, e.g., “silken man” (NB6:13), and “stripling priest” (NB6:57). The reflections on reduplication and martyrdom include a reevaulation of the justifications for and relations between direct and indirect communication (see NB6:62 and 69). One senses increasing skepticism regarding indirect communication because it frequently pledges itself to ambiguity and thus does not take on the definitive or radical character that can result from direct communication: “The communication of Christianity must, however, finally end in ‘witnessing’; the maieutic cannot be the final form” (NB6:68). Such straightforward witness to the truth of Christianity finds its most overt expression in martyrdom, which, in an age without passion, would be the ultimate provocation and would necessarily lead to a revaluation of all values: “In many ways Christendom could benefit from the experience (and rlly, this is the only medicine) of having itself put someone to death for Xt’s sake―in order at least to have its eyes opened as to what Xnty is. But I do not have the physical strength for this” (NB6:72). From the la�er part of the passage just cited, it is clear that Kierkegaard contemplated martyrdom as something quite directly related to his own life. Were Kierkegaard to take on the role of a martyr, however, it would be a prerequisite that he receive “a new blow or a slap” (NB6:32); until such a shock arrived, however, he was prepared to remain “a poet, but of a quite unique sort” (NB6:62). The final entry in the journal thus results in this diminished conclusion: “My martyrdom is a martyrdom of reflection, or martyrdom as it can manifest itself in the world a�er reflection has taken the place of immed. passion” (NB6:96). Kierkegaard’s journal entries about the prospects of a possible martyr’s death are paralleled by his judgments concerning his own literary immortality. He writes with an increasingly pronounced sense that he is doing so less for his times than for his posterity. Thus, with respect to his future renown in Denmark, he writes: “it is beyond dispute that as an author I absolutely will bring honor to D[enmark]” (NB6:19; see NB6:52). Despite this―or

Critical Account of the Text perhaps because of it―the pain inflicted by the absence of recognition from his contemporaries is all the greater: “Would that at some point near the beginning they had granted me my due as an author, that a trustworthy man had granted timely recognition. Then I could have had the opportunity to speak of myself in a different fashion” (NB6:46). Kierkegaard was compelled to do for himself what his contemporaries neglected to do, and the journal thus contains not a few examples of retrospective appreciation of his earlier work in general, particularly of the work from around the time Either/Or was published (NB6:16), but the journal also includes a quite detailed list of his published newspaper articles (NB6:17). Kierkegaard recounts that when he began his work as an author he was a “hero of the salon,” indeed, a “darling of the times” (NB6:5), but that this aesthetic posturing was actually just a deception, the purpose of which was to guide the reading public toward genuinely Christian categories (NB6:21). Journal NB6 contains Kierkegaard’s comments both on writings on which he was working at the time and on works he planned to write. One journal entry―which, the exception rather than the rule, bears a date (July 20)―states that “now the doctrine of the forgiveness of sin must be presented in earnest” (NB6:25). The title of this projected work was to be “Fundamental Recovery or The Forgiveness of Sins and the Atonement.” Prior to publishing this, however, Kierkegaard had plans to write a lesser book to be called “Blessed Is He Who Is Not Offended in Me,” which would consist of “shorter discourses, one discourse for every time Xt said these words” (NB6:25; see NB6:64 and 74). A while later, Kierkegaard considers collecting his “short articles” from his entire career and publishing them under the title “Previously Published Minor Pieces by S. K.” (NB6:35). Publishing these pieces, each of which would retain its original pseudonym or anonymous mark, would serve to confirm that Kierkegaard was not a mere author of “silly occasional pieces” (NB5:35). There had also been more solid plans―shelved, by this point―for the publication of a journal titled Armed Neutrality, which was to have appeared simultaneously with the publication of the second edition of Either/Or and in which Kierkegaard “would audit the whole of Christianity, piece by piece, and install the coiled spring” (NB6:61). Considerable space is devoted to the publication of The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress, which Kierkegaard had written early in 1847, when Johanne Luise Heiberg had appeared in the role of Juliet in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Thoughts about publishing The Crisis in Fædrelandet propelled Kierkegaard into a

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J O U R N A L NB 6 personal crisis that can be traced in the long dialectical course in which he zigzags between good reasons for and equally good reasons against publication (NB6:24). In favor of publication were the circumstances that Kierkegaard would like to please Mrs. Heiberg and at the same time “tease” her husband, Johan Ludvig, whom Kierkegaard owed a bit of effrontery in recompense for Heiberg’s review of Either/Or. To this was added the circumstance that Fædrelandet’s editor, J. F. Giødwad, had so urgently requested that Kierkegaard let him publish The Crisis. Last, and certainly not of least decisive significance for Kierkegaard, was the idea that by publishing The Crisis he might perhaps be able to counteract the notion that with the publication of his many religious writings he had become “holy” and “earnest.” This, however, could also be used to support what was perhaps the best argument against publication: “I have now entered into Christianity so decisively, have presented much of it so stringently and earnestly, that there are certainly people who have been influenced by this. These people might almost find it offensive if they heard that I had wri�en about an actress in the popular press. And one indeed does have responsibilities to such people” (NB6:24). Furthermore, Kierkegaard did not have any religious writing ready for publication and would thus be unable to produce the symmetry between aesthetic and religious production that had otherwise been characteristic of his activity as an author. “Therefore it must not be published” (NB6:24.a). But only three entries later he writes: “No, no, the li�le article must come out” (NB6:27). Giødwad had come to him yet again, which could be “a nod from Governance” (NB6:27), but Kierkegaard still shrinks from publishing it―and then finally he makes his decision: during July 24–27, 1848, The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress was serialized in the literary supplement to four issues of Fædrelandet, appearing under the pseudonym Inter et Inter. Looking back on his martyrdom of reflectivity, Kierkegaard remarks: “Nothing exhausts me so terribly as negative decisions … It can never be right that something which in itself is insignificant and which has been taken into account could suddenly actually come to possess such dreadful reality. It is a sign that reflection has become sick” (NB6:28). A while later Kierkegaard considers dedicating “the thing”―which he calls “The Crisis and a Crisis, etc.”―to Johan Ludvig Heiberg and in this connection to sign himself “A Subaltern Aesthetician” (NB6:36). As time went by, Kierkegaard’s conviction that the publication of The Crisis served a higher, maieutic purpose apparently became stronger and reached a sort of culmination point in entry NB6:87,

Critical Account of the Text over which Kierkegaard inscribed a double “NB.” as a heading: “Strange, strange about that li�le article―that I was so close to ge�ing carried away and forge�ing myself. Well, fatigued as I was, a person can also for a moment forget the dialectical overview of so enormous a project as my authorship. Therefore Governance helped me.” This notion of “the role of Governance” in his work as an author is a recurrent theme in this journal, which bears clear traces of Kierkegaard’s work on The Point of View for My Work as an Author. Thus at one point Governance is described as “a third power” that intervenes in Kierkegaard’s writing (NB6:22), and for this reason, despite his extraordinary intellectual powers, Kierkegaard has to confess that “I do not dare to say anything about my activity as an author―in a sense, it is not my own” (NB6:34). Closely connected to this sense of an external agency in his writing is Kierkegaard’s repeated assertion of the remarkable fact that he is “happy in the thought of the indescribable good that God has done for me, so much more than I had expected” (NB6:62; see NB6:64).

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Explanatory Notes 7

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S T] Abbreviation of Salvo Titulo (Latin, “title omi�ed”), used in cases when the sender does not need to cite the addressee’s titles or when the sender does not know the applicable titles, which were specified by the official system of rank and precedence (→ 12,34). Hr. Magister Kjerkegaard] Kierkegaard acquired his magister degree in philosophy on September 29, 1841, with the defense of his dissertation, On the Concept of Irony. Thursday] Presumably August 3, 10, or 17, 1848. R. Nielsen] Rasmus Nielsen (1809–1884), cand. theol., 1837; lic. theol., 1840; privatdocent at the University of Copenhagen during the winter term, 1840–1841; from 1841 extraordinary professor of moral philosophy at the University of Copenhagen. Nielsen’s special subject was speculative philosophy, but starting in the mid-1840s he came under Kierkegaard’s influence; the two men became friends in 1848. Nielsen spent the summer of 1848 in Tårbæk in north Zealand, where ca. August 1 he received an invitation from Kierkegaard―see a slightly later le�er from Kierkegaard―expressing the hope that “you will visit me when you come to Copenhagen” (LD, 251; B&A 1, 199). observing] → 9,15. to want to observe and observe, to be upli�ed by what is highest by observing] Presumably an allusion to J. P. Mynster (→ 14,5), who in his sermons frequently used “observation” as an expression of personal devotion; see, e.g., his sermon for the first Sunday of Advent, “The Purpose and Value of Devotional Hours,” in which he speaks of “seeking tranquillity for observations concerning the holy and the eternal,” Prædikener paa alle Søn- og Hellig-Dage i Aaret [Sermons for Every Sunday and Holy Day of the Year], 3rd printing,

2 vols. (Copenhagen, 1837 [1823]; ASKB 229–230 and 2191), vol. 1, p. 4. I began my activity as an author … a bit of an untruth] Kierkegaard had published From the Papers of One Still Living as early as 1838, and in 1841 he had published On the Concept of Irony, but here he is referring to Either/Or, which he published on February 20, 1843, under the pseudonym Victor Eremita. Either/Or was praised by the critics for the brilliance, learning, and stylistic skill displayed by its author (see, e.g., J. L. Heiberg, “Li�erær Vintersæd” [Literary Winterseed], published in Intelligensblade [Intelligencer], ed. J. L. Heiberg, 4 vols. (Copenhagen, 1842–1844; ASKB U 56), vol. 2, no. 24, March 1, 1843, vol. 2, pp. 285–292. Prior to this Kierkegaard had broken his engagement to Regine Olsen on October 11, 1841, which presumably caused him to be viewed as a scoundrel and a deceiver. According to his own account, he sought to support this opinion, just as he frequented coffee shops and the theater in order to give the impression of being an idler and anything but a diligent writer (see, e.g., Pap. X 5 A 153). I am working out my salvation in fear and trembling] See Phil 2:12. a�er many years becomes what is called a saint] Because a�er the publication of Concluding Unscientific Postscript and A Literary Review in February and March 1846, respectively, Kierkegaard published only religious writings (→ 18,5).

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crudeness, vulgarity] Refers to the satirical weekly Corsaren [The Corsair], founded in October 1840 by M. A. Goldschmidt, who was the de facto editor of the republican journal until October 1846 (→ 37,29).

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If a country … boyish pranks] Refers to the former editor of Corsaren, Goldschmidt (→ 10,9 and → 37,29).

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At one moment … a sort of mad fellow] Before Corsaren a�acked Kierkegaard in January 1846, the journal had several times expressed its admiration for his works; see the review of On the Concept of Irony in no. 51, October 22, 1841, cols. 7–8; the review of Either/Or in no. 129, March 10, 1843, col. 1; and especially the celebration of the pseudonymous author of Either/Or to the detriment of Orla Lehmann, the leader of the liberal opposition, in no. 269, November 14, 1845, col. 14: “for Lehmann will die and be forgo�en, but Victor Eremita will never die.” this wretched couple of hundred thousand peop.] A reference to the inhabitants of Copenhagen, which according to the census of February 1, 1845, had a population of 126,787. contemptibility dominates public opinion] Refers to Corsaren, which Kierkegaard frequently (e.g., in A Literary Review) referred to as “literary contemptibility” (TA, 95; SKS 8, 90). “contemptibility” has license to enter the Passage] Presumably Kierkegaard is referring to the passageway from Østergade to the notorious Peder Madsen’s Alley, where during the years 1849–1860 the police kept their eyes on six bordellos―the greatest number of registered establishments of this sort on any street in the city (see “Fortegnelse over de Steder i St. Annæ Vester, Kiøbmager, Rosenborg, Klædebo, Nørre og Frimands Qvarterer, hvor der holdes offentlige Fruentimmer, af hvem og hvormange paa hvert Sted” [List of the Locales Frequented by Prostitutes in the West St. Ann, Kiøbmager, Rosenborg, Klædebo, Nørre, and Frimand Districts, Detailing the Names and Numbers of Them in Each Place] in the Copenhagen police reports of registered prostitutes, 1849–1860, Zealand Provincial Archives). Copenhagen’s prostitutes were not actually issued licenses, but were merely given a card on which their required visits to the police physician were recorded (see N. G. Melchior and H. Selmer, “Medicinalforholdene. Lovgivningens og Sundhedspolitiets Forhold til

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Prostitutionen i Kjøbenhavn” [Medical Conditions: The Relation of the Legal System and the Health Police to Prostitution in Copenhagen] in Bibliothek for Læger [Physicians’ Library], 3rd ser., vol. 7 [Copenhagen, 1850], p. 192). market town] A provincial town, as opposed to a capital city and/or a city of royal residence. As of the census of February 1, 1845, Denmark’s largest provincial town, Elsinore, had a population of 7,995, and the smallest, Sandvig, had 300 inhabitants.

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that mythical Christ came from the era of childhood] Presumably a reference to mythical stories for children about the childhood and life of Jesus; see, e.g., Vor Herres og Frelseres Jesu Christi Barndoms Bog, tillige med en liden Beskrivelse om Joachim og Anna af hvad Slægt de ere fødde, item om deres Daa�er Jomfru Maria, hendes Barndom og Levnet [The Book about the Childhood of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, Together with a Li�le Description of Joachim and Anna and Their Ancestry, along with Their Daughter, the Virgin Mary, Her Childhood and Life] (Copenhagen, n.d.; ASKB 1471). First came the historical Xt. Then, long a�er, came the mythical] See, e.g., J. Schaller, Der historische Christus und die Philosophie. Kritik der Grundidee des Werks das Leben Jesu von Dr. D. F. Strauss [The Historical Christ and Philosophy: Critique of the Idea Underlying Das Leben Jesu by D. F. Strauss] (Leipzig, 1838; ASKB 759), p. 17, which Kierkegaard himself renders in a excerpt he made from Schaller’s book in 1838 (entry KK:2): “The mythical conception virtually rejects the sacred narrative’s facts qua individual immediate occurrences and wants to have them regarded as the sensuous garb of religious ideas[.] The sacred narrative’s lack of historical reality is thus the first point that the mythical outlook has to demonstrate, and therefore historical criticism is its necessary point of departure” (KJN 2, 293). ― the historical Xt: The Enlightenment of the 18th century confronted theological work on biblical texts with the demand that biblical research, like other forms of historical research, employ a historical-

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J O U R N A L NB 6 : 10–16 critical method, i.e., that it seek historical causes and trustworthy sources in order to prove the authenticity of the various scriptural writings; thus scholars sought to discover the historical Jesus. 12

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Go forth and suffer the same thing] Cf. Jesus’ words to Simon Peter in Jn 21:18–19.

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Reduplication] A term o�en used by Kierkegaard, designating a reflective relationship in which something abstract is repeated (actualized) in concrete practice or existence. a man clad in silk … the truth must suffer persecution] Perhaps a quotation from J. P. Mynster’s (→ 14,5) sermon for Easter Monday 1848, published as “Burde det ikke Christum at lide de�e, og at indgaae til sin Herlighed?” [Ought Not Christ Have Suffered This and Gone into His Glory?] in Prædikener holdte i Aaret 1848 [Sermons from the Year 1848] (Copenhagen, 1849; ASKB 232), pp. 41–52: “Yet we are all called into the company of Christ’s sufferings, in order to suffer with him so that we might also triumph with him, in order to be formed in his semblance, so that we might be resurrected with him” (p. 47). ― in silk, bearing the insignia and stars of orders and knighthood: In 1836, Bishop Mynster was decorated with the Great Cross of the Dannebrog; as a spiritual knight of that order he wore around his neck a ribbon bearing a gold cross, and on his le� breast he wore a large cross decorated with silver rays forming a star. Pursuant to a decree of March 13, 1683, as bishop of Zealand he was required to wear a silk robe with a velvet front. “Remember that you … suffer for the truth,”] If this is an actual rather than a fictive quotation, it has not been possible to identify the source. a reverend] A priest. In the Danish system of rank and precedence (established by decrees of 1746 and 1808, plus later amendments) there were nine classes, each further subdivided into numerical subclasses. The decree governing rank was published annually in the Kongelig Dansk Hof- og StatsCalender og Veiviser eller Anviisning til Kiøbenhavns, Christianshavns, Forstædernes og Frederiksbergs Beboere [Royal Danish Court and Government Almanac and Directory, or Instructions for the

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Inhabitants of Copenhagen, Christianshavn, the Suburbs, and Frederiksberg], where all persons of rank were listed with the forms of address appropriate to each. See also “Titulaturer til Rangspersoner i alfabetisk Orden” [Titles of Persons of Rank, Listed in Alphabetical Order], in C. Bartholin, Almindelig Brev- og Formularbog [Universal Book of Le�ers and Formulae], 2 vols. (Copenhagen, 1844; ASKB 933), vol. 1, pp. 49–56. “Reverend” was used in addressing or speaking of a priest or other clerical person who was of lower rank or without rank, whereas clerics in rank classes two through six were addressed as “Very Reverend.” No, Dad, this too is a comedy] A pastiche based on the comedies of Ludvig Holberg; see, e.g., Barselstuen.Comoedie Udi Fem Acter [The Delivery Room: A Comedy in Five Acts] (1724), act 4, sc. 6: “By my faith, I cannot do other than laugh at all this, for of course it’s nothing but comedy.” In Den Danske Skue-Plads [The Danish Theater], 7 vols. (Copenhagen, 1758 or 1788 [1731–1754]; ASKB 1566–1567), vol. 2; the volumes are undated and unpaginated.

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the person who ought to have come closest to understanding one] Presumably Bishop J. P. Mynster (→ 14,5).

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modern type of a judge] i.e., modern in comparison to the “judges” mentioned in the Old Testament book Judges, who were sent by God to lead Israel and to save the people from idolatry and from their enemies. The period of judges lasted from the time of Joshua to that of Samuel.

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the article “Public Confession” … both were mentioned there] In the newspaper article “Public Confession,” which appeared in Fædrelandet [The Fatherland], no. 904, June 12, 1842, cols. 7245–7252 (CA, 3–12; SV2 13, 433–442), Kierkegaard maintained that during the preceding four months a number or anonymous articles and pamphlets had been erroneously a�ributed to him: “I therefore ask the good people who have an interest in me never to regard me as the author of anything on which my name does not appear,” cols. 7246–

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7247 (CA, 5; SV2 13, 435). ― Either/Or: Either/Or: A Fragment of Life, Published by Victor Eremita was published on February 20, 1843; the manuscript had been completed ca. September 1842; see the “Critical Account of the Text” of Enten―Eller in SKS K2–3, 57. ― Heiberg: Johan Ludvig Heiberg (1791–1860), Danish writer, journal editor, literary and theater critic, and (from 1824) self-declared Hegelian philosopher. In 1829, he was named titular professor and from 1830 until 1836 was reader in logic, aesthetics, and Danish literature at the newly established Royal Military College. In 1829, he was also appointed playwright and permanent translator at the Royal Theater, where he also worked as censor. In 1831, he married the actress Johanne Luise Pätges (→ 17,35); their home was a much sought-a�er salon for the cultivated bourgeoisie. In 1835–1836, Kierkegaard published his first articles in Heiberg’s fashionable aesthetic journal, Kjøbenhavns flyvende Post. Interimsblade [Copenhagen’s Flying Post: Occasional Pages] (→ 14,30), and in the period a�er this he seems to have frequented the Heibergs’ salon. Heiberg is mentioned in “Public Confession,” where he is ironically compared to G.J.B. Carstensen (who subsequently founded Tivoli), who was known as the publisher of the weekly Figaro. During the period April 3–December 25, 1842, Carstensen’s Figaro was supplemented by Nye Intelligensblade [New Intelligencer], which a�acked Heiberg and his journal Intelligensblade (→ 9,24), which Heiberg published in the period March 15, 1842–March 1, 1844: “These are important times. If one is not convinced by what I have stated, if one does not sense the enormous intensity possessed by every individual, not to mention by their sum total, I will cite yet another indication: Carstensen has become important, not with his hair style―we all grant that he is ahead in this respect―but with his head; Professor Heiberg has become insignificant” (Fædrelandet [→ 14,5]), cols. 7248–7249; CA, 7–8; SV2 13, 438). ― Mynster: Jakob Peter Mynster (1775–1854), Danish pastor, writer, and politician; parish pastor in Spjellerup in southern Zealand from 1802 to 1811; from 1811 resident chaplain at the Church of Our Lady in Copenhagen. From 1826, he was court chaplain and from 1828, royal

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confessor as well as court chaplain and chaplain at Christiansborg Palace Church. In 1834, he was appointed bishop of the diocese of Zealand and thus Primate of the Danish State Church. Mynster is mentioned in “Public Confession,” where Kierkegaard had published a sarcastic sketch of the tendency of the times to group people according to party tendencies: “What wonder, then, that when a tested, earnest, impassioned Right Reverend voice is heard, if not daily, at any rate once a month, it is not heeded; for it is only a great man who is speaking, not a party; it is only a solitary voice, not the voice of a party” (col. 7248; CA, 7; SV2 13, 437). then H. himself came out with … a casual promise that he never kept] Heiberg discussed Either/ Or in the article “Literary Winterseed” (→ 9,24), pp. 288–292. At the end of his discussion Heiberg implies that he will read the book with more care in order to form a more definite opinion of its significance, which he will then present to his readers. He did not do this, however, and the only one of Kierkegaard’s subsequent writings Heiberg reviewed was Repetition, which he discussed in the article “Det astronomiske Aar” [The Astronomical Year] in Urania. Aarbog for 1844 [Urania: Yearbook for 1844], ed. J. L. Heiberg (Copenhagen, 1843; ASKB U 57), pp. 97–102. the vulgarity] i.e., Corsaren (→ 10,9). Finally, however, I did strike out at the vulgarity―and H. le� me in the lurch] Refers to Kierkegaard’s article in Fædrelandet, December 27, 1845 (→ 38,3), which resulted in Kierkegaard’s becoming the object of satirical a�acks by Corsaren and harassment by the rabble. ― H. le� me in the lurch: Heiberg does not seem to have made any public pronouncement concerning Corsaren in connection with that journal’s a�ack on Kierkegaard in 1846, but he did give the journal a sound drubbing in “Skuespilhuset i Kjöbenhavn” [The Copenhagen Theater], in Danmark. Et malerisk Atlas [Denmark: A Painter’s Atlas], 2 vols. (Copenhagen, 1842–1843), vol. 1, pp. 43–45, 48. See also Kierkegaard’s subsequent recollection with respect to Corsaren’s 1846 a�ack on him: “Privately, Heiberg and Ploug and Hage (who was then the editor of Folkebladet [The People’s

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J O U R N A L NB 6 : 16–18 Paper]) and others thanked me. Yes, it’s just the thing for literary bosses and editors: they were really the ones who ought to have done something―and then to express thanks privately” (NB17:64 in KJN 7; SKS 23, 210–211). 14

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Flyveposten] The common name for a journal published and edited by J. L. Heiberg, first under the name Kjøbenhavns flyvende Post [Copenhagen’s Flying Post] (1827–1828 and 1830), thereafter under the name Kjøbenhavns flyvende Post. Interimsblade (1834–1837). “Yet Another Defense of the Emancipation of Women.”] Refers to the article “Yet Another Defense of Women’s Higher Abilities,” published by Kierkegaard over the signature “A” in Kjøbenhavns flyvende Post. Interimsblad, no. 34, December 17, 1834 (EPW, 3–11; SV2 13, 11–13). “Kjøbenhavnsposten’s Morning Observations.”] Refers to the article “Kjøbenhavnsposten’s Morning Observations in Issue No. 43,” published by Kierkegaard over the signature “B” in Kjøbenhavns flyvende Post. Interimsblad, no. 76, February 18, 1836 (EPW, 6–11; SV2 13, 14–20). “On Fædrelandet’s Polemic”] Refers to the twopart article of that title published by Kierkegaard over the signature “B” in Kjøbenhavns flyvende Post. Interimsblad, no. 82, March 12, 1836, cols. 1–8; and no. 83, March 15, 1836, cols. 1–4 (EPW, 12–23; SV2 13, 21–29, 29–32). “To Orla Lehmann.”] An article by Kierkegaard, signed “S. Kierkegaard,” published in Kjøbenhavns flyvende Post. Interimsblad, no. 87, April 10, 1836 (EPW, 24–34; SV2 13, 33–44). Fædrelandet] A liberal newspaper founded in 1834, published as a weekly until 1839, thereafter as a daily. It was opposed to absolutism, and a�er the fall of the absolute monarchy in March 1848 it served as something like the official voice of the National Liberal ministers in the so-called March Ministry. “Public Confession”] → 14,5. “Who Is the Author of Either/Or” over the signature FF] An article by Kierkegaard, published over the signature “A.F.....” in Fædrelandet, no. 1162, February 27, 1843, cols. 9330–9332 (CA, 13– 16; SV2 13, 443–447).

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Then a li�le article concerning the sermon in Either/Or and one I had given at the seminary] An article by Kierkegaard, “A Li�le Explanation,” published under his own name in Fædrelandet, no. 1236, May 16, 1843, cols. 9921–9922 (CA, 22–23; SV2 13, 453–454). In the article Kierkegaard writes in opposition to the assertion that he had revealed himself to be the author of Either/Or because the sermon with which that work concludes, “The Edification Inherent in the Thought That in Relation to God We Are Always in the Wrong” (EO 2, 339–354; SKS 3, 320–332), was supposedly identical with the trial sermon he had preached at Holmens Church on January 12, 1841, as a part of his studies at the pastoral seminary in the years 1840–1841; that sermon has been published as Pap. III C 1. ― Then: Variant: first wri�en “A Com”. “A Fleeting Comment on a Detail in D. Juan.”] An article by Kierkegaard, “A Fleeting Comment on a Detail in Don Juan,” published over the signature “A.” in Fædrelandet, nos. 1890–1891, May 19–20, 1845, cols. 15147–15152, 15155–15159 (CA, 28–37; SV2 13, 481–492). “A Declaration and a Li�le More.”] An article by Kierkegaard, published under his own name in Fædrelandet, no. 1883, May 9, 1845, cols. 15093– 15096 (CA, 24–27; SV2 13, 455–458). two articles by Frater Taciturnus] Two articles by Kierkegaard, both signed “Frater Taciturnus” (the pseudonymous author of the third part of Stages on Life’s Way), “The Activity of a Traveling Aesthetician and How He Still Happened to Pay for the Dinner,” published in Fædrelandet, no. 2078, December 27, 1845, cols. 16653–16658 (CA, 38–46; SV2 13, 459–467), and “The Dialectical Result of a Literary Police Action,” published in Fædrelandet, no. 9, January 10, 1846, cols. 65–68 (CA, 47–50; SV2 13, 468–471).

4

With tears in his eyes … what I could not do] Refers either to Kierkegaard’s former fiancée, Regine Olsen, or to her father, Terkild Olsen. When Kierkegaard had a�empted to break off the engagement on August 11, 1841, by sending his engagement ring back to Regine, she tried to have a talk with him in his apartment in Nørregade;

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see the entry “My Relationship to Her,” from September 1, 1849: “Instead of le�ing the ma�er be decided, she goes up to my room in my absence and writes me an u�erly desperate note in which she implores me, for the sake of Jesus Christ and by the memory of my late father, not to leave her” (NB12:122 and 122.b in KJN 6; SKS 22, 216). Two months later, on October 11, 1841, Kierkegaard definitively broke off the engagement, but that same evening he met Regine’s father at the Royal Theater; see Not15:4: “He said: It will be the death of her; she is in u�er despair. I said: I will try to calm her down, but the ma�er is se�led. He said: I am a proud man; it is hard, but I beg you not to break with her” (KJN 3, 434). very cruel;] Variant: first wri�en “very cruel!”. qua author I have existed pre�y much at my own expense] Until 1847, Kierkegaard served as his own publisher, and as such he was responsible for guiding his works through the press and for the financial outlays associated with the production of his books, which were then sold on commission. In August 1847, Kierkegaard entered into an agreement with the publisher and book dealer C. A. Reitzel, who agreed to pay Kierkegaard 1,425 rix-dollars for the remaining copies of all the books he had hitherto had on commission; Reitzel also agreed to assume the printing expenses associated with Kierkegaard’s most recent work, Edifying Discourses in Various Spirits. The next two books, Works of Love and Christian Discourses, both appeared with C. A. Reitzel as the publisher, so that Kierkegaard was now paid royalties, 270 and 220 rix-dollars, respectively, for those works, and the publisher assumed all production costs. See F. Brandt and E. Thorkelin, Søren Kierkegaard og pengene [Søren Kierkegaard and Money], 2nd ed. (Copenhagen, 1993 [1935]), pp. 31, 34. my greatest work not even reviewed] Presumably a reference to Concluding Unscientific Postscript (→ 49m,1), which, however, was reviewed, namely by “Prosper naturalis de molinasky” (i.e., P. L. Møller) in Kjøbenhavnsposten [The Copenhagen Post], nos. 73 and 74, March 27 and 28, 1846; and by P. W. Christensen in his article “Troen og Dialektiken. Imod S. Kierkegaard” [Faith

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and Dialectic: Against S. Kierkegaard], in Dansk Kirketidende [Danish Church Times], March 29, 1846, vol. 1, no. 29, cols. 475–482. The Postscript was also rebu�ed by the same P. W. Christensen in his article “Troens Dialektik” [The Dialectic of Faith], in Dansk Kirketidende, September 20, 1846, vol. 1, no. 52, cols. 841–856, and was discussed in the anonymous articles “Kjøbenhavnspostens Anmeldelse af ‘afslu�ende uvidenskabelig E�erskrivt’” [The Review of Concluding Unscientific Postscript in Kjøbenhavnsposten] and “Afslu�ende uvidenskabelig E�erskrivt” [Concluding Unscientific Postscript], in Nyt A�enblad [New Evening Paper], published and edited by H. Trojel, nos. 75 and 76, March 30 and 31, 1846. See also the article “S. Kjerkegaard og hans Recensenter” [S. Kierkegaard and His Reviewers], in Den Frisindede [The Freethinker], published and edited by C. Rosenhoff, no. 58, May 19, 1846. its author is singled out by the vulgarity, so that he is pointed out to all the cobbler’s apprentices] On January 2, 1846, shortly before the publication of Concluding Unscientific Postscript, Corsaren (→ 10,9) started its satirical a�acks on Kierkegaard, who became the object of P. Klæstrup’s caricatures; see Corsaren, no. 276, January 2, 1846; no. 277, January 9, 1846; no. 278, January 16, 1846; no. 279, January 23, 1846; no. 280, January 30, 1846; and no. 285, March 6, 1846.

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blameless, any more than were Joseph’s brothers because Joseph became great] See Gen 37:1– 50:26.

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I began my activity as an author] With Either/Or (→ 14,5). I began as an aestheticist … to become Xn] A�er the publication on February 20, 1843, of Either/ Or, the first part of which consists of the papers of the aestheticist A, three months passed before Kierkegaard published his first collection of edifying discourses, Two Edifying Discourses (EUD, 1–48; SKS 5, 7–56). This is how I here present myself … I belong to history] Refers to the manuscript of The Point of View for My Work as an Author: A Direct Communication, Report to History, posthumously

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published by P. C. Kierkegaard in 1859, which Kierkegaard worked on during the summer and autumn of 1848; by November 1848, it was almost entirely finished; see entry NB7:36 in the present volume. what has been granted me, I myself know full well] See “A First and Final Explanation” in Concluding Unscientific Postscript, in which Kierkegaard acknowledges his authorship of the pseudonymous works and thanks God’s Governance for having “granted me much more than I had ever expected” (CUP, 628; SKS 7, 572). Kierkegaard expresses his thanks frequently in Journals NB3–5, e.g., entries NB3:28, NB4:72, and NB5:41 in the present volume. slow in passing judgment] The expression is presumably taken from Wis 12:10: “But judging them li�le by li�le[,] you gave them an opportunity to repent.” The times perhaps found … gi�ed with extraord. intellectual abilities] → 9,24. Either/Or] → 14,5. fear and trembling] → 9,30. present the context of the whole of my efforts] i.e., in the manuscript of The Point of View for My Work as an Author (→ 16,28).

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to understand how] Variant: first wri�en “to understand how right it is that”.

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having … The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress printed in Fædrelandet] Refers to the serialized piece The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress, published by Kierkegaard under the name “Inter et Inter” in Fædrelandet (→ 15,1), nos. 188–191, July 24–27, 1848, cols. 1485–1490, 1493– 1500, 1501–1506, 1509–1516 (C, 301–325; SV2 10, 367–390). The piece was occasioned by the skepticism that had greeted thirty-four-year-old Mrs. Heiberg (see the next note) during the period January 23–March 19, 1847, when she appeared at the Royal Theater in the role of the youthful Juliet in Shakespeare’s tragedy Romeo and Juliet. Mrs. Heiberg had succeeded sixteen-year-old Emma Meier, who had made her debut as Juliet in the period from December 1845 to February 1846.

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As a sixteen-year-old, Mrs. Heiberg had herself played Juliet, but now some people, though not Kierkegaard, thought she was too old for the role. I owe it to Mrs. Heiberg … Mme. Nielsen] Anna Nielsen (1803–1856), actress at the Royal Theater, where she had a wide-ranging repertoire, though specializing in wife and mother roles; she was married to the actor N. P. Nielsen. Despite her talent, she was overshadowed by Mrs. Heiberg, but in Stages on Life’s Way Kierkegaard had the character Judge Wilhelm do homage to her in a long footnote, in which one gets the impression that Mrs. Heiberg’s admirers do not have as much to admire as do Mrs. Nielsen’s, for “this actress [i.e., Mrs. Nielsen] is regarded as secondrate, which she is if the requirement is to compete in the present moment, engaging herself not with what lasts, but with what passes away” (SLW, 32; SKS 6, 125). ― Mrs. Heiberg: Johanne Luise Heiberg, née Pätges (1812–1890), celebrated actress at the Royal Theater, where, starting in 1823, she starred in many heroine roles that were o�en wri�en for her by various playwrights, including her husband, J. L. Heiberg (→ 14,5), whom she married in 1831. to tease Heiberg a bit once again] Kierkegaard had teased J. L. Heiberg (→ 14,5) previously, especially in Prefaces, published in 1843, which could be read as one long satire on Heiberg. Giødvad] Jens Finsteen Giødwad (1811–1891), Danish jurist and journalist, from 1841 joint editor and publisher of Fædrelandet, a close friend of Kierkegaard, helping him in a variety of ways, including proofreading and arranging for contracts with printers. I have now occupied myself exclusively with the religious for so long] i.e., during preceding two years―following the publication of Concluding Unscientific Postscript on February 27, 1846, and A Literary Review on March 30, 1846―he had published Edifying Discourses in Various Spirits on March 13, 1847, Works of Love on September 29, 1847, and Christian Discourses on April 25, 1848. the literary a�acks] In particular the a�acks of Corsaren, which began in January 1846 (→ 15,27), but P. L. Møller’s review of Stages on Life’s Way

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from December 1845 (→ 38,3) could also be included under this heading, as could the reviews of Concluding Unscientific Postscript by P. L. Møller and P. V. Christensen, both of which appeared in March 1846 (→ 15,25). when I wrote Either/Or] Kierkegaard wrote Either/Or (→14,5) ca. October 1841–September 1842; see the “Critical Account of the Text” of Enten―Eller in SKS K2–3, 54–58. at this moment I have] A leaf has been removed from the journal at this point. the article itself is of course indeed much older] In the manuscript sent to the printer the article is dated “Summer 1847,” but beneath this Kierkegaard crossed out “the article is in fact even older, but I don’t remember exactly how much” (Pap. VIII 2 B 90,26). Still, it cannot have predated Mrs. Heiberg’s appearance in the role of Juliet, which was between January 23 and March 19, 1847 (→ 17,30). And now the doctrine of the forgiveness of sin … in earnest] See entry NB4:76, where as early as March 1848 Kierkegaard proposes a new book with a similar title: “Healing from the Ground Up. Christian Healing. The Atonement” (KJN 4, 325). to write a smaller book. “Blessed Is He Who Is Not Offended in Me”] The quoted passage is from Mt 11:6. The manuscript of the projected book was completed by mid-August 1848, i.e., less than a month a�er this entry; see entry NB6:74 in the present volume. It later became the second section of Practice in Christianity, published in 1850. This will be a counterpart to “Come unto Me.”] The quoted passage is from Mt 11:28. Earlier in the year Kierkegaard had completed the manuscript of “Come unto Me, All You Who Labor and Are Heavy Laden, and I Will Give You Rest,” which later became the first section of Practice in Christianity. every time Xt said these words] The phrase is found only in the account of John the Baptist when he was imprisoned and sent his disciples to ask Jesus if he was the expected Messiah; see Mt 11:5–6 and the parallel passage in Lk 7:22–23; but

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see also Mt 26:31 and the parallel passage in Mk 14:27, as well as Jn 16:1. see Journal NB2 p. 250] See entry NB2:253 in KJN 4, 235.

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the anguished conscience] Refers to a recurrent theme in Luther; see entry NB:79: “What Luther says is excellent, the one thing needful and the one explanation: That the whole of that doctrine (on the atonement, and basically the entirety of Xnity) may be traced back to the struggle of an anguished conscience” (KJN 4, 67). See, e.g., Luther’s explanation of the gospel for the first Sunday in Advent in En christelig Postille, sammendragen af Dr. Morten Luthers Kirke- og Huuspostiller [A Christian Book of Homilies, Collected from Dr. Martin Luther’s Church and House Postils], trans. Jørgen Thisted, 2 pts. (Copenhagen, 1828; ASKB 283; abbreviated herea�er En christelig Postille), pt. 1, pp. 15–30, esp. pp. 18, 20–21, 27–28. See also the article “Gewissen” [Conscience], in Geist aus Luther’s Schri�en oder Concordanz [The Spirit of Luther’s Writings, or a Concordance], ed. F. W. Lomler, G. F. Lucius, J. Rust, L. Sackreuter, and E. Zimmermann, 4 vols. (Darmstadt, 1828–1831; ASKB 317–320), vol. 2 (1829), pp. 327–346.

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that li�le article] i.e., The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (→ 17,30). Giødvad] → 18,4. to make a few peop. happy] i.e., Giødwad and Mrs. Heiberg (→ 17,35). which would tire me … oppose his requests] Variant: added. a�er all, it is an older piece] → 19m,15. Thus the article … is removed] Variant: added. ― the article is in fact signed Summer 1847: Thus in the manuscript delivered to the printer (→ 19m,15). one of the manuscripts that is already finished] i.e., the manuscript of A Cycle of EthicalReligious Essays (→ 46,8), The Sickness unto Death (→ 49,9), “Come unto Me All You Who Labor and Are Heavy Laden” (→ 19,20), The Point of View for My Work as an Author (→ 16,28), and “Three ‘Notes’ Concerning My Work as an

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Author,” consisting of (1) “To the Dedication to ‘That Single Individual,’” originally wri�en in 1846 (see Pap. IX B 63,4–5, pp. 350–357; (2) “A Word about the Relation of My Work as an Author to ‘the Single Individual,’” originally written in 1847 (see Pap. IX B 63,6–13, pp. 357–374); and (3) “Preface to the ‘Friday Discourses,’” originally wri�en in 1847 (see Pap. IX B 63,14, pp. 375–377).

Kierkegaard’s The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (→ 17,30). Two years earlier Kierkegaard had published A Literary Review, a review of the novel To Tidsaldre [Two Ages], edited by Prof. Heiberg and authored (anonymously) by his mother, Thomasine Gyllembourg. Ps. 116:10: I believe, therefore I speak, but I am sorely humbled] Cf. Ps 116:10, which Kierkegaard cites incorrectly here.

all that about the possibility of offense] See entry NB6:24 in the present volume. the decisive presentation of Christianity begins in a stricter sense] Refers to the “already finished” manuscripts (→ 23m,4). to have been ready to do something, that is, to have found it entirely right, desirable] i.e., ready to publish The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (→ 17,30); see entries NB6:24, NB6:24.a, and NB6:27 in the present volume. It was fortunate that I did it a�er all] i.e., that he allowed Fædrelandet to serialize The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress in its issues of July 24–27, 1848 (→ 17,30). Before sallying forth for the last time] i.e., by publishing the decisively religious writings; see entry NB6:28 in the present volume, and → 23,37. I am, a�er all, consecrated as a sacrifice―if it is required] See The Point of View for My Work as an Author (→ 16,28), which Kierkegaard was in fact working on in the summer of 1848: “The idea that in each generation there are two or three people who are sacrificed for the others, whose frightful sufferings serve to discover things that will benefit the others―this is a thought that goes very far back in my memory; it was in this melancholic fashion that I understood myself, that I was destined for this” (PV, 81; SV2 13, 606–607). ― consecrated as a sacrifice―: Variant: first written “consecrated as a sacrifice” followed by two hash marks (# #), apparently indicating the end of the entry. Prof. Heiberg … for him and his] i.e., Prof. J. L. Heiberg (→ 14,5) and his wife, the actress Johanne Luise Heiberg (→ 17,35), who was praised in

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having been exclusively an edifying author for two years] → 18,5. a li�le article about an actress] The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (→ 17,30). perhaps an apostle, … from being] Variant: changed from “perhaps an apostle.”

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count the hairs on my head] See Mt 10:30.

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the li�le article] The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (→ 17,30).

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all the short articles I have wri�en thus far] See entry NB6:17 in the present volume, and its accompanying notes; in addition to these articles is The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (→ 17,30), published in July 1848.

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The Crisis and a Crisis, etc.] The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (→ 17,30). the pseudonym] i.e., Inter et Inter, the pseudonym under which Kierkegaard published the article (C, 301; SV2 10, 390). Prof. Heiberg] J. L. Heiberg (→ 14,5). he treated me indefensibly] Presumably a reference to Heiberg’s discussion of Either/Or (→ 14,14) and his silence in the a�ermath of Corsaren’s attack on Kierkegaard (→ 15,27). even a�er that time … reputation in the main] Perhaps a reference to Kierkegaard’s article “A Declaration and Li�le More” in Fædrelandet, no. 1883, May 9, 1845, in which Kierkegaard refers to Heiberg as “the legitimate ruler of Danish literature” (col. 15095; CA, 26; SV2 13, 457).

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Bishop Mynster … a rural priest … proper attendance] A�er serving as parish priest in

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J O U R N A L NB 6 : 37–38

Spjellerup in southern Zealand during the period 1801–1811, J. P. Mynster (→ 14,5) was appointed resident chaplain at the Church of Our Lady until 1828; from the lists of sermons and preachers in Adresseavisen (abbreviated form of Kjøbenhavns kongelig alene privilegerede Adressecomptoirs E�erretninger [Information from Copenhagen’s Only Royally Licensed Advertising Office]), it can be seen that Mynster preached on twenty-eight Sundays and holy days in 1815, on thirty-one such days in 1820, and twenty-nine such days in 1825. During the 1810s, church a�endance in Copenhagen was rather sparse, but it increased significantly in the 1820s, when Mynster was a very popular preacher. Now he is an old man … not quite so well attended] On April 2, 1848, the seventy-two-yearold Mynster preached at the principal service at the Palace Church (see Adresseavisen, no. 78, April 1, 1848), and on April 24, 1848, Easter Monday, he also preached at the principal service at the Palace Church (see Adresseavisen, no. 98, April 22, 1848). On Sunday, May 28, he again preached at the principal service at the Palace Church (see Adresseavisen, no. 127, May 27, 1848); on June 11 he preached at the evensong service on Pentecost at the Church of Our Lady (see Adresseavisen, no. 139, June 10, 1848); and on Sunday, June 25, he preached at the principal service in the Palace Church (see Adresseavisen, no. 150, June 24, 1848). Mynster did not preach in Copenhagen in July 1848 because he was making his annual episcopal visitations. No sources have been found that indicate that Mynster’s sermons were less well attended in the 1840s than they had been earlier. a living] The Danish words used here are et Levebrød, literally “a life-bread,” but here, as elsewhere in his writings, Kierkegaard focuses on “a living” in the sense of an ecclesiastical living, i.e., an income a�ached to a pastoral call. I came to publish that li�le article] i.e., The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress, which appeared in Fædrelandet in the period July 24–27, 1848 (→ 17,30). the eyes of Argus] Refers to the hero Argus in Greek (and subsequently Latin) mythology; he

1848

was called Panoptes (“all-seeing”) because, of the hundreds of eyes he had dispersed on his body, at least one was always watchful. Argus appears in the legend of the love affair between Zeus and Io, daughter of the river god Inachos. When Hera discovered the relationship, she changed Io into a cow whom Argus tied to a tree and watched over with his many eyes. Zeus rescued his beloved by having Hermes kill Argus a�er lulling all his eyes to sleep with magical herbs and sweet music, but Hera transformed Argus into a peacock, whose tail is decorated with eyes. See Ovid, Metamorphoses, bk. 1, vv. 625ff. Mag. Adler] Adolph Peter Adler (1812–1869), Danish theologian; earned the magister degree in 1840 with a dissertation titled Den isolerede Subjectivitet i dens vigtigste Skikkelser [Isolated Subjectivity in Its Most Important Forms]; from 1841, parish pastor for Hasle and Rutsker on the island of Bornholm. In 1842, he published Populaire Foredrag over Hegels objective Logik [Popular Lectures on Hegel’s Objective Logic] (Copenhagen, 1842; ASKB 383). In 1844, he was suspended from his post and in 1845 was honorably discharged with compensation, because his claim of having had a revelation was viewed―not least by Bishop J. P. Mynster―as an early sign of mental illness. A�er his discharge Adler published Skrivelser min Suspension og Entledigelse vedkommende [Writings Concerning My Suspension and Dismissal] (Copenhagen, 1845; ASKB U 10). Between mid-June and late September 1846, Kierkegaard wrote the first version of a book on Adler (Pap. VII 2 B 235, pp. 5–230); in 1847, Kierkegaard composed both a second (Pap. VIII 2 B 7–8, pp. 20–45) and a third (Pap. VIII 2 B 9– 27, pp. 46–79) revision and reorganization of the book, generally referred to as The Book on Adler. fear and trembling] → 9,30. my constant use of the phrase: without authority] In the preface to his first collection of edifying discourses, Two Edifying Discourses (1843), Kierkegaard remarks that he does “not have authority to preach” (EUD, 5; SKS 5, 13). This is repeated unchanged in the prefaces to the subsequent collections of 1843 and 1844 and in varied form in Three Discourses on Imagined Occasions

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(1845), Edifying Discourses in Various Spirits (1847), and Works of Love (1847); see especially this latter work, in which Kierkegaard writes that “we [i.e., Kierkegaard] have been well instructed and brought up in Christianity from childhood on, and also in our mature years we have dedicated our days and our best energies in service to this, even though we always repeat that our discourse is ‘without authority’” (WL 47; SV2 9, 61). the essay “On the Difference between a Genius and an Apostle.”] i.e., the sixth essay in A Cycle of Ethical-Religious Essays (→ 46,8). an actress] i.e., Mrs. Heiberg (→ 17,35). a melancholic old man] When Søren Kierkegaard was born, on May 5, 1813, his father, M. P. Kierkegaard (→ 36,6), was fi�y-six years old; he died on August 9, 1838, at the age of eighty-one. “so indescribably … could ever have expected,”] Freely quoted from the manuscript of The Point of View for My Work as an Author (→ 16,28): “And now, when I am to speak of my relation to God, of what is repeated every day in my prayers, which give thanks for the indescribable things he has done for me, so infinitely much more than I had ever expected” (PV, 72; SV2 13, 597). ― could ever: Variant: first wri�en “h”, which is the first le�er of various forms of the Danish verb have (“to have”), perhaps indicating that Kierkegaard’s emphatic “could ever” was not a part of his original wording. nor less than that―] Variant: first wri�en “nor less than that.”, with the period apparently indicating the end of the sentence. devoid of authority] → 29,34. 70 years] The traditional notion that seventy years is the duration of a human life goes back to Ps 90:10. in this respect I am like a spy] See entry NB5:138 in KJN 4, 426, and The Point of View for My Work as an Author (PV, 87; SV2 13, 612–613). Job … gets everything back again, double] See Job 42:10.

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a�er having suffered extreme pain to the point of melancholia, a�er having to be sacrificed] → 25,7. however,] Variant: added. the most wretched of them all] Presumably an allusion to Eph 3:8. fear, and trembling] → 9,30.

1

orthodox writer … because it is historical] It has not been possible to identify any reference to an actual person. that an individual hum. being is God] i.e., Christ, who as the human being in whom God revealed himself, combines the divine and human natures in himself. from this one sees indirectly that] Variant: first wri�en “from this one sees that”.

12

an athletic director … who teaches others to swim] There was swimming instruction at the Ryssensteen Baths, which lay between Langebro and Kallebo Strand at the foot of the Copenhagen city ramparts (see map 1). orthodox] i.e., the correct (Lutheran) doctrine; the true faith, as opposed to heresy or sectarianism.

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The flaw in the life of Christendom … nor in anything of that sort] Presumably a reference to the wish expressed by Cultus Minister (i.e., minister for ecclesiastical, cultural, and educational affairs) D. G. Monrad that the Danish Church be provided with a constitution. Monrad’s views were expressed in a ministerial circular dated May 9, 1848, a month and a half a�er the fall of absolutism, in which he expressed his belief that “the political changes that have taken place will come to have a thoroughgoing influence on the Danish People’s Church, and that it must indeed be the task of the government to introduce, within the church, those same principles that are in the process of asserting themselves in the state”; see, e.g., Dansk Kirketidende, May 21, 1848, vol. 3, no. 141, col. 585 (ASKB 321–325). During the period June 21–November 17, 1848, the theological faculty of the University of Copenhagen and the bishops of Denmark’s dioceses sent the cultus minister their views concerning the redefinition of the role and

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position of the Church, and this gave rise to public debate. 35

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stays in hiding] i.e., writes anonymously.

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court preacher] Court priest who preaches to the court at the church at Christiansborg Palace, the seat of government (see map 2, B2). Bishop Mynster’s son-in-law, J. H. Paulli (1809–1865), held the post of court priest beginning in 1840, and H. L. Martensen (→ 37,41) had been court priest since 1845. J. P. Mynster (→ 14,5) had been court priest in the period 1828–1835, but he also preached to the court at the Palace Church as royal confessor, a post he assumed in 1828, and as bishop of Zealand, a post he assumed in 1834.

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fear and trembling] → 9,30. my father … I inherited him] Michael Pedersen Kierkegaard (1756–1838). In 1780, he received a license as a hosier, and eight years later he was granted a license as an importer and wholesaler of colonial goods (sugar, coffee, molasses, etc.). He retired at the age of forty in possession of a considerable fortune; as the years passed, he added to his wealth through interest and investment income. A�er the death of his first wife, he married Ane Lund on April 26, 1797; they had seven children together, of whom Søren was the youngest. A�er his death on August 9, 1838, Søren Kierkegaard and his brother Peter Christian, the only surviving family members, inherited his fortune. fear and trembling] → 9,30. that li�le article] The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (→ 17,30). What is most decisive will come later] See entry NB6:28 in the present volume, and → 23,37. “have become holy and no longer write anything but collections of sermons.”] Presumably an imaginary quotation. ― collections of sermons: Refers to the exclusively religious writings that Kierkegaard had published in the two preceding years (→ 18,5).

1848

the next book] It is not clear which of his various manuscripts Kierkegaard has in mind here. The next book he published was Two Ethical-Religious Essays, which appeared under the pseudonym H. H. on May 19, 1849 (see Adresseavisen, no. 116, May, 19, 1849). The essays had originally been positioned as the third and sixth essays in A Cycle of Ethical-Religious Essays (→ 46,8). Rudelbach] Andreas Go�lob Rudelbach (1792– 1862), Danish theologian, pastor, author, and one of the most learned men in the Lutheran Church; in 1822, he took his magister degree with his dissertation De ethices principiis [On the Principles of Ethics] (ASKB 750); in the period 1825–1828 he published Theologisk Maanedsskri� [Theological Monthly] (ASKB 346–351) together with Grundtvig (→ 38,30); pastor in Glauchau in the principality of Saxony, 1828–1845; acquired the doctoral degree from the University of Erlangen in 1841; in 1845, he returned to Copenhagen, where he sought a position at the University of Copenhagen, though without success; in 1847–1848 he had a major conflict with Grundtvig; in June 1848, he accepted a call as parish priest to St. Michael’s Church in Slagelse, Zealand. Kierkegaard had a personal acquaintance with Rudelbach, who had been a visitor in the family home during Kierkegaard’s childhood; he also had a number of Rudelbach’s works in his library, including, in addition to the works mentioned above, Reformation, Lutherthum und Union. Eine historisch-dogmatische Apologie der Lutherischen Kirche und ihres Lehrbegriffs [Reformation, Lutheranism, and Union: A Historical-Dogmatic Defense of the Lutheran Church and Its Doctrinal Concepts] (Leipzig, 1839; ASKB 751). The orthodox writers write only for and talk only to the orthodox] Refers to the Grundtvigians, who debated with one another in forums including Dansk Kirketidende (→ 15,25) and at the conventicles where priests and theologians met, e.g., the Southwest Zealand Conventicle of Brothers (founded 1837), the Clerical Conventicle of Copenhagen (founded 1843), and the Roskilde Conventicle (founded 1842).

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synagogue] Here in the sense of congregation, circle, group. I am a�acked by … crazy tribunes of the people, who fight for equality] Refers to the a�ack by Corsaren (→ 15,27) and especially the republican M. A. Goldschmidt (→ 37,29), who served as the paper’s editor until October 1846. ― tribunes of the people: Officeholders in ancient Rome whose task it was to defend the interests of the common people (“plebians”) against those of the higher classes (“patricians”). Socrates] Here the reference is apparently to the report that a�er having given up the study of physical things, Socrates began “to philosophize in workplaces and markets” (see Diogen Laërtses filosofiske Historie, eller: navnkundige Filosofers Levnet, Meninger og sindrige Udsagn, i ti Bøger [The Philosophical History of Diogenes Laertius, or the Life, Opinions, and Clever Sayings of Famous Philosophers, in Ten Books], trans. B. Riisbrigh, ed. B. Thorlacius, 2 vols. (Copenhagen, 1812; ASKB 1110–1111), vol. 1, p. 66. judged by boys] See Is 3:4. Goldschmidt … imagines that he is fighting for equality] Meïr Aron Goldschmidt (1819–1887), Danish Jewish journalist and publicist, author of works including En Jøde. Novelle [A Jew: Novella] (by the pseudonym Adolph Meyer, edited and published by M. Goldschmidt) (Copenhagen, 1845; ASKB 1547). Goldschmidt founded Corsaren in October 1840 and was the journal’s editor until October 1846, when he sold it and embarked on a yearlong journey abroad; starting in December 1847, he published the monthly journal Nord og Syd [North and South], in which he argued for universal suffrage and a more democratic constitution. Mynster] → 14,5. Heiberg] → 14,5. Martensen] Hans Lassen Martensen (1808–1884), Danish theologian and pastor; cand. theol. in 1832; a�er a journey abroad in 1834–1836, Martensen became a privatdocent and university tutor whose students included Kierkegaard; he acquired the degree of lic. theol. in 1838; lecturer at the University of Copenhagen, 1838; extraordinary professor of theology at the University

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of Copenhagen, 1840; ordinary professor at the University of Copenhagen, 1850; appointed court preacher on May 16, 1845. venerated Mynster so absolutely] Most likely a reference to “A First and Last Explanation” in Concluding Unscientific Postscript, in which Kierkegaard, looking back on his previous work and its reception, “courteously thanks everyone who has remained silent, and with deep veneration thanks the firm Kts―for having spoken” (CUP, 629; SKS 7, 572). Using his customary pseudonym “Kts,” Mynster had praised Kierkegaard’s Four Edifying Discourses (1844) in an article titled “Kirkelig Polemik” [Ecclesiastical Polemics], published January 1, 1844, in Intelligensblade, nos. 41– 42, vol. 4, pp. 111–113. Heiberg became less and less active] Heiberg’s literary productivity was at its height from the mid-1820s through the early 1840s, but since the publication of Intelligensblade [Intelligencer] (1842– 1844) and the annual Urania (1844–1846) there had been only three minor publications: the comedy Valgerda (Copenhagen, 1847; ASKB U 60); Prolog til det Kongelige Theaters förste Forestilling e�er Hs. Majestæt Kong Christian den O�endes Død, den 3die Marts 1848 [Prologue to the First Performance at the Royal Theater Following the Death of His Majesty King Christian VIII] (Copenhagen, 1848); and Cantate ved Universitetets Sørgefest i Anledning af Kong Christian den O�endes Død [Cantata for the Funeral Service at the University on the Occasion of the Death of King Christian VIII] (Copenhagen, 1848). Then I took his mother and celebrated her] Thomasine Gyllembourg (1773–1856), Heiberg’s mother, whose short stories and novels, the socalled stories of everyday life, were published by her son during the period 1827–1845; the last of these, To Tidsaldre [Two Ages] (Copenhagen, 1845), was the subject of Kierkegaard’s praise in A Literary Review (1846). And now his wife] Refers to Kierkegaard’s praise-filled discussion of Mrs. Heiberg (→ 17,35) in The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (→ 17,30). a li�le squib at Martensen] In The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (→ 17,30) Kierkegaard

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discusses a deceased German court preacher who titillated the masses by preaching only on rare occasions and especially to the highest circles―as did Martensen (→ 37,41), who as court preacher delivered sermons approximately once every six weeks and was especially popular with the upper classes: “If a priest, as, e.g., Theremim, the otherwise so highly gi�ed late court preacher in Berlin, only preaches every eighth Sunday or even every twel�h, but then, of course, in the presence of the most high and exalted presence of their majesties and of the entire royal house, there immediately develops an illusion with respect to a chief court preacher of this sort. He becomes―yes, indeed, he becomes what he truly is: the highly gi�ed person, but in the eyes of the masses he becomes, in addition to chief court preacher, also the city’s preacher (Stadsprædkant), or a magnificent (stadselig) chief court preacher, something magnificent, something like the king’s gilded coach, which is only seen with astonishment a couple of times a year” (C, 316–317; SV2 10, 382). my reverence for Mynster was something I was granted] From 1820 until 1828, when he became priest at the Christiansborg Palace Church, Bishop Mynster (→ 14,5) was Kierkegaard’s father’s confessor. In 1847, Kierkegaard wrote in his journal (entry NB2:267) that he had been “brought up on Mynster’s sermons―by my father” (KJN 4, 240). A year later, in entry NB5:81, Kierkegaard wrote: “And yet I love B. M.; my only wish is to do everything that might strengthen his reputation; for I have admired him and hmnly speaking I do admire him, and whenever I can do something for his benefit, I think of my father, whom, I believe, it pleases” (KJN 4, 407). Grundtvig … has been a�acked … on account of his party] Nicolai Frederik Severin Grundtvig (1783–1872), Danish theologian, pastor, hymn writer, historian and politician; from May 1839 he served as priest at Vartov Hospital Church in Copenhagen (see map 2, A2), where he remained until his death and where he became the center of a large congregation. His influence was also great among the priests of the Roskilde Conventicle, which, like Dansk Kirketidende, was viewed as an organ for his views. His followers were o�en

1848

called “Grundtvigians,” but he himself denied the existence of such a sect or “party”; see, e.g., Dansk Kirketidende, October 17, 1847, vol. 3, no. 107, cols. 33–34. By the early 1820s, Grundtvig had come to the view that the Christian Church was a society of faith into which a person entered by means of baptism and that from the very beginning, the Apostles’ Creed had been a precondition for baptism. Kierkegaard a�acked this so-called ecclesiastical view in Concluding Unscientific Postscript (CUP, 34–49; SKS 7, 41–52). maintaining a sort of high-spirited relationship with him] Like Kierkegaard, Grundtvig lived in Copenhagen, where the two men occasionally took walks together; see Bruce H. Kirmmse, Encounters with Kierkegaard (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996), p. 93. P. L. Møller and Goldschmidt … lump them together] Kierkegaard is referring in particular to Peder Ludvig Møller (1814–1865), Danish aesthetician, writer, and critic. In 1843, Møller edited a polemical paper, Arena, and from 1845 to 1847 he published Gæa, a yearbook of aesthetics; he also contributed articles to various publications, including Corsaren; see T. H. Erslew, Almindeligt Forfa�er-Lexicon [General Author Lexicon], 3 vols. (Copenhagen, 1843–1853; ASKB 954–969), vol. 2 (1847), p. 406. In an article in the 1846 issue of Gæa (published December 22, 1845), titled “Et Besøg i Sorø” [A Visit to Sorø] (pp. 144–187), Møller published a critique of Kierkegaard’s Stages on Life’s Way, to which Kierkegaard responded with the article “The Activity of a Traveling Aesthetician and How He Still Happened to Pay for the Dinner” (CA, 38–46) (→ 15,8). This response appeared in Fædrelandet [The Fatherland], December 27, 1845 (no. 2078, cols. 16653–16658), signed by “Frater Taciturnus, Chief of Part Three of Stages on Life’s Way.” Here Kierkegaard identified P. L. Møller with Corsaren, thus lumping Møller together with that journal’s editor M. A. Goldschmidt (→ 37,29), and asked that he himself “might get into The Corsair soon,” as he was the only Danish author who, up until then, had been praised rather than abused by it.

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all the nuisances of orthodoxy, its quarrels about one thing and another] Refers to the dogmatic disputes during the Church’s first four or five centuries. These include the first, long-drawn-out Christological controversies, known as the Arian controversies, concerning the relation between the Son and the Father. These controversies both preceded and followed the first ecumenical council, held in Nicaea in 325, which adopted the Nicene Creed, which was in turn reaffirmed at the second ecumenical council, held in Constantinople in 381, and at the fourth ecumenical council, held in Chalcedon in 451. In addition to this were controversies about the two natures of Christ, i.e., about the relation between Christ’s human and divine natures. This was dealt with at the second ecumenical council, held in Constantinople in 381, which condemned Apollinarianism as heretical. The ma�er arose again in the Nestorian controversy, and Nestorianism was condemned as heretical at the third ecumenical council, held in Ephesus in 431, as well as at the fourth ecumenical council, held in Chalcedon in 451. Xnty teaches that the world is evil] See, e.g., 1 Jn 5:19. Mynster, he weeps at the thought … he would stand fast] Refers to Mynster’s (→ 14,5) sermon “Om Menneskenes Ustadighed” [On the Inconstancy of Human Beings], for the epistle for the fourth Sunday a�er Easter (which fell on May 21, 1848) in Prædikener paa alle Søn- og Hellig-Dage i Aaret [Sermons for Every Sunday and Holy Day of the Year], 3rd printing, 2 vols. (Copenhagen, 1837 [1823]; ASKB 229–230 and 2191), vol. 1 (ASKB 2191), pp. 395–408: “Do you suppose that I will hold fast with unshakeable defiance to every opinion I now praise and every decision I now make, taking nothing back of anything I have thought, anything I have said. Certainly not!” (p. 406). “Or did we stand so fast when the torrents raged around us? Was it only the others whose opinions changed, who acted first according to one intention, first another? When I think back over the years that have vanished, since reflection and awareness awakened within me, did my

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heart then always burn with the same flame, was my zeal always active in the same cause?” (p. 405). “I will stand by what I thus acknowledged, and even if everyone around me changed their minds, it would not cause me to waver, and even if I should walk alone, I will nevertheless remain on the path you have shown me” (p. 406). “I did not believe for others’ sake, why should I then forsake my faith on their account?” (p. 401). See also entry NB5:80, where Kierkegaard expresses the cited passages as follows: “Even if all fall away, I will nevertheless hold fast to what I have loved with a love that is pure like no other, ablaze like that of no other pers. I shall not let go of what I believe―I have not believed what I believed because others believed it; why, then, should I cease believing because others cease?” (KJN 4, 406). Thus, I have been of independent means … speaking as a poet] Kierkegaard “spoke” of financial concerns, particularly in the second section of Edifying Discourses in Various Spirits (1847), which bears the title “What We Learn from the Lilies of the Field and the Birds of the Air” (UDVS, 155– 212; SV2 8, 285–348), and the first discourse, “The Care of Poverty,” of the first section of Christian Discourses (1848), which bears the title “The Cares of the Pagans” (CD, 13–22; SV2 10, 24–34). Neither in these writings nor elsewhere in his published writings does Kierkegaard mention that he himself does not have financial concerns; see, on the other hand, entry NB5:41: “But even if I were to consider my existence as an author in absolute isolation from all the rest of my life―there would nevertheless remain one thing that was dubious, namely, that I had the good fortune of being able to live independently. I fully acknowledge this, and to that extent feel myself to be very lowly in comparison with those who were able to develop a true spiritual life in actual poverty” (KJN 4, 389). See also the piece “A Word about the Relation of My Activity to ‘the Single Individual’” in the manuscript of The Point of View for My Work as an Author (→ 16,28), where Kierkegaard―in the third person―refuses to classify himself as a witness to the truth, for “even if there were no other hindrance, he did not have to work for his living.

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That alone is sufficient, an advantage that, ethically, places him in a lower category” (PV, 120; SV2 13, 649). 40

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all the rubbish about my legs and trousers] Refers in particular to Peter Klæstrup’s drawings of Kierkegaard in Corsaren (→ 15,27), where on January 9, 1846 (no. 277, col. 4 [COR, 116]), January 23, 1846 (no. 279, cols. 1 and 2 [COR, 126–127]), and March 6, 1846 (no. 285, col. 9 [COR, 132]) one could see Kierkegaard’s dandified clothing and his trouser legs of differing lengths (see illustrations 4, 12, 14, and 15 in KJN 4, 453-456). And on January 16, 1846 (no. 278, col. 5 [COR, 120]), his thin legs were depicted in a pair of boots that were much too large for him (see illustration 6 in KJN 4, 454). See also “The New Planet” in Corsaren, January 9 (no. 277, cols. 1–4 [COR, 112– 117]), which is a fictional discussion involving J. L. Heiberg (→ 14,5), the astronomer C.F.R. Olufsen, and Kierkegaard, in which Olufsen, referring to his tailor, assures Kierkegaard that “dammit, the one trouser leg is always just as long as the other one unless I expressly request it otherwise in order to look like a genius” (cols. 2–3). On April 3, 1846, Corsaren included a “catalogue of a rich and significant selection of the newest and most beautiful ornamental georginas (dahlias), available for 1846, and destined to be exhibited from time to time in Corsaren’s flower garden,” in which the third of the nine flowers is described as follows: “‘Beauty of Kierkegaard,’ biscuit-colored, excellent structure with two unequal stems beneath, brilliant and impressive bearing; unexcelled in every respect; the play of colors on the stems is particularly fine” (no. 289, col. 13 [COR, 136]). On May 29, 1846, one could be diverted by reading a “Selection from Corsaren’s Newest and Best Dream Book, Published for the Amusement and Pleasant Entertainment of Everyone Who Wants to Have His Dreams Interpreted with Certainty,” with the following entry: “To see short trousers …means… Frater Taciturnus” (no. 297, col. 7 [COR, 137]). Excellencies] According to the Danish system of rank and precedence (→ 12,34), the address “Your

1848

Excellency” was reserved for persons in the first rank class. To be the object of this long-lasting blather attack] Refers to the a�ack by Corsaren (→ 40,36) and its consequences. in this fantasy world] Variant: first wri�en “fantasy world.”, with the period apparently indicating the end of the sentence. Bishop M.] Bishop Mynster (→ 14,5). live in concealment, etc.] Alludes to the proverbial expression bene qui latuit, bene vixit (Latin, “he who conceals himself well, lives well”) from the Roman poet, Ovid, Tristia [Sorrows], bk. 3, chap. 4, 25; see P. Ovidii Nasonis quae supersunt [Ovid’s Surviving Works], ed. A. Richter, 3 vols., stereotype ed. (Leipzig, 1828; ASKB 1265), vol. 3, p. 207. from the ground up,] Variant: first wri�en “from the ground up.”, with the period apparently indicating the end of the sentence.

6

if I had not been tormented by my financial future] In January 1848, the sale of the Kierkegaard’s childhood home at 2 Nytorv brought Kierkegaard ten thousand rix-dollars plus a second mortgage worth five thousand rix-dollars; Kierkegaard invested the cash from these transactions in shares and royal bonds, which proved to be an unfortunate move because markets soon therea�er fell as a result of war. Kierkegaard wrote about this in November 1848 in entry NB7:114 (in the present volume): “The fact that I took cash, which I had previously decided to keep as cash, and bought royal bonds―the stupidest thing I have done, and which I indeed must view as a sort of lesson, for now I have in fact lost ca. 700 rd. on them.” In a marginal note (NB7:114.b) to this entry, Kierkegaard continues, “With the rest of the money I later purchased shares, on which I have perhaps not lost money a�er all.” See Brandt and Thorkelin, Søren Kierkegaard og pengene, pp. 83–90.

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the platform for Armed Neutrality, a journal] The planned journal never became a reality, but in 1849 Kierkegaard wrote “Armed

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Neutrality, or My Position as a Christian Author in Christendom” (see Pap. X 5 B 106–109, pp. 287– 302), which he considered publishing as a supplement to The Point of View for My Work as an Author (→ 16,28). In the present journal entry, in August 1848, Kierkegaard apparently has the notion that The Point of View for My Work as an Author is to serve as a platform for the journal. 2nd edition of Either/Or] The first edition of Either/Or (→ 14,5) was sold out ca. 1844–1845, after which bookseller C. A. Reitzel, who had sold the work on commission, asked Kierkegaard to permit a new edition (see the “Critical Account of the Text” of Enten―Eller in SKS K2–3, 61). In August 1847, Kierkegaard negotiated with the publisher P. G. Philipsen about terms on which the la�er would publish a new edition, but they could not reach agreement; on May 8, 1849, however, a new edition was published by C. A. Reitzel’s press (see the “Critical Account of the Text” of Enten―Eller in SKS K2–3, 62–64). be important to Christendom] Variant: first wri�en (in Danish) “Christend”, which is the beginning of Christendommen, the Danish word for “Christianity.” (The Danish word for “Christendom” is Christenheden.) leaving it to each person to examine himself] Reference to 1 Cor 11:27–28. direct communication] See the subtitle of The Point of View for My Work as an Author: A Direct Communication, Report to History. I am a penitent,] Variant: first wri�en “I am a penitent.”, with the period apparently indicating the end of the sentence. fear and trembling] → 9,30. my future … to make a living] → 42,6. that I would die very soon … be published a�er my death] See entries NB6:27, NB6:27.a in the present volume, and → 23,37. thank God … much more than I had expected] → 29,41. the piece I am working on about offense] Specifically, “Blessed Is He Who Is Not Offended in Me” (→ 19,17). with the confidence that God will certainly grant me a sure spirit] Perhaps an allusion to Ps 51:12,

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which in Luther’s translation reads: “Schaffe in mir, Go�, ein reines Herz, und gib mir einen neuen gewissen Geist” [Create in me a pure heart, God, and give me a new, sure spirit]; see Die Bibel, oder die ganze Heilige Schri� des alten und neuen Testaments, nach der deutschen Uebersetzung D. Martin Luthers. Mit einer Vorrede vom Prälaten Dr. Hüffell [The Bible or the Entire Holy Scripture According to the German Translation of Dr. Martin Luther with a Preface by Dr. Hüffell] (Karlsruhe, 1836; ASKB 3). that in this enormous labor I do not forget the one thing needful] See Lk 10:41–42. see this journal p. 18] See entry NB6:21 in the present volume. prevented from realizing it fully,] i.e., the relationship to Regine Olsen, to whom Kierkegaard was engaged from September 10, 1840, until he broke with her on October 11, 1841. ― fully,: Variant: first wri�en “fully.”, with the period apparently indicating the end of the sentence. immediately following the publication of Either/ Or] Either/Or (→ 14,5) was published on February 20, 1843. seek a rural pastoral call] Kierkegaard had taken his theological examinations in July 1840, and from November 1840 until September 1841 he attended courses on homiletics and catechetics at the Royal Pastoral Seminary. He did not pass his examination in homiletics until he delivered his trial sermon in February 1844, and in 1848 he still had not passed the examination in catechetics, which was a formal requirement for those seeking a pastoral call. my productivity … the religious sphere] Refers to the first collection of edifying discourses Kierkegaard published, Two Edifying Discourses, which appeared on May 16, 1843. So early a work as Either/Or had as its concluding section a discourse on “The Edification Inherent in the Thought That in Relation to God We Are Always in the Wrong” (EO 2, 335–354; SKS 3, 320–332). the indescribable good … more than I had expected] → 29,41. assured that God] Variant: changed from “assured that Governance”.

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Socratically starving the life out of all the illusions] i.e., depriving people of their illusory or imagined knowledge as Socrates did in confronting them with their errors. Simultaneously with Either/Or came Two Edifying Discourses] → 44,17 and → 44,19. a�er two years of having wri�en nothing but religious writings] → 18,5. a li�le essay on an actress] Refers to Kierkegaard’s piece on Mrs. Heiberg (→ 17,35), The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (→ 17,30). A Cycle of Ethical-Religious Essays] A Cycle of Ethical-Religious Essays, which was prepared in the summer of 1848, consists of six essays: (1) “Something about What One Could Call a ‘Premise Author’” (from the introduction to The Book on Adler [→ 29,33], see Pap. VII 2 B 235, pp. 5–16, slightly reworked; see Pap. IX B 1, p. 297); (2) “The Dialectical Relationship: The Universal, the Individual, the Special Individual” (from chap. 1 of The Book on Adler, see Pap. VII 2 B 235, pp. 33–53, slightly reworked; see Pap. VIII 2 B 9,13–15, pp. 50–51, plus IX B 2, pp. 298–299, and IX B 2,7–8, pp. 305–307); (3) “Has a Human Being the Right to Allow Himself to Be Put to Death for the Truth?” (from 1847, see Pap. VIII 2 B 136, p. 236, and VIII 2 B 138–139, pp. 238–239); (4) “A Revelation in Today’s Situation” (from chap. 2 of The Book on Adler, see Pap. VII 2 B 235, pp. 74–90, slightly reworked; see Pap. IX B 4, p. 300); (5) “Psychological View of Mag. Adler as a Phenomenon and as a Satire on Hegelian Philosophy and on the Present” (from chap. 6 of The Book on Adler, see Pap. VII 2 B 235, pp. 176– 230, slightly reworked; see Pap. VIII 2 B 7,12–18, pp. 32–43, VIII 2 B 8,1, p. 44, and VIII 2 B 9,12, p. 49, plus IX B 5, pp. 301–305); and (6) “On the Difference between a Genius and an Apostle” (from chap. 3, § 2 of The Book on Adler, see Pap. VII 2 B 235, pp. 136–150, slightly reworked and expanded; see Pap. VIII 2 B 7,8–9, pp. 28–29 and VIII 2 B 9,16–18, pp. 51–52, plus IX B 6, p. 305). The Sickness unto Death] The manuscript of The Sickness unto Death was begun in January 1848 and finished in May of that year; the work was published in 1849.

1848

Come unto Me All You …] “Come unto Me All You Who Labor and Are Heavy Laden, and I Will Give You Rest” (→ 19,20). this thought … that I shall soon die] See entries NB6:27 and NB6:27.a in the present volume. The next publication] → 36,32. I have … seeking a pastoral call] On February 7, 1846, a�er having delivered the manuscript of Concluding Unscientific Postscript to the printer, Kierkegaard wrote in his journal (entry JJ:415) that it was now his idea “to qualify myself for the priesthood” (KJN 2, 257). In entry NB:7, written March 9, 1846, Kierkegaard states: “If only I could make myself become a pastor” (KJN 4, 16). In entry NB:57, dated November 5, 1846, he again considered the possibility of seeking an appointment (KJN 4, 50–51). According to entry NB4:152.a, on April 19, 1848, or a few days later, he thought “that Christ will help me conquer my melancholia, and then I will become a priest” (KJN 4, 357). As early as April 24, 1848, in entry NB4:155, he writes less optimistically that “My future is becoming more and more difficult with resp. to a livelihood. If I weren’t burdened with this enclosedness, I could become a civil servant” (KJN 4, 359). See also entry NB6:62, above, where Kierkegaard explains that he had planned to seek a pastoral call as early as immediately following the publication of Either/Or, which is also confirmed in entry NB3:20.d in KJN 4, 256. possible that I would be turned down even if I applied for it] When a clerical post was published as vacant in Departementstidenden [The Departmental Times], an application was to be sent within six weeks to the bishop (in Kierkegaard’s case, Bishop Mynster) (→ 14,5), who was then to forward it, with his comments, to the cultus minister; finally, the cultus minister recommended to the king the name of the person to whom the call ought to be given. For the more … he places on me.] Variant: added. die beforehand,] Variant: first wri�en “die beforehand.”, with the period apparently indicating the end of the sentence.

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thank God for all the good things … than I had expected―] → 29,41. ― expected―: Variant: first wri�en “expected.”, with the period apparently indicating the end of the sentence. for God everything is possible] See Mt 19:26. he is love] See 1 Jn 4:8. blessed in the midst] Variant: first wri�en “blessed,”.

Inter, the pseudonymous author of the li�le article, was in reality Kierkegaard (see LD, 250; B&A 1, 199). It is also clear from Kierkegaard’s reply to Nielsen that they had discussed the form of communication employed in Kierkegaard’s works (see LD, 251; B&A 1, 251). See also entry NB6:76 in the present volume, where Kierkegaard notes that he has “given R. N. a rather direct communication.”

the extent to which one dare refuse direct communication] See entry NB6:61 in the present volume. fear and trembling] → 9,30. in presenting offense with respect to the GodMan] i.e., in “Blessed Is He Who Is Not Offended in Me” (→ 19,17). the moment of suffering,] Variant: first wri�en “the moment of suffering.”, with the period apparently indicating the end of the sentence.

the maieutic] From the Greek maieúesthai (“to deliver someone [in childbirth]”). This refers to Socrates’ art of midwifery, which consisted in the circumstance that through his conversations Socrates could deliver another person who was already pregnant with knowledge (the truth) that he had merely forgo�en and that he must now be assisted in remembering. the truth does not reside in the subject (as Socrates understood things)] Refers to Socrates’ art of midwifery; see preceding note. fear and trembling] → 9,30.

18

fear and trembling] → 9,30. somewhat] Variant: added. maieutic] → 49,18. All of my edifying discourses … direct communication] Kierkegaard’s edifying discourses, from Two Edifying Discourses (1843) to Edifying Discourses in Various Spirits (1847), were all published under his own name, as were Works of Love (1847) and Christian Discourses (1848). So it is only a ma�er … the early journals … having been a religious author] See, e.g., entries NB:34 in KJN 4, 33–36, NB4:72 in KJN 4, 322–324, NB5:146 in KJN 4, 429. But this is not the moment] i.e., to publish the manuscript of The Point of View for My Work as an Author (→ 16,28).

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consider] Variant: first wri�en “choose”. The period a�er “consider” was le� in place by Kierkegaard, even a�er he added the comma following the period. fear and trembling] → 9,30. humility before God,] Variant: first wri�en “God.”, with the period apparently indicating the end of the sentence.

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that li�le article] The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (→ 17,30). maieutic] → 49,18. I must say … in the course of the work … developed] A “confession” of this sort is made in the manuscript of The Point of View for My Work as an Author (→ 16,28) (PV, 77, 78–79, 97; SV2 13, 602, 603–604, 624). I who, when I began … another human being’s life] Refers to the circumstance that on October 11, 1841, before he began his principal works with the publication of Either/Or (→ 44,17), Kierkegaard had broken off his engagement to Regine Olsen, who on that occasion had supposedly declared that it would be her death; Kierkegaard viewed this as meaning that he had a murder on his conscience―regardless of whether or not she actually died. See entry NB:210 from May 1847 in KJN 4, 123. that li�le article] The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (→ 17,30). R. Nielsen remains the person who could provide an explanation] From a le�er he wrote to Kierkegaard ca. August 1, 1848, it can be seen that Rasmus Nielsen (→ 7,10) knew that Inter et

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1848

that of course was how things were in the Middle Ages] i.e., that one believed oneself to be cleansed (justified) when one had done penance, confessed one’s sins, etc. fear and trembling] → 9,30.

and to call himself a philosopher, because no human being, only God, is wise. In ancient times it was called wisdom, and the person who professed it was called wise and was thus required to be a person whose soul makes the effort to investigate things painstakingly. But a philosopher is the person who loves wisdom”; Diogen Laërtses filosofiske Historie, eller: Navnkundige Filosofers Levnet, Meninger og sindrige Udsagn [Diogenes Laertius’s Philosophical History, or the Lives, Opinions, and Clever Sayings of Eminent Philosophers], trans. Børge Riisbrigh, ed. Børge Thorlacius, 2 vols. (Copenhagen, 1812; ASKB 1110–1111), vol. 1, p. 5. ― σοϕοι: Greek (sophoí), “wise.” ― ϕιλοσοϕοι: Greek (philósophoi), “those who love wisdom,” philosophers. ϕιλοσοϕος] Greek (philósophos), lit. “who loves wisdom,” philosopher. σοϕος] Greek (sophós), “wise.” ge�ing the teacher removed] Variant: the editors of SKS suggest that “the” may be an error for “its”. he is love] → 47,5. Interpretive instructions for my work as an author] The word here rendered as “interpretive instructions” refers to an “instruction,” i.e., a special law that provides rules for how previously issued ordinances and decrees are to be interpreted.

Socratic ignorance in comparison to the human know-it-all a�itude] A reference to Plato’s dialogue Apology, in which Socrates reports how he had exposed himself to the hatred of Athenians by asserting his ignorance to everyone who imagined that he knew something, even while pointing out that the oracle of Delphi had in fact denied that anyone was wiser than Socrates, precisely because Socrates had not been misled by imagined knowledge. reflection)] Variant: first wri�en “reflection.”, with the period apparently indicating the end of the sentence. In antiquity first came the wise ones (σοϕοι)] In the preface to Diogenes Laertius’s history of philosophy it is recounted that the Greek mathematician and philosopher Pythagoras (ca. 570–497 �.�.) was the first to “give philosophy its name

to publish that li�le article] Variant: added. Refers to The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (→ 17,30). Either/Or―and Two Edifying Discourses] → 44,17 and → 44,19. older … religious] Variant: changed from “older.”, with the period apparently indicating the end of the sentence. before I started Either/Or] The manuscript of Either/Or was probably begun in October 1841, very shortly a�er the break with Regine Olsen (→ 49,1). A Cycle of Essays,] i.e., A Cycle of Ethical-Religious Essays (→ 46,8). ― Essays,: Variant: first wri�en “Essays)”. The Sickness unto Death] → 49,9. Come unto Me All You Who Labor and Are Heavy Laden] “Come unto Me All You Who

flee to [God’s] grace] An allusion to the priest’s words to communicants during the confession of sins that precedes communion (in Kierkegaard’s time this confession was a precondition for participation in communion): “Inasmuch as you heartily repent and are sorry for your sins, and flee to God’s mercy in constant faith in Jesus Christ, promising in addition diligently to undertake to lead a be�er and more acceptable life from now on: Therefore, on behalf of God and my office, in accordance with the power and authority God himself has granted me, from above, to forgive sins here on earth, I pledge you the forgiveness of all your sins, in the name of God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen!” Dannemarks og Norges Kirke-Ritual [Church Ritual for Denmark and Norway] (Copenhagen, 1762 [1685]; abbreviated herea�er Kirke-Ritual), pp. 146–147. information … concerning how I understand myself with respect to my writings] Probably a reference to the manuscript of The Point of View for My Work as an Author (→ 16,28).

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Labor and Are Heavy Laden, and I Will Give You Rest” (→ 19,20). Blessed Is He Who Is Not Offended] “Blessed Is He Who Is Not Offended in Me” (→ 19,17). God-Man] → 33,17. I cannot sufficiently praise God … much more than I had expected] → 29,41. inward appropriation of Xnty―] Variant: first wri�en “inward appropriation of Xnty.”, with the period apparently indicating the end of the sentence. in vain,] Variant: first wri�en “in vain.”, with the period apparently indicating the end of the sentence. but my wish is that R. Nielsen might be someone to be depended upon] At this time Kierkegaard seems to have considered sharing with Rasmus Nielsen (→ 7,10) his thoughts regarding his works; see the dra� of an article “Concerning My Relationship to Hr. Prof. R. Nielsen,” from ca. 1849–1850: “In mid-1848 I considered a number of things, all of which clearly led to the same conclusion, that I ought―that it was my duty―to make an a�empt to acquaint another person with my views by establishing a personal relationship, all the more so because I intended to stop being an author. I chose Prof. Nielsen, who had already sought to approach me. Since then I have as a rule spoken with him once a week” (Pap. X 6 B 124, pp. 164–165). because I am … of envy] Variant: added. Even then … I myself had done.] Variant: added. become more and] Variant: first wri�en “become more r”. wish to or] Variant: added. the publication of that li�le article] Refers to The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (→ 17,30). R. Nielsen] Rasmus Nielsen (→ 7,10 and → 57,12). Either/Or and Two Edifying Discourses] → 44,17 and → 44,19. Concluding Postscript] Concluding Unscientific Postscript to the Philosophical Fragments: A Mimical-Pathetical-Dialectical Compilation, Existential Contribution, by the pseudonym Johannes Climacus, edited by “S. Kierkegaard” (1846).

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2 years of edifying writings] → 18,5. a li�le aesthetic essay] → 57,25.

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R. Nielsen] Rasmus Nielsen (→ 7,10). fear and trembling] → 9,30. given R. N. a rather direct communication] → 57,12. staying out in the country] Nielsen spent the summer of 1848 in the village of Tårbæk in northern Zealand, from which ca. August 1 he sent Kierkegaard the le�er that was glued into the present journal; see entry NB6:2 in the present volume and → 7,10. Either/Or and the Two Edifying Discourses] → 44,17 and → 44,19. a�er I had become so exclusively a religious author] i.e., a�er the publication of Concluding Unscientific Postscript and A Literary Review in the first part of 1846 (→ 18,5). an article, so apparently and abruptly aesthetic, about an actress] Refers to Kierkegaard’s article about Mrs. Heiberg (→ 17,35), The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (→ 17,30). the article contained a li�le allusion to Martensen] → 38,18. a direct communication and an understanding of my work as an author] Refers to the manuscript of The Point of View for My Work as an Author: A Direct Communication, Report to History (→ 16,28). this li�le article] The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress. therefore I can never … good he does for me] → 29,41. R. N.] Rasmus Nielsen (→ 7,10).

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That li�le article, which he has in fact read] In a le�er to Kierkegaard dated “Aug. [1848]” (LD, 250; B&A 1, 198) Rasmus Nielsen can be seen to have known that The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (→ 17,30) was in fact wri�en by Kierkegaard, who concealed himself behind the pseudonym Inter et Inter. He could misunderstand my note and my entire posture] See an undated le�er from Kierkegaard to Rasmus Nielsen in which he refers to an earlier le�er, now lost but apparently identical with the note mentioned here: “So you have received

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that le�er. Either you have not read it properly or I have erred in thinking that at about the same time you wanted to know about something that would permit you to understand it differently. There was a passage [see Kierkegaard’s footnote to this le�er: “The passage begins as follows: all communication ‘in the form of reduplication’―a passage which would otherwise have been a ridiculous reminiscence.”] in it which you have perhaps understood as pertaining to your relationship to me and mine to you, whereas it aimed at my writings in general, which was occasioned by that something that took place at that same time” (LD, 251; B&A 1, p. 199). or a caprice,] Variant, first wri�en “or a caprice)”. He writes a le�er] Presumably a reference to the above-mentioned le�er dated “Aug. [1848]” (→ 60,3), which Rasmus Nielsen wrote a�er a vain attempt to call on Kierkegaard at the la�er’s home. Nielsen implies that Kierkegaard was in fact home on the day in question and that he had thus been rebuffed by Kierkegaard. Nielsen concludes his le�er as follows: “P.S. Just as these lines were wri�en I received your latest note, from which I see that I must beg your pardon because I have caused you inconvenience by skipping ahead one week. In itself the reason is ridiculous enough. I had in fact had the idea that my frequent correspondence might possibly be misunderstood. ‘It could seem,’ so I thought, ‘that by a fall from the cliff out here you had received such a blow to your lower back that you had to lean to one side, and that now, owing to lack of other exercise, you continued to write in search of a crutch.’ You will surely forgive this fear of being misunderstood. I hope to meet you in town in 14 days at the latest” (LD, 250; B&A 1, 199). fear and trembling] → 9,30.

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fear and trembling] → 9,30.

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a direct explanation of my writings] A reference to the manuscript of The Point of View for My Work as an Author: A Direct Communication (→ 16,28). the maieutic arts] → 49,18. the publication of that li�le article] i.e., of The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (→ 17,30).

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what had preceded it] i.e., Kierkegaard’s published works up to the publication early in 1846 of Concluding Unscientific Postscript and A Literary Review, which were followed by two years of exclusively religious writings (→ 18,5).

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Mynster] Bishop Mynster (→ 14,5).

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The words of Thales … The Feast of the 7 Wise Men] Translated passage from the account by the Greek philosopher and historian Plutarch (ca. �.�. 50–125), “Das Gastmahl der sieben Weisen” [The Feast of the Seven Wise Men], chap. 17 in Moralische Schri�en [Moral Writings], 13 vols. with continuous pagination, trans. J.C.F. Bähr (in Plutarchs Werke [Plutarch’s Works], vols. 20–32, identical with Griechische Prosaiker in neuen Uebersetzungen [Greek Prose Writers in New Translations], ed. G.L.F. Tafel, C. N. von Osiander, and G. Schwab, vols. 33, 43, 47, 51, 65, 72, 91, 104, 110, 145–146, 166, 170) (Stu�gart, 1828–1838; ASKB 1178–1180; additional volumes 14–17 appeared in 1856): “one ought to say what is probable and be silent about what is impossible” (vol. 4, p. 464). Here the saying is a�ributed to the Ionic philosopher Thales (ca. 624–ca. 545 �.�.), whom Plutarch reckons among “the seven wise men,” who according to ancient Greek tradition were seven statesmen from the 7th and 6th centuries �.�., known in particular for a series of short maxims.

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that the priest should be simple―in the way he expresses himself, not using too many unusual words] Thus the Kirke-Ritual (→ 52,20), states that “the priests ought to adhere to the text in their sermons, explaining it properly according to God’s Word and the teachings of the true Church, so that the simple people can understand it well” (p. 21). clothed in so� raiment] A reference to Lk 7:24– 26; see also Mt 11:7–9. Take Paul when he stood in chains] See Acts 26:1–32, esp. vv. 24–25. when Bishop Mynster, in the Palace Church … describes this] Refers to Bishop Mynster’s

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(→ 14,5) sermon at the principal service in the Palace Church, August 18, 1848 (see Adresseavisen, no. 192, August 12, 1848). His sermon, on Jn 8:31–36, is published as “Hvor Herrens Aand er, der er Frihed. Paa o�ende Søndag e�er Trinitatis” [Where the Lord’s Spirit Is, There Is Freedom: On the Eighth Sunday a�er Trinity” in Prædikener holdte i Aaret 1848 [Sermons Delivered in the Year 1848] (Copenhagen, 1849; ASKB 232), pp. 96–109. In this sermon Mynster writes, “When Paul stood before that prince, who said, half-mockingly, ‘It wouldn’t take much for you to convince me to become a Christian,’ and he then replied, ‘I could wish to God that not only you, but everyone who hears me today, might become such as I am, except for these chains’ [Acts 26:28–29], then he was indeed in external compulsion that he might wish removed, but was there indeed anyone in all the group surrounding him, none of whom were in chains, who was free as he was?” (pp. 98–99). ― Palace Church: Christiansborg Palace Church, located opposite Højbro Plads on Slotsholmen (see map 2, B2); the neoclassical structure, designed by architect C. F. Hansen, was dedicated in 1826. The Palace Church functioned both as the church for the royal court and as a parish church in which Sunday communion services and evensong were open to all. almost] Variant: added. Bishop Mynster … the memory of my father attaches me to him] → 38,21. ― Bishop Mynster,: Variant: first wri�en “Bishop Mynster.”, with the period apparently indicating the end of the sentence. NB. NB.] Variant: added. that li�le article] The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (→ 17,30). Either/Or and the Two Edifying Discourses] → 44,17 and → 44,19. Concluding Postscript―for 2 years nothing but edifying discourses] The publication of Concluding Unscientific Postscript and A Literary Review in early 1846 was followed by two years of exclusively religious literary productivity (→ 18,5).

1848

419

an actress] i.e., Mrs. Heiberg (→ 17,35). several months later―just as with the present li�le article] Refers to the circumstance that The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress appeared scarcely three months a�er Christian Discourses, which was published on April 25, 1848.

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Socrates’ daemon was always merely dissuading] Refers to Plato’s dialogues, in which Socrates’ daemon is depicted in this way; see, e.g., Apology, 31d, where Socrates explains that “I am subject to a divine or supernatural experience … It began in my early childhood―a sort of voice which comes to me, and when it comes it always dissuades me from what I am proposing to do, and never urges me on”; Plato: The Collected Dialogues, Including the Le�ers, ed. Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1961), p. 17.

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my father] → 36,6. right for Luther to get married, but had he [already] been married he would never have become Luther] Martin Luther (1483–1546) joined an Augustinian monastery in 1505, taking an oath of celibacy, but a�er having begun the Reformation by posting his Ninety-five Theses (1517) he le� the monastery in December 1524, and the next year he married Katherina von Bora, herself a former nun. all journalists are unmarried] Thus, e.g., the two editors of the daily Fædrelandet, J. F. Giødwad (→ 18,4) and Carl Ploug (1813–1894), as well as the publisher of the monthly Nord og Syd, M. A. Goldschmidt (→ 37,29), who, however, married on September 19, 1848, whereas Edvard Meyer, Peter Larsen, and J.P.M. Grüne, the editors of Flyveposten [The Flying Post], Morgenposten [The Morning Post], and Kjøbenhavnsposten, respectively, were all married.

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the struggle of an anguished conscience] → 22,7. things going well with one in the land] See Deut 5:16.

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been of great concern to Peter that he get an heir] Kierkegaard’s brother Peter Christian Kierkegaard

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J O U R N A L NB 6 : 91–94

(1805–1888); defended his licentiate degree in theology in 1836; served as tutor for theological students until 1842, when he accepted a call as priest for the parish of Pedersborg and Kinderto�e by Sorø in south-central Zealand; in 1841, he married Henrie�e Glahn, with whom he had a son, Pascal Michael Poul Egede Kierkegaard (1842–1915). to touch upon marriage again] As Kierkegaard had done earlier in “The Aesthetic Validity of Marriage” in the second part of Either/Or (1843) (EO 2, 3–154; SKS 3, 13–151); in “On the Occasion of a Wedding” in Three Discourses on Imagined Occasions (1845) (TDIO, 41–68; SKS 5, 419–441); and in “Something on Marriage in Answer to Objections” in Stages on Life’s Way (1845) (SLW, 87–184; SKS 6, 85–171). marriage as such is holiness … was regarded during the Middle Ages] Refers to the Roman Catholic requirement of celibacy for clergy, introduced in Denmark in 1129 and abolished with the advent of the Reformation in 1536; see, e.g., the article “Cölibat der (katholischen) Geistlichen” [Celibacy in the (Catholic) Clergy], in Handwörterbuch der christlichen Religions- und Kirchengeschichte [Handbook of the History of the Christian Religion and the Church], ed. W. D. Fuhrmann, 3 vols. (Halle, 1826–1829; ASKB 75– 77), vol. 1 pp. 515–520. Therefore he created man and woman … to help another] Allusion to Gen 2:18–24. a hum. being who became so unhappy … as if he were someone great] See the farewell le�er that Kierkegaard sent to Regine Olsen (→ 49,1) along with his engagement ring on August 1, 1841, and which was reproduced word for word in Stages on Life’s Way (SLW, 329–330; SKS 6, 307): “So as not to have to rehearse yet again something which must, in the end, be done; something which, when it has been done, will surely give the strength that is needed; let it be done, then. Above all, forget the person who writes this; forgive a person who, whatever he might have been capable of, was incapable of making a girl happy”; see also entry Not 15:4 in KJN 3, 433.

1848

The divine authority of the Bible and everything pertaining to it has been abolished] Starting with the Enlightenment of the 18th century, theologians were confronted with the demand that in working with biblical texts they employ the historical-critical method used in all other historical research, i.e., that they seek historical causes and prove the authenticity of their texts. This method was sometimes a�acked as leading to the breakdown of the authority of the Bible. not an iota is changed] See Mt 5:18, where “not one le�er” is the NRSV translation for “iota”; in the King James version it is rendered “jot [i.e., iota] and ti�le.” the more I consider … to thank God] → 29,41.

35

the nation of which he was a part perished] At the conclusion of the Jewish War (65–70), Jerusalem was burned, and the Romans drove out the Jews, who then had to live in the diaspora, outside Israel.

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Notes for JOURNAL NB7 Critical Account of the Text of Journal NB7 423

Explanatory Notes for Journal NB7 429

NOTES FOR JOURNAL NB7

Critical Account of the Text by Joakim Garff, Kim Ravn, and Steen Tullberg Translated by Bruce H. Kirmmse Edited by Vanessa Rumble

Explanatory Notes by Peter Tudvad Translated by Bruce H. Kirmmse Edited by Vanessa Rumble

423

Critical Account of the Text I. Description of the Manuscript Journal NB7 is a bound book in quarto format. Kierkegaard placed a label marked “NB7.” on the outside of the book (see illustration 2). The manuscript of Journal NB7 is preserved in the Kierkegaard Archive (KA) at the Royal Library in Copenhagen.

II. Dating and Chronology According to the label affixed to its front cover, Journal NB7 was begun on August 21, 1848, and must have been concluded no later than November 26, 1848, which is the beginning date of the next journal, NB8. Apart from the label (NB7:1), of the 114 entries in the journal only entry NB7:14 is dated, namely, September 1, 1848. This entry concerns a Friday sermon, which according to Adresseavisen (abbreviated form of Kjøbenhavns kongelig alene privilegerede Adressecomptoirs E�erretninger [Information from Copenhagen’s Only Royally Licensed Advertising Office]), no. 209, August 31, 1848, was to be delivered on that day at 9:00 �.�. in the Church of Our Lady. The next two entries were also wri�en on September 1, because in entry NB7:16 this same sermon is referred to as having been delivered “today.” In entry NB7:10, Kierkegaard reports on his encounter with Councillor of State Olsen at Fredensborg, and he subsequently added a marginal note (NB7:10.a) to the effect that the period he mentions―a Thursday, Friday, and Saturday―were August 24– 26. Entry NB7:46 concerns “the new ministry,” and was presumably wri�en at the end of October 1848.1 In entry NB7:52, Kierkegaard cites a mo�o by Chateaubriand “taken from Job,” and he presumably has this mo�o from Fædrelandet [The Fatherland], no. 272, October 25, 1848.2 ) See the explanatory note to entry NB7:46 in the present volume.

1

) See the explanatory note to entry NB7:52 in the present volume.

2

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J O U R N A L NB 7

III. Contents As mentioned, Journal NB7 contains 114 entries; the contents of these entries range from theological reflections to critiques of the times, psychological observations, self-descriptions, autobiographical reflections, and material from the works Kierkegaard was writing at the time. In a series of entries, Kierkegaard concerns himself with the question of what constitutes essential Christianity, most o�en with a negative point of departure, as in entry NB7:26: “I have never seen a thoroughgoing Xn. The most I have seen are some few examples of what I call hum.-lovable Xnty.” According to Kierkegaard, true Christianity includes a requirement of absolute sacrifice, because “Xnty is the absolute or teaches that something absolute exists, and requires of the Christian that his life express that something absolute exists” (NB7:27). In entry NB7:28, it is stated the only true way to express that something absolute exists “is to become its martyr … That is how things are, even with respect to absolute romantic love.” In a pair of longer entries (NB7:58–59) this topic is broadened into a consideration of the significance of “religious sociality,” which is compared to the “God-relationship of single individuality.” Reflections concerning martyrdom resume in entry NB7:68 under the heading “See, this is Christianity.” In entry NB7:101, Kierkegaard returns to the theme of “hum.-lovable Xnty” (NB7:26), adding a number of observations concerning “the quiet ones among the people,” who are seen as representing a worldly version of the monasteries that Protestantism had abolished. A related group of entries treats paradoxical, shocking, and cruel aspects of Christianity. For example, in entry NB7:43, Kierkegaard writes: “The Xn and the absolute are unconditionally one thing: absolute recklessness. Xt says, Let the dead bury their dead.” In entry NB7:55 it is asserted: “Generally, Xnty will terrify rather than console,” to which entry NB7:72, adds: “Yes, it is certainly true that humanly speaking there is something cruel about Xnty.” This train of thought is continued in entry NB7:99, where the life of a Christian is depicted as one continuing examination, while in entry NB7:100 it is stated that most people only gain an impression of Christianity at the moment of their death, because death removes obstructions to the proper understanding of Christianity. Theological entries include Kierkegaard’s reflections on scriptural passages in the gospels of Luke and John (NB7:62, 78, 96, and 107); his sketches of sermons for Friday communion services

Critical Account of the Text

2. Cover of Journal NB7.

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J O U R N A L NB 7 (NB7:14, 16, and 17); and his considerations concerning the relation between direct and indirect communication (NB7:5, 8, and 13) as well as his comments on other theologians, including Luther (NB7:18.b, 35, and 69), Savonarola (NB7:38), the pietist Johann Arndt (NB7:79 and 100.a), and the Stoic Marcus Aurelius Antoninus (NB7:108 and 112). As in the preceding journals, Kierkegaard’s critiques and polemics concerning his times are a recurrent theme in Journal NB7. A�acks on the clerical class constitute a dominant element in his critique of the state of Christendom. In entry NB7:51, he speaks more generally about the “quasi-Christians” of the day, who do not engage seriously with Christ, while in entry NB7:77, he takes direct aim at the “sentimental priests,” who in entry NB7:88 are singled out as “these 100,000 priests with livings, whose preaching does nothing but get peop. mired in nonsense.” Entries that could be described as Kierkegaard’s self-descriptions also have a prominent place in the journal. Entry NB7:3 includes a straightforward definition of Kierkegaard’s role with respect to his epoch: A�er all this Hegelian-Goethean hum. self-satisfaction over gratifying one’s contemporaries―i.e., abolishing God and making the generation into God―a�er all this I come, and therefore I must above all be wary that I do not nonsensically babble truth into this distorted form, but rather, fearing God, express that God is man. In many entries Kierkegaard’s myriad of reflections on martyrdom―o�en in comparison or opposition to the notion of genius― are linked to himself, as in entry NB7:45: “I am rlly a genius, who possibly could become a martyr for the truth.” The problems with being a genius in a market town are also a recurrent theme. Copenhagen is described as “a closed-in li�le hole, a ro�ing swamp beyond compare” (NB7:33), in which Kierkegaard is viewed “as a kind of Englishman, a half-mad eccentric, whom every damned one of us, from the most aristocratic to gu�ersnipes, imagines he can have a bit of fun with” (NB7:31). From a broader perspective, among the things that are destroying Denmark is a provincial, market-town mentality and envy (NB7:46 and 109), which find expression in the “crowd,” which is u�erly lacking in character and for which “no a�ack is feared so much as that of ridicule” (NB7:21). The journal also contains a number of entries of a more autobiographical nature. In entry NB7:10 Kierkegaard reports on his

Critical Account of the Text encounter with Councillor of State Terkild Olsen, the father of his onetime fiancée, Regine Olsen, and in a lengthy entry (NB7:20), he subjects his relationship to Regine a more detailed examination. Near the beginning of the entry he writes : I am rlly the guarantor of her marriage; God knows it is frightfully strenuous. And what has indeed been endured I can see best from this indirect testimony: that it is only now, a�er 7 years’ time that I dare confide to paper my thoughts concerning her.1 Kierkegaard touches on his financial situation in two entries, in NB7:109 and in the lengthy, final entry, NB7:114, which recounts the circumstances surrounding the sale of his house and his original plan to travel abroad for two years,2 a plan that was abandoned, among other reasons, because a sojourn abroad would merely increase his literary productivity, which was the very opposite of his intention in traveling. Entry NB7:114 also deals with Kierkegaard’s relationship with Rasmus Nielsen, who is also discussed in several entries near the beginning of the journal (NB7:6–7 and 9–10). Entries of this type also include NB7:46, in which M. A. Goldschmidt is compared to a “cholera fly,” and NB7:67, which is yet another example of Kierkegaard’s increasingly critical a�itude toward Bishop Mynster. Lastly, entry NB7:74 and the journal’s longest entry, NB7:75, should be emphasized for their special combination of theological anxiety and psychological perspicuity. In entry NB7:74 Kierkegaard writes: There is a very special sort of spiritual trial when, hounded by the anxiety of sin, a pers. sins in the strictest sense against his will; when, e.g., there are sinful thoughts that he would very much like to escape, that he does everything to avoid, but that nonetheless visit him―it is a particular sort of spiritual trial to believe that this is something he must learn to live with, that Xt has been given to him in order to console him in bearing this cross, plagued as he is by a thorn in the flesh.

) In the marginal note (NB7:20.a), however, Kierkegaard refers to “Journal NB5 p. 65, bo�om” (NB5:63, in KJN 4, 399), which also treats Regine Olsen.

1

) See the explanatory note to NB7:114 in the present volume.

2

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J O U R N A L NB 7 Kierkegaard constantly comments on the whole of his literary project, “this enormous productivity, the intensity of which, it seems to me, could move stones” (NB7:31). The evolution of The Point of View for My Work as an Author1 can be followed at close hand in entries NB7:13, 36, 41, and 45.2 Entry NB7:4 contains sketches for “7 Discourses at the Communion on Fridays,” which appear in Practice in Christianity (1850), no. III, “From on High Draw All unto Himself.” An expanded version of the dra� of a sermon contained in entry NB7:14 was included in the first discourse of “The High Priest”―“The Tax Collector”―“The Woman Who Was a Sinner,” Three Discourses at the Communion on Fridays (1849), while NB7:17 constitutes a sort of sketch for the second discourse in that work. Entry NB7:11 touches on the “publication of that li�le article” and is connected with Kierkegaard’s many considerations concerning the publication of The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (1848).3 And in entry NB7:79 Kierkegaard mentions a Cycle of Ethical-Religious Essays.”

) The Point of View for My Work as an Author was published by P. C. Kierkegaard in 1859.

1

) The brief entry NB7:37 is incorporated almost word for word in the second of the “Two ‘Notes’ Concerning My Work as an Author” in The Point of View for My Work as an Author.

2

) See the “Critical Account of the Text of Journal NB6” in the present volume.

3

Explanatory Notes 77

1

Why … Apologetic] Variant: wri�en on the inside of the front cover of the journal; the first two leaves of the journal are blank. ― Apologetic: The early 19th century saw the development of a Christian “apologetics” that, unlike so-called polemics, consisted of a methodical exposition of the materials relevant to the defense of the specific character of the Christian religion; see, e.g., Friedrich Schleiermacher’s presentation in his Kurze Darstellung des theologischen Studiums [Brief Presentation of the Study of Theology] (Berlin, 1811) and K. H. Sack, Christliche Apologetik [Christian Apologetics] (Hamburg, 1829; ASKB 755).

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fear and trembling] Allusion to Phil 2:12. what a physician writes at the beginning] Refers to the symbol “#,” which is a stylized version of “†” or the initials “IHS” (for Jesus hominum salvator [Latin, “Jesus, Savior of Human Beings”] or In hoc signo [Latin, “Under This Sign”]), mo�os written by early Christian physicians as headings on their pharmaceutical prescriptions. Hegelian-Goethean] Most likely an allusion to the view advanced by Johan Ludvig Heiberg to the effect that both Hegel and Goethe assigned philosophy precedence over religion in such a way that God is made the object of human cognition as a nontranscendent spiritual phenomenon; see Johan Ludvig Heiberg, Om Philosophiens Betydning for den nuværende Tid [On the Significance of Philosophy for the Present Age] (Copenhagen, 1833; ASKB 568), pp. 47–48. An English translation is available in Johan Ludvig Heiberg, “On the Significance of Philosophy for the Present Age” and Other Texts, ed. and trans. Jon Stewart (Copenhagen: Søren Kierkegaard Research Centre; C. A. Reitzel’s Publishers, 2005), pp. 83–119. See the manuscript of The Point of View for My Work as an Author (→ 98,26), where Kierkegaard includes

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a footnote in which he denies that he wants to “express this (which perhaps is to love human beings): that the world is good, loves the true, wills the good; that the requirements of the times are the truth; that the human race is the true, or indeed even God; and that the task is therefore (in Goethean-Hegelian fashion) to satisfy the times” (PV, 88n; SV2 13, 613). ― Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel (1770–1831); Kierkegaard owned a number of volumes of the edition of Hegel’s collected works that appeared for the first time as Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel’s Werke. Vollständige Ausgabe [The Works of Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel: Complete Edition], 18 vols. (Berlin, 1832– 1845). ― Johann Wolfgang Goethe (1749–1832); Kierkegaard owned Goethe’s Werke. Vollständige Ausgabe letzter Hand [Goethe’s Works: Complete Edition with the Author’s Final Changes], 60 vols. (Stu�gart, 1828–1842; vols. 1–55 [1828–1833], ASKB 1641–1668). From on High He Will Draw All to Himself] Refers to Jn 12:32. The sketch following this heading was used in the third section of Practice in Christianity (PC, 135–262; SKS 12, 149–253), with the half-title “From on High He Will Draw All to Himself” (PC, 137; SKS 12, 151). Discourses at the Communion on Fridays] i.e., sermons held in conjunction with communion. In Kierkegaard’s day, communion was celebrated on Sundays and holy days as a separate rite following directly a�er the regular worship service. Such communions were celebrated without an accompanying sermon because a sermon had already been included in the preceding worship service. On Fridays, communion services were also held, and sermons were delivered in connection with these services. These communion sermons were usually fairly brief and were based on a short biblical verse of the speaker’s choosing,

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J O U R N A L NB 7 : 4–6

unlike the sermons delivered during standard Sunday and holy day services, which tended to be longer and were based on the lengthier biblical texts that were required for the day. No. 1] See the first part of the third section of Practice in Christianity (PC, 151–156; SKS 12, 155– 160. is finished and in the chest of drawers] According to entry NB7:16, this sermon was originally supposed to have been delivered at Holy Spirit Church on January 14, 1848, but Kierkegaard instead delivered it at the Church of Our Lady on September 1, 1848. ― chest of drawers: A “chest of drawers made of Brazilian rosewood” and a “chest of drawers made of mahogany” were sold at the auction of Kierkegaard’s personal effects in 1856; see Flemming Christian Nielsen, ed., Alt blev godt betalt. Auktionen over Søren Kierkegaards indbo [Everything Fetched a Good Price: The Auction of Søren Kierkegaard’s Personal Effects] (Viborg, 2000), pp. 22–24. No. 2] See the second part of the third section of Practice in Christianity (PC, 157–166; SKS 12, 161– 169). lowliness and exaltedness] Allusion to Phil 2:7. No. 3] See the third part of the third section of Practice in Christianity (PC, 167–179; SKS 12, 170– 180). No. 4] See the fourth part of the third section of Practice in Christianity (PC, 181–199; SKS 12, 181– 197). No. 7] See the seventh part of the third section of Practice in Christianity (PC, 259–262; SKS 12, 250–253). Of my many Paths … finally see, etc.] Quoted from the second stanza of Hans Adolph Brorson’s hymn on death, “Nu! jeg har vunden” [Now I have won!]; see J.A.L. Holm, ed., Psalmer og aandelige Sange af Hans Adolph Brorson [Hymns and Spiritual Songs of Hans Adolph Brorson], 2nd ed. (Copenhagen, 1838 [1830]; ASKB 200), p. 782. See also L. C. Hagen, ed., Troens rare Klenodie, i nogle aandelige Sange fremstillet af Hans Adolph Brorson, Biskop i Ribe Sti� [Faith’s Rare Treasure, Presented in Some Spiritual Songs by Hans Adolph Brorson, Bishop of the Diocese of Ribe] (Copenhagen, 1834; ASKB 199), p. 478.

1848

fear and trembling] → 78,14. he is not serious,] Variant: first wri�en “he is not serious.” with the period apparently indicating the end of the sentence.

12

R. Nielsen] Rasmus Nielsen (1809–1884), cand. theol., 1837; lic. theol., 1840; privatdocent at the University of Copenhagen during the winter term, 1840–1841; from 1841 extraordinary professor of moral philosophy at the University of Copenhagen. Nielsen’s special subject was speculative philosophy, but starting in the mid–1840s he came under Kierkegaard’s influence; the two men became friends in 1848. Kierkegaard seems to have considered initiating Rasmus Nielsen into his ideas concerning the overall plan behind his works. See the dra� of an article from ca. 1849– 1850, titled “Concerning my Relationship with Hr. Prof. R. Nielsen”: “In mid-1848 I considered a number of things, all of which clearly led to the same conclusion, that I ought―that it was my duty―to make an a�empt to acquaint another person with my views by establishing a personal relationship, all the more so because I intended to stop being an author. I chose Prof. Nielsen, who had already sought to approach me. Since then I have as a rule spoken with him once a week” (Pap. X 6 B 124, pp. 164–165). I write him a note] Printed as no. 183 in LD, 251–252; B&A 1, 199–200. The le�er is undated, but it must have sent in August 1848 as a reply to Nielsen’s previous le�er, dated “Aug.” (LD, 249; B&A 1, 198). In his note Kierkegaard discusses the indirect form of communication and asks that Nielsen understand this as applying to his works and not to their mutual relationship. that li�le piece of writing] Refers to Kierkegaard’s piece (published under the pseudonym “Inter et Inter”) The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress, which appeared in Fædrelandet [The Fatherland], nos. 188–191, July 24–27, 1848, cols. 1485–1490, 1493–1500, 1501–1506, 1509–1516 (C, 301–325; SV2 10, 367–390). See Kierkegaard’s entries concerning the publication of the piece and its significance in Journal NB6, entries NB6:24, 27–30, 38, 66, 74, 75, 78 in the present volume.

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fear and trembling] → 78,14. R. N.] Rasmus Nielsen (→ 80,34). finally he has come to town] Nielsen spent the summer of 1848 in the village of Tårbæk in northern Zealand, where ca. August 1 he received a le�er from Kierkegaard expressing the hope that “you will visit me when you come to Copenhagen” (LD, 251; B&A 1, 199). Further on in the le�er Kierkegaard repeated the invitation: “Let me know as soon as you have come to Copenhagen, so that I can send for you. I place emphasis on this invitation” (LD, 252; B&A 1, 200).

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God-Man] i.e., Christ as the human being in whom God revealed himself, unites divine and human nature in himself.

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R. N.] Rasmus Nielsen (→ 80,34). fear and trembling] → 78,14. he was out in the country] → 81,24. I had … in the thought of death] See Journal NB6, entries NB6: 27, 27.a, 61 in the present volume. my new books] i.e., the manuscripts of The Point of View for my Work as an Author (→ 98,26); A Cycle of Ethical-Religious Essays (→ 123,21); The Sickness unto Death, begun in January 1848, finished in May of the same year, and published at the end of July 1849; “Come unto Me, All You Who Labor and Are Heavy Laden, and I Will Give You Rest,” subsequently incorporated as the first section of Practice in Christianity, published in late September 1850; and “Blessed Is He Who Is Not Offended in Me,” finished in the middle of August 1850 and subsequently incorporated as the second section of Practice in Christianity. was at all proper,] Variant: first wri�en “was at all proper.” with the period apparently indicating the end of the sentence. I published that li�le article] The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (→ 81,5). I kept R. N. in suspense and did not get weak and give him direct communication] See entries NB6:76, 78 in the present volume. God always is … love] See 1 Jn 4:8.

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431

Nothing can be done for her] Refers to Regine Schlegel, née Olsen, to whom Kierkegaard had been engaged until he broke the engagement on October 11, 1841. On August 28, 1843, Regine became engaged to J. F. Schlegel, whom she married on November 3, 1847. Presumably Kierkegaard had not spoken with Regine since the break in 1841, even though they frequently encountered one another in the street. The fact that I am a scoundrel … something great in the world] Presumably this was how Kierkegaard wanted people in general―and Regine in particular―to view him a�er he broke the engagement. Thursday, or the night between Wednesday and Thursday] Wednesday, August 23 and Thursday, August 24, 1848. ― Wednesday and Thursday: Variant: changed from “Thursday and Friday”. R. N.] Rasmus Nielsen (→ 80,34). Saturday (Aug. 26) I drove to Fredensborg] Fredensborg was a small town in northeastern Zealand, situated on the southeastern shore of Esrum Lake. Bills from the coachman P. S. Lassen of Lille Helliggeiststræde in Copenhagen show that Kierkegaard was o�en a guest at the Hotel Store Kro [Great Inn] (→ 83,38), but the bills from 1848 have not survived. ― (Aug. 26): Variant: added. I would meet the family] i.e., Regine Olsen’s family. Thomas … boatman] Not identified. There was a boathouse at the point where Skipper Allé (→ 84,1) ended at the shore of Esrum Lake. Councillor of State Olsen] Terkild Olsen (1784– 1849), Regine’s father, department head in the Danish Finance Department. ― Councillor of State: Properly “actual councillor of state,” a title that according to the system of rank and precedence (→ 122,21) was ranked in the third place of the third class (out of a total of nine classes). So I went up to Kold’s again, sat down and dined] Refers to Ole Johansen Cold (1781–1859), tailor and subsequently an innkeeper, who in 1811 took over ownership of the Store Kro in Slotsgade next to Fredensborg Castle. Cold was a capable and enterprising innkeeper who expanded the inn and gained for it a reputation that made it a

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popular destination for well-to-do visitors from Copenhagen. Skipper Allé] Skipper Allé begins at the end of Slotsgade between Fredensborg Castle and the Hotel Store Kro and trends westward down the slope, providing an excellent view across Esrum Lake toward Grib Forest and the town of Nøddebo on the opposite shore. The publication of that li�le article] Refers to The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (→ 81,5). trusting in God, commending everything into his hand] Allusion to Lk 23:46; see also Ps 31:6. the person who risks nothing of course loses nothing] See the proverb “Daringly ventured is half the victory,” which appears as no. 2941 in N.F.S. Grundtvig, Danske Ordsprog og Mundheld [Danish Sayings and Adages] (Copenhagen, 1845; ASKB 1549), p. 112. Right now, when people are talking about reorganizing the Church] Presumably a reference to the wish expressed in a ministerial circular of May 9, 1848, from Cultus Minister (i.e., minister for ecclesiastical, cultural, and educational affairs) D. G. Monrad, to the effect that the Danish Church was to be provided with a constitution; see Dansk Kirketidende [Danish Church Times], May 21, 1848, vol. 3, no. 141, cols. 585–587 (ASKB 321–325). During the period June 21–November 17, 1848, the theological faculty of the University of Copenhagen and the bishops of Denmark’s dioceses sent the cultus minister their views concerning the redefinition of the role and position of the Church, and this gave rise to public debate. People treat the church and the state in entirely the same manner] Cultus Minister Monrad’s views were expressed in a ministerial circular dated May 9, 1848 (→ 85,1), a month and a half a�er the fall of absolutism, in which he expressed his belief that “the political changes that have taken place will come to have a thoroughgoing influence on the Danish People’s Church, and that it must indeed be the task of the government to introduce, within the church, those same principles that are in the process of asserting them-

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selves in the state” (Dansk Kirketidende, May 21, 1848, vol. 3, no. 141, col. 585). representatives agree on … a constitution for the state] Refers to the constitutional assembly that, according to a law passed July 7, 1848, was to be convened following the election of representatives on October 5, 1848. Round Tower] A tower 118 feet high, 47 feet in diameter, a�ached to Trinity Church on Købmagergade (see map 2, C1). A spiral ramp inside the tower provided access to the lo� over the church, where the University of Copenhagen library was located, and continued to the top of the tower, which housed an observatory; in Kierkegaard’s day, both the library and the observatory were still in use.

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presentation of my previous writings] Refers to the manuscript of The Point of View for My Work as an Author (→ 98,26). what will follow] i.e., publication of the manuscripts Kierkegaard had completed (→ 82,32).

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Sept. 1 Friday Sermon] Kierkegaard’s sermon was listed under the rubric “Individual Notices” in Adresseavisen (abbreviated form of Kjøbenhavns kongelig alene privilegerede Adressecomptoirs E�erretninger [Information from Copenhagen’s Only Royally Licensed Advertising Office]), no. 209, August 31, 1848: “Sermons today, Friday [which was in fact the next day, Friday, September 1, 1848]. Church of Our Lady, Hr. Mag. Kierkegaard, 9 �.�.” ― Friday Sermon: → 79,8. Wednesday evening, when I had my discourse ready for today] The discourse had been essentially completed as early as mid-January 1848; see entries NB7:4 (→ 79,10) and NB7:16 in the present volume. ― Wednesday evening: Variant: first wri�en “T” which is the first le�er of both Tirsdag and Torsdag, the Danish words for “Tuesday” and “Thursday.” the passage in Hebrews … tested in everything without sin] Kierkegaard’s rendering of Heb 4:15. How Christ put himself in our place] The sketch that follows was later utilized in the first discourse included in “The High Priest”―“The Tax

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Collector”―“The Woman Who Was a Sinner”: Three Discourses at the Communion on Fridays, published in mid-November 1849 (WA, 113–124; SKS 11, 249–259). Xt … was God and became a hum. being] Refers to Phil 2:6–7 (→ 86m,18). Is there fear of death―he, too, suffered death] Refers to Jesus’ anxiety in the Garden of Gethsemane before he was taken prisoner (Lk 22:39–46) and his death on the cross. Is there sorrow over someone who has died― he, too, wept over Lazarus] See Jn 11:1–45, where Jesus weeps over Martha and Mary’s brother Lazarus (v. 35) prior to awakening him from the dead. Is there sadness over the confusion and corruption of the world―he, too, wept over Jerusalem] See Lk 19:41. tested in everything] Variant: following this is deleted “―yet without sin”. He was tempted] In the desert by the devil, Mt 4:1–11. to be God … to come down to earth from heaven] See Phil 2:6–7. The Lord] Variant: added. The Friday sermon I gave today] On September 1, 1848 (→ 86,1). See entries NB7:4 and 14 in the present volume. originally supposed to have been given ... Holy Spirit Church] According the list of sermons for Friday, January 14, 1848, published the previous day in Adresseavisen (no. 10, January 13, 1848) there was to have been communion both at the Church of Our Lady (where a “Hr. Thomsen” was to preach) and at Holy Spirit Church (where a “Hr. Ebbesen” was to preach). According to the registers of communicants, no one can be seen to have signed up for communion at Holy Spirit Church, while only one person can be seen to have signed up for communion at the Church of Our Lady, but subsequently crossed out his or her name, so communion was cancelled at both churches (see Landsarkivet for Sjælland 13. Vor Frue pastorat. B. 3. Vor Frue Kirkes kommunionsbog, December 2, 1841–July 7, 1848, and Landsarkivet for Sjælland 6.

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Helligånds pastorat. B. 3. Helligånds Kirkes kommunionsbog, November 23, 1845–December 26, 1851). ― Church of Our Lady: See map 2, B1. ― Holy Spirit Church: See map 2, B2–C2). the Pharisee and the Publican] Refers to Lk 18:9– 14, the gospel text for the eleventh Sunday a�er Trinity, which in 1848 fell on September 3.

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Christ himself says, Will I find faith on the earth[?]] See Lk 18:8. Xt’s saying about one shepherd and one flock] See Jn 10:16. become true Xns] Variant: added “true”. See Luther’s sermon on … the flock of believers, etc.] Variant: added. Kierkegaard cites word for word from Luther’s sermon on the gospel for the second Sunday a�er Easter, Jn 10:11–16, in En christelig Postille sammendragen af Dr. Morten Luthers Kirke- og Huuspostiller [A Collection of Christian Sermons, Gathered from Dr. Martin Luther’s Collections of Sermons for Church and Home], trans. J. Thisted, 2 vols. (Copenhagen, 1828; ASKB 283), vol. 1, pp. 294–302; p. 302. The next lines of the sermon read as follows: “Therefore the holy gospel must be preached all the time, so that one can always get some souls christened, for God’s kingdom is to come, it has not yet been fulfilled.”

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do everything for her] i.e., for Regine Schlegel (→ 83,16). I am rlly the guarantor of her marriage] See entry NB7:10 in this volume and → 83,16. only now, a�er 7 years’ time … my thoughts concerning her] In Notebook 8 from 1841 Kierkegaard had wri�en a series of entries concerning his relationship with Regine: Not8:2–5 in KJN 3, 221– 222; Not8:13 in KJN 3, 223–224; Not8:15 in KJN 3, 224–225; Not8:17–18 in KJN 3, 225; Not8:20 in KJN 3, 226; Not8:22–32 in KJN 3, 227–229; Not8:34 in KJN 3, 230; Not8:42 in KJN 3, 232; entry Not8:24 was crossed out by Kierkegaard. Kierkegaard had also wri�en entries concerning his relationship with Regine in Journal JJ from 1843, but he subsequently deleted them, in some cases by tearing out the pages, in other cases by covering the

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writing with scribbling; see entries JJ:107 in KJN 2, 161; JJ:115 in KJN 3, 164–166; JJ:140 in KJN 3, 171, JJ:145 in KJN 3, 173–174. Kierkegaard did not delete an entry about Regine wri�en in the next year; see entry JJ:279 in KJN 3, 209. See also the “Critical Account of the Text of Journal JJ” (KJN 3, 464–465). Kierkegaard also wrote a number of entries concerning Regine in Journal NB5 from 1848, though without mentioning her by name; see NB5:63, to which Kierkegaard alludes in the margin of the present entry (→ 90m,1), NB5:64 in KJN 4, 400, and NB5:126–128 in KJN 4, 422–423. At that time … as benevolent to her as possible] Refers to Kierkegaard’s first a�empt, on August 11, 1841, to break his engagement. Kierkegaard writes about this in an entry titled “My Relationship to Her,” from ca. September 1, 1849: “I send her ring to her in a le�er that is printed word for word in the ‘Psychological Experiment’” (NB12:122 in KJN 6; SKS 22, 216). See “‘Guilty?’ / ‘Not Guilty?’” in Stages on Life’s Way (SLW, 185– 494; SKS 6, 173–454), where the contents of the le�er are given as follows: “So as not to have to rehearse yet again something which must, in the end, be done; something which, when it has been done, will surely give the strength that is needed; let it be done, then. Above all, forget the person who writes this; forgive a person who, whatever he might have been capable of, was incapable of making a girl happy” (SLW, 329–330; SKS 6, 307). that time of hysteria] i.e., the period between his a�empt to break the engagement, on August 11, 1841, and the final break on October 11 of that year. She transgressed the boundary … do to another] Kierkegaard is probably referring to the circumstance that Regine, a�er having received the le�er and the ring on August 11, 1841, a�empted to talk with Kierkegaard in his apartment on Nørregade. See the entry “My Relationship to Her” (→ 90,11): “Instead of now le�ing the ma�er remain decided, she goes up to my apartment in my absence and writes me a note of u�er despair in which she beseeches me for the sake of Jesus Christ and the memory of my late father, not to leave her” (NB12:122 in KJN 6; SKS 22, 216).

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The moment I die … everything is ready] A�er Kierkegaard’s death on November 11, 1855, an undated testament addressed to his brother, P. C. Kierkegaard, was found among his papers: “It is, of course, my will that my former fiancée, Mrs. Regine Schlegel, should inherit unconditionally whatever li�le I may leave behind. If she herself refuses to accept it, it is to be offered to her on the condition that she distribute it to the poor. What I wish to express is that for me an engagement was and is just as binding as a marriage, and that therefore my estate is to revert to her in exactly the same manner as if I had been married to her” (LD, 33; B&A 1, 25). but see Journal NB5 p. 65, bo�om] See entry NB5:63 in KJN 4, 399: “If I dared to be reconciled with her, this would be my only wish, it would be a profound joy to me. But I bear her marriage on myself. If she were to get any assurance from me as to how she was and is loved―then she would regret her marriage. What sustains her, however, is the thought that no ma�er how much she indeed saw in me and admired me and loved me, I have nevertheless acted shabbily toward her. She was not religious enough to stand alone with an unhappy love―and I have never dared to risk helping her directly; it has cost me suffering enough.”

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would not be far] Variant: first wri�en “would not be afraid”; Kierkegaard replaced bange (Danish, “afraid”) with langt (Danish, “far”).

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that single individual] See entry NB2:3 from May 1847, where Kierkegaard refers to “the category ‘the individual’ … which is so tied to my name that I could wish ‘that single individual’ might be inscribed on my grave” (KJN 4, 135).

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his life’s destiny was to be a sacrifice?] See The Point of View for My Work as an Author (→ 98,26): “The idea that in each generation there are two or three people who are sacrificed for the others, whose frightful sufferings serve to discover things that will benefit the others―this is a thought that goes very far back in my memory; it was in this melancholic fashion that I understood myself, that

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I was destined for this” (PV, 81; SV2 13, 606–607). ― sacrifice?: Variant: changed from “sacrifice,” with the comma apparently indicating that the sentence was to continue. The Exemplar teaches … the most burdensome suffering] Probably an allusion to Mt 27:46. livings-people] i.e., priests, professional clerics. The Danish word used here is Levebrøds-Msker, literally “people with livings.” Kierkegaard frequently uses the words et Levebrød, literally “a life-bread,” to mean “a living” in the sense of an ecclesiastical living, i.e., an income a�ached to a pastoral call. The entire ba�le about orthodoxy and heterodoxy] The dispute about which dogmatic views were consistent with true (Lutheran) doctrines. there are 1000 priests, something close to 2 million Christians] According to the census of February 1, 1845, the population of the kingdom of Denmark was 1,350,327, among whom only 5,371 belonged to a Christian denomination other than the Evangelical Lutheran Church, while even fewer were non-Christians, namely, the 3,670 Jews. See Statistisk Tabelværk [Statistical Tables], 1st ser., no. 10 (Copenhagen, 1846), pp. iii, xiv. According to this same census, 1,018 people had appointments as clergy or worked as church employees or teachers (p. 68). I say that I have not known any Christian] See entry NB7:26: “I have never seen a thoroughgoing Xn” in the present volume. assertions of orthodoxy and a�acks on heterodoxy] → 93,25. less strenuous.] Variant: first wri�en “less strenuous,” with the comma apparently indicating that the sentence was to continue. the single individual] → 92,26. Modern times … believe that solitude only has reality as a punishment] Refers to a commi�ee report from the Roskilde-based Advisory Assembly of Estates concerning the improvement of the prison system, inspired by the American experiment with the use of solitary confinement as a

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form of punishment that was also supposed to improve the criminals morally. A majority of the commi�ee suggested the use of the “Philadelphia system,” which involved total isolation, with the prisoner in solitary confinement day and night, while a minority preferred the relative isolation of the “Auburn” or “New York system,” which “required the actual separation of the prisoners in solitary cells at night or during rest periods, but work in common with others during the day, though under strict rules of silence, whereby an ideal separation took the place of actual separation.” See Tidende for Forhandlinger ved Provindsialstænderne for Sjællands, Fyens og LollandsFalsters Sti�er samt for Færøerne [The Journal of the Proceedings of the Provincial Estates for Zealand, Funen, Lolland-Falster, and the Faroe Islands] (Copenhagen, 1842), no. 38, vol. 1, col. 599. (see an earlier note)] See entry NB:152: “It is a frightful satir