Kierkegaard's Journals and Notebooks, Volume 6: Journals NB11 - NB14 9781400845330

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KIERKEGAARD’S JOURNALS AND NOTEBOOKS

BRU CE H. KIRM MSE A ND K. BRIAN SÖDERQUIST G EN E RA L EDITORS

KIERKEGAARD’S JOURNALS AND NOTEBOOKS VOLUME 6 Journals NB11–14

Volume Edited by Niels Jørgen Cappelørn, Alastair Hannay, 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 6, Journals NB11–NB14 Originally published under the titles Søren Kierkegaards Skri�er: 22 Journalerne NB11–NB14 and Søren Kierkegaards Skri�er: K22 Kommentarer til Journalerne NB11–NB14 © 2005 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 © 2012 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: 978-0-691-15553-1 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 Skri�er, 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

CO NTENTS

Introduction

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

vii

Journal NB 11 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1

Journal NB 12 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

141

Journal NB 13 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

271

Journal NB 14 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

343

Notes for Journal NB 11 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Notes for Journal NB 12 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

443

Notes for Journal NB 13 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Notes for Journal NB 14 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

579

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

687

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

693

Maps

Calendar

495 619

699

vii

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 “Introduction 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 of KJN contain the translated text of these eleven SKS volumes,

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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 “II”); 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 abovementioned 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 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. Rasmus 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 M “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 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 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 EthicalReligious 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 Knudsen, 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 NB11

JOURNAL NB11 Translated by George Pa�ison and K. Brian Söderquist Edited by K. Brian Söderquist

Text source Journal NB11 in Søren Kierkegaards Skri�er Text established by Finn Gredal Jensen and Kim Ravn

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NB11 May 2, 1849.

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The decisive place in this journal is No . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . No . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . No . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . the decisive . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . continued . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

p. 126. pp. 217 and ff. p. 235. p. 236. pp. 240 and ff. pp. 251 and ff.

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Luther’s sermon on the gospel for Epiphany is worth reading again and again, especially the first part.

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“Wer ist, der sich wider den Herrn gesetzt hat, und der Ruhe hat haben können?” Job 9:4, quoted in Fenelon 2nd vol. p. 66.

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And while things are so ridiculously pe�y that I―who have yet to be seriously reviewed in Danish literature―become prey to the mob, authors a[nd] o[thers] plagiarize me, all the same. They’re a hit that way, but they don’t name me; no, they even delight a bit in my persecution by the mob. In truth, it’s the greatest punishment God could devise for anyone: to make him an extraordinary figure―in a market town. The ma�er satisfies me religiously; I can never thank God enough for the unbelievable good he has bestowed upon me, so much more than I could have expected.

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5 Wer ist … haben können] German, Who has resisted the Lord, and found peace?

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If anything is to be said about my activity as an author, it could be done in such a way that a third person is created, the author, who would be a synthesis of myself and the pseudonym, and he could speak directly about it. In that case, only an introduction would be needed in which this author were introduced, and then he could say everything in �rst person. The introduction would point out that the whole authorship is a unit; but I wouldn’t be the pseudonym, nor the pseudonym me; this “author” would thus be a synthesis of the pseudonym and me.

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All hum. religiosity, including Jewish religiosity, culminates in the words of Solomon (or David): I have been young, and have become old, but never have I seen the righteous abandoned by God. Merciful God. And then there’s Xt, who says: My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me; and it’s Christianity that makes this entire earthly existence into suffering, crucifixion. How can one then find a mild ethic in Christianity!

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May 4. NB. There has indeed been a terrible degree of melancholia in all the thoughts with which I’ve plagued myself recently concerning my activities as an author. But the thing is, I wanted to be so terribly clever―rather than relying on faith and prayer. I wanted to secure a comfortable future and sit somewhere remote―and write. O, alas! No, God takes care. And another “poet” is certainly not what the age needs. And if I became a poet, I’d be forgetting to seek God’s kingdom �rst. First, a living, a post (which I might not even be good at)―and then writing. That’s why I’ve suffered so terribly. It’s my punishment. I’ve also suffered because I wouldn’t commit, because I wanted to remain free, because I wanted to shy away from the crucial decision. All the hypochondriac nonsense about whether I might have positioned myself too highly, which is foreign to my soul, stems from this. And where should I go? My life is indeed characterized by the fact that it is fruitless to attempt to be forgotten. And if I were to go abroad, I would be plagued by the thought that travel was an escape, cowardice. The moment has arrived―I can let it pass, but then I’ll have an eternity to feel remorse over the fact that I let it pass; and then I’d be weakened so much that I wouldn’t be a human being any longer. Now the two essays are being published: [“D]oes a Human Being Have the Right to Let Himself Be Put to Death for the Truth?[”] and [“]The Difference between a Genius and an Apostle[”]―though they will be published anonymously. Today, May 5th, they were sent to Gjødvad. It was easier for me earlier, but this time prudence has played some nasty tricks on me. That’s understandable; my life is getting harder and harder―my economic situation is especially distressful. If I let this “moment” pass, the entire point and posture of the production will be lost; the second edition of Either/Or will overwhelm everything. But I wanted to play lord, decide for myself, justify myself before God with hypochondriacal evasion and thus take everything that has been given to me as little more than a simple pleasure.

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Deuteronomy 33:9―“who said of his father and mother, ‘I regard them not’; he ignored his kin, and did not acknowledge his children.” Here, indeed, we find a religiosity that corresponds to Christianity: to hate one’s father and mother for Xt’s sake. I was made aware of this passage in Luther’s sermon on the gospel about the marriage in Cana.

“Faith made us masters; love made us servants,” says Luther in the sermon on the gospel for the third Sunday a�er Epiphany. In the same gospel (about the leper), we read that Xt says to the leper: Go, show yourself to the priests as a witness to them. In the last phrase there is a real ambiguity, which Luther also emphasizes. “As a witness to them,” i.e., that they may witness it, but also, that it may be a witness against them given that they themselves ought to believe in Xt.

The collision presented in the essay (“Does a Hum. Being Have the Right to Let Himself Be Put to Death for the Truth?”) is an intellectual/ethical collision. Another ma�er is whether, e.g., a person can force another to commit a crime, to do something illegal, etc. The collision is that of a thinker against the world and against hum. beings; and in order to show the intellectual aspect most clearly, it is presupposed that a pers. has the right to let himself be put to death for the truth if the conflict is heathen vs. Xn. But if it is Xn vs. Xn, where both parties have the fundamental truth in common, where the difference in intellect is set more strongly in relief: then the essay indicates that he does have the right to do so.

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NB. Something about the essay: Does a Hum. Being Have the Right to Let Himself Be Put to Death for the Truth? [b]

This

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[a] NB. Something about the essay: Does a Hum. Being Have the Right to Let Himself be Put to Death for the Truth?

If the essay (“Does a Hum. Being Have the Right to Let Himself Be Put to Death for the Truth?”) were to end in a totally and unconditionally humoristic way, then this remark would be added to H.H.’s last words: And concerning the question that causes or caused that pers. so much trouble, my answer is: [“]Well, hell no, a hum being doesn’t have the right![”]

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Di�o.

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In a way, this is an exaggeration, it’s too rigorous; in addition, this pseudonym would be too reminiscent of the older ones, without being like them. The whole passage can therefore be deleted. If something like that is to be included, it should only be a few words, and they shouldn’t be humoristic, but unambiguously passionate.

It’s for the sake of seriousness that the li�le humoristic flourish by H.H. at the end of the essay (“Does a Hum. Being Have the Right to Let Himself Be Put to Death for the Truth?”) ought to remain. Literary pieces imagine that they’re serious and seek to give that impression to the reader―that’s just what makes them less serious. The humoristic conclusion shows that the piece is conscious of the fact that a work of literature is never serious―only reality is. It’s more or less a joke to write about seriousness; it is seriousness is to be serious.

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O, alas, alas. Because of the fear of danger, my hypochondria, and a lack of trust in God, I’ve wanted to regard my own person as inferior to the gi�s that I’ve been given, as if taking ownership of those gi�s would defraud the truth, and as if viewing myself as inferior weren’t in fact an act of defrauding God and the truth. And yet it seemed to me so humble. O, hypochondria, hypochondria! Hmnly speaking, there’s certainly nothing fun or pleasant about being the extraord. one in these pe�y circumstances we have in Denmark; it’s becoming painful. But God has overwhelmed me with kindness, granted me so indescribably much more than I expected; and he (both by means of the abundance he has granted me during the past year―and its sufferings) has led me to understand my destiny (true enough, it’s different from what I had originally imagined, but the path had already begun to change early on: the entire religious production, indeed, the entire production that followed Either/Or, is not what I had originally imagined and I certainly couldn’t have understood everything all at once); If I were fail now, it would be because I prudently retracted it all out of fear about my income; in that case, I’d become a poet, i.e., religiously understood, a deceiver. No, no, nor had I originally imagined that I would have had to choose between becoming an auth., in character, or becoming a priest out in the countryside, never again u�ering a word as poet or auth. It looks dark out, and yet I’m very much at peace. This day, my birthday, will be an unforge�able day for me!

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What stupidity! In a li�le article about the propensity of hum. beings to heed warnings, which I found while thumbing through Jens Møller’s periodical (it’s found in the 6th volume, pp. 118ff.), I see that he says that the drawing of lots has been sanctioned in a protestant congregation, namely the Moravian Brethren. Aber. The Moravians do this, among other reasons, just to cool off the flesh and blood. Marriage is thus decided by lot. With regard to eros, it’s impossible to imagine a crueler or more shocking method, or a method be�er calculated to destroy romantic dreaming. However, I think that in a certain sense the Moravians have chosen the Christian way. It is precisely Christian to reduce eros to a ma�er of indifference and to make marriage a duty. Thus, it doesn’t ma�er at all what girl you end up with. It is your duty to get married.

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This, too, was doubly cowardly of Goldschmidt: If there had been even the hint of an idea in his newspaper, he would have first and foremost have taken aim at me. But he didn’t. No, he was far too cowardly for that: he fla�ered me―and he knew how vacuous his paper was. And when he got a chance to a�ack me, he did it. It’s a new case of cowardice that that kind of paper would defend itself by saying: He asked for it himself. In truth, for G. to look like a respectable pers. again, a public apology would have to be demanded, and it would have to be of such a kind that it could be republished in the newspaper every eighth day for an entire year. And one could also rightfully demand that he make an a�empt to repay the blood money he’s earned and donate it to charity―even Judas was that honest: he gave the money back.

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7 Aber] German, But.

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Hum. beings, we hum. beings, are like that: it’s so satisfying to find a new and ingenious expression for hum. depravity, selfishness, etc. But to be unselfish, well, we’re happy to postpone that.

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Hmnly speaking, it’s possible to say that if there were no God, it would be easy; for in that case, you could rely on your own intelligence. But God forces you to do just the opposite. How o�en I’ve said to myself that it would be smartest to simply put down my pen, travel, and enjoy myself in order to show everyone that I don’t give a damn about them. Then I’d be appreciated. The crazy thing is to continue as an auth.; hum. beings are children and they get bored with you if you don’t treat them like children. That’s rlly what Heiberg does; but it doesn’t quite work when I’m standing at his side saying just the opposite. I’ve discovered that this is the right method. There were a couple of peop. I really liked, but I was worried that they’d misunderstood me. I thought they treated me coldly and badly. I visited them more o�en, took care of them. [It] didn’t help. Then I changed my method: I became more distant, visited them less, conversed with them in a distinguished way―that helped. They became the model of a�entiveness. O hmnity!

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There are excellent things in Luther’s sermon on the gospel reading in which Xt boards the boat; among other things, his ref[erence] to the delusion of a piteous a�itude completely occupied with “peace,” a piety that seeks proof of the fear of God therein. Bishop Mynster’s leadership is, in general, neither more nor less than worldly prudence; and as far as that goes, he’s done great harm.

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All those thoughts about running the risk of being put to death, etc., were just hypochondria, and yet something that hypochondria came up with because I was getting tired and wanted to act prudently. But it’s true that my lot is a sad one: To be the object of the envy of a few distinguished people (who nonetheless express themselves rather crudely at times) and then the daily insults from the mob on top of it. And then the fact that if someone earnestly lives for that sake of an idea in this world, he appears to be something like a wrecked subject. Humanly speaking, there is something pleasant about having secure employment, comfort; there is something agreeable about working for a living.―And then there are only two classes of people who come together in the opposite kind of life. Wrecked subjects, fallen persons―and those who seriously and truly live for an idea. Ah, and in the eyes of the world, it’s far too easy to confuse the two. I’m again about to publish, and it’s true that this time I bear a greater burden than ever before. I’m also more solemn and ceremonious, but perhaps also more essentially resolute than before. It’s true, the burden, the weight is greater; but the production is also richer than ever. That’s how Governance coaxes me forward bit by bit. When I shouldered the weight of vulgar insults, the production was also much richer. Now that an even heavier weight―worry about my income―has been added to the previous one, the production has never been as rich. In the material about to be published, there are things so decisive for Christianity, that it is nothing less than a discovery. But I had to get that close to the thought of stopping before I picked up momentum again. I had wanted so much a quiet life in which I could thank God for all the good he has done for me; but perhaps I’ll only �nd this quiet situation in eternity. Now―this life is also a time of work. I hope to God that I can thank him in this life through the obedience with which I endure my work.

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Above all, I must watch out for a distressed spirit. It looks―or looked―so sensible[:] I could just as well take a post out in the countryside, in tranquil security, and at the same time, as poet, work qua an auth. But the question is whether or not it would have ended in a complete paralysis if I’d done it, as punishment that I’d withdrawn in prudence and cowardice, and had reduced the price. Neither in this case will God be mocked. And, humanly speaking, the position I’m taking with this step, as auth., is not absolutely de�nitive, and it’s also possible that, humanly speaking, fortune will smile upon me right now, qua auth. I stick closely to the notion of being a poet and dialectician; I claim neither to be an extraord. Christian, nor even less an apostle or something of that sort, not even remotely (I, who �ght to give “the apostle” his due). But I don’t avoid the danger of reality. I point out that I am [“]more[”] than a poet, but that [“]more[”] belongs to my essence. If I am to become a civil servant, I must essentially cease to be an auth.

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for the time being as well as

I had once considered le�ing the essay “Come unto Me, All You Who Labor and Are Heavy Laden” accompany the second edition of Either/Or. In that case, the “Preface” that is now in “Three Godly Discourses” would have been used. Only a few lines would have been added[:] “― ― it will remind him of it, but it will also let him sense and understand that this time is a second time of edification.”

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A preface to A Cycle of Ethical-Religious Essays, a book that never existed because it was divided into smaller parts[:] This book was wri�en before 48. This, by the way, is insignificant compared with the degree to which it contains a truth that is equally significanta for all time. For either it contains some truth, in which case it is insignificant that is was wri�en before 48; or it contains no truth, in which case it is equally insignificant that it was wri�en before 48―unless the year 48 inverted everything so inhumanly and to such a degree that what was previously considered wisdom is now folly, and even the greatest folly is now wisdom, whether it was said before or a�er that remarkable year, 48, which, in its “great commotion,” brought about a rambling discussion among an entire militia disguised as “thinkers,” and gave the “thinkers” a chance to go on vacation.

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Christianly speaking, it is a plain duty to seek suffering, in the same sense that, strictly hmnly speaking, it is a duty to seek pleasure.

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When all is said and done, a play like The World Wants to Be Deceived―or even the existence of such a play―is an appalling judgment against the age, a confession of the corruption of the age. Corrupt ages have been seen before, and every age is more or less corrupt. But then there was also someone or other who perceived, more deeply, the corruption of the age―and he emancipated himself from it, fought against it, perhaps became the

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victim, eh bien, but that was also a sign of the fact that there was still some truth le�. But that fact that the perceptive, authentic, thoroughly realistic understanding of the corruption of the age is expressed not in a penitentiary sermon, but rather in a wi�y theatrical piece, guided by the fundamental thought that this is just how the world is, this is how we are, no one is be�er than anyone else, let’s just forget everything and have a good time. Good God, how horrific! And then a society like that is allowed to call itself Christian. It’s obvious, though. Like the rest of it, it’s a lie (as Scribe says) that everyone repeats and that no one is deceived by, because everyone knows it’s a lie. It is a lie. The only truth is that priests make a living. O, that I could be so weighted down by melancholia that I, out of fear of God, out of fear that I would arrogate something to myself, that I wanted to be―a poet. A poet! Really, yet another poet[?] That is just as insane as the person who decided to get married at the same moment, the very same moment, that his house was on fire. A poet, now[?] Now, when what we really need are martyrs, thousands of them if possible, the real rescue crew. I’ve been afraid of aiming too high, and then doing damage later on because I was unable live up to it. But that’s melancholia. I can handle the mistreatment, even more mistreatment―and I don’t need anything more than that, either. How easy it would have been if I, too, had just thrown myself into the same disgusting rut by just taking care of myself, by living in respectable obscurity―truly a respectable obscurity when one disrespectfully uses obscurity to avoid dangers. Thus, whatever the cost, I thank my God again and again that I became a�entive to it, that nastiness was my first caretaker and that it made sure that I wouldn’t arrive in eternity only to figure out that I’d thrown my life away―in respectable obscurity. At times, when I think about Bishop Mynster, I’m almost gripped with anxiety and fear on his behalf. He’s 72 years old now. He will soon be on his way―to be judged. And what harm he’s done to Christianity by conjuring up a false appearance―so that he could sit there and rule. His sermons are just what they ought to be―but in eternity he won’t preach―he’ll be judged. I think constantly of only one thing: that I never become so busy that I forget to sorrow over my sins and reflect on how I have transgressed. O, it is so difficult for a penitent to move forward resolutely, because he continually feels paralyzed by the thought that he is a penitent. 1 eh bien] French, fine.

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It can’t really be said that the world lacks knowledge of the good; indeed, it is precisely peop. of the world who most o�en have a highly developed eye for genuine generosity, selflessness, etc. As soon as they notice someone who―they must admit― strives for excellence, then envy focuses the powers of observation on judging him as harshly as possible; indeed, they a�empt to put every possible obstacle in his way so he might stumble in self-interest, etc. For they say, Why should he be be�er than us? They don’t rlly hate the good, but in envy, they don’t want anyone to be what they themselves are not. This is more or less Scribe’s frame of mind: he doesn’t hate the good; to the contrary, he presumably respects it quite highly, even with a certain abstract enthusiasm, but he doesn’t want anyone to be good; his enviousness doesn’t want it because he doesn’t live well himself. When the angels see a pers. who sincerely wills the good, even in weakness, they hasten to help him forward. God help the pers. who is discovered by the world to really be willing the good, or at least is still struggling to do so.

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NB. This is the world-movement, if you will, the con�ict between two notions that my authorship takes account of: the interesting―the simple. The age was, and is, lost in the interesting; the movement should be toward the simple. I was therefore in eminent possession of the interesting (that’s what the age demanded). There is hardly an auth.―absolutely none in Denmark―who in any way could challenge my rank as the only essential one of his kind: to be, qua auth., the interesting [itself]. If I’d falsi�ed my mission, I would have become the hero and idol of the times; in that case I would have abandoned a development toward the simple and converted all my energy into the interesting, into the times. I remained, eternally understood, faithful to my mission and became the martyr of the times, and this is precisely proof that I remained true to my mission. God be praised; I owe it all to him. For my part, there is absolutely nothing meritorious in any of it. In part, I have worked as a genius, often only understanding that I’d done the right thing after the fact. In part, I’ve been bound, as if in the service of a higher power, by a congenital melancholia and an excruciating thorn in the �esh, as well as by the fact that I am, personally, a penitent.

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Perhaps it would be best sometime to write a book titled:

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The Life of Xt portrayed by S. Kierkegaard Johan. de cruce,

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Maybe it doesn’t work so well to use a pseudonym here.

Precisely when the religious is at its truest, it’s almost as if the understanding must, in a sense, smile at it―and refrain from believing. What Luther says about prayer is so refreshing and rejuvenating: one should be bold in prayer, really implore and pester God―he likes it, it really pleases him. Here the understanding might say: Yes, that’s fine, but it is still dangerous to pray like that if it’s really my primary desire to get something; a�er all, if it pleases God, he could just refuse to give me what I ask for simply in order that I become more and more pleasing to him, inasmuch as my imploring becomes more and more fervent. To this must be answered: Drivel. One of Luther’s immortal contributions, and the surest testimony of how tried and tested he was, is this: he invented the category of drivel as the only reply to doubt―unless one prefers to say with Hamann: Bah! But I prefer Luther’s way, who quite differently expresses the inertia of striving, which in fear and trembling refuses to hear any drivel. Hamann’s way is more humorous, but also more carefree and thus less serious. Perhaps one thinks it’s a joke to say [“]Drivel[”] to doubt―O, in truth, the one who has had to defend himself with this reply, he knows what seriousness is. To get involved with doubt, that’s a joke; to entertain it a li�le bit, that’s also a joke; but to say nothing but [“]Drivel[”] shows that the issue is serious, and that one takes it seriously.

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Somewhere I must have wri�en an aphorism that goes something like this: The fact that there are so many words in language such as drivel, crock, boloney, gab, blather, cha�er, etc., is really a kind of consolation. If there weren’t any words like that in the language, one would have to worry that everything was cha�er. It’s not alarming that there are so many words in language for that kind of thing; it would be alarming if there weren’t a single one.

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“But these things are wri�en for our consolation, that we might know: where one devil tempts us, there are many angels that minister to us.” Luther, in the sermon on the gospel account of the temptations of Xt.

The earthliness of earthly goods. The proof that they aren’t goods in and of themselves lies in the fact that they only become goods when others consider them to be goods. The first indication of spiritual goods, by which they’re recognized as goods in and of themselves, is the fact that it doesn’t ma�er if others consider them to be good or not. Take money, take any earthly good whatsoever[:] if you live in a country where it isn’t considered valid, if there were nowhere you could travel to where it were valid, then the money isn’t valid. That’s how it is with all earthly goods. If someone who possesses an earthly good, si ita dicere licet, lives in an area where no one considers it to be a good, he’s taken to be mad and, in fact, he is mad. It’s quite different for someone who possesses a spiritual good that no one considers to be a good. It is nonetheless a good in the fullest sense; he’s taken to be mad, but he’s the wisest.

27 si ita dicere licet] Latin, if this may be said.

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The didactic treatment of the life of Xt―dividing the life of Christ into paragraphs, the systematic treatment and everything that belongs with it―is nonsense. A new path may be, and must be, blazed. To that end, I’ve thought it best to use the poetic. I think that hum. analogies―when, please note, the qualitative difference betw. God-Man and hum. is respected―can help illustrate it, can help give a more vital impression of the gospel again. Xnty, or the gospel, has become trivial to peop.b because it’s been familiar to them for such a long time and they’ve learned it by rote. If peop. were to judge the lives of Xt and the apostles impartially, they would rlly have to say that they were all objects of fantasy. It’s really a ma�er of doing something to make the life of Xt present and intimate. This, I think, is the merit of the li�le essay. Artistically, and with the help of hum. analogies, possibility has replaced facticity. And possibility is precisely what awakens. The li�le essay also discovers and brings to light the sympathetic collision, without which Xt is taken in vain and made hum. The concepts are “responsibility,” “sacrifice,” and several others that are emphasized. Finally, the li�le essay contains an indirect proof for the claim that Xt is God. Eminent reflection and its corresponding eminent consciousness in a human being demand that he protest against being put to death. Only God-Man could bear to be conscious, from the outset, of the fact that it would end with his being put to death, without that consciousness becoming a hindrance. In a sense, being put to death is one of those things that must be done right away. Most hum. beings who have been put to death have therefore also lacked this infinite consciousness. Only in God-Man is this infinite consciousness united with absolute knowledge and absolute resolve. In gnrl, however, one can assume that those who have been put to death have best imitated Xt insofar as hum. beings can do so. But it must also be remembered that this is only the case for immed[iacy]. In

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reflection, the highest expression of human likeness to God-Man is the admission that no hum. being has the right to allow himself to be put to death. In that essay, there are crucial new thoughts; the entire problem has been presented in a completely original way.

If anyone thinks that there is an allusion to my existence as an author in the li�le essay, the answer is as follows: 1) I do indeed have the right to present things like this in a poetic way: and if my life happens to have some similarities to it, it is nothing but modesty to present it as fiction rather than asserting that I really am such a person. It is immodest for a pers. to fictionalize himself as something more than he is. It is modest, however, to present what he perhaps really is, as fiction. If I’d given 10 rd to the poor, it would be immodest to create a character (if some exchange were possible) that had given 1000 rd. But if someone really had given 1000 rd, it would be modest to present it as fiction rather than saying: I’ve really done it. But none of this ma�ers, for I’m completely within my right to create fiction, and it’s stupidity if a reader wants to start cha�ering about who the auth. is and what he thinks of himself. Moreover, in the preface, H. H. has noted that the book will only be of real interest to theologians, so the emphasis has been placed on the theological content. And finally, a passage in the second essay contains the most crucial evidence that proves that I have continually been on guard against the pretension that I am the extraordinary one. I am “without authority,” I am a genius―not an apostle, and even less am I, in a deranged way, something infinitely higher than an apostle. But such a person may be presented. I have made great efforts to avoid this finite drivel. But peop. might nonsensically find their way into it nonetheless.

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Thus, this li�le essay itself does what it talks about: One ought to give some ground, make some concessions―here by removing the doubly reflective humoristic part that makes the message ambiguous. It wasn’t in the original manuscript but was added later, and then removed again in the end. I myself gave a bit of ground in my auth. project by only producing straightforward religious pieces a�er the Concl. Postscript.

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I would also like to add a humoristic twist at the end; that would make me most happy. But I’ll accommodate by refraining. For peop. are rather foolish, and I must be careful when using the humorous unity of jest and seriousness so that I don’t confuse them.

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Christ says to Paul: I’ll show you how much you’ll suffer for my sake. That’s how it always is in immediacy. But it’s different with reflection. With reflection, peop. are removed from an immed. relation to God, and that’s why another movement of reflection is required first, which takes them so far out that Governance can get a real grip on them. In our day, peop. remain in first reflection, in the reflection in which they remain outside an immed. relationship to God; God and humnty don’t come into contact with each other at all. It goes without saying that when I name Paul, one must always remember the paradoxical distinction that distinguishes him from other hum. beings: the fact that he is an apostle.

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A Word about Essay No. 1 in Two Ethical-Religious Essays. And about a Companion Piece to It. In truth, there isn’t the slightest bit of information about my life. The point with my life is this: I am a penitent, who believes that this kind of suffering is a form of penance and believes that only a penitent is rlly cruel enough and tough enough to serve the truth, because, otherwise, an exalted purity is required that it is surely rare among hum. beings. But being a penitent is inspiring. An account like that could be a counterpart to this kind of essay: A penitent like that (that is, in one sense as far from purity and perfec[tion] as possible), who voluntarily serves the truth until he is sacrificed.

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But such a piece can’t be done poetically. Seriousness requires that if there is to be talk like this, it must be done straightforwardly and in my own name, and it must straightforwardly admit: this is my life. That’s always how I’ve thought about it, and that’s how I’ve done it in all the straightforward pronouncements about my work as an auth. that are now finished.

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That true humility and pride are identical can also be seen in the fact that there’s something very prideful in saying: I fear only God―and nothing else. And yet only this is fear of God. For it isn’t genuine fear of God to fear God and something else as well.

The Relationship betw. the Two Essays by H. H. To let oneself be put to death for the truth is the expression of possessing absolute truth; corresponding to this is a qualitative difference from other peop.―there we have the apostle. Nonetheless, no hum. being has the right to do so―there we have the genius. Authority is exactly what is required, but the genius has no authority.

The Conclusion of the First of the Two Essays was included, but it was so�ened so that the humoristic part and the double reflection with which the auth. of the piece distances himself from it, were removed. It’s now mild and simple. For a moment, I considered adding: If he had lived in 48, he would have understood clearly thata “awakening” isn’t exactly what’s

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or as it is called in the second essay, a specific qualitative difference.

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This was also included: But it’s true, I’ve already said one thing about him: that he’s dead―it says right on the title page “posthumous.[”] So he’s dead―unless one prefers to say that he’s never existed―for it says right on the title page “poetic experiment.”

needed right now. He could have then sat down―if he hadn’t already answered the question, presumably exhaustively―and wondered if a hum. being has the right to let himself be put to death―in order to stop the wild rebellion. I le� this out, for it detracts from the dogmatic content: does a hum. being [have the right to be put to death], which is a purely dogmatic or religious problem that can be solved just as well in 48 or 47. The whole problem is rlly posed in order to shed light on God-Man.

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But no, let it stand.

How wi�y a typographical error can be! In the second of the two essays, instead of [“]the gi� of working miracles,[”] it read [“]the nuisance [of working miracles.”]

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The entire postscript to essay no. 1 (in two ethicalreligious ess.) is best le� out. For it rlly gets tangled up in nonsense. If I call it a “poetic experiment,” I don’t have the right to say right a�erward that the novelistic, poetic part doesn’t ma�er; and if I say right a�erward that I’m essentially a thinker, then I have problems with the poetic form. It’s enough that it’s on the title page: poetic experiment―the posthumous work of a solitary pers.

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The first essay (of the two small essays) is poetic, but in the same sense as a Platonic dialogue. In order to avoid pure abstraction, the didactic element, [and] in order to bring out personality, a personality of that kind is created. But no more than

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15 gi� … nuisance] See explanatory note.

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that. The novelistic in him, incidentally, is of no value, only his thought gehalt. A work like this corresponds to the unity of “thinker” and “poet.” Such a figure is therefore different from abstract thinkers in that he has a poetic element at his service, but he also differs from a poet in that he essentially stresses the content of thought.

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A good comic figure would be:

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because of the objectivity with which he deals with other peop.’s most vulnerable subjective moments, e.g., death, weddings, etc.

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The instruments of vulgarity knew very well that even with all their writing, they wouldn’t manage to change a single opinion among those who were well informed. But they knew that there is another class in society―simple, good-natured peop. who are naturally unacquainted with literature. It’s these peop. who are used by vulgarity, or who are abused contra naturam. The instrument of vulgarity knows very well that it’s all a lie and an abomination, but it makes money off these peop.―by deceiving and abusing them. It’s no wonder, then, that states demoralize.

In the most ancient of times, judges and prophets watched over a country’s ethos. Later it was traditional for the clergy to do it. Then, because of worldliness, the church doubted―and the “newspapers”―and the public became

2 gehalt] German, content. 23 contra naturam] Latin, contrary to nature.

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ethical authorities! Finally, the most degraded part of the daily press, under the name of satire, kept a watch over ethics! [T]his is something like sending a young girl to a brothel―to safeguard her innocence. 5

My Misfortune, Hmnly Speaking is simply that I’ve been a genius, that I’ve had a strict upbringing in Xnty, that I’ve had money. Without the first, naturally I couldn’t have begun with an enormous burst but would have gradually muddled my way toward my goals; without the second I wouldn’t have had the notion of suffering, which directed me to act contrary to prudence; without the third I wouldn’t have been able to position myself. All three of these things, the first two of which are real goods, have become my misfortune, for peop. think truth and piety are pride and vanity.

R. Nielsen’s book is out. Just as I suspected, even though he has an impression of the wrong I’ve suffered in the interest of truth and of my superiority with regard to the circumstances, he nonetheless thought that if he just used me as a crutch, then he could pull it off[:] he could still become important, perhaps even be a success. That was enthusiasm for the justness of my cause. In truth, he did come to the right one. His writings plunder in a myriad of ways, mostly from the pseudonyms, whom he never cites, perhaps with deliberate cunning because they are the least read. And then my conversations!

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Even here we can see how true it is that a Xn had to suffer for his faith right from the start. Take a poor pers. who really earnestly believes in the miracle of the 5 loaves and the 2 small fish and imagine he lives accordingly: he’ll be laughed at by his neighbors and acquaintances; and if he falls short, he’ll be taunted and ridiculed.

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The thing is, peop. like it if a pers. lives in happy immediacy and thinks [“]Don’t worry, it’ll all work out with God’s help[”] (here just a figure of speech). But if there’s someone who understands just what a livelihood means, understands it be�er than anyone, if he has faith―and he only has “faith” if he does understand it―that’s laughable madness.

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To impart truth is to suffer―if you don’t suffer, you aren’t imparting truth.

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Hmnly speaking, it would be of some comfort if a witness to truth dared to say to his loved ones at his death: See, I’ve suffered―now you’ll have an easy life. But, no, he must say: Now it’s your turn. And that’s how it must be, and shall be, as long as this world continues. This world is the world of untruth, of lies, and to live Christianly in it means to suffer. One of the most difficult movements, therefore, is this: from “poet” to Xn; for the poet is stuck in this world even though he suffers in it. In this respect, a poet can endure much. The only thing he can’t do is let go of the world as Xnty demands. The poet can become more and more miserable but, via imagination, he continues to orient himself toward the world―he never rlly rejects it. Ah, in many ways it’s as if this had been wri�en about me. But there might still be enough of the good in me that I at least dare venture far enough out there that Governance can get hold of me.

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[a] Christ thus makes them completely free. He doesn’t require them to praise him at all; to the contrary, he offers the opposite route by which they can avoid the danger of praising him when he lets them say “he ordered us to be silent”; in this way, it became quite apparent what was going on inside them.

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Christ commanded those he’d healed not to talk about it; but the more he forbade them, the more they did it.―This truth we find in Christ: he didn’t want a sensation. But we also find truth in the others [who were healed]; for it was dangerous to spread words of praise. If those who’d been healed (9 of the lepers for whom this was the case, for example) had been cowardly and prudent, they would have said: The Lord himself forbids it―ergo we’ll remain silent, for that’s his will, a�er all. Such collisions still frequently happen in life. It might be someone’s duty, in the denial of self-interest, to remain silent―but it doesn’t follow that it isn’t contemptible to take advantage of it, claiming that it’s his will.

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hasn’t gained any ground; to the contrary, ground has been lost. He doesn’t have enough dialectical skill, insight, or sound judgment to steer the rapids. The position in question is the unqualified passion with which faith understands itself to be a secret and understands that it must be and must remain a secret; and thus faith must not, for anything in the world, exchange even a single word with doubt or allow itself to be placed opposite doubt; it must have nothing to do with going into particulars. For ge�ing into particulars is nothing but doubt. That’s the secret of the Christian tactic. But R. N., who is a mediocre tactician, comes up with the idea of placing doubt and faith in juxtaposition and then starts the debate. Ah, he’s confused like all the others; [it is] a kind of vanity to believe that one should be able to give highly rational grounds, etc.―instead of admi�ing that the self-denying ethical project is to say: it is incomprehensible―and not a word more. How do you keep a secret? The simplest and surest way is to keep it ethically. If you do it that way, you won’t have anything to do with prudence,

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but will instead say: It’s a secret, entrusted to me as a secret; it is my ethical duty to keep it; at the threat of death, I will keep it. I’m not saying this to provoke you to put me to the test to see if I indeed have the courage to remain silent until death, no, I ask you rather to let me go in peace―but if it must be, in the name of God, I will remain silent.―The other path is that of prudence. You act like the wise man, who knows how to hide it so extraord. cleverly. That is, you’re cheated of the secret. In principle, prudence is always cheated. For prudence is only the wisdom of finitude, but eternally speaking, the wisdom of finitude is deception. It can happen at times that you’re smarter than others―but conceptually speaking, prudence is always cheated. The position is, and remains, the absolute qualitative passion with which faith understands this as its ethical duty: at any price, to refrain from having anything to do with the a�empt to understand it. It [this position] says: Because faith abhors speaking blasphemously, God forbid that these words ever pass my lips: [“]I can understand it.[”] But what does R. N. do? Relying on me and my dialectic, trusting that it has exerted enough pressure, he runs back and forth ina�entively and sometimes in a foolhardy way. A�er si�ing and ruminating a great deal about particular details, he thinks he’s capable of challenging doubt―and he gets involved with particular details. Now the position is lost. And I, a born dialectician, haven’t even a�empted such a thing―and he thinks he can do it. Ah, the thing is, he is neither a dialectician nor does he have the concept of the passion of faith. No more essentially than Mag. Adler had given up Hegel has R. N. rid himself of his old ways. It might look like it, but with my eye of the police investigator, I instantly detected the counterfeit. His entire position lacks absolute dialectical passion―and the result will be that he has supplied a bunch of ecclesiastical cha�erheads with a new apparatus for cha�ering up a storm about one thing and then another.

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I’m tempted to say to him in print: “If you do that again, I’ll be forced to outflank you and a�ack―be�er yet, I think I’ll do it right now.”

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It’s really true. If you want to reduce the speed of infinity, if you’re afraid that it’s taking you off course, then take on just one disciple; with each single disciple you accept, you reduce the speed more and more. Finitely, the opposite applies; peop. think their cause gains more and more momentum the more disciples they acquire―that’s also true, but that sort of increase in momentum is restricted to the moment―ultimately inertia, not acceleration―and is so far from rlly increasing momentum that it is, in fact, resistance. And in the same way, hum. hustle and bustle exerts resistance.

The Whole Production Supplemented with the Two Essays by H. H. The authorship conceived as a whole (as found in “A Note Concerning My W[ork] as an Auth.,” “Three Notes Concerning My W[ork] as an Auth.,” and The Point of View for My W[ork] as an Auth.), points definitively to Discourses at Friday Communion. The same applies to the whole structure. The “3 Godly Discourses” come later and are supposed to accompany the second edition of Either/Or and mark the distinction betw. what is offered with the le� hand and what is offered with the right. The Two Ethical-Religious Essays do not belong to the authorship in the same way; they are not an element within it, but a point de vüe. If I’m to stop, they will be like a viewpoint one projects in advance in order to have a stopping place. They also contain an apparent and an actual eminence: a martyr, yes, an apostle―and a genius. But insofar as one might search for any information about me in the essays, this is it: that I’m a genius―not an apostle, not a martyr. The apparent eminence is included in order to all the more accurately define the actual one. For most peop., the defining category “genius” is so indiscriminate that it can mean anything at all; for just that reason, it was important to define the concept, as the two essays do by defining that which is infinitely qualitatively higher. 28 point de vüe] French, properly “point de vue,” viewpoint.

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Thus the two small essays appropriately have the character of a signal. But it’s dialectical. It could mean: Here’s the stopping place; and it could mean: Here’s the beginning―but always in such a way that, above all, I’m careful not to cause any conceptual confusion and that I remain true to myself as no more and no less than a genius, or a poet and thinker with a quantitative [“]more[”] with regard to being what the poet and thinker writes and thinks about. A quantitative [“]more,[”] not a qualitative [“]more,[”] for the qualitative [“]more[”] is the witness to the truth, the martyr―which I’m not. And even qualitatively higher is the apostle, which I haven’t imagined myself to be any more than I imagine that I’m a bird. I ought to guard myself against blasphemy and against profanely introducing confusion into the religious sphere, which I, to my utmost and with the fear of God, try to uphold and protect against prostitution by confused and presumptuous thinking.

There’s a beautiful verse that concludes each station of the socalled Kreuzweg-Andacht by A. Liguori (pp. 654ff.): Süßer Jesus, um zu sterben, Gehst Du hin, aus Lieb’ zu mir; Um das Leben zu erwerben, Laß mich sterben, Herr! mit Dir! and then differently from the 12th station on:

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Süßer Jesus, schon gestorben Bist Du nun, aus Lieb’ zu mir: Hast das Leben mir erworben, Ach laß sterben mich mit Dir.

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The reason that preaching about the worries of poverty is so rare is no doubt because speaking about it is embarrassing to those who suffer under it, and also because the way the gospel speaks of it seems to them too harsh. Poetically (i.e., when one’s own livelihood is secure), what the gospel says is indescribably 20 Süßer Jesus … Herr! mit Dir!] German, Sweet Jesus, you go forth to die for love of me; may I die with you, Lord, that I might gain life. 25 Süßer Jesus … sterben mich mit Dir.] German, Sweet Jesus, you have died for love of me, you have gained life for me, Ah! may I die with you.

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upli�ing. But when it truly becomes a serious ma�er, that is, when someone is in want and need and is then supposed to be upli�ed by the carefree ways of the lilies and the birds, or by the div. exaltation of Xt―that’s too exalted, and, hmnly speaking, too severe.

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Xt was wrapped in rags and laid in a manger, but he was buried in a new grave. (And in a grave that belonged to another man, which Luther sees as an allusion to something symbolic: Xt died for us.) But burial in that way is, in a sense, an exception to degradation. Burial in the new grave, with the greatest possible care, has to do with the resurrection. Imagine, e.g., that Xt’s body had been cremated―he was a criminal, a�er all―and the ashes strewn to the four winds. Yes, of course this doesn’t ma�er, because the resurrection is essentially still the same miracle, but that would indeed be offensive to the weaker ones.

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It ought to be remembered that Xt didn’t turn Nicodemus away; he tolerated him―but he never became a real disciple, even though John calls him a secret disciple; but where? I can’t remember the place; I know I’ve read Luther’s reference to it in the gospel text for Good Friday.

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The fact that almost all communication happens via the press has confused everything. Everything has become impersonal. An inorganic dregs has gathered at the bo�om of states, an enormous dregs: the masses, which no one is involved with because the instructors are not persons but auths., who, hidden from everyone’s view, send thoughts out into the world. The conflict with the government has been the only one, because the government can condemn the press; but the real conflict of truth, the conflict with the masses, the public, the abstractions (evil, the stronghold of lies) seems to be completely forgo�en.

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Bishop Mynster has taken upon himself a great responsibility, both to me and to our relationship, by si�ing there and acting like nothing has happened concerning a phenomenon that he cannot manage at all. In honesty and with love of the truth, he ought to have emphasized my work as an auth.[;] in that case he would have at least taken care of his responsibilities.

If you fear that the speed of the infinite within you will carry you away too violently, then heed this advice: take on a disciple, feed him, make him believe that he is nonetheless independent― then he’ll repeat what you say, and you’ll be so disappointed by it that you won’t want to see it. The parody (not the combative parody of the a�acker, but that of the admiring imitator) is tiring.

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Mynster’s sermons are a deception. Today, e.g., (the Sunday a�er Ascension Day), he said: Out there on the streets, it wouldn’t help to preach this message, no; but here, in a place of holiness, in this place, in this quiet place, here I will proclaim it for all who will hear, etc. What boldness―assisted by prudence― to simply eliminate Xt, the apostles, and all the witnesses to truth, who were so imprudent―or fanciful―that they preached on the streets, i.e., they took proclamation seriously. In truth, I’m dumbfounded. Today, in Xndom, where everyone is Xn, no one dares proclaim it on the streets; but when everyone was Jewish or pagan, they dared. Now they don’t dare; no, that’s stating it too mildly. It would have been all right if Mynster had said I lack the faith, courage, and strength to do it. But that’s not how he speaks. In dignified prudence, he speaks about what is highest as if it were rashness. And fraud (like his sermon in the quiet place, where everything is theatrical) becomes the highest thing. And yet when all is said and done, I think that Mynster doesn’t understand what he himself is saying; he’s become so entrenched that it doesn’t even dawn on him that what he dishes up so pretentiously is blasphemy.―And the audience, yes, of course they think this kind of speech is excellent; they don’t know the difference, they confuse Christian preaching with an art exhibition, which naturally insists on this comforting quiet and security.

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Immediacy can indeed be regained―but the drivel of the “system” is found in the notion that it can be regained without a break. Immediacy is only regained―ethically; immed. itself becomes the project―you shall regain it. In the middle of the most highly developed period of the most intellectual of peoples, Socrates a�ained ignorance (ignorance, with which one begins in order to know more and more). But how? [B]y understanding absolutely ethically that his mission was to maintain his ignorance, so that no earthly temptation could con him into confessing―and so that no inner temptation could con him into confessing to himself―that he indeed knew something, he, who in a different sense, did know something. Peop. who have no concept of spirit say things like this: Once immediacy is lost, it can never be recovered. And to illustrate it (thus also revealing how they confuse the spiritual and the sensuous), they add: A girl can lose her innocence, but she can never recover it. But spiritually speaking, this is the problem: if I can’t recover innocence, then all is lost from the beginning. For this the starting point: I, like everyone, have lost my innocence. If I, for a moment, ignore all the particular dogmatic descriptions concerning the assistance of spirit, etc., I can define rebirth like this: it is immediacy regained ethically. Ethics or, be�er, the ethical, is the turning point and from there the movement is toward the dogmatic.

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In the sermon on the gospel for Easter Monday, in the final passage, Luther makes this distinction: You have the right to argue about the Bible, but you don’t have the right to argue about the Holy Scriptures. This is the old view that one thing can be true in philosophy that isn’t true in theology. The Bible and Holy Scriptures are the same book, of course, but the perspective from which it’s viewed makes all the difference. Here, as everywhere, one must be careful with the qualitative leap and make sure there’s no direct transition (e.g., from reading and studying the Bible as an ordinary hum. book―to accepting it as God’s word, as Holy Scripture), but everywhere a µεταβασις εις αλλο γενος, a leap, whereby I break the chain of reasoning and define a qualitative newness, but a αλλο γενος.

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37 µεταβασις εις αλλο γενος] Greek, transformation to another kind. (See also explanatory note.) 39 αλλο γενος] Greek, another kind.

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The Li�le Book by H. H. was just as it should be. But it’s not possible for someone to immediately take that extremely difficult position, which is so loaded with responsibility. So you play an invite in order to make your contemporaries your partner. If someone stumbles over this li�le book, he lets out a colossal cry for help―and he’s right, for it’s a highly unusual li�le book. But then it’s he who cried out; we switch places. That’s why this li�le book had to be published―either in my own name, indicated [as my own] as strongly as possible, or as it so happened.

Lessing’s entire piece “On Fables” must be read again. Like everything by him, it’s a masterpiece. It’s found in Samtl. W. 18th vol. Esp. on pp. 204, 205ff., there’s something about Aristotle’s understanding of actuality and possibility, as well as Lessing’s understanding of the same. It is consistent with what I have developed in several pseudonymous works, which is why I prefer “the experiment” more than the historical-actual.

People have more or less accused Xt of irresponsibility for entrusting a pers. like Judas, who had thieving inclinations, to be a treasurer. One could rather say: What trust and love on the part of Xt, for the boldest and best way to save such a pers. is to show him unconditional confidence; if that doesn’t help, then there’s probably no way to help him.

I’ve o�en said that a person ought to do his best to appear genial and friendly, even if he’s suffering inwardly, for the result is that others are genial, and sometimes this will also temper his own suffering; but when someone looks irritated he makes others irritated. That’s true enough, but it shouldn’t be forgo�en that the very feeling of impotence that comes from failing to appear genial and happy while suffering can make a pers. look irritated.

4 invite] French, invitation. (See also explanatory note.)

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To “deceive” requires an infinite virtuosity in deception. Someone is convinced he’s discovered the deception and that next time he’ll certainly catch the deceiver―but he isn’t prepared for the fact that next time the deception will be different. He’s just the opposite of Stupid Go�lieb; sometimes it seems as if Stupid Go�lieb will catch him. Dutifully, faithfully, and obediently, Stupid Go�lieb always does exactly what he was told to do earlier. Peop. are like Stupid Go�lieb in relation to the deceiver; they think that he’ll do the same thing next time―and they’re deceived. In terms of the idea, this is the maieutic, which serves to develop the other.

Faith’s conflict with the world is not a ba�le of thought against doubt, thought against thought. This was the confusion that finally ended in the madness of the system. Faith, the faithful person’s conflict with the world, is a ba�le of character. Hum. vanity lies in the desire to comprehend, the vanity of refusing to obey as a child, of wanting, like an adult, to comprehend, and of refusing to obey what he can’t comprehend; i.e., he essentially won’t obey. The faithful person is a pers. of character who, unconditionally obedient to God, grasps it as duty of character that he must not insist upon comprehension. Now comes the conflict. To be willing to believe something one can’t comprehend is blind obedience, obscurantism, stupidity, etc. This means that the world will make the believer anxious with the fear of other hum. beings, and instill in him the vanity that he’ll also be able to comprehend it. There’s the conflict. It’s a project for the person of character. Or [it can happen] another way: this pers. of faith is perhaps also a highly gi�ed mind. The world becomes aware of him and perceives clearly enough that if anyone is capable of comprehending it, it’s him. So the world construes his simple faith as irony, rages at him to make him anxious and afraid so that he’ll be compelled to say: Yes, of course I can comprehend it―i.e., I fear hum. beings more than God. These, and all similar conflicts, are the conflicts of faith. That’s my understanding.

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What does it mean to have faith? It means, with the fear of God and with unconditional obedience, to be willing (which you shall and because you shall) to defend yourself against the vain thought of wanting to comprehend, and against the vain delusion of being able to comprehend.

The phrase [“]woman was given to man as a companion[”] certainly doesn’t mean that a man’s relationship to a woman is nothing more than that of a companion; it no doubt refers to family relationships, offspring, and in this elemental sense it is said that the woman is companionship and that she brings companionship along with her. What’s implied in the idea of “companionship”? It’s not an association of several people of the same age; it’s rather a unit that, in the most intimate of relationships, also displays differences according to age, like this: grandparents, husband and wife, children of various ages―this is rlly companionship. This is “companionship” as well as a beautiful unity. Each age has its own eccentric possibility―different ages thus provide a corrective for each other. Isn’t the child-adult corrective beneficial in this respect by restraining a person from becoming pure spirit or from becoming too serious, etc.[?] It would be a nice project, even a moving project, for a psychologist to calculate and tabulate the possible combinations of ways in which one age group essentially provides a supplement and corrective for the other.

In his sermon on the gospel for the second Sunday a�er Easter (“I am the good shepherd”), Luther very movingly treats the way the true Xn becomes unrecognizable, as it were, through all the persecution and mistreatment, etc., he suffers―but Xt still knows him and recognizes him as his own. What Luther says in the same sermon about “the journeyman” deserves to be reprinted. It’s highly appropriate―and it was said by someone who has passed away.

[a]

A definition of faith, that is, of the Christian conception of faith.

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What De la Mo� says of Aesop’s fables is superb: his treatment is especially precise; he doesn’t waste time on summaries but gets right to the point, and every word hastens toward a conclusion; he knows no alternative between the necessary and the useless. Quoted by Lessing in [“]On Fables,” Stl. W., 18th vol., p. 242.

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that is, by publishing the Wolfenbü�el Fragments

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The last and most impressive idea for keeping human beings under control―if concrete consequences and punishments don’t work―is immortality; and this has been made problematic, made into something that has to be proven. It’s like li�ing a cane to beat someone and saying: Now you’re going to get a serious caning, that is, if this thing in my hand really is a cane; and then, instead of striking a blow, giving 3 proofs that it is a cane and then an Amen, i.e., [it’s like] forge�ing to strike. O, what nonsense―but that’s what we hear in sermons.

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Both are equally meaningless in the end: either to employ all one’s acumen to show the unreasonableness of a miracle (even Lessinga does this) and then, on that basis (that it is unreasonable), conclude ergo, it is not a miracle. (But would it be a miracle if it were reasonable[?])―or to employ all one’s profundity and acumen to understand the miracle and make it comprehensible (and this is the wisdom of speculation), and then conclude that ergo, it is a miracle because it is comprehensible―but in that case it isn’t a miracle. No, let a miracle be what it is[:] an object of faith. The great catastrophe is that, quite smoothly, Xnty has become a thought project for shrewd minds and speculators who have absolutely nothing

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essential to do with Xnty. It is no longer solace for a suffering that no hum. wisdom can alleviate, solace for the anguish and pain of the consciousness of sin, solace that is only meant for―those who suffer. What would we think of a medicine if, by some strange mistake, it were made the object of analysis of a chemist rather than a remedy for an ill person for whom it was intended[?] And what if the chemist then discovered that it wasn’t a remedy at all―and he even made the mistake of saying: I myself am not sick. It’s a deep fall from grace that they’ve allowed Xnty to be analyzed and treated in this way, and that faith rlly died off long ago, the faith that would defend itself in a life-and-death struggle. But what is this soulless Xndom all about[?] And it’s noteworthy too that missionary efforts amount to nothing these days. Why? [B]ecause Xnty itself doesn’t exist anymore. I found this observation on missionary work in the Wolfenbü�el Fragments, and I agree with it.

If I were asked how I was educated to be the author that I am, apart from my relationship to God, I would answer: By an old man, to whom I owe the most thanks, and by a young girl, to whom I am most indebted―the result of which was a unity of age and youth, of the harshness of winter and the mildness of summer, which must also have resided within me as possibility―; the former educated me with his noble wisdom, the la�er with her lovable foolishness.

That It’s Impossible for a True Xn to Become Something Great in the World It’s one thing to be born great, e.g., a prince, a count, a millionaire, etc.―it’s something else to become something great. The former category can

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It is just as inconceivable that missions could secure adherents to Xnty as it is that an old man could have procreative powers.

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well be consistent with being a Xn; for in truth, he inherits greatness―and becomes Xn. But if someone isn’t born into greatness and is Xn, then it’s impossible to become something great. For in order to become great in this world, a person must collaborate with worldliness in all kinds of ways, and that will be hindered by being Xn. My father thought Mynster was greatly edifying―but my father was an insignificant simple man, one of the quiet people who lived in anonymity. But Mynster, who has become great― how o�en he’s had to do something unchristian in order to a�ain it. When one must live in the public eye, and be Xn, and there’s some question [about what one shall become], then by becoming Xn, one becomes nothing less than great in the world. This, then, is the deception heard in sermons: sometimes the Xn becomes something great in this world and enjoys honor and respect, and sometimes he’s persecuted.―A sheer lie, because he won’t u�er words that commit himself. No, if you begin as nothing (that is, if you haven’t inherited greatness, like something you have without working for it) and you’re Xn―then it’s impossible to become something great in this world. Priests therefore always make use of the Old Testament as if it were the N.T., as if Xt’s own life, those of the apostles, all of them, weren’t just the opposite. But the priests make a mess. They take one kind of so�ness from the N.T., another kind from the Old [Testament] and everything becomes u�er so�ness―and drivel.

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The conclusion of Luther’s sermon on the gospel “I am the good shepherd” deserves to be republished in order to stop, once and for all if possible, all the drivel about the idea that there are pure Xns, and consequently that Xnty can give up the fight.

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Something about “The Sisters in Kinnekullen”

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In the preface, the auth. says that the idea isn’t based on a fairy tale―but neither is it his own. That’s a strange form of integrity; perhaps it’s even disingenuous. It shows integrity to admit that it isn’t his own; it’s dishonest to say nothing more

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than that. For if he had indicated his source and all the pertinent information about it, it might be the case―who knows―it might be the case that he both owed the other more than he imagines and that he perhaps used the borrowed material incorrectly. Instead of ge�ing married, a girl falls in love with money―she sits inside a mountain and spins gold―we see her 25 years later at her sister’s silver wedding (incidentally, it would have been clever to make it 50 years, the golden wedding). And the sorcerer explains that it’s not only this girl, but countless others, who are lost in something abstract (or something like that), who don’t rlly live but just waste their lives. The idea is that living in an abstract way is a wasted life. Fine. That must be what was borrowed, the part about the abstract life. What has the poet done with it? He’s taken a particular example; and which one? Greed. How thoughtless. If you want to illustrate the abstract life more profoundly, you have to select something innocent in and of itself. The greedy maiden’s defect is not the abstract life―but greed. So the author has picked the wrong example. He’s made a univ[ersal] of the particular, as they say, [and puts it] in the mouth of the sorcerer. But that’s not what was illustrated in the example because the example was erroneously selected. On the other hand. If you want to validate the concrete life in contrast to the abstract life, you have to make sure you don’t go too far. For the authentic religious life―in contrast to what peop. genrlly understand by concretion and what this poet understands by it―is an abstract life: it means suffering, being “sacrificed.” The author doesn’t have the remotest sense for that. He hasn’t grasped how the problem should be correctly placed in relation to the ethical, which forbids not only sin but also an abstract life; nor has he grasped how that stands in contrast to the religious, which affirms the abstract life in a completely different sense. From a categorical point of view, the author’s work is confused in every respect; he’s mixed up his categories. Now think about the pseudonyms[:] Convinced that the way most peop. “live” their lives, the way they live them concretely, is a concrete waste of life, the pseudonyms fight here for the legitimate abstract life. To that end, I’ve used these[:] a) eccentric aestheticisma and b) the ethicist, but in such a way that he again points toward the religious. This process is the aim of the entire pseudonymous production.

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whose defect is the wrong kind of abstract life, without it being patently sinful

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or an “Anna” (patience in expectancy) in order to show that the abstraction of religious life is the true life. Here, the great contribution of Quidam of the psychological experiment is to show that “the wish” must be preserved in suffering. The ethicist rightfully condemns wishful fantasy and a wasted life as aesthetic eccentricity; but behind the ethical, the religious emerges again: to live abstractly (ideally) is to live. In this sense, only one hum. being has lived absolutely ideally abstractly: God-Man. O, but what do they know, these poets who assume the posture of profundity!

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But it’s clear that such a grand project has to be about an abstract life. It’s more concrete to take a single thought in a muddled, categorically confused way and do everything in completely the wrong way, confusing all the spheres―and for the “moment” become a big hit as a profound thinker. If I were to take a particular example from the pseudonyms, I could take the passage in Either/Or where the aesthete divides peop. into two classes[:] those who work in order to live and those who don’t have to; and then he shows that it’s a contradiction to say that the purpose of life is to work in order to live because the purpose of living can’t be to produce the conditions necessary for living. And the piece could be based on that. But then the piece would also have to point toward the religious. For the ethicist in Either/Or, life culminates in marriage; but that entire work is also just one element in the project. Obviously there should have been 3 sisters, a third, a Christian “Mary”; then perhaps the piece would have been worth something.

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This is the sad part about preaching the Christian message: You must first be hard on yourself. Good Lord, we’re flesh and blood and we’d like to enjoy ourselves. But from a Christian perspective, life’s vocation is to suffer. And when you’ve been hard on yourself, and continue to be hard on yourself, you’ll be hated, almost damned by oth[ers], a torment to them. Naturally they don’t want to hear anything about suffering. It would be a consolation, though, if, in one’s own suffering, one were allowed to be gentle with others; Ah, but that’s not the case with Xnty.

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It’s also certain that Xt never used distinguishing terms like orthodox―or heterodox―but said by their deeds shall you know them. I read this someplace in the Wolfenb[ü�el] Fragments, [“]Von dem Zwecke Jesu und seiner Jünger,[”] §. 6. end.

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Where in The Book of Wisdom do we find the words that the unrighteous say about the righteous[?]: Lasset uns den armen Gerechten uberwältigen, lasset uns der Wi�wen nicht schonen, noch für des Alten graue Haare uns schämen. Laßt uns auf den Gerechten lauren, denn er ist uns verdrieslich: er giebt für, daß er Go� kenne, und nennet sich Gottes Knecht oder Kind. Wohlan lasset uns sehen, ob seine Worte wahr seyn, und versuchen, wie es mit ihm ein Ende nehmen will. Denn so der Gerechte Go�es Sohn ist, so wird er sich sein annehmen und ihn erre�en von der Hand der Widersacher. Wir wollen ihn zum schandlichen Tod verdammen; dann es wird eine Aufsicht auf ihn geschehen nach seinen Worten. Found in the Wolf. Fragments, [“V]on dem Zwecke der Lehre Jesu[”] § 10 end. I can’t remember reading these words. But they’re excellent, a fine expression of the world’s understanding of the good. The world doesn’t hate the good, but is envious of the good, wants to hear that no one is really any be�er than anyone else.

14 Lasset uns … seinen Worten] German, Let us oppress the righteous poor, let us not spare the widow, nor regard the gray hairs of the old. Let us lie in wait for the righteous for we are repelled by him: he professes to know God and calls himself God’s servant or child. Well, then, let us see whether his words are true and see how he will bear himself at the end of his life. For if the righteous one is God’s son, then he will take care of his own and rescue him from the hand of the enemy. By condemning him to a shameful death we will see how what happens to him fits with his words.

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It’s always been difficult for me to portray Xnty in all its true harshness because I’ve imagined that it was only harsh for me, and harsh for me because I’ve sinned more than others. I’ve always wanted to be hard on myself and lenient with others. But this is indeed a misunderstanding. For it was harshest with the Holy One himself. But just as a parent doesn’t think his child’s tiny bit of guilt is worth mentioning, so too have other peop. always seemed innocent compared with me.

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This is another way it’s apparent that to be a Christian is to be a martyr and a sacrifice: other peop. soon discover that the religious person is commi�ed in a different way than they are: he doesn’t dare get angry, argue, take revenge, or repay like with like, because he is before God, who could immediately do to him what he did to another. Others take advantage of it. By being before God, the religious person is, hmnly speaking, abandoned and suffers every kind of injury, injustice, degradation, and deception at the hands of the others, who couldn’t care less about God, who just don’t give a damn. Indeed, hmnly speaking, to be imprisoned isn’t nearly as painful and agonizing―if you still maintain the right to defend yourself and use hum. prudence and might―as to be the religious one in this world, the religious one, who, because he’s before God, is defenseless when others harass and torment him and, moreover, who also constantly suffers the agony (because he is before God) of wondering whether he’s good enough to others, whether he’s indeed repaying all the evil done unto him with all the good he can think of―for if not, God might just wash his hands of him.

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As soon as the religious leaves the existential present, where it is fully active, it immediately becomes milder. The fact that it becomes milder, and thus less true, is directly recognizable when the religious becomes a doctrine. As soon as it becomes doctrine, the religious is no longer absolutely urgent.a In Christ, the religious is completely present tense; in Paul, it is already on its way to becoming doctrine. Just imagine! And the total misunderstanding of the religious begins with this trend to transform it essentially to doctrine―and this trend has been going on for God knows how many centuries.

This is the Christian definition of sin that Xt himself gives: the Holy Spirit shall prove the world wrong about sin, about not believing in me. Sin is not having faith. That’s also how it’s presented in The Sickness unto Death.

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It’s a bit sad to hear Mynster (as today, at Pentecost vespers), who has been allied with worldliness as much as anyone, begin with the text about the li�le flock to whom the Father is pleased to grant the kingdom, etc. It’s really no different than when Heiberg, the caretaker of the public, became polemical because he got into a skirmish with the public. In the same sermon, the tone was set by the idea that he had been consistent by joining the minority in parliament. But Good Lord, is that something to call a�ention to, silently associating with the biggest names[?] No, Mynster has never had the slightest idea what Christian polemic is; he’s coddled, and he’s coddled because he’s an orator. Perhaps nothing else coddles or corrupts a pers. more. To stand at the pulpit and speak passionately―instead of taking action in the real world―and then to have it seem to the individual himself and the audience as

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Note There’s more and more deferral before I get around to doing it, and in the end (when the religious has been completely transformed to doctrine) it’s all deferral.

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if the man had taken action! Yes, Plato and Socrates were right: banish the poets from the state―and the orators as well. The Greek concept of philosopher (i.e., a thinker in ethical character) is on the whole far more suited to the communication of Christianity than this pitiful concept: the orator, the bombastic rhetorician rather than responsible agent.

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This is exactly why I’m an unlikable phenomenon for Mynster: The fact that someone outside the profession has been able produce something excep[tional]; no, that won’t be tolerated. It must be made clear that a layman is a dreamer, bordering on ruin. The only serious thing is to join the establishment, be a full-time employee, to have a position― otherwise, being the supreme commander doesn’t mean anything. The egoism of the distinguished, qua distinguished, naturally demands that the only serious move is to join the establishment.

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The world doesn’t hate the exceptional person; no, no, but the world’s envy will accompany anyone who wants to be the exceptional one.

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To pray it out of you like you weep it out of you, as they say. And when you’ve prayed it out of you completely, then there’s only one thing le�: Amen.

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The comic is always so close to the highest form of pathos; here, one might think of Peer Degn, who could once recite the whole litany in Greek but can now only remember that the last word is Amen.

Theme for an Edifying Discourse: The Art of Arriving at an Amen. It’s not so easy. There always seems to be something to add. A resolution, the resolution of faith.

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For me, there’s nothing I can do, nothing I can say. It’s as if language itself is already occupied with something else. There are a few people who constantly speak of sacrificing themselves for a cause, and they eventually get a few others to believe it. But it’s not really true. They understand the idea of sacrificing themselves and making sacrifices to be a ma�er of sticking with a cause even though it would have been more profitable not to do so. But pay careful a�ention to the fact that they are completely unable to say what the other, more profitable options are. You see, that’s what they call sacrifice. When it’s understood this way, my life isn’t a sacrifice; instead, my life corresponds rather perfectly with the concept itself. The others retain the relative profit they earn and, at the same time, they enjoy the respect accorded noble self-sacrifice. I must be content with being considered mad. That’s fine, because this last element makes the sacrifice complete, which, by the way is exactly what the concept demands.

Whatever does not proceed from faith [or belief] is sin, says Paul. Thus, in a certain sense, the sin against the Holy Spirit is to intentionally act contrary to one’s own beliefs. It’s also worth noting that if everything inconsistent with one’s beliefs is sin, it might seem that anything consistent with one’s beliefs (subjective conviction) would not be sin. Here, in a sense, sin is Socratic ignorance―that is, when a person has such wildly erring convictions that his actions are, objectively viewed, sinful. But as it so happens, Paul (exactly opposite Socrates) places the emphasis on consciousness. Sin is not ignorance; sin is to do something contrary to one’s beliefs.

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Here, the point of contention betw. Paul and Socrates is that Socrates would say that it’s impossible that a person could really have understood, comprehended, perceived the good if he acts in an evil way. For the proof of having really understood the good is precisely the fact that this comprehension exercises such power over him that he acts accordingly; conversely, if he doesn’t do the good, he hasn’t understood it, either. This is the pure intellectuality from which Socrates never escapes. He never finds space for the will, or a space in which the will can operate.

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Just as the measure of the aesthetic is the capacity to wish for something, the courage and daring boldness to wish (which is why Aladdin is the poet’s hero and the poet himself is an Aladdin; just give him the ring and he’ll have the courage to wish)―so also is the of measure of individuality the ethical, [i.e.,] the capacity to demand reality, the capacity to make concerns intimate and present tense, the capacity to withstand the medium of imagination and deal only in the medium of existence. Most peop. also have an idea of what greatness is. But regardless of how they twist and turn it, a false image slips in, an image from a distant past, an image that was such and such, that is such and such, but the notion that it is about the individual himself, that the project is designed to be actualized in existence―that eludes people. An essentially ethical individual quickly makes greatness a project for the immediate present. He says―to himself―this is what I want. It’s quite possible I won’t achieve it, but this is what I want. If I can’t do it right away, I’ll crawl. Even if I never manage to get beyond crawling my entire lifetime, I’ll crawl my entire life―but that’s the direction I’m going. He doesn’t relinquish the idea; he’s like a pilgrim who perhaps has knelt and promised to go to Jerusalem―who dies along the way. But in terms of the idea, he’s reached his goal. And in this way, the truly ethical individual must necessarily reach his highest goal. He must reach it; if not now, then in eternity. But this is why all aesthetic and sensuous peop. feel anxiety when they live contemporaneously with this kind of ethical individual―precisely because he transforms everything to reality: everything he understands, he acts on.

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This is fascinating. God says to Moses: Why are you shouting so loudly―yet Moses was silent. That’s how scandalously loud silence can be. I read this in Luther’s sermon on the gospel for one of the Sundays a�er Easter: Hitherto you have not prayed in my name.

You’re greatly outnumbered by the enemy and his numbers grow greater nearly every day; the defending forces have long since understood the situation and are firmly convinced that the only rescue is to mount a new defense. And then someone steps forth and says: [“]You’re wrong; if you put up a defense, you’ll lose everything. A�ack, and even if you’re the last one le� standing, a single aggressor is enough. A defense, regardless of whether or not defenders outnumber the enemy, will ruin everything and the cause is lost.[”] If this doesn’t bring about a new starting point, I don’t know what will. This is my position with regard to all the tactics of the Christian establishment. Just as my discourse is consistently about faith, so also is my entire position a replication of faith. For it really requires faith to assume that a cause, that has almost been lost by its defenders, can be victorious when it simply a�acks rather than defends itself.

What is the meaning of the history of Xnty? This: It is the epitome of excuses and evasions and compromises employed by that portion of humnty that obviously won’t break with Xnty but wants to retain the semblance of being Xn; the epitome of all the excuses, evasions, and compromises that make it possible to be Xn without ever quite literally breaking with the world. The history of Xnty is retrogression, an alliance betw. the world and Xnty. It’s quite simple. Take the N.T.: close your door, speak with God, pray―and if you then do what the N.T. quite simply and plainly says, if you actualize it by expressing it existentially― that’s Xnty. But [this is] the history of Xnty: “First of all we must discover what other enlightened Xns have thought, other serious, tried Xns; we must consult the experience of history for help.” Oh,

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Good Lord! How embarrassing it is to hear a pers. speak pretentiously like that; he wants the experience of history to help him act like an individual hum. being. And then the next issue. Have any of these millions of so-called serious and tried Xns, all together or even individually, understood the issue be�er than the God-Man, have any known be�er than Jesus Xt what true Xnty is[?] Imagine that someone wanted to learn the teachings of a thinker, but went to his servant instead of the thinker himself― to the servant, who no doubt knows much about this thinker, etc.―but who knew absolutely nothing about his teaching, to say nothing of knowing it be�er than the thinker himself. And that’s what all scholarly theology is about―rather than sticking with the N. T. in simplicity―i.e., doing what it says.

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There’s a great saying that Coun[cillor] H. C. Ørsted told me: If a lark wants to fart like an elephant, it will end up bursting. And in the same way, scholarly theology will also burst because instead of being what it is―a modest triviality―it wants to be the supreme form of wisdom.

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From one perspective (the merely hum.), it could well seem that religion, esp. Xnty, is the greatest seduction. Xnty knows how the world works; and yet Xnty lures and entices a pers. in its direction until finally, offended by the merely hum., he becomes serious about seeking first the kingdom of God―Xnty knows in advance that he will come into conflict with other hum. beings. The real reason that Xnty, or rather the true Xn, faces persecution is because he refuses to be prudent, to organize his life prudently, to manage earthly challenges first―and then do a bit about the spiritual later. Every doctrine that teaches someone to a�ain some worldly advantage will be accepted by the world.

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A sad consequence of the completely inverted and totally unchristian notion that [“]where the masses are, there also is the truth[”] is that people continually speak as if Xnty had become

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truer now that there are millions of Xns. They say that when Xnty came into the world, miracles were needed because there were so few Xns; but now that there are so many Xns―now that nearly everyone is Xn―miracles are no longer needed. Well, thank you very much. But it seems to me that miracles are needed now more than ever. For one no longer hears that Xnty is a militant teaching, a polemic, that posits eternal enmity betw. God and the world―but then the relationship gets inverted―and a polemical view is victorious (according to the rather thoughtless hum. notion of victory) because so many believe it. By the way, I have something against all this talk about miracles being needed then, as if hum. reason were subsequently competent to see through God’s tactics, which reason understands neither before nor a�erward. But people are vain; they want so very much to comprehend things, or to appear to have comprehended things; they want so very badly to fraternize with God. One ought to say quite simply―miracles happened back then so they must have been needed―but I won’t begin to try to figure out why they were needed. This is scholarship’s deplorable impertinence toward God, and it is extremely difficult to eliminate.

Thomas a Kempis says in the 3rd book, chap. 23, where the Lord himself teaches you how to find peace: 3. “Let it be essential to you that you would rather do another’s will than your own.” That struck me. The question is, where does one find clergy like that these days[?] If I were to put myself under the wing of some priest or another, I’m well aware that he would make the whole thing into a worldly affair by immediately ushering me into the establishment, into the affairs of the moment, by ge�ing me a position, a title, etc. There’s something very a�ractive about all that, by the way. A melancholic person is, in genrl, inclined to make himself subservient―for then it seems as if he’s less responsible. But it shouldn’t be forgo�en that he is responsible to an even greater degree for making himself subservient. The same holds true in other circumstances. A melancholic person is greatly inclined to play the subservient role in a marriage; he wants it, it satisfies him. Here again, incidentally, it’s clear how close irony and melancholia are to each other. For a

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genuine ironist, too, will always play the subservient role in a marriage.

An A�empt at Preposterous Comedy

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The apostle Paul is tested in theology by a theology professor. He fails, of course. There’s some truth to what one finds in the Wolfenb[ü�el] Fragments (von dem Zwecke Jesu und seiner Jünger § 24 conclusion), if not entirely true: Nun aber bekennt man (at baptism) eine Dreieinigkeit in Go�, eine Menschwerdung der anderen Person in Go�, und ein Haufen mehr andere Catechismus-Artikel dabey, worauf die ersten Christen und vielleicht die Apostel selbst zum Theil nicht würden haben zu antworten wissen. It’s use at baptism is the untrue part, but it’s otherwise true with regard to theology: an apostle wouldn’t know how to answer many of the questions from the catechism.

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Every writer here in Denmark received a copy of Either/Or. I thought it was my duty; and I could do it this time, because now there can be no question of possibly trying to advertise for the book―the book is old, the crisis is over. Naturally they received the copy from Victor Eremita. It really pleased me to send copies to Øehlenschläger and Winther because I admire them. It was also a pleasure to send one to Hertz because he’s both a significant figure and a pleasant personality.

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It might be quite expedient to memorize one of Luther’s sermons sometime―then deliver it without any hint―and see how furious the clergy would get―and then say: That was a sermon by Luther, word for word. As a precaution, one could get two sworn witnesses who could testify that this was the original intention―so the whole thing wouldn’t turn out to be a case of plagiarism.

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8 Nun aber … antworten wissen], German, But one confesses belief [(at baptism)] in a Trinity in God, an incarnation of the second person in God, and a host of other catechistic articles, some of which the first Christians, and maybe even the apostles themselves, would not have known how to answer.

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NB. NB. NB. I dare not and cannot justifying thinking more about whether or not to publish the books that are �nished. My economic concerns for the future are what worry me; the melancholic thought that I might place myself too high; the earthly consideration that I might possibly hinder myself in getting an appointment. Well, God is certainly a long way from compelling me against my will; I can easily escape―but, humbly, almost penitently, I should rather feel ashamed of having destroyed myself in melancholia and re�ection for so long, and for so desperately desiring that God would use force against me, so that I would unwillingly do what he wants me to do freely. And I will thank God fervently that he has not let me escape but has held me to one single idea; for worldly evasions and excuses (I can’t, it’s too demanding on me, too much, etc. etc.) seem like good ideas at the time, especially when I consider the thousands of people who are presum[ably] of the same opinion. But in eternity, in recollection―if I died tomorrow―ah, the time for regret would be long. To have enjoyed the moment, to have been prudent in the moment, these things can’t be recollected―in eternity. No, that’s impossible. That’s the most alien thought to eternity. But to have denied oneself in the moment: that can be recollected for eternity.

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This, too, is part of Xt’s suffering: initially, he didn’t dare reveal to the apostles his true thoughts[:] that he should be, must be, that it was his intention to be, persecuted, ridiculed, spit upon, and crucified. Had he told the apostles right away, they too would likely have le� him. What patient suffering: To be “the truth” and then to be in the awkward position of having to use a few people, eventually finding them, and then having to rectify everything with a bit of untruth (concealment). What patient suffering! O “the truth”―and “humnty”; what have they to do with one another[?] What suffering, therefore, to be the truth, what suffering; not the suffering of being put to death, no, an even greater form: that of needing a few peop. and of being compelled to be a bit untrue. People think that Christ found some solidarity and encouragement with the apostles: ah, yes, it was like moving out of the rain into a stream dripping down from the roof―for with regard to the apostles, his sadness was possibly even greater because he loved them and he saw that they loved him. But he needed a few peop. And this alone could be a complete passion story in itself. He is like the most destitute of people, he, who is the truth, he, who nevertheless―can’t do without a few peop. (who could thus have taken advantage of the situation), he, who can’t do without a few peop. (for otherwise the whole thing comes to nothing and Xnty disappears altogether), and he is the truth whom everyone is in need of. What patient suffering to educate the apostles. And even if―were we to speak hmnly― even if he had become impatient and thought: A�er all, I’m not the one who needs them―well, yes, in a certain sense he does. He needs a few peop. He looks for the best he can find, and he eventually finds them―and they misunderstand him completely.

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God only knows if I’ve been a bit too sensitive about not wanting a single follower. If I died right now, or, be�er yet, if I were put to death for my idea and therefore avoided all the difficulties that accompany having followers, they will nevertheless show up in the next generation if the whole thing isn’t to disappear completely. And am I in any way too good to suffer and bear all the difficulties associated with followers, who always more or less mess up the idea[?]

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It’s as if I simply loved myself, or at least prioritized a love of myself, in the idea that my life must be an expression of the idea, not thinking about the fact that if the truth, or something true, is to make it into the world, it will have to bear being shared with others, which will make it become less true, and bear the fact that everyone who gets it secondhand will taint it. But shouldn’t one love them so much that one says it to them straightforwardly[?] Take the supreme example: if Xt, who was truth, had remained absolutely resolute about not exposing the truth to any kind of misinterpretation, refused any kind of accommodation, then his entire life would have been one single monologue. The thing is, I have a deep understanding of the fact that truth gains nothing with followers; rather it loses something with each follower it gains. My life’s guiding thought is the strictest consequence of this fact. And I don’t think any egoism resides here. First of all, one must remember my melancholia―the thought that I’m a penitent. Furthermore, the alternative (about accommodation) hadn’t occurred to me at all before now. Thirdly, why do people maintain the illusory thought that everyone is Xn? That kind of illusion can only be dispelled with an indirect polemic, and that was my thought. That’s why I had to be so consistent, and by being consistent, why I had to remain so inflexible.

The “establishment” is an altogether unchristian concept. But it’s even more ridiculous to hear the establishment boast when it compares itself with “the sects”―because there is indeed infinitely more Christian truth in the heresies of the sects than in the drowsiness, sluggishness, and laziness of the establishment. And it’s even more ridiculous that the establishment appeals to the N.T. Yes, when Xnty itself was “a sect” (that’s what it was called back then) and then had an awakening (also of “truth”) itself, then it was a ma�er of warning against sects. But a sect always has an advantage over the establishment because it has an awakening of truth, i.e., it has the truth that lies in an “awakening”―even if what the sect takes to be truth is erroneous and heretical.

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(the absolutely superior one)

In a sense, Christ didn’t need to stress it as a duty that the greatest is the servant―it lies in the very nature of superiority. When a pers. is a bit superior to another, he’s the master and ruler. If he’s absolutely superior, he’s the servant; for then, in relation to the other, hea will be dealing with his relationship to God, and then he’ll be the servant. The less significant the other is, the more one becomes the servant. Therefore a humble woman (precisely because of her humility) can make a far superior man the servant, while he, in relation to someone else, e.g., a stronger man, is master; for in this case, the God relationship isn’t as prominent. If Xt hadn’t been God, he wouldn’t absolutely have been the servant, either.

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The corrupt and demoralizing aspect of the way the daily press imparts information is not so much the fact that it says something false, but rather that it offers a depraved guarantee that there are a horde of people saying the same things and making the same judgments. For the very fact that it’s printed in a paper is the guarantee. And unfortunately peop. aren’t worried about whether they tell the truth or not; they’re worried instead that they might be the only ones to hold a given opinion. The guarantee thus serves as perverting training wheels that assist peop. toward greater and greater depravation―and that is a far greater misfortune than the mere fact that the press publishes something untrue. The daily press, like all journalism, is more or less impersonal communication designed to guarantee that almost everyone thinks the same way. This doesn’t have to be expressed explicitly in the paper; for the fact that it’s printed there is itself the guarantee.

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is the truth that, eternally certain of being truth, is essentially occupied with imparting it to others, concerned that they accept it for their own benefit, though the truth does not, in fact, need them. This is the dialectic. Charlatans and poseurs need to impart information in order to convince themselves. Only purely intellectual pursuits are occupied with discovering truth. Concerned

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truth is sufficiently certain of being truth, but is concerned about imparting it.a This is Xnty. It goes without saying that as long as a pers. struggles to find truth, his life can’t express concerned truth, for his one and only concern is to find truth. This is the case with my pursuits, which, in great part, are also purely intellectual and have been incapable of a concern for imparting truth to others because I myself was in pursuit and readily perceived what is only all too true[:] that to take others along with me simply delays the project. The desire to be accompanied by others in order to find the truth is something u�ered by idiots. In Xnty, the relationship is quite different: out of concern for the other, to be willing to endure the pain and suffering implicit in imparting the truth to them.

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The comment in the Wolf. Fragments (vom Zwecke Jesu und seiner Jünger § 30) that Christ used the words [“]the kingdom of heaven,[”] which the Jews understood as an earthly kingdom, is right. A kind of ambiguity lies in the fact that Xt alludes to something completely different with those words. I have shown how this ought to be understood in the first of the two essays by H. H. It belongs with the concept of “sacrifice,” with this ambiguity[:] anger was incited against him the moment it became clear that he had understood the ma�er spiritually.

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There’s rlly some truth to what Lessing argues somewhere (in le�ers to Mendelssohn)[:] we really can’t admire the heroic―we feel alienated by it. That’s absolutely right. Admiration insinuates itself, sees its chance, so to speak, in the suffering of great people. But there is no passive suffering in the heroic. In a way, then, admiration has been fooled. Human admiration is love of self: when great people suffer, admiration wells up. But the heroic doesn’t reveal any suffering; it’s more powerful than suffering―and thus admiration is absent. It leaves peop. rather cold when it’s a current event, and it alienates when it’s in the past. (In a sense, my own life sheds light on the ma�er. If I had been the passive object of a�ack by the vulgar masses, ah, how

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admiration for me would have grown. But the fact that I myself demanded it offended peop.; they were alienated by such a move, it was beyond their comprehension. I could have reasonably demanded that others appreciate the nobility and the selfless sacrifice inherent in my actions―and yet it is perhaps an unreasonable demand; for it’s all beyond their comprehension; for them, it borders on madness.) Another question is the degree to which Christianity incorporates the heroic. I deny that it does and have shown it (e.g., in a discourse, “The Gospel of Sufferings,” no. VII). The suffering Christian is no doubt heroic, that is, it isn’t apparent that he suffers; but his relationship to God means that his suffering is nevertheless seen. In the end, he struggles with God―with responsibility―and that’s where he suffers, suffering in fear and trembling. If the relationship to God were absent, then Christianity would be heroism. But as it is, Christianity is not under the heroic, but above it; it is first heroic, then a suffering again. But one must be careful with this dialectic; for otherwise, one babbles like priests, who transform Xnty to sobs and tears.

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a thought that I had indeed entertained early on, which has plagued me ever since

The thought of reaching one’s potential―and then, then to break it off absolutely in order to tend to myself; to reach my potential qua auth. and then to break it off absolutely and never again set pen to paper; this thought a (even if I could do it) is by no means a religious thought, but a proud, worldly thought. Religiously speaking, the demand is this: to endure in suffering. Imparting truth is a religious action because it is considered a duty to expose oneself to the suffering tied to proclaiming the truth. Ah, thinking, that is my joy; writing sustains my life. But to surrender[?] Yes, that’s painful. I see very clearly (though perhaps my melancholia darkens everything even more) that I expose myself to opposition more and more. Pecuniary sacrifices are becoming heavier and heavier; to impart in order to learn something is impossible because I’m far too advanced for that. It’s all the more clear that my desires and duties force my resolve: I can do no other.

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My misfortune qua auth. in Denmark was that I am prodigiously out of proportion. Again and again R. Nielsen repeated

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that he’d understood this. Then he wanted to get creative. What did he do? He erected a great edifice of sorts alongside [what I had done], using everything I’d produced as well as what he’d received in abundance from our conversations; he’s nearly silent about the former and completely silent about the la�er―and now the whole thing is entrenched more firmly than ever, if that’s possible. But there is one deception I don’t believe he’s engaged in. I don’t think he’s rlly been able to understand how deceitful his behavior can be. He seems not to be capable of gaining any perspective at all.

Happy are those who can think and be inspired by the thought that Xnty has gone from triumph to triumph from century to century, happy are those who can thus be inspired without once being perturbed by the objection about whether present-day Xnty is an expression for how much more triumphant Xnty is now than in the beginning! Ah, I can only understand Xnty as having been truest in the first generation, among the contemporaries, and less and less true with each generation. In general I can’t understand any alternative to the view that every thought (the truth of which is a ma�er of inwardness) is truest in the one in whom it first arose and therea�er becomes continually more and more untrue each time it is propagated further.

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Hum. beings cannot grasp the idea that someone might voluntarily put himself in danger, knowing that he might end up suffering as a result. They think that someone who exposes himself to danger does so in the belief that he will be victorious. So when someone who believes he will end up suffering, really suffers, they busy themselves saying: It’s his own fault, his pride, etc. This suffering is also demonstrated in Xt’s life. The way they said that he wanted to tear down the temple and build it up in 3 days is reminiscent of the great things he said about himself. But they were wrong―he really did tear down the temple: his death on the cross was the downfall of Judaism; he tore down the temple at that very moment; and he built it up again in three days

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because his resurrection (on the third day) was the beginning of Xnty or, rather, or the Xn temple rests on it as on a foundation.

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What was it that explains the transformation in the apostles, who just a few days earlier were abandoned and disheartened and suddenly gained the faith and courage and heart to risk life and all for Xt’s sake? The answer one usually hears: the communication of the Holy Spirit at the feast of Pentecost and therefore this transformation proves that a miracle must have intervened. But it’s time for another side of the ma�er to be brought forward. As long as Xt was with them, they could not entirely renounce their earthly expectations (as Xt said: he must leave in order that the Spirit could come). When he then died the death of the cross and was buried, then things got serious for them; every earthly hope was now lost―and here lies their rebirth. Xt’s solemn assurances about his suffering and death don’t help; the fact that he’s the one saying it, standing there with them in his own person, is precisely what hinders them from really believing it. Things must get serious. Here one sees the difference betw. direct and indirect communication: when he really was dead, it was indirect communication. One sees from this the implausibility of the objection (found in the Wolf. Fragm.a I, § 32 and 33) that the apostles had changed their view of him and that it was only a�er his death that they made him the redeemer of the world rather than the earthly messiah that they took him to be. This is certainly true, but the fault was not Xt’s: he had said it to them quite clearly, but they couldn’t understand it. This shows that Spirit can only be communicated indirectly. As long as he was personally with them, no ma�er how clearly he said it they nevertheless misunderstood it―it was not until he had died that they themselves became spirit and understood him. The situation has to be there. And so it is for everyone. There is a difference betw. understanding in the manner of possibility (an understanding that is always a misunderstanding) and understanding in reality. No ma�er how self-sacrificing the plan someone might have thought up, as long as it has not become a ma�er of reality, of seriousness, he cannot be sure that there isn’t some surreptitious earthly hope involved, that he might nevertheless maybe triumph in this world. He has not yet become spirit. In “possibility,” it is impos-

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sible to become spirit. Only when it becomes a ma�er of reality and every earthly hope is really lost is he reborn so as to understand in an entirely true manner what he had indeed nevertheless understood right from the start but in such a way that a misunderstanding slumbered within. Thus spirit gathers itself together as spirit and now has purely spiritual powers. Perhaps things looked easier in possibility, but really it becomes easier in reality because Spirit is now really and purely at one with itself.

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This too belongs to the nonsense that a resolute man must endure: if he lets others notice that he’s experiencing the slightest bit of pain, then they instantly beli�le everything he’s about with a rhetorical ploy, saying, If he’s really set on it then he ought to be content with the inner satisfaction it gives. As if it were that easy to be spirit at every moment and as if it wasn’t true that, viewed as a whole, he had in fact been firm in his resolution― even if he suffered for a moment―which was even the case with Xt. It is essentially envy to come up with this kind of objection, which peop. are certainly also habituated to by the slush they get served on Sundays, where everything is decided just like that: He made the great resolve and carried it out―Amen. It all happens in the space of 48 minutes.

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What Luther says (in his sermon on this gospel text) is right, that it is a powerful word from God: God so loved the world― for “the world” is just what repels God, but this is said precisely to show that none are excluded except for those who exclude themselves.

On the other hand, it is Luther’s own saying that faith is not a ma�er for everyone, which is how he translates 2 Thess 3:2. But this facilely defines faith as a kind of geniality. I also remember how Schelling said in his lectures that faith is a form of geniality and quoted Luther.

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[a]

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Cf. this journal pp. 217ff.

NB. No, no, I can’t and it is indeed almost an impossibility that I should now move up even higher and more boldly than when I had the bene�t of having a fortune. No, no, if I don’t have any fortune I must �nd security by getting a position or in some other way, as I always thought I would―but I am not capable of more, that is, going further out would mean tempting God. What I put down about myself in NB10 is entirely true. I need favorable conditions in order to rise up without regard to consequences. I am essentially a poet, a genius. I am not the one who directs the whole show, it is not my intention, etc., but I am used as long as I remain bound by my melancholia and consciousness of sin to the hand of the power above. I myself am like a pure re�ection, that is, sheer retrospection. To take it all upon myself in a direct way runs counter to self-denial. What has shaken me again and again and what continues to shake me despite all my religious efforts is the idea of stepping forward in the persona of an author in such a way that I commit myself to a certain standard for an extended period, perhaps my whole life, and to do so precisely at the moment when I must get used to taking care of �nancial matters.

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So. Just as the river Guadalquibir plunges underground at one point and then emerges later, I must now plunge into pseudonymity; but I have now also understood where I will emerge again in my own name. And what this really comes down to is to do something in the line of looking for a position and then traveling. 1) The three small ethical-religious treatises will remain anonymous. That was already decided upon. 2) The Sickness unto Death becomes pseudonymous and in that regard needs to be proofed to make sure my name, etc., doesn’t appear in it. 3) The three works: “Come unto Me All You,” “Blessed Is He Who Is Not Offended,” “From On High He Will Draw All unto Himself”a become pseudonymous. Or all three in one volume under the common title Practice in Christianity. An Experiment by―(or each by itself). They will need to be proofed to make sure nothing personal, my name, etc., is included, which is the case in the third one. 4) The texts called The Point of View for My Work as an Auth., A Note, Three Notes,b “Armed Neutrality” cannot be published. All this productivity will be properly pseudonymous. For it has the tension and contraction of the dialectical in relation to the doctrine of sin and redemption, and that is where I then begin in my own name with a simple edifying discourse. But it is one thing when this kind of dialectic appears pseudonymously and something else when it appears with my name, in character, as a finale to all my striving. In that case, there is no hurry about publishing it. If it were to be in character, though, and as a finale, then it would have to happen as quickly as possible, something that has troubled me fearfully and something that has now almost become impossible, because today, June 4th, I spoke with Reitzel, who said he didn’t dare take on anything new at the press. All in all, this fellow has been a frightful nuisance with all his moaning, which is nevertheless probably exaggerated. What has happened here is a ba�le of ideas. In the real world, this entire ma�er about whether to publish them under my own name or not would probably be a bagatelle. But in the world of my ideas, it is a monstrously stressful problem that is like everything to me[:] neither untruthfully to hold myself back nor untruthfully to go too far, but truthfully to understand myself, to remain true to myself. I have struggled and suffered fearfully. But the one who fights for this [“]You shall,[”] as I have done, must also suffer at this point. But it is nevertheless certain that I have sometimes been not far from forcing this [“]You shall[”] in an almost melancholic and foolish manner. But now I understand myself. [“]You shall[”] is eternally true, but it is no less true―and also a [“]You shall[”]―that with [the help of] God, you shall understand your limits and shall not go beyond them, and you shall let go of wanting to. But, merciful God, how I have suffered and how I have struggled. Yet I am comforted by the thought that the God of love will let this too serve for my good; and in a certain sense it comforts me that I have endured this suffering, for it is precisely in this suffering that I became sure about how I am to make my next move. My misfortune has always been that it is so difficult for me to take an appointment; my melancholia, which is almost like a silent mental breakdown, has constantly hindered me, as too has my consciousness of sin. This has constantly helped me to take risks, for it gave

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me the assurance that this was nevertheless not vanity or anything of the sort that motivated me. But in God’s name I must now move in that direction. Strangely enough, by the way[:] I have recorded much in Journal NB10 as well as in this journal. But there’s something wri�en on a loose piece of paper that I’ve kept along with these journals that I haven’t dared record, something I’ve nevertheless taken to be the most decisive of all, and which is also among the earliest, and this is exactly what I’ll conclude with. a b

See the a�ached NB. Cf. this journal p. 157.

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belongs with Journal NB11 p. 127 If “From On High He Will Draw All unto Himself” is to be pseudonymous, then the first discourse must be taken out because that is the one I delivered in the Church of Our Lady. Or else a comment along these lines: [“I ought to] just as well acknowledge the truth straightaway and without reserve: This discourse is a kind of plagiarism. It is a discourse that Mag. Kierkegaard delivered in the Church of Our Lady. I believe it an almost exact reproduction and I ask the Magister to forgive me for publishing it, but the discourse has essentially set the tone for this entire work and so, in a sense, it belongs to it. The Hr. Mag., who so o�en has had to accept the fact that his work is used by others, will also have to accept this.[”]―Then I could reply that I rlly have nothing against it; but because the discourse has turned up in this connection, it has also become something quite different from what it was. But perhaps it would be be�er to leave it out; such a joke can easily be misunderstood.

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First part of NB11:123, with NB11:124, the “a�ached” piece of paper mentioned in one of the footnotes to NB11:123.

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To be written lengthways in the journal. If I had the means, I would risk going further, not in order to get myself put to death (that would be sinful), but nevertheless with that possibility before me, in the belief that eventually my life might take a still higher turn. I can’t do it now and I can’t justify the kind of risk that would direct me toward a life in which I wouldn’t rlly recognize myself, whereas I utterly recognize myself in the kind of persecution I’ve suffered, if one can call it that. From earliest childhood, I’ve had a premonition in my soul that things would turn out this way and that, in a sense, I would be regarded as something except[ional] with ceremonial courtesy, and yet be laughed at and be regarded as a bit bizarre. Now I can’t. Every part of my deeper self protests against me: the notion of simply being an auth., seeking a position, practicing the art of breaking it off, all the more because it was my intention―never as de�nitively as last year, when I made a bit of money from selling the house (I didn’t once rent rooms―I only did that long afterward)―to get serious about stopping and then to travel. And the Friday discourses have constantly appealed to me as the place to �nish. Perhaps I should have done so; I suffered much in 48. But I also learned much, and would scarcely have understood myself to such an extent if I’d stopped. Now I can’t. To suddenly suffer a severe �nancial blow, perhaps as I was about to take the most decisive step―and then perhaps not to be put to death after all, and to mess everything up, myself included: No, I can’t do it. As I see it, I would be tempting God if I, accustomed as I am to having money, were now, in face of this new danger, to risk everything on a scale I haven’t previously attempted. In addition, I have a suspicion about myself now, which I wouldn’t have if I still had money: Is this martyrlike impatience connected to another kind of impatience, the lack of patience as I wince at the humbling effort of taking steps to seek a post, and at the humiliation involved with it all and the entire way of life that goes with it. Furthermore, I have perhaps a little ennui. Perhaps it’s also an exaggeration when I say I’ve been mistreated so badly that I might rather have been put to death. Finally, there is the big question about whether it might be the case that―precisely because of my superior intellectual capacities―I’m intended to go on living. For the more scholarship, etc., there is, the less effective it is to work in that way. Finally, it is part of being human to never quite achieve the highest ideal he has envisioned―patience and humility in this case. But he will be wounded by this ideal―as I have, by coming so close to it in thought. But at least I’m moving in that direction. [a]

This is the loose piece of paper mentioned in this journal (NB11) p. 129

La�er part of NB11:123, with NB11:125, the sheet of paper mentioned in the last paragraph of NB11:123. Kierkegaard intended to copy it “lengthways in the journal” but never did.

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A mo�o relating to the three writings: Practice in Christianity.

The mo�o found in an entry in one of the later journals that was supposed to appear in the published version of the writings (Practice in Christianity) is true of my endeavors: I do not feel strong enough to be like you in such a way as to die for you or for your cause; I am content to do something less: to worshipfully thank you for being willing to die for me.

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They take from Judaism anything that has to do with earthly promises, promises for this life; they teach that one should seek these things in a Jewish way and, in a Jewish way, they see proof of God’s grace in the fact that someone is rich, happily married, blessed in an earthly sense―and if this fails, they turn to another medicine: Xnty’s promises for eternity. And this mixture is said to be Xnty! They simply forget that Xnty’s promises for eternity are scorching because they call for such complete renunciation of the temporal, that Xnty teaches that suffering in temporal life is the very sign of God’s grace. They forget that Judaism’s idea of eternity was weak because it promised so much in this life. Take the gospel about the rich man. The only thing missing―though, on the other hand, it has to be presented like that in order to illuminate Xnty― is that he felt completely assured of being in a state of grace vis-à-vis God. And why? Because everything worked out for him. Luther also takes note of this comment in his sermon on the gospel about the rich man and the beggar. The fact of the ma�er is that the Jews, and peop. in genrl, make God too pe�y, not sufficiently spirit. He immediately compensates the weak and the sensuous: he expresses his wrath and displeasure immediately―[but] he doesn’t contend with superior souls in that way; “spirit” cannot do ba�le like that. “Spirit” must make manifest that earthly concerns

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are a ma�er of indifference and it must show that the distinguishing mark of the God-fearing person is the fact that he suffers, and the mark of the ungodly person is the fact that all his undertakings succeed here in the world. As if in a magical state, everything goes right for him; he becomes more and more secure and finally entirely secure in the illusion that he is in a state of grace vis-à-vis God, God’s favorite―then he dies and goes to hell. Hmnly speaking, it’s almost as if God is too cruel to the ungodly person by le�ing everything go right for him.

It isn’t difficult for hum. beings to understand Xnty; but it is difficult for them to understand the degree of self-containment and [self-]denial Xnty calls for. In this respect, established Xndom is of service because it confirms brilliantly that one can be Xn―and also be worldly in spite of it all. It is dangerous to affix this self-denial to Xnty― and then to contend with those who assert that they know very well what Xnty is.

Text for a Friday Sermon Just this verse for the gospel about the tax collector and the Pharisee: but the tax collector stood far away, by himself, and dared not even li� up his eyes but said: God be merciful to me, a sinner. You, however, are nearer―You are about to walk up to the altar, even if you are far away. But the altar is in a sense the place where one is nearest to God. “He went away justified.” This will be used in conclusion.

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By virtue of the inwardness formed by his consciousness of sin (and this inwardness accounts for the distance), the Xn stands even further off―and yet he is as near to God at the foot of the altar as it is possible to be. This distance and nearness, while the Pharisee was near in intrusive presumptuousness―and far off.

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In relation to the highest form of self-denial, to what degree has someone the right to say: I can go no further or I am unable to go that far (that is, when it is not a question of natural disposition, genius, capacity, etc.)? The ma�er is quite simple. Because everyone’s life must be understood in terms of striving and one can’t do everything ein zwei drei, it may be entirely true, and true in a God-fearing sense (the opposite, indeed, is presumptuous), that someone can say: at this moment I can go no further. But he shall admit it to himself, make no a�empt to forget it or distract himself from it; it is to spur him on, to help him go further by keeping him alert and striving.

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In the domain of genius, the domain where one is defined by one’s nature, in the domain of the aesthetic, what counts is whether or not one can. In the domain of ethics: that one ought. This is why ethics relates to what is universally hum. while the aesthetic relates to the difference betw. one pers. and another. It would be self-contradictory on the part of ethics to speak about ought if it was not the case that every pers. was in possession of the capacity to be able to do it if only he wanted to. Thus, in relation to ethics, nothing is conditional; it is the unconditional [“]ought[”] that tolerates no conditions because it presupposes no conditions. The aesthetic presupposes conditions and is only unconditional if the condition is unconditionally present, while ethics is unconditional because it presupposes no conditions and is thus altogether unconditional or unconditionally unconditional.

8 ein zwei drei] German, one, two, three.

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NB. Much of what I’ve been tormenting myself about―whether it is permissible to be a poet― could very well be seen from another perspective as a melancholic demand to be more than human. I have had the bene�t of having money and have therefore recognized that I was not a witness to the truth in a stricter sense―now I no longer have that bene�t: [but] this doesn’t change things; such bene�ts are not at all a plus but a minus. Now (as was my idea from the very �rst moment) I am thinking in another way about securing my means. This is entirely consistent. I cannot play the role of someone exceptional, I cannot defend such a step―I am an inspector and a poet. My incognito remains more or less in place. I have reached the limits of my individual capacities, which is why the struggle is so dif�cult, lest I go too far or do not go far enough. I think this will be the case if I seek a position and publish the �nished material pseudonymously. All of this is worked out in detail in Journal NB10, however, which I return to again after almost having wanted to go beyond my limits; but this suffering is precisely the kind of boundary dispute that, ethically, ought to be taken as seriously as possible. I have never, ever, not from the very outset, imagined that I would continue primarily to be an author for even a moment longer than I had the means to support myself in it.

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To live as do the lily and the bird isn’t the poetic way to live (it’s stupid of the philistines to reproach “the poet” for supposedly doing so―instead of earning his living, etc.). Oh, no, it is precisely the true way to live. But the misfortune is that “the poet” doesn’t do it, only the apostle does. The poetic life consists of securing an income in one way or another, and then preaching, talking, writing poems about living as do the lily and the bird, as the apostle does. The philistine complaint about the poet could gain a semblance of the truth only to the extent that the poetic is conceived of as nothing but play. For the way of the apostle is to live as do the lily and the bird with regard to making a living―and then to be absorbed in thought about the eternal, working for the eternal goal.

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The sinner’s relation to Xt develops like the love of a woman for a man. At first there is pain, a kind of suffering―for the feminine has not yet yielded, it has a selfish element and thus shudders at the idea of a man’s superiority. So too does the sinner shudder at the first thought of coming so close to the holy one, to be before him at every moment. This, then, is still a selfish element in the sinner, and this is where offense really comes in. As soon as he has yielded entirely, his most blessed comfort will be having Xt with him at every moment―his savior and atoner.

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With regard to ideality, one can learn something from people at these ages: the child, the youth, the young girl, the elderly―one can learn nothing in this regard from the man of affairs or the busy

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housewife[. A]nd why not? [B]ecause they are essentially occupied with finite goals. This demonstrates, then, that ideality has a more abstract relation to reality, it is at a tangent.

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A woman’s reflections are almost always too overwhelming for her, which is why it is so dangerous for a woman to acquire the capacity to reflect. This is how things o�en go with female reflection: if she has been successful in one way or another, has overcome herself, she can’t stop gazing on her victory―and so she trips up. A man’s character is more essential to him; and character is not as much a ma�er of succeeding, but of remaining upright a�er a success, of maintaining oneself in character. The female way is to endure, looking forward to the moment that is sure to come when she can breathe freely again. It is this moment that is dangerous. Character is rlly continuity.

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On Sunday, Visby accidentally hit upon a remark that wasn’t infelicitous. It was the gospel of Nicodemus. The wind blows where it will and you hear it whistle. He then preached on how you shouldn’t try to conceptualize ma�ers and said something along these lines: the more you try to grasp it, the more you’re only able to hear it whistle. But Visby hasn’t really any insight, he just speaks any old way; but this is also what makes him refreshing and why he is a priest still worth listening to.

Hmnly speaking, it looks like this. Earthly life has sorrows and troubles aplenty (sickness, poverty, etc.); let us help one another as much as we can, all praise and honor to the one who finds new ways

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In one of my very earliest diaries (before I got my degree) it says: Xt is a tangent. This is no unfortunate remark. What is a tangent? It is a straight line that touches a circle at one single point. But that is also how the absolute is [concentrated at] a single point.

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and means of doing so―and then Xnty comes along, bringing only another source of need and misery: the truth―that one must suffer for the truth.

The gospel about the great supper (2nd Sunday a�er Trinity) begins with one of the guests saying, Blessed are those who feast in the kingdom of heaven―which gives Xt occasion to tell the parable that shows that he [the guest] is scarcely likely to feast in the kingdom of heaven. Hmnly speaking, it’s rather harsh. In his sermon, Luther himself draws a�ention to the rudeness. The same gospel presents marriage―as an excuse for no longer seeking God’s kingdom. In the sermon on this gospel text, Luther presents a peculiar proof for the immortality of the soul, though he doesn’t emphasize it himself. He explains that Xt himself is the food, is the supper, is the meal. If we now feed on this meal, then, even if we die, we nevertheless cannot remain in death because―what feeds us lives. In other cases, one argues that one lives because one eats; here one argues that one lives because one’s food lives. There is something peculiar about this syllogism.

The Middle Ages took a wrong turn in believing that it was a transgression for a priest to marry. Then Luther came―and got married[.] Now it’s gone so far that it’s regarded as a transgression if a priest doesn’t marry. And it’s hard to be a priest without being married: the congregation won’t have any confidence in him as a pastor, etc., if he isn’t married.―And people say this openly in the same way that they say that “families” would rather have a married man as their physician; they’re afraid that an unmarried person will be lecherous. In the Middle Ages, the single state corresponded to the idea of holiness (in principle, ignoring the possibility that there were also some lecherous characters); today, being unmarried arouses a suspicion that the person is lecherous and unsafe to have around wives and daughters. The world has truly progressed in spiritual terms[!] In the Middle Ages they had most confidence in the unmarried; they thought that the unmarried status conferred a guarantee―this

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is a syllogism of spirit. Now they have most confidence in those who are married; they think that the fact that he is married means he won’t seduce their wives and daughters: this is a syllogism of the flesh.

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What lies in a single line in the first treatise by H. H., right at the start of the Introduction, is shocking, a prodigiously compressed melancholia. As a child he was already an old man.― ―So he lived on, he never became younger. This almost insane inversion, a child, who never became younger; a child, who was already an old man and never became younger. Oh, what a dreadful expression for a dreadful suffering. Ah, but there is nevertheless a difference; when he becomes an old man, if we can assume that he does, then he is by no means old. For to be old like an old man who is old is not the same as being old like someone who as a child was old like an old man.

Ah, what a weight! As I’ve so o�en said about myself, like the princess in 1001 Nights, I saved my life by telling stories, that is, by creating. Creating was my life. I was able to conquer it all, all of it―prodigious melancholia, inner sufferings of a sympathetic kind―when I was able to produce. Then the world stormed in on me; mistreatment that would have rendered others unproductive only made me more productive; and everything, all of it, was forgo�en, it had no power over me when I was able to create. And now, now I must give it up; I can’t afford it, I can’t afford to work diligently, let alone to work with extra diligence! Ah, what an absurd collision. But the fact that I can’t afford it can make me unproductive, for I now regard it as my duty to become unproductive, I must use ethical means to prevent myself from becoming productive. But how I suffer! My melancholia rises up against me, my inner torments come to life and grow powerful, the mistreatment and opposition I get from the world seem unendurable to me―in short I lack what compensates for all of it, I lack the chance to create. In the end I’ll have to allow myself to produce a li�le bit in order to find some relief. But it won’t amount to anything, for

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I don’t dare start on a big work, and that kind of relief has no effect; the only genuine relief comes by moving forward with the steady impetus of ongoing creativity.

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None of the objections to Xnty ma�er at all to a person who is truly conscious of being a sinner, who then truly experiences faith in the forgiveness of sins, in this name and in this faith is saved from the preceding state of sin. The only objection imaginable in this case would be this one: yes, but it’s also possible that you might have been saved in some other way. But to this he has no reply. It’s like being in love―if someone says, yes, but you might also have fallen in love with some other girl, then he must reply: I don’t know about that, I know only one thing: that this is my beloved. As soon as a lover is able to answer the objection, he is eo ipso not in love. And as soon as a believer can answer to this objection, he is eo ipso not a believer.

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One sees the martyrdom of being a Xn here as well. Tax collectors and sinners are peop. who are incapable of giving anything in return, so that to love them is in truth unselfish love: and yet Xt is reproached for doing so; he must suffer because he is truly loving. By loving those who can give something in return, the great and the esteemed, one wraps oneself in the esteem of others; this is what the world calls love. The relative quantities may vary, but in one way or another some small profit has to be involved in love or else the world will not consider it to be love and will make it even less profitable by punishing it as if it were a fault.

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1 Tim 5:11 seems to contradict v. 14. In the former it says that the young widows who oppose Xt out of sensuous passion want to be married; in the la�er: I (Paul) think the young widows ought to be married. But if they want it themselves, everything seems to be in order. I don’t entirely understand this passage, unless I take it to be the most obvious argument against the erotic, so that wanting to 15 eo ipso] Latin, by that very fact.

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marry (falling in love, the erotic) is seen as blameworthy, and the Christian position is the polar opposite: they ought to marry, but not by unifying what they want with what they ought, not as if there were a harmony between desire and obligation, but in such a way that obligation is opposed to desire in the strongest way.

I won’t deny that I was painfully affected when I noticed how Mynster suddenly hit upon the idea of taking Goldschmidt as his protégé―despite the fact that he both thinks he caused a great deal of damage and that he lacks character―simply because he had a�acked certain people Mynster doesn’t like. But this too shows a lack of character. But it’s like that with everybody here in Denmark: their judgment is entirely governed by the present moment. One might have expected this from someone like Sibbern, who has become an empty-head in recent years―but not from Mynster. The fact that Mynster mentioned him by name and position, a Jew in parliament, doesn’t mean anything because talking about someone in that way changes nothing. But just look at Goldschmidt: he’s beaming with joy simply because his “eminence” has named him; and G. also suggested that Mynster is an eminent stylist. And God knows what G. has read of his―his sermons perhaps? And this is the same G. who worked the mob up against me because I had thanked Kts Inc. for what he said about Fear and Trembling!

My response to the problem that Xt’s second coming is prophesied as impending and yet still hasn’t happened is to draw a�ention to the fact that it is a subjectively true u�erance. And not only must Xt speak like this, and the apostles as well―which they did―but also every true Xn. That is, it is so agonizing to be a true Xn that it couldn’t be endured if one didn’t expect Xt’s second coming to happen at any time now. Agony and suffering engender a necessary illusion. One can therefore say the obverse, that anyone who doesn’t talk like this, but in some other way, who expects Xt’s second coming in many centuries, sometime in the future, or is interested in proving that it didn’t happen as Xt predicted, is no true Xn. One isn’t Xn without the pain and agony

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of being a true Xn in this world; and if one experiences the pain and agony, then the illusion is necessary. Take a girl in love, who is separated from her beloved. The more she loves and the more she feels the pangs of separation, the more these pangs feed her hope of seeing him again. She hopes to see him again soon, living like this for many years perhaps, yet constantly hoping that the time is at hand when she will see him again. As soon as she starts talking about seeing him again sometime, in many years, etc., it means that she’s no longer in love; it usually means she wants to arrange a new marriage. Ah, it’s such a beautiful thing in our language that “nourishment” is related to being “near”; the greater the need, the nearer the nourishment; the nourishment is in the need, and if it isn’t actually the need itself, it is what is nearest to it. If the girl who is in love really is in love, then seeing him again is near at hand; if she is not completely in love―then she might not see him again for a long time. This is the only kind of polemical response one can give to objections, to a�ack the objector from behind. If a girl puts on the appearance of being in love and says, I long to see him again but it looks as if it won’t happen for a long time, then there’s no reason to debate with her; you say: Thank you, my girl, this shows me that you’re not in love. So too if someone questions Xt’s assertion that his return is imminent. One says to him: You must admit that you’re either a believer or you’re not. If it’s the la�er, I reply: What does any of this have to do with you[?] It concerns you just as li�le as being in love concerns a third party. If you say that you are a believer, you who nevertheless make these same objections, then I say to you that you aren’t a believer: It’s proven in the way you speak.

There is something to the inverse syllogism that Fenelon proposes somewhere. People say there are many false miracles, all pagan religions also have miracles, etc. ergo the Christian ones are false, too. He turns it around: he concludes that the Christian miracles are miracles. A universal hum. error like this must have some basis in truth; this truth is the miracle of Christianity. Frantz Baader, too, ni fallor, has concluded that, given all the incarnations in paganism, ergo the Christian incarnation is true. 39 ni fallor] Latin, if I am not mistaken.

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And therein also lies the truth: untruth contains an impulse toward truth, a nisus. This is something I’ve drawn a�ention to elsewhere: it is consoling that there are so many words to signify drivel, crock, blather, etc., because otherwise one would have to fear that everything was blather, but now there’s at least hope that something is meaningful. It would also be possible to conclude that, given the many words for drivel, blather, etc., ergo everything is blather. But the alternative conclusion is more correct.―

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What one reads in the Wol�. Fragments (vom Zwecke Jesus und seiner Jünger § 54. p. 235) regarding Peter’s denial isn’t silly: the twelve thrones on which they wanted to sit were now cast down at a single stroke and then no one wanted to sit at his right hand or his le�. All in all, this and the following § lack neither boldness nor ingenuity, and by a scoffer.

2 nisus] Latin, striving, drive.

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If the three texts are published as one (Practice in Christianity. An Attempt), “Armed Neutrality” could well be published as an appendix, but naturally pseudonymously by the same pseudonym. A pseudonym is excellent precisely in order to identify a standpoint, an attitude, a position. He is a poetic personage. This is not the same as if I were to personally declare that this is what I shall �ght for―which could indeed almost become a lifelong obligation and an obligation that could be impossible to satisfy because of external circumstances, e.g., if I had to use the majority of my time in working for a living.

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It is evident from the pastoral epistles, where Paul simply portrays a Christian teacher’s relation to fellow Christians, that Xnty is much easier and milder when it is not a militant doctrine but rather is the interrelationship of Xns themselves. The aim and tone are therefore that of mild exhortation. But one of the things to be noted here is that, at the time, everything was as it should be for those few Xns, because they were indeed true Xns, or at least close to it. Moreover, the Christian Church itself was still only a li�le colony, like a sect in the world, which helped it remain vigilant. But the moment Xnty triumphed in a worldly sense and everyone became Xn in the ridiculous manner we see now, where a spiritual-worldly authority ensures that every child is baptized―from this moment on, the unconditional polemic target must be the illusion that we are all Xns because of it, and this polemical aim can only be taken more and more rigorously for each century that “established Xndom” remains established, since with each century the illusion becomes stronger.

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Here’s something dialectical. It can be a spiritual trial but it can also be true: a person requires too much of God, wants to be spirit to too great an extent, and thus in a certain sense loves God more or otherwise than God can allow or accept, and wants only to be helped spiritually with his sufferings and burdens. There are innocent hum. remedies (recreation, bodily exercise, etc., etc.) that hum. beings ought not to overlook at the risk of requiring too much of God. But this is a dialectical ma�er. For sometimes, in some people, it is hum. torpor that doesn’t want to be spirit and thus they immediately take hold of the easier remedies and say that it’s because they don’t dare require too much of God. But sometimes it can also be a spiritual pride or an overwrought weakness that really does require too much of God and himself. To the first, one must say: No, don’t protect yourself, just endure. To the other: Don’t be presumptuous or don’t torment yourself. It is certain that many, many sufferings and spiritual trials that can be dispelled by hum. remedies can almost become world events if one is able to endure or conquer them by means

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of spirit. What is demanding is infinite transparency before God. Hum. remedies are all designed to draw the a�ention elsewhere. A wife, for example, is in many ways an excellent diversion, as are mechanical dealings, and social interactions with others. But these are dangerous, like all diversions, for it’s rlly a ma�er of ideality. The truth of ideality is this: every hum. being is the only hum. being―but what relief to know that you are just one among tens, thousands, millions. How easy life finally becomes―almost nothing. Yet, as noted, ways of diverting oneself can be necessary. But it’s evident that the proud and the weak will easily become entangled in these diversions even if, in a spiritual sense, they are permi�ed to. Let us take someone like this. He says: If, then, I am unconditionally to put up with everything, spirit must eventually come to my aid. Or is spirit not the absolute? Indeed it is, but watch out: you are not absolute spirit. On the other hand, he is constantly pained by this idea: If only I can hold on for just a moment more, then perhaps spiritual help will arrive―and this is indeed what I wanted so much. But the response to this must be: [“]Certainly you have a point. It is not praiseworthy of a hum. being to say straightaway, [‘]When I finally find relief, find some pleasure, etc., it doesn’t ma�er whether it’s spiritual assistance or assistance that comes from diversions that lead me away from spirit.[’ ”] But it is nevertheless certain that no one has the absolute right to say: [“]I will absolutely only be helped by spirit,[”] because if he has permission to want something absolutely, it can only be this: to be helped―and to gratefully accept diversions. As a rule, one can certainly endorse pastoral care that confidently prescribes something along these lines: that you shall not protect yourself but endure being and becoming spirit. Gen[uinely] spiritual souls are so rare that they are more appropriately treated as exceptions. The norm is therefore this: recommend diversions only as an exception, but as a rule prescribe spiritual medicines, for the medicine of diversion is something that hum. beings are only too eager to take. The exceptions are the sick for whom one prescribes diversions but the majority are only too robust, so the operation is aimed precisely at making them a li�le bit sick, a li�le bit weak―by prescribing spiritual medicine for them.

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I can repeat Peter’s words [“]Depart from me for I am a sinful man[”] with a quite distinct emphasis. There is something shocking in what I see when I look back and think about what was granted me, what I have achieved―and then that I have been a penitent. Hmnly speaking, it is an almost rebellious idea―and yet that is precisely the idea that has helped me, because if I had been a righteous man I would have recoiled with shock at the idea that the whole thing might possibly be vanity or pride.

Woe, woe to these who have taken Xnty in vain by transforming it into pure tenderness, and to such a degree that it is almost pitiful, as if Xnty didn’t have the strength to come to grips with the proudest defiance, even the devil’s defiance, but had to slink about in tenderness and indulgence in order to be acceptable to hum. beings. Woe, woe to those who have used this to make their own lives so comfortable and pleasant in a worldly sense. Woe to them, and I could also say it in my own interests, for I become all the more insufferable and hated when I bring out the rigorous aspect. And what a strange calling, that it is precisely me that is charged with being [the voice of] rigor, I, who am not far from being a melancholic self-tormentor, constantly in fear and trembling, suffering from a complete lack of physical strength and all that goes along with it: I am to represent rigor, I, who, when it comes to blows, cannot help but hit myself ten times harder than anyone else. And yet in a certain sense one could say that rigor is in good hands for that very reason; it is under the right sort of guarantee because it won’t be taken up as a ma�er of vanity to selfishly tyrannize others. I too am flesh and blood, a pers. who has a great deal of the poet in him. I would be all too happy to avoid saying certain things (which is why I am much inclined to let them lie until a�er my death)―but I am to be [the voice of] rigor; and yet I know that even if it doesn’t affect anyone else, it will affect me, about whom a certain man said early on: there is only one person you’re hard on―yourself. But Mynster has caused irreparable damage. The unfortunate thing is that if you look at him in passing, he erroneously ap-

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pears to be an impressive sovereign-figure, but he is basically a great coward. Yes! God grant he had been a ruler. And this is really what captivated me, so that for a long, long time I imagined that he was the powerful man of will, the ruler―and when one looks closer one sees a cra�y self-indulgent man who has struggled to exert his rule but not qua ruler. What he wants is power―he is willing to cut a deal when it is needed and cleverly keeps himself in power. Merciful God! Is this what it means to govern? In a sense, it can be said to his credit and in his praise that among all those in government, he made it through the year 48 with the least damage, but such an encomium is a satire on him qua ruler, höchstens an encomium on him qua cra�y man of the world. And yet I cleave so much to this man; the pious memory of my father is definitely the decisive factor. But he rlly could have been dangerous for me insofar as I have a great natural inclination toward cra�iness. And if Governance didn’t have me in its shackles, if I was my own master like all other hum. beings are, humnly speaking, if I was therewith physically strong―who knows if I wouldn’t have become the cra�y one myself.

If you take the horror of eternity away (either eternal salvation or eternal perdition), then the willingness to follow Jesus is basically a fantasy. For only the seriousness of the eternal can obligate and motivate someone to take the decisive risk, and only the seriousness of the eternal can justify doing so. But because we now all imagine, supinely, that we will all be saved, the scoundrels and the righteous alike, those who have been righteous to the very best of their abilities and those who cheated a bit, all, every one of us will be justified: yes, then peop. are basically right to consider it preposterous and ridiculous to sacrifice everything to follow Jesus. The ethical is where we find seriousness; if you remove the ethical and make, e.g., Xt into the ideal and then imitate him, you take him in vain. It must be a ma�er of heaven and hell―and that must be the reason for following him, i.e., in order to be saved; that is seriousness.

13 höchstens] German, at the most.

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Ah! But what sufferings lie ahead. It is quite certain that the suffering will be nearly as horrific the second time [Christianity is introduced] into the world as it was when Xnty was originally introduced, for that is what it’s all about. It was initially introduced into the world and triumphed over raw passions. Now, in Christendom itself, Christianity has been abolished by prudence and everything that goes along with it, so that it must again be introduced into Christendom. But the fight will be with prudence.

Oration at the Grave of a Great Orator If ever there were an occasion for an orator, one of those rare occasions, this is it. But he is no longer with us, his lips are silenced, etc.; the occasion best suited to his eloquence is denied him, we stand silently by his grave―and how willingly would he who must speak here remain silent, for who can speak at his grave[?] Ah, return once more among us, let us again, for the last time, hear your powerful voice. In this form might his memory be reproduced. This isn’t an infelicitous point.

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When James says: As the body is dead without the spirit so is faith dead without works―one could readily turn the image around and say: Likewise works are dead without faith, for faith corresponds more to spirit and works to the body than vice versa.

It’s really quite convenient to be a “contemporary,” especially is the sense of the public, because then one acts in the first person but judges oneself in the third person, as if one weren’t oneself. One gives oneself leeway to do anything at all to hinder exceptional people; if one successfully hinders them, one concludes[:] ergo they weren’t exceptional. But the culpability of the age and the way it treated them―is spoken of objectively by the age itself.

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There is an odd kind of self-contempt in willingly going along with the world like that. The public is rlly deeply contemptuous of itself; to be free of responsibility like the wind or a horse or a dog is the most pathetic of privileges.

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The few contemporaries who might be said to be capable of evaluating my cause see quite clearly that I don’t have anything of value at my command right now; I have no positions to distribute, etc., etc. On the other hand, they see quite clearly that I already possess a historic renown that is rare. But they also understand that they can’t profit from it because history doesn’t take such characters along just like that: ergo they work against me li�le by li�le. Oh, hum. egotism! And then we all weep on Sundays when the priest weeps and preaches about truth. There really is something to the view that one ultimately finds a bit more self-sacrifice among women, which is no doubt because they live quieter and more withdrawn lives and thus a li�le closer to ideality; they don’t as easily acquire the marketplace measures used by men, who get right to the business of life. What saves women is the distance from life that is granted them for so long (which is why even among women one sometimes sees traces of and expressions of individuality, the boldness to grasp a single idea and hold on to it). This quieter life means that women are sometimes more loyal to themselves than men are, since men are demoralized from boyhood by the demand to be like the others, and become completely demoralized as youths, not to mention as men, by being taught all about the way things are in practical life, in reality. It is this very competence that is ruinous. If girls are brought up in the same way, one can say goodnight to the whole hum. race. And women’s emancipation, which tends toward this very sort of education, is no doubt the invention of the devil.

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The cause could easily become life threatening. It concerns neither more nor less than the fact that within Xndom, Xnty has been abolished, and the fact that Xndom won’t for a second relinquish its claim that it is indeed Xn.

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If I were contesting points of doctrine―ah, such a dispute could hardly become dangerous, least of all in our time, when tolerance is so widespread, when indifference is honored in the name of tolerance. No, but denial of self, renunciation of the world, etc. are at stake when the issue is Xndom’s abolishment of Xnty. They don’t want to hear a word about any of that and yet they want to be Xn. And talking about it could easily put one’s life in peril, for what do they love more than worldliness, advantage, honor, esteem, the solidarity of self-love, etc.[?] If they’re permi�ed to retain all that, they’ll accept Xnty as a doctrine. The movement that will lead Xndom back to Xnty must be one of inwardness, however. It is as if a lawyer came to an estate and found that in a certain sense everything was as it should be―except the fact that the tenants had decided that the estate was the property of the people living there and not that of the gracious lord. What could be done here? It wasn’t a ma�er of chasing the smith away from his trade, or the priest, or the manager, etc. No. Each was permi�ed to carry on in his trade; but a notary took inventory of everybody and everything on the estate and made it clear that the estate belonged to the gracious lord. Xndom has reenacted the parable of the laborers in the vineyard who killed the master’s messengers and finally also his son: “for now the vineyard is ours.” Now they think they’ll be Xn; who knows, they say, maybe it’s a smart move. But what Xnty demands with re. to self-denial, renunciation, with re. to first seeking God’s kingdom―they don’t want to hear anything about that. Now and again, someone comes along who really is a true Xn, someone who has such a feeling for truth that he cannot conceal what it is to be a true Xn. He’s then declared a traitor, an odium totius christianitas (ad modum odium generis humani, as the first Xns were called), and he’s killed. It’s also an act of treachery to be honest and expose this whole tissue of lies. So they kill him. Like those in the vineyard, they say “let us kill him, then the vineyard is ours.” Hmnly speaking, it is thankless work: first to force oneself to deny oneself (Lord God, we’re all flesh and blood) and then to be hated, cursed, treated like a monster because of it. This is Xnty, this is the “gentle doctrine of truth” in “quiet moments,” “in holy places”!

32 odium totius christianitas (ad modum odium generis humani] Latin, offense to all Christendom (as in an offense to the human race.

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This is where one clearly sees the difference between a pagan and a Christian way of looking at things[:] That God delays his punishment is explained by Xnty in terms of God’s patience and mercy, that he wants to give the sinner time to repent and improve himself, and thus maybe even let him escape punishment, or in any case, let it be carried out at a moment when it falls more gently on him because he is reconciled with God. Paganism portrays God’s delay in punishment as a kind of cruelty; it knows that deferred punishment hurts the most. See, e.g., Plutarch in a li�le treatise on the deferral of div. punishment.

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Forgiveness of sin and atonement do not exactly indicate that God suspends every punishment but that the sufferer now suffers his punishment in quite another way because he knows that he is reconciled with God. It is a crass misunderstanding to think that atonement exempts one from punishment. No, the spiritual element in the forgiveness of sin is the fact that the sinner gains the confidence to dare to believe that God is gracious to him even though he nevertheless suffers his punishment. But in relation to punishment this is a real transubstantiation.

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It was “the evil spirit” that led Xt away to tempt him in solitude. Based on that, one might be tempted to conclude that it’s always an evil spirit that leads peop. into solitude. There’s some truth to that, but it’s also the path to the true God-relationship, and it must also be said that Xt’s temptation in solitude was his development, if one may speak that way. Moreover, in a sense God also dwells in a place of solitude. But it’s also true that solitude is dialectical, and rarely does a person amount to something, good or evil, if he’s never been alone. In solitude one finds the absolute, but also absolute danger. In company there is relativity and relative danger, but of course also a danger that is more than relative: to miss out on the absolute, never to discover that it’s there, never to define one’s life in relation to it no ma�er how far one might be from a�aining it. For it is enthusiasm and pride to want to be the absolute, but it is truth to understand that it is

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one’s measure, the measure of both humility and activation, for it is humbling to see how far away from it one is, but it must also act as instigation and keep one vigilant during one’s pursuits.

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… And when some kind of grief, pain, or suffering takes hold of you and you experience it as something horrific, when it seems like a great achievement just to bear it as you trudge through life but that nothing more could be expected―then seek some relief; see to it that you find a new perspective, for that new perspective will refresh you. Call to mind what is wri�en in one of the hymns in our authorized hymn book:

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There (in eternity) I shall bless you For your sufferings in time Cannot be likened To the blessedness there, [W]ith regard to this suffering, too, the important thing―if you don’t waste the opportunity entirely―is that you are to thank God for it. It will not only turn out to be far easier sometime in eternity, no―you shall thank God for it. Think about it, it is the relaxation of spirit and the refreshment of spirit.

On Lessing and the Fragments Even if one could forgive Lessing for everything found in The Fragments, the fact that he made the a�ack anonymously (ah, and in this regard too, he set the tone for modernity) can only be forgiven in another sense[:] here he was clearly not sufficiently dialectically developed to know what he was doing. The ma�er is quite simple. It’s impossible to fight anonymously against something that claims to be authoritative and claims to derive its strength from authority. That is, if this is allowed, then authority has lost everything before the ba�le begins and even the worst slouch can dispose of authority.

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, [even if it were] a distance of 18,000 years, if that were imaginable; it is the greatest possible distance of qualitative misunderstanding.

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Authority fights like this: Let me see you, you, who speak like this; stand in front of me, face to face, and then repeat that I’m a deceiver, etc. That is, authority takes account of the passions. But shouldn’t, perhaps, the passionate aspect also be a truth, just as much as the so-called objective aspect[?] Lessing himself was probably of the opinion that an anonymous a�ack against him would be disarmed if the a�acker were brought face to face with Lessing, and that the a�acker would fall silent. Whether Xnty is the truth, i.e., whether Xt is who he says he is, can rlly only be decided in the situation of contemporaneousness, which really forces pathos to the fore. But if one is to form even a weak opinion about it, one must first use all one’s imaginative capacity to get an impression of the tension involved in contemporaneousness. But here not a single scholar, scarcely a single scholarly discipline, sits down and ponders what can be understood through the passions. Furthermore, we are now 1800 years away from the tension of contemporaneousness―and people are more or less completely apathetic. And they are becoming more and more anonymousa. That must become the issue itself. What is the issue? The issue is whether one is for or against what presents itself as authoritative and consequently has a passionate effect. If one takes this away, one takes the issue itself away in casu. What would we think of an official who read an order from his superior not as an order but as a literary production he was to critically evaluate and test, who thought that was his job, and even sent a “well-wri�en” critique back to his superior. I suppose he would be dismissed as mentally unfit. When there is a question about an authority, then this issue is whether or not it is an authority―ergo, it can be contested neither objectively nor anonymously. I am to be contemporary with it and must go to Xt in my own person and say: You are a deceiver.

30 in casu] Latin, in this case.

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There is only one proof for the truth of Xnty and it is quite rightly the passionate proof that results when the anxiety of sin and the troubled conscience compel a person to cross the thin line that sep[arates] despairing madness―and Xnty. There lies Xnty.

It is disturbing to see the frivolity, indifference, and assurance with which children are brought up. And yet by the age of 10 every hum. being is essentially what he will become. And yet one will find that nearly everyone bears some damage from childhood that they haven’t overcome by their 70th year; and all unhappy individuals readily point to some bad experience in childhood. Ah, it’s a sad satire on the hum. race that Governance has so richly endowed nearly every child because it knew in advance what it means to be brought up by “parents,” i.e., to be messed up as much as hmnly possible.

It is rather odd that in the Three Godly Discourses, I ascribed Peter’s “cast all your sorrows on God” to Paul.

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forth. But it cannot be anonymously a�acked, because the a�acker situates himself on the same level as authority, which is essentially personality. The a�acker then conducts himself like this: He says, [“]I shall a�ack this authority,[”] but by remaining anonymous he’s decided the ma�er in advance and expressed his view that this authority is no authority. The whole thing is confusion.

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Prayer We are ready to receive from your hand all that you give. If it be glory and honor that is offered, we are ready to receive it from your hand; if it be mockery and contempt, we are ready to receive it from your hand. Ah, that we might with equal gratitude and joy take the one as well as the other so that we make no distinction between the one and the other―and indeed there is no great difference so long as we look solely to what is decisive: that it comes from you.

Maybe it isn’t required of you to let yourself be put to death for Xnty or to make many sacrifices; but you shall be absolutely willing to do so. But will anyone be able to say whether another pers. has done so? No, nor shall they, although it must also be remembered that if all the external data of a pers.’s life is examined, a certain suspicion might arise. But even if you’re altogether pure, just as you bear your cross, you’ll have to put up with this misunderstanding, as if in all inwardness you had not offered absolutely―this is the least you can suffer in recompense for not facing any actual danger.

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One could use the words spoken by the angel to Mary Magdalene at the grave here: be not afraid―you seek Jesus of Nazareth. For those who seek Jesus initially fear him, his holiness, before they feel the comfort of his grace and mercy.

Xt stopped Paul and said: Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me. Perhaps a more common conversion crisis would be Xt stopping someone and saying: Saul, Saul, why are you fleeing from me, why are you afraid of me, for I am your savior. For this is the crisis en route to becoming a Xn, that is, the pers. who wants to become Xn is initially anxious before Xt, even though he acknowledges him.

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In Luther’s sermon on the Pharisee and the tax collector, he quotes a beautiful passage from the psalms of David, 50:23 “Whosoever gives thanks honors me, and this is the way in which I shall show him the blessedness of God.” [T]hus “thanksgiving” is really the “sacrifice” that is well-pleasing to God.

I’ve seen up close how the press operates, how scurrilous it is, and how it brings about demoralization; i.e., [I have seen] the law governing this demoralization. Take Goldschmidt or P. L. Møller. I doubt that either of them would have dared insult me personally or would have even treated me impolitely, no, in person they would have been civil, the model of civility. Even P.L.M. responded respectfully to me in a newspaper (not even in person), but in a decent paper, of course, with his signature a�ached―and that was a�er I’d accosted him in Fædrelandet. I’m referring here to his reply to me in Fædrelandet. But anonymously and in the privileged playground of contemptibility they dared. That, then, was the first lie[:] it was a lie that these anonymous men were courageous, etc. If the simple person understood the situation, then their reputations would be harmed, for the simple person believes that fellows like that must be bold as hell because they have the courage―to write; he doesn’t look closer and doesn’t see the cowardice. Then thousands upon thousands read the paper and spontaneously act upon it― every shopboy, etc., dares to insult me in person. Is it because he’s worse than G. and P.L.M.? By no means, but there is enormous confusion in the usual way of thinking owing to a lack of clarity about ethical concepts. If I were to ask, e.g., who insulted me, the answer would be: P.L.M. or Goldschmidt. These shopboys, etc., these thousands, are all of the opinion that they’re innocent: they’ve simply read it and taken

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their point of reference in what is wri�en in the paper. But precisely because they consider themselves to be innocent they dare do what the two cheeky fellows didn’t dare do. Nor can I use an ethical voice to pin this down on any one of these thousands of people because each one of them avoids it in the belief that he’s innocent; it’s P.L.M. and G.―and they’re anonymous. But you see, I’ve learned something from this. If I were to write a law governing the press, I know well enough what I’d do. With regard to the daily press, I place a great deal of the responsibility with the subscribers, unconditionally. A subscriber is highly significant accomplice. If one asks, Who did it? during the investigation of a the�, the court seeks out the guilty party and punishes him. In this context, it is entirely in order that one, only one, is punished because the crime was commi�ed by him alone. But with regard to crimes commi�ed by the press, what’s the harm to society? It lies in the dissemination. Yet in this sphere, they’ve come up with the preposterous idea of punishing the least possibly [guilty person], some panhandler who wasn’t even an auth. No, when the danger of the crime is its dissemination, then a subscriber is also complicit. Above all, anonymous or sham subscribers must not be tolerated. The names of the subscribers should be printed and made public with u�er accuracy in each paper and the editor should be obliged under the threat of fine to answer for the correctness. Next, the subscribers should be fined along with the auth. The crime is not so much a ma�er of Peer Madsen telling a lie and allowing it to be printed; rather, the crime consists of or is related to its dissemination and therefore it has to do with the subscribers. Ergo the larger the subscription, the larger the fine. But I won’t continue this any further right now, but the idea is right, that’s for sure: the crimes

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My misfortune, i.e., that which makes my life so difficult, is that I’m tuned an octave higher than other people are; where I am, what preoccupies me, is not the particular but a principle or idea. Most people think―at most―about who they ought to marry. I have to think about marriage [itself]. And so it goes with everything. That’s fundamentally my situation now. Most people think―at most―about what job they ought to apply for, while my fortune is to be deeply involved in a struggle, the ba�le of ideas, the question of principle about whether so-called Christian professional offices are appropriate in Christianity. My unpopularity surely has less to do the difficulty of my writings than with my own personal existence, with the fact that despite all my exertions, I haven’t amounted to anything (finite teleology), haven’t earned any money, don’t have a position, haven’t been knighted, but in every way have amounted to nothing―and have been mocked, to boot. As I see it, this is rlly the greatest thing about me, if anything is. This also requires that I fight and exert myself because I too am flesh and blood―and that’s exactly why I’m misunderstood and mistreated.

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There’s also a kind of sinful anxiety that flees from Xt, at least to some degree, and yet continues to acknowledge him. It’s entirely consistent that someone who wants to continue sinning flees Xt. But it’s another ma�er when someone flees from every temptation and every occasion for temptation, as far as possible; one would think that he would unconditionally seek Xt and find rest in him. But this isn’t always the case, and it isn’t always such a straightforward ma�er to understand. In anxiety, he might sometimes believe that there’s a safe place where he can escape temptation; when his rational side thinks he’s found it, he relaxes and temptation really does retreat. Everything is fine now, and hmnly speaking, this is praiseworthy. But there is nevertheless a certain deception involved. He thinks that it’s impossible for him to hold his ground in the face of temptation (and this is where anxiety about spiritual trial is located). When he assures himself rationally that he’s found a place (because it’s assumed that it originates externally, and this then becomes an element of his “anxiety,” as well as proof that some part of him is nonetheless upright, for if he himself were the source of temptation, it would then be impossible to find such a place) where temptation can’t reach him, then he feels sure of himself. But what does this mean? Even if he prays, calling upon Xt’s name fervently, Xt is no savior to him. He fights on his own as well as he can, uses all his rational powers uprightly, if I can put it like that, to avoid temptation and thus really does avoid temptation and perhaps brings it all gratefully to Xt. But he doesn’t have faith that Xt will help him triumph over temptation. This is one of the most painful forms of spiritual trial.

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Hmnly speaking, Job’s wife was, in a sense, right. For hmnly, it is truly an enormous burden to suffer like that and, in addition, to be troubled by the thought that God is nevertheless love. It’s enough to make one lose one’s mind―and, hmnly, it’s far easier to doubt―period. In suffering and spiritual trial, there are situations in which the thought of God, the thought that God nevertheless is love, make the suffering far more intense. Here faith is tested, love is tested, whether one really loves God, really can’t do without him.

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Hmnly speaking, a person experiencing such suffering is justified in saying: “The whole thing would be far less agonizing if I lacked the notion of God.” The pain lies either in the thought that one has been abandoned by God, omnipotence, who could so easily help, or in the crucifixion of reason, in the thought that despite all this, God is love and whatever happens, happens for one’s own good. Hmnly speaking, it’s terrifying to be like a sparrow, or even less than a sparrow, given the fact that we develop opinions about, and have an understanding of, something we presumably can evaluate―our own suffering. Doubt is a relief because it agrees with us completely that the suffering is unbearable. The difficulty of the idea of God is to understand that not only is suffering to be endured, but that it is a good, a gi� from a God of love. Take this example: When a pers. inflicts suffering on another pers. and then, because he wants to be cruel, says, This is cruel―it alleviates [some of the pain]. But if the pers. inflicting the suffering says: This is kindness―that, hmnly speaking, is enough to drive one out of one’s mind. Yet this is only a spiritual trial, which can be horrific enough while it lasts; but it is blessedness to endure with God. The first lesson is about understanding the idea of God; there one finds alleviation. In the second lesson (and here lies the real spiritual trial), it’s as if the idea of God itself intensified the agony. Here it is a ma�er of enduring in faith. If you don’t let go of God, you will end up agreeing with God, in blessedness, that the suffering was a benefit. For God is right, unconditionally; Oh, but the height of blessedness is to agree, unconditionally, that God is right precisely when, hmnly speaking, there seems to be a case against him. God is to be believed, unconditionally; but he, the infinite, can do nothing except infinitely increase the price of faith. How blessed to believe―the greater the price the more blessed it is to believe. It’s not true that faith loses out when the price is raised: the greater the price, the greater the blessedness. [It is] sad and shameful to have bought the greatest of all for a discount price, were it possible: how blessed to have bought it at the highest price. Even a lover speaks like that; he’s not happy to have received the beloved as a bargain; the more he pays the happier he is; the price is his joy. Yet with eros, there’s always a possible dissimilarity because the price might end up interesting him more than the beloved; but that’s impossible with faith. Lessing no doubt had something similar in mind when he said that he would choose the le� hand, everlasting striving. But all the same, he was wrong inasmuch as it sounds a bit too erotic

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and, in relation to truth, it seems a li�le bit too much as if he thought the price itself as worth more than the truth. But this is rlly a form of selfishness and can easily become dangerous, a presumptuous wrong turn. 5

In Xndom, we do indeed speak of a revealed God; but aren’t there many for whom he is still a hidden and concealed God? I’ve read a somewhat similar remark in Terstegen, but he didn’t put it in quite the same way: God had earlier been hidden from him and because of that, he hadn’t loved God as deeply. This, or something like it, is found in Terstegen.

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1 Jn 2:21 ought to be the rule for how to proclaim Xt in Xndom: I write to you, not because you do not know the truth (that is, as opposed to the pagans), but because you know it.

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All this talk about world history, arguments and proofs for the truth of Xnty, must be eliminated. There is only one proof: that of faith. If I’m genuinely convinced of something (and this is a mode of inwardness on the way to becoming spirit), then I’ll always value my conviction higher than the arguments for it. Conviction sustains argument: argument doesn’t sustain conviction. In this regard, the aesthete in Either/Or is right, in his own way, when he says in one of the “Diapsalmata” that reasons are strange things; if I’m apathetic, I proudly look down on reasons. And if I’m passionate, then reasons well up to monstrous proportions. What he’s talking about, and what he means by [“]passionate,[”] is passion itself, inner intensity, which is exactly what a conviction is. Just as li�le as a cockerel can lay an egg (at most, only a wind egg), just as li�le can “reasons” conceive or give birth to conviction, no ma�er how long they intermingle with each other. A conviction comes from somewhere else. This is what I meant by the difference betw. a pathos-laden transition and a dialectical one, which was one of the problems I wrote down somewhere on a sheet of paper glued to a piece of cardboard.

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It can’t possibly be the case that a person holds back his convictions while pushing forward with arguments. No, one’s conviction―the fact that one has a conviction, that it is my conviction, your conviction (personally)―that’s what is decisive. One can speak semi-humorously about reasons: if you really want reasons, I’ll happily give you some. Do you want 3 or 5 or 7[?] How many do you want[?] But I can say nothing more profound than this: I believe. This suffices, this is the positive saturation point, just as when a lover says [“]I love her[”] and talks neither about loving her more intensely than others love their beloveds, and still less about his reasons. So, then, conviction must lead the charge, and therewith personality, while reasons are pushed to the rear. This, again, is just the opposite of modern objectivity. This is how my development, or anybody’s development, proceeds[:] Perhaps we begin with some reasons, but these are in the background. Then we choose. With the weight of responsibility, before God, a conviction is formed within us, with God[’s help]. Now we have the positive element. Our convictions can’t be defended or proven with arguments, which would be self-contradictory because reasons remain in the background. No, from here on the ma�er becomes personal, a ma�er of personality. One can only defend one’s conviction ethically, personally, i.e., with regard to what one is prepared to sacrifice for it and the degree to which one refuses to be scared away from maintaining it. There is only one proof for the truth of Xnty: the inner proof, argumentum spiritus sancti. This is already hinted at in 1 Jn 5:9. “If we accept hum. witness” (this means all historical proofs and arguments) “the witness of God is greater,” i.e., the inner proof is greater. And now, in v. 10 “Whoever believes in the Son of God has this witness within.” It isn’t argumentation that provides the grounds for believing in God’s Son, but vice versa: belief in God’s Son is the witness. This is the movement of infinity within itself and it can’t be otherwise. It isn’t argumentation that provides grounds for conviction, but conviction that provides grounds for argumentation. Everything prior to this is preparatory, a preliminary ma�er, something that will vanish as soon as conviction arrives and changes everything, transforming the relationship. If this weren’t the case, there would be nothing comforting about a conviction, and having a conviction would then have to be a ma�er of constantly rehearsing one’s arguments. The calming aspect, the 27 argumentum spiritus sancti] Latin, the argument of the Holy Spirit.

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absolutely calming aspect about having a conviction, about faith, is precisely that faith itself bears witness; the conviction is what provides the reasons.

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The so o�en misused words, [“]Blessed are the eyes and ears that saw and heard what you saw and heard,[”] are spoken to―Oh! and how this strikes home―are spoken “to the disciples in particular.” This is what I’ve always fought for, but I’d forgo�en that it’s found in the NT; see Lk 10:23. But in other cases, one goes out of one’s way to emphasize what is said to the disciples in particular, e.g., what is said in the Sermon on the Mount about renouncing the world, about suffering contempt, etc. No priest forgets to make the point that this is said to the disciples in particular. But in this other case, it is forgo�en. Here it pertains to everyone, without further ado, to blessedly be, or become, a contemporary of Xt, to see―indeed, what believers alone can see, and what can therefore naturally never be conjoined with terror[―]to see as a contemporary.

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What was it that really made me into a religious orator? The fact that I am a listener. That is, my life was so complex and arduous that in truth, I felt an urge to hear a word of guidance. I listened and listened―but if what I heard was supposed to be Xnty, then I was beyond help. So I myself became an orator. As a result, I know with certainty something that only few of our priests know[:] that there is one person who has benefited from these discourses: I, myself. I am just the opposite of most orators: they’re busy speaking to others―I speak to myself. And it’s also true that if others don’t think they benefit from my discourses, it must be because their lives are too easy, too untried, without danger.

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There’s a beautiful thought by Tersteegen (in his sermon on the crucified thief) that it was Xt’s prayer [“]Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do,[”] his speech, or rather these words, that brought about the thief’s conversion because he was moved by the love Xt showed by praying for his enemies. And the same sermon makes good use of the point that the thief’s faith was immediately put to the test. For at the next moment, the one who had just promised him that he would be with him in paradise cried out, [“]My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?[”] Oh, and this was the one on whom the thief had built his hope. And the sermon also points out that one can’t appeal to the example of the thief to justify postponing one’s conversion until the last moment because the thief hadn’t heard a single word about Xt before then.

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The fault of the Middle Ages, which has also been repeated elsewhere, is that the person who acts in a particular way wants to make this into a rule for everyone. To abstain from marriage is a particular action. This may be absolutely well-pleasing to God as far as the person in question is concerned. But it is another ma�er when it is proposed as a rule and others are initiated into it just for the sake of the cause. The particular is the exception and should be conscious of being so; indeed, instead of counseling others to do the same, the exception should counsel them to follow the universal. For the particular is only true when it has the character of primitivity, in relation to God. Only the primitive God-relationship can be defended in opposition to the universal. Anything that lacks this primitivity is eo ipso unjustified when it wants to become the exception. To stay with the case at issue: to abstain from marriage. In this instance, it’s easy to show how the ma�er should be handled. The individual keeps absolutely silent about his decision. Sure enough, he carries on living in the single state, but, if he stays silent, no third party has access to his reasons. This non-fact can be explained in 17 ways. For a while, no one pays any a�ention to it because there is no prescribed age for marriage. They assume he’s like others, looking for a wife. Time passes―and he remains unmarried. This non-fact can be explained 17 ways. The fault of the Middle Ages was to make it public, and, what is still absurd, to make it into something perfect or meritorious.

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I myself have experienced this collision. In her distress and pain―Ah! and she suffered only too much―my betrothed asked me one final question: Tell me, will you never marry[?] Here was the collision. She was so distressed that a decisive turn in the direction of the religious was very near at hand for her. I could in all conscience have said: No. And then what[?] Then I, who was conscious of my u�erly particular categories, would have intruded in her life in a destructive manner. Therefore I answered with a joke. If she were to do the same, i.e., if that were truth for her and it were therefore permissible, she would have to become aware of it in a purely primitive way. The truth became apparent when she married, which I affirmed entirely and which I thanked God for. On the other hand. If it [not to marry] had been truth for her, then it would have had to happen in another way. She would not have said a word to me about such things, but would in the primitivity of her own God-relationship have determined not to marry and she would perhaps have been right. But as she perhaps understood it, she had acquired no pure God-relationship but only a God-relationship at secondhand. And if one does not have a God-relationship at firsthand one is not justified in being the exception. With all her passion she desired to be joined to me. So the next step seemed to her to be that we two could be united by not marrying, remaining unmarried. As concerns me, it was perhaps as it should be because there was something primitive in me, but in her it would only be something derivative; she had not developed a God-relationship but found solace in a kind of Platonic love toward me. But such a relationship is not religious and is thus impermissible. Only a primitive God-relationship justifies the exception.

Tersteegen puts it very well. “Die Gelehrten sind meist Schuld daran (in the debate about words and distinctions), die doch bedenken sollten, daß nicht der Tausendste unter wahren Gläubigen einen vollen Begriff von verschiedenen ihrer Ausdrücke un Distinktionen habe, gleichwie hingegen tausend Andre die Worte der Wahrheit, nicht aber die Wahrheit der Worte haben.”

33 Die Gelehrten … Worte haben] German, The learned are most to blame [(in the debate about words and distinctions)] for they should have considered that not one in a thousand among the true believers has a full conception of their various terms and distinctions, just as, by way of contrast, thousands of others have the words of truth but do not have the truth of the words.

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In a li�le piece “von dem Glauben und der Rechtfertigung” in my edition p. 474. 112

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Luther makes quite a masterly distinction in his sermon on the gospel about the lily and the bird. Faith is without a care, so how can it be explained that scripture elsewhere praises care? Luther answers: Everything in Xnty hinges on faith―and love. In relation to faith, cares are sinful. In relation to love, on the other hand, care is always present. Masterly! But our hum. misfortune is precisely that our care is misplaced (i.e., in relation to faith, our cares becomes doubt, unbelief, etc.) and only seldom in the right place! Oh, how seldom a really caring love is―and how common cares are!

Why is it that children who have been strictly brought up don’t cry when they fall and hurt themselves? It’s because they know that if their parents find out about it, they’ll get a spanking on top of it. And why is that? Because the pain of the fall isn’t the last time they’ll experience pain, it isn’t definitive. And why is it that an older generation, brought up more strictly in the fear of God, could bear so much without complaining? It’s because without further ado they imagined that it was a punishment from God and therefore the pain itself wasn’t final, wasn’t definitive, but was derivative of the punishment. And why is it that these days especially, the more favorable a pers.’s external circumstances, the more he suffers from even the slightest hardship? It’s because there’s no higher, vivifying ethical idea from which to derive [a comparison]. Yesterday I read about the following court case in one of our newspapers. The wife of an artisan came home and found that her husband had hanged himself. Imagine her horror. She took

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him down―and had to turn her a�ention to her infant crying in the crib. She then ran to get help. Two doctors weren’t at home, so she went to a woman she knew for advice. Finally she got hold of a barber―but naturally it was too late. What happened then? Just listen. Legal proceedings were started against her because she hadn’t been properly vigilant in trying to revive him. Merciful God! But there was something else that struck me. Imagine if this horrific event had happened in a more prosperous family―what grief there would have been, and with good reason, but there would perhaps also have been grief marked by despair on the part of those sharing their condolences. But this poor impoverished woman. She can thank justice for giving her something else to think about; she was taken to court, as noted, and sentenced a fine of 10 r.d. One thing is sure, this is a splendid form of diversion―but justice[?]

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Luther is once again completely right. No one can see faith; it is something unseen and thus no one can decide whether or not a pers. has faith. But faith is made known by love. These days people have quite rightfully wanted to make love into something unseen, against which Luther, supported by scripture, would protest, for, Christianly, love is the work of love. To say that love is a feeling, etc., is rlly an unchristian concept of love. This is, in fact, the aesthetic definition and thus nicely describes eros, etc. But Christian love is the work of love. Xt’s love was not an inner feeling, a full heart, etc., but it was the work of love that is his life.

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Tersteegen makes an acute remark (p. 378), but he himself seems not to have grasped it entirely; it doesn’t say that Mary chose the be�er part―but the good part, i.e., the best part, without any comparison. That is, the positive is greater than the superlative. This is something I too have noted in other connections. The greatest expression of eros, or rather, the expression of the greatest eros, is this: I love this person and that person. If one says that I love

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more than anyone else, or I love as no one has ever loved his beloved, then one says less; the superlative detracts from [what is said] and shows that an unerotic comparison lies in eros. That’s why, as I’ve shown elsewhere in this journal, that in relation to faith, “reasons” subtract. I believe―then not one word more―that is the greatest [that can be said]. If I had 17 arguments, my faith would be weaker, and weaker still if I had 18.

The other day, when I opened vol. 1 of the writings of the author of A Story of Everyday Life, I saw a quotation from Schiller that struck me: “He had the gaze of a worldly man and the heart of a dreamer.”

This is a quite excellent sermon by Tersteegen: am Erscheinungsfest 1755 on Mt 2:1–12 (pp. 117ff. in my edition). The second part in particular is true in the deepest and most inward sense; it reveals such experience, such acquaintance with life. There is truly an inner truth within him.

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The beginning of Seneca’s work De ira is rhetorically beautiful. In order to show the degree to which wrath is inhuman and unworthy of a hum. being, he constructs a proposition with these antitheses: hum. beings are born to support each other; wrath is born to bring about corruption, etc. (this is in Ch. V); thus hum. beings―and wrath―are placed in opposition to each another.

15 am Erscheinungsfest] German, on the Feast of the Epiphany.

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Monday, June 25 Fie, �e! [Y]es, I wanted to act prudently, or at least I thought I ought to, so I imagined that I should secure a post and then publish my writings pseudonymously. A splendid interpretation of what it means to seek �rst the kingdom of God! And how would it have helped me if I had sunk under the weight of having acted so cleverly and then, despite everything, were compelled to give up my post[?] All that anxiety about whether I might be denied a position is certainly hypochondria. All my other anxieties are also certainly very much entangled with hypochondria; but in any case, heavy as this may be, prudence will not guide my actions. This was so vivid to me yesterday (Sunday). For some time now, it has troubled me that I thought about refraining from publishing my work in order to take steps to secure a post. Recently, one of my own phrases has involuntarily come to mind[:] “God is not served by people who click at the decisive moment.[”] I am pained by what I read in Fenelon somewhere about the idea that it must be horrible for the person “from whom God expected more, or on whom God had relied to make a crucial decision.” On the other hand, I was struck by what I read in Fenelon today, 2nd Part, p. 26 (in Claudius’s translation). And especially what I read yesterday in Tersteegen’s Epiphany sermon, p. 141: “the wise men went another way,” for we should always be ready to follow God’s lead. All these concerns about taking a higher turn than I had imagined are indeed true, but a person cannot require so much of himself that he should immediately understand himself as a whole, in complete transparency. And has not my way of thinking been altered successively[?] Have I not become, through the intervention of Governance, a different sort of auth. from what I had originally imagined[?] And what had I originally imagined? Let me conscientiously return to the appropriate point in time. When I left her, what were my thoughts? This: I am a penitent; a marriage is impossible in this case; it will always retain a shadow of misfortune and it also protests against the wedding. On the other hand―and God knows I considered this as well even if I wanted to forget it or let it seem as if I had forgotten it―on the other hand, a decisively religious existence, which I have always desired and which must remain a possibility for me as a penitent if I am to be honest with God, cannot be reconciled with marriage. If God intends to bring my sins down upon me, then I shall not, by a falsehood, put myself in a situation where I must beg God to spare me for the sake of someone else, someone else to whom I will thus be bound by a falsehood. That is, my life either had to become one of despairing pleasure―or else an existence carried through as unconditionally as possible. And should I then NB[a] stop and become a heretic, deceiving God, he who in such a Later comment NB But something has obviously been overlooked here, [namely] the fact that at the time, I also thought that as an auth. I would be free from financial worries and, in any case, that I could take up a calling to be a priest anytime I wanted to.a

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Later comment Yes, and this is u�erly decisive, for it’s just here that things get snarled. But, as is so o�en the case in my writing, there is also a certain redaction going on, that is, there’s a τελος in the interpretation [of the situation], like this one, which forces me to act.

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fatherly and accommodating way has led me ever further toward decisions that I could not have endured if I had understood everything right away[?] Oh, �e on me. And because I have hesitated so long, everything has become more dif�cult.

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Historical Note. In order to reassure myself that it wasn’t because I feared taking a step in the opposite direction, I went to Madvig’s residence the day before yesterday (Saturday),a but didn’t find him at home. Now that was a bit of luck. But in my defense, I dare say that this time, as usual, I planned on taking these steps, but constantly with that possibility in mind in order to build momentum for acting in the opposite direction. This is something essential to my makeup, because when something that tempts me as a possibility turns out to be realizable, it becomes something else for me.b So, I didn’t meet Madvig. Mynster was le�. I really didn’t want to visit him because I’ve noticed how deeply anxious he is when he sees me, especially since R. Nielsen’s book [was published] as well as the li�le anonymous book that he’s certainly read. I was with him about three weeks ago―I saw at once how things stood between us, exchanged just a few words with him, [as he] walked back and forth across the floor, quite contrary to his usual manners. On the other hand, he repeated over and over [“]Dear friend, dear friend[”]―but refused to start a conversation. So against my will, I decided to visit him. I went, then, on Friday. Scrupulous as I am, I considered it my duty not to protect myself, lest I should feel anxious about it later. On Friday, he was at communion. I wanted to go to him on Saturday, but he was preaching on Sunday and I know that he doesn’t like to speak to anybody then. So I was with him today, Monday. Sure enough: [“]Good day, dear friend, dear friend[”]―and then he said that he didn’t have time to speak with me[:] “I’m saying it frankly.” I understood him. Meanwhile I knew that I should restrain myself and thanked him for it because it showed his confidence in me. And then he repeated this [“]dear friend[”] 6 or 7 times, slapped my back and pa�ed me―i.e., he’s frightened to speak with me because he’s frightened of ge�ing too involved with me. He did indeed say, [“]Come another time[”] but he fully realized it wouldn’t be this week, and then he’s off to do his visitations, so it was easy to understand the message. But thank God I did it and didn’t protect myself. And thank God that I didn’t get to speak with him. For even though I merely wanted to explore the possibility of arranging a position for me prior to making a binding decision―who knows, it could have been dangerous for me. However, my past life certainly has taught me the opposite: for on the same day that I, later in the a�ernoon, acted on my decision to break off the engagement, I had said the opposite that morning―and if I hadn’t done so, I wouldn’t have had the strength to do the opposite in the a�ernoon. It’s because I’m like sheer reflection. Meanwhile, it’s no doubt best for me

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4 τελος] Greek, telos, goal, or aim.

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(a�er I’d met Mynster on Friday)

Yes, it’s true. Would to God I’d been offered a post; then it would certainly be much easier for me to understand that I couldn’t take it. But this is where, once more, my self-tormenting tendencies appear. When it isn’t offered to me, then I fear that I didn’t take the necessary steps because I wanted to protect myself.

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that it happened as it did. What might have helped me was a welcoming disposition with regard to my idea. If that had happened, then I would surely have gained strength to let it go in order to do just the opposite. But if there had been resistance to my idea of ge�ing an official position, then the situation could easily have been damaging for me and induced me to make more of an effort at this point to make it possible―for its realization would always have had to be weighed up in a quite conclusive manner. And a failed effort of that sort could perhaps contribute to souring what rlly occupies me.

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NB11:192, with NB11:192.a in the margin. Even though Kierkegaard recorded the entry lengthways, he still reserved room in the margin for later additions.

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There’s something untrue about this, and there’s something of a poetic mood. When the accident happened with Strube and he became a bit confused because he’d been pondering things too much, it struck me that it would really be dangerous for me to stop producinga. On the other hand, for a long time I’ve hoped that death would help me avoid [taking responsibility for] publishing books.

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so that while it lasted, I worked through the usual quantity with pedantic precision.

Oh, �e on me! Fie on me! All the extraordinary things God has done for me and to me, with inconceivable love, patience, and grace―and should I then betray or defraud the cause in the decisive moment[?] Ah, but what good has it done me so far? Have I found peace?a No, in my heart of hearts―where I understood what I was to do―lurked an anxiety that if I didn’t commit myself to the good, God would force me to do so, e.g., by letting me lose my mind or in some other way, until I learned to die to the world and obey. Or an anxiety that I might end up living my whole life with this matter on my conscience, like a woman who aborted her fetus. [With regard to] the �rst one (that God should use force), I’ve almost gone as far as giving in to it, hoping in that way to �nd the knot loosened and to be relieved of responsibility. For I’ve been extremely anxious about saying too much about myself.―Fie, �e! Instead of doing what I ought to do―and what I ought to do [in another sense] as well: let God take care of everything! [I]f I need peace and quiet, he’ll arrange it for me.

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―― ―― The Three Minor Ethical-Religious Treatises are to be published, but naturally anonymously. For they contain the part about Mynster. I can’t do more than this[:] I can let it be said without personally saying it. Here again Governance has assisted me by withholding this from me until now so that I haven’t already committed myself by saying it personally. If I don’t take a stance now, right this moment, or at least as soon as possible, then the total effect of my activity as an author is lost; not to mention if I were just to let some time pass by (and who knows how long), seek a post, and then publish the rest bit by bit, pseudonymously. The de�nitive point is thus absolutely lost: an internally referential authorial activity, supported by the religious. The de�nitive point is thus absolutely lost, contemporaneousness, and everything becomes less meaningful―in order to secure a post and avoid personal dif�culties. Short and to the point[:] I understand, and do so as clearly as possible, that I would betray truth and defraud God (in a sense it would also be a betrayal of the state if I kept silent about something―i.e., if I had something lying ready―for the sake of getting a post) if I didn’t act

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on it now, today rather than tomorrow. But it seems to me that it’s beyond my strength. But if I can do it, now that I have everything ready, now that that’s truth, then I shall. The rest is God’s affair. Only when I’ve done it will I �nd peace. Then I’ll have a good conscience so that I can accept a post later on, if it’s offered, for [in that case] I won’t have been deceptively silent. Oh, God―how heavily this all weighs upon me―I must thank you that the moment of decision hasn’t passed. If it doesn’t happen with the accelerating pace of my entire activity as an author, if it’s been stopped, then I will have betrayed my mission. And then, then I could never make up for it once this falsehood entered into it[:] the fact that the last part [of the authorship], which belongs together as a single unit, came out later instead of when it was written. Oh, and [in that case,] everything you had done for me, O God, would be so demeaned―and I would have done it all to protect myself. Sometimes a person struggles in such a way that he’s tempted to untruthfully say more about himself than is true, thinking that this [“]more,[”] whether it’s true of him or not, will make him successful in the world. I’ve struggled in another way: to want to make the impression of being less gifted than I truly am, because I understand very well that that is the only way I’ll be tolerable to others and the only way I’ll get along with them. The other path can be ruinous for me, humanly speaking, especially in a country like Denmark. I would most prefer to remain quiet about what I’ve been given―but that is disloyal God. If glory and honor tempted the exceptional person then keeping quiet would be a matter of self-denial, but my case is virtually the opposite and therefore keeping quiet is disloyal to God.

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Well, in God’s name! What makes me most anxious is The Point of View for My Work as an Author. It can still easily be held back; there’s still plenty of time until I’m ready to publish it, and at that time, I’ll find the strength to include it. This time I’m learning what it means that I would like to ask to be free from taking this step―Oh, and that’s why for a period I hoped that death would relieve me. And I am learning what it means to sigh: would that this fire was set. Moreover, no reflections! Now they would just weary and confuse me. I will stick as concisely as possible to this: In God’s name.

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The passage right at the beginning of Tertullian’s book on patience (translated by Ferd. Fenger in J. Møller’s New Theological Library, vol. 16, 1830, pp. 64ff.) has really struck me: [“]I acknowledge before the Lord God that in a somewhat light-minded and perhaps even shameless manner I have made bold to write about patience―I who myself am so far from it.[”] It reminds me of my collision: to what extent might someone dare portray an ideal Christian although he himself is so far from it. Poetic existence is one thing, because in its striving it by no means concerns itself with the ideal but merely portrays it. It’s another thing to essentially strive [for the ideal] but nevertheless to artistically portray the ideal that he himself is so far from realizing.

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It’s as if Xt said to the soul: [“]why are you anxious because of me and why do you become more anxious in my presence[?] For I am your savior. Believe me, I am. This is not an assurance; this is something much more than assurance: I let myself be crucified for you. If this can’t convince you, then nothing can.[”]

The pagans had much more sense for genuine religiosity in daily life than we Protestants, especially. Just think of how they first commemorate the gods at their meals, festivities, and almost everywhere else.

If Goldschmidt wanted to defend himself by saying that I myself gave him permission to rail against me, I would reply: “I am entirely satisfied with that explanation.[”] In truth, Mr. G’s behavior was like that of a boy, I knew that well enough. But that he himself should concede that in relation to me he was like a boy, or more exactly a li�le kid, I didn’t expect that. I myself gave him permission! Quite right! A child naturally doesn’t dare hit his father. But if one day a father says to his child [“]Go ahead and hit me,[”] and the child does it―it would be unrea-

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sonable and inconsistent if the father were to punish or get mad at the child; he himself gave permission, a�er all. That’s not how it is with Mr. G, no, that’s how it is with li�le G. I myself gave him permission, that is, he saw himself in relation to me as a boy, a kid, for a man always acts on his own account; one can’t give permission to a man in that way, least of all in casu, where I had to take responsibility for all the boyish pranks he played on me in the public eye, so that at one and the same time I was both the object of a�ack and the party responsible for it. So I gave him permission―and then he railed against me. Fine! Not one more word about it! It’s to be understood like this: Yes, I forgive you entirely, my li�le lad, E.M.G.―This is the frightful editor of The Corsair. By the way, it’s no doubt true for him, as he says, that he understood the whole affair in that way. If in this respect he’s representative of his whole audience, then it wouldn’t have occurred to a single one of them to insult me―if I hadn’t given permission myself! That’s fine, understood like this. Ah, yes, I forgive you all, li�le children.

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It appealed to me as soon as I wrote it down, and it appeals to me still as a mo�o for Fulfillment’s Complete Works, a mo�o that should be on the title page itself, these words from the Three Godly Discourses of 1849: [“]When the moment to bloom has arrived, and it seems to the lily to be as calamitous as one could possibly imagine―in its simple way the obedient lily understands just one thing: now is the time.”

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Indeed, in truth I understand it very well: to want to build your salvation on any work whatsoever, daring to come before God with such things―this is the most repulsive of sins, it holds Xt’s atonement in contempt. Xt’s atonement is everything, unconditionally, because in the end it doesn’t ma�er what a pers. does. But then it’s important that this infinite atonement doesn’t either make peop. completely sluggish or smother the childlike aspect in them which, childlike

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and simple, wants to do everything as well as possible, always with God’s permission, of course, and not on its own account, always thankful and always mindful that [mere] talk about the atonement’s infinity is nothing.

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No, it can’t be done! I can’t do it; it’s too much for me! The Point of View can’t be published after all―and then it doesn’t matter when the other existing treatises are published, or [at least] it’s less important. Something else that constantly causes me anxiety is that there’s something untrue in it; at the same time, I have a quite different worry that I’ll become absorbed in these kinds of decisions.

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This is also untrue; it was moodiness. But I’ve gone too far and entangled myself in re�ection. I can’t act with the kind of rashness as I did before, con�dent perhaps in my ability to calculate everything, because �rst of all, I’ve become so entangled in re�ection and, secondly, I’m carrying an extra burden. With faith, conversely, I can start by doing something, and perhaps greater strength will come. Yes, truly I need God this time, as I have never felt before. The audacious rush that I felt previously when making a daring move (which was perhaps not really very praiseworthy but was youthful in any case) has yielded to a sense of duty. This time I would certainly rather not act, I would willingly make the humble acknowledgment that I cannot, that God has worked me to the point of exhaustion, and let me assent to an undertaking that has humbled me. But no matter how bene�cial such humiliation might be for me, it doesn’t therefore follow that I am not to act, for this sense of humility could also be a ruse by which to let myself off. Now God will surely help me. The Sickness unto Death has now been given to the printer. And in a manner that I have never sensed before, I have recently felt the comfort of Christ as Savior. I’ve always felt a despairing melancholia but I’ve kept silent about it and, if I dare say so, have remained God-fearing. That is, I’ve never dared hope that I could be free of it, but I have silently sighed under its weight, essentially comforted by the fact that God is nevertheless love and comforted by the hope of eternity. Now it’s become clear to me that Christ is a Savior because he saves one from misery. Yet this, my hope, has no bearing on the question about whether I am now to act by publishing these writings or not, as if it were in any way meritorious on my part. Oh no. [T]his too is in truly inverted: that if it can be done and I manage to endure, then it is I who am to thank God for having granted it to me. The whole affair is utterly simple. I consider it my duty to act, my duty to make sure that God can get a grip on me―and then he will care for the rest. Oh, prudence is a dangerous friend. It seems so tempting not to act, to protect yourself― then you’re safe. Ah, but in the long run, in hindsight, you might discover that in a higher sense it was imprudent.

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The other idea is perhaps more rash, perhaps more audacious, perhaps a greater hazard― but that doesn’t mean it’s truer for me, and to be true is still the primary demand. If I consider my own personal life, am I thus a Christian or is my personal existence not a purely poetical existence, with even an element of something demonic[?] The idea is to dare measure myself against such a colossal standard, making myself so unhappy that I would �nd myself in a situation where I could really become a Christian. But do I really have the right to do it in such a dramatic way that the Christendom of an entire country becomes involved[?] Is there not something dubious about all this, about treacherously setting a �re in order to throw oneself into the arms of God―perhaps, because it might turn out that I didn’t become Christian after all. Nothing pertaining to my authorial persona can be used at all because it’s clear that instead of escaping the interesting, I would just become more deeply immersed in it, and it would have the same effect on my contemporaries. The simple move is easy: to keep silent and then to see about getting a position. That I now will cease to be an auth. is certain, but I will nevertheless retain this element of the interesting: I myself decided to put an end to it, of�cially, in character. The simple way is to tacitly begin with the new project; and all this solemnity about wanting to put an end to it is an extremely dangerous matter. The simple matter is to really put an end to it. I regret and reproach myself for the fact that in many previous entries in this journal there are indeed attempts at self-aggrandizement, which God will forgive me for. Up to this point, I am a poet and absolutely nothing more than a poet, and it’s a desperate struggle to try to go beyond my limits. The work Practice in Christianity has great personal signi�cance for me―does it follow that I should acknowledge it straightaway[?] I might be one of the few who needs such strong remedies―and I, I, instead of bene�ting from it and really getting serious about becoming Christian, I start by acknowledging it[?] Reverie. This work and all the other writings are ready and the time might come when they’ll become applicable and I’ll have the strength to do it, when it will be truth for me. It’s true in many ways that the entire production has been my education―�ne: does that then mean that instead of getting serious about becoming a true Christian that I become a phenomenon in the world[?] At any rate Sickness unto Death is now coming out, but pseudonymously with me as editor. It is labeled “For Edi�cation.” It is beyond my category, the poet’s category: edifying. Like the River Guadalquibir (this has occurred to me before and is recorded somewhere in this journal), which plunges underground, so also is there a stretch, the edifying, that carries Note. I was rlly a bit offended by Mynster, and that blow was just enough to push me toward what I had previously been so close to doing.

[a]

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NB This is self-tormenting exaggeration, because what affected me was not at all a personal issue with Mynster but rather the fact that when it didn’t work out with Madvig and Mynster, I took it as an indication from Governance that this was the wrong path and that I had to act in the opposite direction.

my name. There is something lower (the aesthetic) and something higher, which is also pseudonymous because my personality doesn’t correspond to it. The pseudonym is named Johannes Anticlimacus, in contrast to Climacus, who claimed not to be Christian; Anticlimacus stands at the opposite extreme: a Christian to an extraordinary degree―I myself push it only to the point of being a perfectly simple Christian. Practice in Christianity can be published in the same way, but there’s no rush. But none of the work about my authorial person [can be published]; it’s an untruth to anticipate [the conclusion] while still alive, which only means converting oneself into the interesting. In general, I must now move in completely different directions. I must dare believe that through Christ I can be saved from the grip of melancholia in which I’ve lived; and I must dare to try to be more economical.

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The desire to reform and awaken the whole world―instead of oneself―is a misleading path that lies all too near, and it is especially misleading for hotheads with a lot of imagination. I, too, have had a tendency to almost demonically want to force myself to be stronger than I am. As those of a sanguine disposition are called upon to hate themselves, perhaps I myself am called upon to love myself and renounce this melancholic self-hatred, which in a depressive way is nevertheless almost an indulgence. I also have the fault of constantly accompanying myself with an authorial consciousness and almost desperately demanding of myself that I act in character. Humility is therefore just what I need with regard to this point. I was humbled earlier when I had to break off the engagement; it was a shock to my pride.

205

At times I almost become anxious and afraid when I consider that the law commands that one shall love God, something that at such moments seems to me to be far too rash. At such moments I wonder how one can do it; the maximum requirement seems rather to be able to sustain the blessed thought that God loves him. What excessive audacity for a pers. in relation to God to dare say of any single action in his life, let alone of some period of his life, or of his whole life: [“]I did it for God’s sake.[”] Even if I sacrifice a great deal in a good cause, I nevertheless rely on God to give me strength to bear it, and thus I still haven’t done it for God’s sake but, at most, with confidence in God, with him in reserve.

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One can also see how dead, external, and formalized everything has become in Christendom when, merely at random, one opens a book like Rothe’s about the Church year, (though I’m not critiquing him on that point). Here you find that in Advent, the gospels are taken from the story of J. the Baptist; one can only worthily prepare oneself for the great festival by true penitence. And it continues like that throughout. One reads these things as if they were the instructions of a dance teacher about how a

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dance is to be performed: one couple leads, and then you form a line, etc., etc. One is penitent on the 4th Sunday of Advent, full of Christmas cheer on Christmas Day, and how should we feel on “Pork Sunday” and “Fat Tuesday” as these days were called in earlier times?

They argue over whether God will save everyone or just some―almost forge�ing the most important issue: You, O God, desire my salvation; would that I might desire it myself.

J. Climacus and Anti-Climacus have several things in common, but the difference is that while J. C. places himself so low that he even claims that he isn’t Xn, one seems to sense that Anti-C. considers himself to be Xn to an extraordinary degree; at times, one also seems to sense that Xnty is rlly only for demoniacs, though without understanding this term in the direction of intellectuality. He is personally responsible for confusing himself with the ideal (this is the demonic in him), though his portrayal of the ideal might be entirely true, and on that ma�er, I’ll yield. I positioned myself above J. C., below Anti-C.

The truth of the demands of ideality is diminished when portrayed in the so easily deceitful solemnity of Sunday and in the distance between Sunday and everyday life.

[a]

On Anti-Climacus.

[b]

cf. p. 260. cf. p. 267.

[c]

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The whole idea, which I completely abandoned long ago, of publishing everything in one volume, including the piece about my authorship, was but a desperate idea and so too something of a demonic one. Rlly, something else happened. All the recent sufferings of these labors of re�ection have actually served as my own awakening. Only now am I able to say that Christ has revealed himself to me such that I understand a savior to be someone who helps a person out of his misery and not just someone who helps him bear it. But the fact of the matter is that because of the miserable melancholia that at one point was a kind of partial insanity, I have never been able to get control of the self I am, understood in the ordin. human sense. For me, then, the only possibility was to operate as pure spirit, and this is why I could only become an auth. So, �nally (as a result of working this way), I wanted to put everything into it―and then to completely withdraw on my own terms, again because I, inhumanly, have been able to work only as spirit, that is, in the third person. With all this inner agony, together with the superiority I’ve enjoyed and the mistreatment I’ve suffered, I’ve been brought to a point where it seemed as if I myself were a Governance that should arrange an awakening. The only thing that both satis�ed me and comforted me was that I could do this for the truth and was allowed to do so. Now Governance has taken me along and required me, in self-denial, to let this rash but also demonic action be. If, then, God enables me to function in a more human way so I don’t always have to see myself in 3rd person and so that I can personally intervene in actual situations, then I will have been helped.

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The work is said to be “for edification”; the preface speaks of it as edifying. It should rlly say: [“]for awakening.[”] For this is its basic character and this is the progression of my work. In essence it is also for awakening, but this doesn’t need to be said yet. This will come out decisively for the first time in the next work: Practice in Christianity.

Here too one sees how disturbing it is to raise a child in Xnty, that is, to really raise a child―for in the sense that millions of Xns do it, it’s a ma�er of complete indifference. Take such a child. Now, as might well happen to every child, let him stumble upon some difficulty in himself, something that causes him to suffer. What, then, is more natural for a child than, first, to hope that the pain can indeed be eased and that there is some remedy for it, and, secondly, to turn and entrust himself to another or to others with it. But not for this child. He’s been taught that God is the only help―which is clearly much too elevated a notion for a child. On the other hand, he’s been taught that Paul had a thorn in the flesh, and that all pious people must suffer extraordin[arily]. Ergo he entrenches himself in it and thereby begins primitively with a distorted relation to himself qua hum. being, because he used what is most decisive much too early.

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The entire public life of the state is divided into two parties. The one party seizes offices, power, and influence, but under the solemn appearance of doing the world a favor, the serious business of life. Then the newer party makes its appearance (the opposition); it discovers a new role: to play the martyr, make sacrifices, etc.―which turns out to correspond

[a]

On The Sickness unto Death.

[b]

Cf. p. 259 in this journal

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[a]

On a postscript to The Sickness unto Death.

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with point-by-point accuracy to how many subscribers there are.

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One sees how fraudulent all this Xn eloquence is in an example from the otherwise noble Fenelon (works translated by Claudius 2nd vol. 208. The essay: “in der Fast- Buß- und Bet-Zeit,” together with: “am allerheiligen-Tage”). In the former he cries woe over those who don’t push the God-relationship to the point of becoming like a child in his mother’s arms. In the la�er he discusses how the saints were constantly engaged in hand-to-hand combat with themselves and were never safe, not for a single moment. The single most deplorable idea in the world is that “eloquence” has become the medium for proclaiming Xnty. Sarcasm, irony, humor are much more closely related to the existential aspect of Christianity.

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Proverbs 28:1: The ungodly flee and there is no one who pursues them. Deut 28:65–66. You shall be without peace. The soles of your feet shall not find a resting-place. The Lord will make your heart tremble, your eyes shall be consumed, your soul distressed … and you shall be afraid by night and day, and find no assurance of your life.

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At first I thought of adding a postscript by the editor. But, first off, one can see that I myself am already present in the book, e.g., the part about the poet of the religious; secondly, I was afraid

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of contradicting what another work polemicizes against (in one of the pieces that make up Practice in Christianity) about initiating investigations rather than preaching. Incidentally, the dra�s of this postscript are in my desk.

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[b]

A postscript like this doesn’t entirely fit with the tone of the book, either, and coming am Ende such humility could even embi�er.

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There is a very nice category used by Luther in his sermon on the epistle for Christmas Day (the Le�er to the Hebr.), that “Christ is the radiance of his glory and the express image of his essence.” “These words are be�er understood by the heart than they are expressed with pen or tongue.” And then he gets to it: “They are clearer in themselves than any clarification and the more one seeks to make them clear the more obscure they become.” That is, they are not to be grasped conceptually. The conclusion of the same sermon: “Therefore Luke 24:32 says: ‘Christ opened the disciples’ minds so that they understood the Scriptures. He did not open the Scriptures but the disciples’ minds, for the Scriptures are open but our eyes are only half-open.’ ”

Ecclesiastes 3:27: Those who willingly place themselves in danger, will perish in danger.

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This was a footnote to the line that says that defending Xnty in Xndom is like becoming a Judas no. 2[:] Note. When you take a closer look, incidentally, the situation is even crazier than it seemed at first

A note that wasn’t published in the book The Sickness unto Death.

3 am Ende] German, at the end.

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glance. The scene is set in Xndom, where everyone is Christian. Xnty is defended there―against whom? Yes, naturally, against―Xns, because in Christiandom everyone is Christian. But how in the world did it occur to someone to “defend” Xnty when the opponents are―Xn? “Yes, but they’re not real Xns”―and they’re so far from being real Xns that Xnty must be “defended” against them. What a satire on what is already satirical enough, this constellation of words: “the Christian―world”! We’re all Xn, we live in “the Xn world” where everyone is Xn, where Xnty is “defended” against “Xns,” against “Xns” who, nevertheless, are not real Xns! The only thing missing (and who knows, maybe we’ll get this far with the help of even greater enlightenment) is that those who defend Xnty, and who are thus absolutely certain that they’re Xn, aren’t real Xns, either.

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[a]

The title of this work: The Sickness unto Death.

It ended up being titled: [“]For Edification and Awakening.[”]

[a]

cf. p. 253 in this journal.

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A passage in the preface to the work: The Sickness unto Death.

This [“]for awakening[”] is rlly the [“]more[”] that was added with the events of 48, but also the [“]more[”] that is higher than my personality and thus also the reason I used a pseudonym for it. I use only the poet’s predicate, “edifying,” never once “for edification.”

I thought about adding this to the closing section [that reads] [“]that the form of this treatise is what it is[”]: regardless the fact that it also lies in me being who I am. But this would go much too far in transforming a fictional character into something real. For a fictional character can’t possibly be other than what he is, he can’t declare that he could also speak differently and

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yet be the same, he lacks an identity that encompasses various possibilities. On the other hand, the fact that he says [“]at the very least, it’s been carefully considered[”] is correct, for that can well be the case, even if it’s his only form. The fact that he says [“]it is psychologically correct[”] is a double appoggiatura, because it’s also psychologically correct in relation to Anti-Climacus. Climacus is lower, he denies that he’s Christian. Anti-Climacus is higher, a Xn to an extraord. degree. In Climacus everything drowns in humor, which is why he retracts his book. Anti-Climacus is thetic.

The Signi�cance of the Pseudonyms. All communication of truth has become abstract: the public has become the authority, the newspapers call themselves the editorial board, the professor calls himself speculation, the priest is meditation: not one of them, not one, dares say “I.” But because the �rst condition for every communication of truth is unconditionally that of personality and because “truth” cannot possibly be served by ventriloquism, it became a matter of bringing personality once more into view. Under such conditions, where the world was so unaccustomed to hearing an I, it was impossible to begin immediately with one’s own I. So it became my mission to create authorial personae, letting them step into the midst of life’s actual circumstances to get people a bit used to �rst-person discourse. Thus, my work is no doubt only a forerunner for the one who is able to say [“]I[”] in the strictest sense. But turning from this inhuman abstraction to the personal: this is my mission.

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[b]

cf. p. 249

[a]

The Signi�cance of the Pseudonyms

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[a]

It seems to me that that he would have to say: [“]This doctrine about how the truth must suffer in the world is really fortunate for me; it’s helped me to a sizable income, to high rank, and esteem, to perhaps the most enjoyable life one could have in Denmark”―but then there’s nothing to weep about.

[a]

The a�ack on “Christendom” in The Sickness unto Death.

1849

A bi�er line about Mynster in poetic character (for I wouldn’t talk like this): “I believe I’ve understood this man―now a eulogy about his cleverness, his talents, his entire regime, etc.[:] The only thing I haven’t been able to understand is why this man weeps when he preaches about how truth is persecuted―he should rather laugh at it, or deny it, and say that it’s a fable, appealing to his own life. As I’ve said, the only thing I can’t understand is why he weeps when he preaches about the glorious ones who suffered for the truth; every time I think about it, i.e., about him weeping, I always start to laugh.[”]

The a�ack on Xndom (in The Sickness unto Death) is quite correct. It is really directed against the concept of Xndom; as the book itself puts it, millions and millions of Xns, just as many Xns as there are peop. In the first place this concept is absolutely unchristian. As far as that goes, individual Xns more or less bear responsibility for having made no attempt to prevent this unchristian confusion between being a Xn and being a hum. being. Thus, e.g., a “defense” of Xnty is provided for “Xns” instead of first and foremost admonishing them against calling themselves Xns. Next, when talking about it all, Xndom, one can’t ask whether there are isolated circles of truer Xns: they count as nothing when compared with the monstrosity that boldly dares to call itself Xndom or the “Christian―world.” It’s enough to make one despair, this ungodly mock combat that has opened up a great playground for priest-talk, this business of Xndom. We are in Xndom, the country is Christian, we’re all Xn. That’s what’s said. And when the priest speaks, on one Sunday he says that more and more people are becoming Xn―in Xndom, where everyone is Xn. On another Sunday it’s that more and more are starting

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to fall away―in Xndom, where everyone is Xn. “Xndom” is a much more dangerous concept than “the public.” It’s a stage-se�ing that for the most part transforms all talk into drivel, even if what is said is otherwise well said. Ah, but I’m only a poor single hum. being. The others are so visibly strong. And what the others say is so popular―everyone wants to hear it; they say nothing about renouncing anything or sacrificing anything and they make God into a source of sheer mildness, almost sickeningly sweetly mild.

F. F. can truthfully say (and I too) that this book is more or less wri�en with Mag. Adler in mind.

[a]

This eulogy is delivered on the assumption that “the State Church,” “established Christendom” are valid concepts. The fact that from a Christian standpoint this must be denied is something else again. But if we assume these concepts are valid (and we owe this assumption when dealing with Bishop Mynster, because it’s only fair to interpret a man in accordance with his own ideas and thoughts) then he is a great man, worthy of admiration. On the other hand, one can only a�ack Mynster if one attacks those two concepts.

[a]

If I’ve portrayed someone so low that he even denied that he was Xn, then the opposite also ought to be portrayed. And truly Xndom is in great need of hearing the voice of this sort of a judge―but I do not wish to make myself out to be the judge, as he also judges me, which is straightforward enough

[a]

On F. F.

F. F.’s eulogy on Bishop Mynster.

On Anti-Climacus [b]

Cf. p. 249.

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and as it should be; for one would indeed have a poor understanding of the ideal if he couldn’t portray it as so elevated that he was himself judged by it. 5

What is to be reformed in our time is not Church governance, etc.―but the concept of Christendom.

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There is no Xnty in this country―and now they’re convening a synod! It will presumably be a lot like what happened when parents visited the classroom: they’ll ask questions about installing louvers in the churches for ventilation and about ge�ing rid of the collection-plates―about whether the priest’s a�ire shouldn’t be altered in some way, perhaps also by adding a ring in the nose.

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There’s nothing at all wrong if someone is anxious about devoting himself entirely to God. “Because,” he will say, “it’s very possible, indeed it’s perhaps quite certain that God wants what is best for me in every way, but his idea of what is best for me is perhaps so elevated that it would be like annihilation for me―he is spirit, infinite spirit, and I am a poor hum. being, a beastly creation with all these many merely hum. necessities.” What love, then, on God’s part to become hum.!

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It’s certain that given what’s preached today, Xnty has become untenable. The whole thing is a massive a�empt to make fools of peop. The priest isn’t the one farthest out there, he stays on land―and recommends and recommends Xnty, all these glorious and priceless grounds for comfort, the great good of being a Xn. But one senses―not

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indistinctly―that deep down he adds: “what misfortune if someone were reduced to the point where he could only be helped with the comfort of Xnty. I help myself by earning an income (while Xt comforts the poor) and help myself with powerful friends, honor, and respect (while Xt comforts those who are despised, etc.).[”] Sermons must contain courage and wholeheartedness and truth and what is comprised therein, personality. How they talk about miracles! They praise the miraculous and add: But miracles don’t happen any longer. This rlly amounts to making fools of peop. Either they should just let go of miracles or do this: First show how the miraculous proclaims God’s omnipotence, etc. and then say: Will you be so meanhearted that you refuse to experience the joy of God because he doesn’t perform miracles for you[?] Just as the contemplation of nature (the lily and the bird) ought to be a divine diversion, so ought a discourse on the miraculous be [an expression of] dithyrambic joy over God. Edification should be sought in this extension of the soul, this bold exhalation of joy over God―and then it doesn’t matter if God performs miracles for my sake. To speak perfectly humanly, I ought to be so in love with God the Almighty, who shows his omnipotence in performing miracles, that I entirely forget about myself because of him.

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De se ipso What will happen is really quite different from what I’d originally planned. When I began as the auth. of Either/Or, I no doubt had a far deeper impression of the terror of Xnty than any clergyman in the country; I might have experienced more fear and trembling than anyone. Not that I wanted to give up Xnty for that reason. No. I explained it to myself in another way. For one thing, I’d learned early on that there are hum. beings who 31 De se ipso] Latin, On Myself.

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Priests are simply fulfilling the role of advocate in relation to Xnty―they are paid for defending Xt’s cause; and if they do it, it’s regarded as a great thing. They’re not paid―to a�ack Xnty.

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both in Church and state

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seem to be chosen to suffer; secondly, I was aware that I’d sinned much, and therefore I imagined that Xnty would have to reveal itself to me in this terrifying mode. But how cruel and untrue it would be on your part, I thought, if you were to terrify others, perhaps unse�ling many, many happy, lovable existences, who might very well be truly Xn. It was so profoundly alien to my nature to want to terrify others that, with both sadness and perhaps also a li�le pride, I found my joy in comforting others, I was mildness itself in relation to them―keeping the terrors hidden in my innermost being. Thus it was my aim to give my contemporaries a hint, in a humorous form (to lighten things), that greater force was needed, even if they themselves didn’t to want to understand it―but nothing more than that. I aimed to keep my heavy burdens to myself as my cross. I’ve o�en taken exception to people who, as sinners in the strictest sense, immediately set about terrifying others.―This is where the Concluding Postscript lies. Then I was horrified to see what people understood by a Christian state (and I saw it especially clearly in 48); I saw that those who ought to exercise authoritya hid themselves in a cowardly way, while mean-spiritedness raged audaciously, and I also experienced how a truly disinterested and God-fearing endeavor (and that’s what my authorial endeavor was) is rewarded―in a Christian state. That seals my fate. Now it’s up to my contemporaries themselves to decide the price of being Xn, how terrifying [it will be]. I’ll be granted―I’m tempted to say, [“]unfortunately[”]―the strength to endure. I’m really not saying this proudly. I’ve been willing to ask God to free me from this terrifying business, and I’m still willing. Moreover, I’m a hum. being myself and, hmnly speaking, would love to live happily here on earth. But because of the Christian state, Xndom, which is evident throughout Europe, I’ve decided to call a�ention to the price of being Xn, beginning here in Denmark, in such a way that the whole concept―State Church, official posts, salaries―is blown apart.

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I dare not do otherwise, for I’m a penitent of whom God can require everything. I’m also pseudonymous because I’m a penitent. I will be persecuted. I’m only safeguarded against enjoying the honor and esteem that could otherwise be mine. For a few years now I’ve borne the treachery and ingratitude of a tiny country, the envy of the respectable and the mockery of the mob, in such a way that―for want of someone be�er―I am perhaps qualified to proclaim Xnty. Let Bishop Mynster keep the velvet coat and the grand cross.

1849

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JOURNAL NB12

JOURNAL NB12 Translated by Bruce H. Kirmmse Edited by Alastair Hannay

Text source Journal NB12 in Søren Kierkegaards Skri�er Text established by Niels W. Bruun and Anne Me�e Hansen

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NB12. July 19th, 49.

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An important passage concerning the new pseudonym is found on . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . see also . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . see also . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . see also . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A passage concerning the works that have been completed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

My standpoint see . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Something concerning myself . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . On the year 1848 in relation to me . . . . . . . . . . .

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p. 7. p. 14 top pp. 50 and 51. p. 74.

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p. 230. p. 262. p. 273.

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Texts for the 3 Friday discourses. . . . . . . . . . . . . Di�o for di�o . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Di�o for di�o . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Di�o . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

p. p. p. p.

226. 242. 244. 261.

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The problem with the three ethical-religious discourses is that if I do not name Adler, the whole thing will be understood as pertaining to myself, as if I wanted to insinuate somewhat that I myself was the extraordinary one; and at that very instant the confusion would become as unfortunate as possible: if I mention Adler by name, I get involved with that desperate person, which is something I want to avoid at all costs―that was of course the reason I gave up publishing the essay on him. It would be best for it not to come out at all. The 3rd dissertation could perhaps be published separately.

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Thank God I did not come to publish the material about my work as an author or in any way want to force myself to be more than I am. The Sickness unto Death is now in print, pseudonymously, by Anti-Climacus. Practice in Christianity will also be pseudonymous. I now understand myself so completely. The point of the whole thing is that there is an ethically rigorous, highest point of Christianity that must at least be heard. But no more than that. It must be left to every individual’s conscience to decide whether he is capable of building his tower so high. But it must be heard. And the trouble is simply that almost the whole of Christendom, including the clergy, not only lives in worldly shrewdness, but that they do so in shameless de�ance, and consequently they are compelled to declare Christ’s life to be fantasy. Therefore the alternative must be heard―heard, if possible, like a voice in the clouds, heard as a �ight of wild birds over the heads of the tame ones. No more than that. Therefore it must be pseudonymous, I am merely the editor. Ah, but what haven’t I suffered before reaching this point, which indeed was essentially clear to me early on, but which I was compelled to understand for a second time. For the rest, God will surely take good care of me. Were I now to continue as an author, “sin” and “atonement” would have to be my topics, just as when I recently made use of the pseudonym in an edifying discourse in order to jack up the price properly. Indeed, pseudonyms are continually used for this purpose. This idea has also occurred to me once before, precisely with respect to what Anti-Climacus is assigned to do, and it can be found somewhere in the journals, probably in NB10. What has strained me so much recently is that I have wanted to overexert myself and have wanted too much; and then, however, I myself have realized that it was too much; therefore did not do it, but again could not escape the possibility and, to my own torment, have kept myself on the pinnacle of this possibility, which incidentally, through no merit on my part, has been a very helpful exercise for me. Now there has been action, and there is air. It was a sound idea to stop my literary production by once again using a pseudonym. Like the river Guadalquibir―that image appeals to me so much. And so not one word about myself in relation to the entire authorship, such a word changes everything and misrepresents me.

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[a]

And furthermore, when the whole of religiousness is merely Sunday solemnity during the quiet hours, where will the possibility of offense come from? The possibility of offense of course is rooted precisely in the fact that solemnity must be in that which is everyday.

To the natural hum. being, the Christian view of life must appear as hatred of life, and the pagan qua pagan was right to note the Xns’ odium generis humani. “Established Xndom” has botched everything together with hum. sympathy, and therefore the natural hum. being almost approves of―yes, of something that is of course not Xnty.

4 odium generis humani] Latin, hatred of humanity.

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It’s quite true that a pseudonym had to be used. When the requirements of ideality are to be set forth at their maximum, one ought to do everything to guard against being confused with them, as though one were oneself the ideal. Assurances could of course be used to safeguard against this. But the only certain way is this reduplication. The difference from the earlier pseudonyms is merely this, but it is essential: that I do not retract the whole business humorously, but de�ne myself as someone striving.

Incidentally, it is quite remarkable that the preface to the three godly discourses about the lily and the bird came to have the wording “as opposed to the pseudonym, which was offered and is offered with the le� [hand].” This is probably best understood in connection with the second printing of Either/Or, but it has also, of course, come to be significant with resp. to the new pseudonym.

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On the review of H. H.’s book in Kirketidenden.

It is splendidly put by Thomas à Kempis. Adversities do not make a person weak; rather, they show what strength he has. 1st book chap. 16.

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H. H.’s li�le book is reviewed in the Kirketidende (Saturday, July 21). They think it is by “a quite young auth. who has read Mag. K.” Good. What critics! This li�le book is of great significance. It contains the key to the greatest possibility in all my works, but not the one I have wanted to realize. And the second essay contains the most important of all ethical-religious concepts, the concept that I have carefully allowed to remain empty until [the right person] comes. But I will not say anything about the book. For, as I have expressed it earlier, I see it as a false point de vüe signifying that I will change direction. Perhaps it is also even a li�le feint by the reviewer in order to lure me out onto thin ice. If anything is to be wri�en about this review, I must take up the defense of this “young pers.” with the thought that he [the reviewer] had treated him unjustly. If it could make him happy and perhaps be of some recompense to him―who, of course, according to the views of the knowledgeable reviewer, is a quite young pers.―then I can assure him that it is with quite extraordinary interest that I have read the li�le book in which I have seen grasped a point (the sympathetic collision) that, so far as I know, no one in this country has grasped until now, with the exception of my pseudonyms; and the book has properly found and both grasped and illuminated what is perhaps the most important ethical-religious concept: authority. Assuming that this is, as the expert reviewer says, a quite young pers., I would say to him: Keep on writing, young friend, you are without question the person to whom I would entrust the task of being my successor. But nothing is to be done; I will not get involved with that point. It will remain a li�le amusement.

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16 point de vüe] French, properly “point de vue,” point of view.

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“The Church” rlly must represent “Becoming,” while the “State” represents “the Established.” This is why it is so dangerous if State and Church grow together and become identified. With respect to “State” it is the case that even if one or another institution is problematic, inasmuch as it is the established order, one must be very cautious about abolishing it, precisely because the “State” is part of the idea of “the Established,” and one is perhaps be�er served by staunchly upholding a less than satisfactory established order than by reforming it too early. With “the Church” precisely the opposite is the case, because its idea is becoming. “Becoming” is more spiritual than “being established.” The servants of the Church therefore ought not be civil servants, probably not even married, but those expediti who are suited to serve “Becoming.”

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While the whole of existence is disintegrating, while everyone capable of seeing must see that all this about millions of Xns is a sham, that it is more likely that Xnty has disappeared from the world: Martensen sits there arranging a system of dogmatics. What does it mean that he occupies himself with this sort of thing? It means that as far as the faith is concerned, everything is in order here in this country: we are all Xns; there is no danger afoot here; we have occasion to indulge in scholarship―as everything else is in order, what is important now is the point in the system at which the doctrine of angels is to be situated, and so on.

It is what I have so o�en said. Speculation can comprehend everything―but not how I have come into faith or how faith has come into the world. But philosophy always understands faith to be a sum of doctrinal propositions. It occurs to me that I once read this in the third part of the younger Fichte’s Grundzüge zum System der Philosophie, Die speculative Theologie, Heidelberg 1846. But I have looked for it again

13 expediti] Latin, unencumbered, free.

[a]

Martensen’s Dogmatics.

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I have a marked a passage on p. 178 in my copy, but it does not seem to me that this was the passage.

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But now I see it was in fact the passage I was thinking of, for I find it quite accurately cited in Journal NB, p. 125.

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and have been unable to find it.a But perhaps I wrote it down in one or another journal from that time. In any event that is a ma�er of indifference. But what is certain is that it is ridiculous to see the certainty with which a dogmatician sits and arranges a system―and God knows whether faith is to be found in the world.

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It is really ridiculous! Now we have had this talk of system and scientific scholarship, etc.―and then finally the system arrives. Great God and Father!―my most popular piece is more rigorous in its conceptual definitions, and my pseudonym Joh. Climacus is seven times more rigorous in his conceptual definitions. Martensen’s Dogmatics is indeed a sort of popular piece that lacks the powerful imagination or something of that sort that could impart value to this sort of thing. The only scholarly feature I have found is that it is divided into §§s. He has no more categories than does Mynster. And oddly enough, Mynster is almost the person cited most frequently, and as―a dogmatist. And at one time it was Mynster whom “the system” was supposed to overthrow.

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So I am opening the valve: this means the pseudonym, AntiClimacus, the halt. Awakening is the �nal thing, but it is too lofty for me personally―I am after all too much of a poet.

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Christianity tends everywhere toward actuality, toward being made actual, the only medium to which it truly is essentially related. It does not want to be possessed in any way other than by being actualized, does not want to be communicated except in or for the sake of edification and awakening. It must always be assumed that there are some people who do not possess it or who are at any rate lagging behind: so work must be done for

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their sake. But (unless those who do so would dare assert that everyone is now a Xn) Xnty must not be communicated in the medium of repose. Therefore, from the Christian point of view, the artistic, the poetic, the speculative, the scholarly, the pedagogical are sin―how dare I grant myself the repose to sit in this fashion and dabble with it[?] Martensen, whose work is inventing half-expressions and definitions, also talks about how Xnty must be a life, an actual life―now the assurances begin―a real, actual life, an entirely real, actual life in us; one must not relate to Xnty via the imagination. Good. But now, what does Martensen’s own existence express? It expresses that he wants to be a success in the world, to have great honor and respect, have a high position, etc.―is this the actualization of Xnty[?] As a philosopher Martensen gives assurances―absolutely not a dialectician, and as a Xn he also merely gives assurances. Everywhere there is nothing but rhetorical categories―which are very capable of beguiling peop. I am indeed li�le more than a poet inasmuch as I have not had the courage, a�er all, to dare expose myself to mockery and endure it. But I have had the advantage of economic independence. I do not believe I am capable of more. I am withdrawing; but with God’s help I will retain a spirited notion of those who were capable of more.

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In the capital, “the mass” is so li�le penetrated by Xnty that if one truly wants to be a priest one cannot escape becoming a martyr unless one plays hide-and-seek in cowardly fashion, à la Mynster and Martensen―and gives assurances. But I lack even the physical strength to become such a martyr. Therefore I am withdrawing and am choosing a lesser stage, which is suitable for a personality that is so poetic, for someone who has done his 7 years’ service on a greater one. If when I was 29 years old I had understood what I understand now, perhaps I would have had the strength to do more, but two tasks of this sort are too much for one person: only to reach the beginning a�er 7 years’ strenuous labor. No, it is too much; but my works will inspire someone else who will therefore begin much earlier.

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So in any event it is best to stop and not communicate poetically something that peop. will merely view as a pointless addition.

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How “the people” have related to Xt.

The way in which “the people” really related to Xt can best be seen in the gospel of John, chaps. 5, 6, 7, 8. At one moment the people want to kill him, at the next moment they want to deify him. A remarkable passage, incidentally, is chap. 7, v. 12 and 13: “and there was much murmuring among the people concerning him … Howbeit no man spake openly of him for fear of the Jews”―where of course an antithesis between the people and the Jews is established. The original text reads: εν τοις οχλοις―and δια τον ϕοβον των Ιουδαιων.

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1. From a Christian point of view a dogmatic system is a luxury item; in calm weather, when one can count on at least the average run of peop. being Christians, there could be time for such things―but when was that ever really the case? And when the weather is stormy―then systematizing is evil, then all theology must be edifying. Systematizing contains an indirect falsehood, as if―inasmuch as there is time to make systems―it was done and se�led that we are all truly Xns. 2. A dogmatic system must not be erected on the basis of comprehending the faith but on the basis of comprehending that one cannot comprehend the faith. The fact is that from a Christian point of view, “the priest” and “the professor” must say one and the same thing, except that the prof. must say it to the second power. If there are rebellious spirits who will not be satisfied with “the priest,” they are to come to what is more rigorous by coming to the prof. From a Christian point of view, everything is discipline; to ascend from this is to come to a more rigorous discipline. In fleeing from “the priest” one must not slip into speculative pampering but come to an even more rigorous discipline.

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It has been a long time since I have read such a fine contribution to the genre that Lichtenberg has collected under the title 13 εν τοις οχλοις] Greek, among the people. (See also explanatory note.) 14 δια τον ϕοβον των Ιουδαιων] Greek, for fear of the Jews.

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“women’s writing.” It is in Berlingske Tidende, morning edition, July 25.

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Governess Position Sought starting November 1, by a young woman, 20 years old, in Zealand or Funen, preferably in the country. Subjects taught, in addition to the usual school topics, are English, French, German, and Danish, plus piano and needlework. Proofs of language competency and of good character can be produced as can a recommendation from the place at which she has trained for 1 year. Please leave a note bearing the mark “L.” at the corner of Studiestræde and Larsbjørnstræde, no. 174, ground floor, inside the gate, postpaid within 14 days, indicating salary, etc.

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It is so touching, this Mynsterian notion: Peace, which has now been adopted by Martensen, just as Mynster has in general utterly demoralized Martensen. What does this peace mean[?] It means that one guarantees oneself one of the most respected positions in society, with the prospect of an even more respectable one. And that is where one would like to remain and really enjoy life. Ergo one must have peace. This is tarted up as Christianity. One is therefore careful to take a li�le of everything that comes along. It looks almost as if one said almost the same thing, and to the extent that it isn’t quite the same, it must surely be because― inasmuch as one is a man of such high standing―one is above it. The tactic is never to oppose something, but always to include a bit of it. Though Mynster’s time will soon be past―and Martensen, yes, he will certainly come to feel that he is no Mynster, nor in Mynster’s time were people nearly as experienced as they are now.

If this is the truth: ne quid nimis―then Xnty is a lie, every line of Holy Scripture is madness and confusion. But what is unfortunate is that in paganism people acknowledged openly that ne quid nimis was the highest maxim of life―in established Xndom, generation a�er generation, these thousands of civil servants who demoralize themselves and the congregation

32 ne quid nimis] Latin, nothing too much.

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are rewarded for giving assurances that in their heart of hearts they are willing to risk everything if it is required. I have never seen a hum. being’s life that went beyond ne quid nimis with any particular daring―and every single Sunday there is preaching about the highest thing, about seeking first God’s kingdom―My friend, have you ever seen a hum. being who even approximated this: Seek first God’s kingdom―any priest, for example, who first asks whether it is a good call, in a good district? There must, a�er all, be a li�le truth―we must make this confession to ourselves, so that this mendacious assurance must go.

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Yes, in a sense this is something that could cause one to lose one’s mind, and here, then, is the real possibility of offense. How o�en have I not caught myself having said to myself: Even though, hmnly speaking, you are conscious of being wellintentioned toward hum. beings, you must strive to be more loving; then things will certainly go well and you will get on well with hum. beings. And what then―then Xnty comes in and says: You fool, what do you imagine, wasn’t Xt love, a�er all―and how did things turn out for him[?] Hmnly speaking, there is something frightfully cruel in this thought. And yet this is precisely Xnty. Indeed, Xnty says, You must in no way permit yourself to be prevented from doing what you had in mind―but you must know that it will lead you to the precisely opposite goal.

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All personal communication and all personality have disappeared; no one says “I” or speaks to a “you.” It is said that “faith” is the first thing, the fundamental precondition, which is the basis for comprehending; this is true―but as to whether I am a believer, whether I really am a believer: well, absolutely no question is raised concerning that. It is said that rebirth must come first―from this follows etc. But whether or not I am reborn, whether I really am reborn―absolutely no question is raised concerning that. And this is how it is everywhere. Hum. beings diligently postpone the ma�er; the judgment of public opinion is cited to the effect that it is awkward to raise the ques-

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tion of whether in fact the professor really is a believer, whether he can answer Yes or No. In the whole of Martensen’s Dogmatics, or at any rate in the portion I have read thus far, there is not one single sentence that is an honest Yes or No. It is the old sophistry of being able to talk―but not converse. Because conversation immediately establishes You and I, and questions that require Yes and No. But the talker expounds: On the one hand―and on the other hand. And in the meanwhile the listener and the reader are distracted, so that they completely fail to notice that they have not rlly learned anything.

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So now The Sickness unto Death has come out, and pseudonymously. Thus an end has been put to the confounded torment of going and overstraining myself with the too great task of wanting to publish everything at once, including the piece about my writings and, as it were, taking a desperate step of lighting the fuse under established Christendom. Now, the matter of when the other 3 books appear (and the one about my writings will not appear at all) is less important, for now it is no longer a matter of the force of a single blow. Now I will rest and be more calm.

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Only a�er I had come to an agreement with Luno about printing The Sickness unto Death did I learn that Councillor of State Olsen was dead. I was very loath to weaken the printer’s impression of my business sense, and I therefore went ahead with the printing. Besides, at that time I had been so churned up by an excess of reflection that I had finally come to the point of fearing that I might completely lose hold of myself.

With respect to “her,” I am, as always, ready and willing―though if possible even more fervently―to do everything that could make her happy or cheer her up. But I am continually afraid of her passion. I am the guarantor of her marriage. If she understands my true situation, perhaps she will suddenly lose her taste for marriage. Alas, I know her all too well. And either she is essentially unchanged, and then it is extremely dangerous, or she has changed so essentially that it would not mean much to her if I made an approach. The Sunday a�er the Councillor of State’s death she was in church with her entire family (in Church of the Holy Ghost). I was there as well. In a break with her usual practice, she le� immed. following the sermon, which she doesn’t usually do, as she always stays to sing a hymn, while from time immemorial I have been in the habit of leaving immediately. As mentioned, she le� immediately, together with Schlegel. And indeed, she also contrived things so that we more or less met as I passed her on the way down from the gallery. Perhaps she even expected me to greet her. I kept my eyes to myself, however. Furthermore―even if I had wanted to

1849

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159

Councillor of State Olsen has died. In this connection she has certainly come to reflect quite specifically on her relationship with me. Therefore I owe it to her to bring up the ma�er again. It is also as if Governance has assigned me the time to do this. My most difficult time is always from Aug. 9 to Sept. 10. I have always had something against summer. And now, at the time I am physically weakest, is the anniversary of my father’s death; and the 10th of Sept. is of course the day of the engagement.

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do so―a purely chance event made it impossible for me to get further involved at that moment. Perhaps it is just as well that I had had all that trouble at the printer’s just then, because otherwise I might perhaps have gone over and made an overture―flying directly in the face of my previous understanding to the effect that her father was the only person with whom I might wish―and dare―to involve myself. Perhaps she has the opposite view, perhaps she thinks that he was the very person who stood in the way of my making any sort of approach. God knows how much I myself feel the need to be gentle to her―hmnly speaking―but I dare not. And yet in many ways it is as though Governance wants to prevent it―perhaps in the knowledge of what would follow―for on that occasion it was pure circumstance that made it impossible for me to speak with them. The next time Kolthoff preached I was in the Church of the Holy Ghost, she was not there.

If it could be done, and if I had not now essentially stopped being an author, it would give me great pleasure to dedicate some piece of writing to the memory of Councillor of State Olsen. “From On High He Will Draw All to Himself” could very well serve in this connection.

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Tersteegen puts it very well in a li�le piece: [“]von dem Unterschied und Fortgang in der Go�seligkeit[”] § 24, p. 443 in my edition: [“]Aber woher kommt es, daß solche theure Schri�en (the mystics) insgemein so wenig geachtet und gebraucht werden? Ist es nicht deswegen, weil die neugierige Vernun� solche Nahrung nicht darin findet, auch der alte Sinn des Fleisches und der tiefe Grund des eignen Lebens zu scharf darin angegriffen wird, und sie nicht, wie Andere, nach dem Geschmack des alten Adams und der Vernun� ein wenig mehr accommodirte Bücher, ein Raisonniren und Speculiren, sondern ein Mortificiren und Verlaügnen erfordern?[”]

28 Aber woher … erfordern?] German, But how can it be that such valuable

writings [(the mystics)] are in general so li�le esteemed and used? Isn’t it because inquisitive reason does not find such nourishment in them, as well as the fact that the old temper of the flesh and the deep grounds of one’s own life are a�acked in them, and because unlike other books, which are a bit more accommodating to the taste of the old Adam and to reason, they do not require reasoning and speculation, but rather mortification and denial?

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The Difference between an Essential Thinker and a Professor The essential thinker always states an issue in its most extreme form; this is precisely what is brilliant―and only a few can follow him. Then the professor comes; he takes away the “paradox”―a great many people, almost the entire multitude, can understand him, and then people think that now the truth has become truer! Even if a brilliant thinker came up with the idea of “a system,” he would never get it completed―so honest would he be. But just a li�le hint to a professor about what he wanted to do―and the professor would straightaway have the system completed. The professor always seems to be a quite different sort of thinking fellow―this is how it must appear when the problem is reflected in the medium of the public, or when any and every Tom, Dick, or Harry is a thinker. Every essential thinker can only view the prof. comically. The prof. is what Leporello is in relation to a Don Giovanni, only with the addition that he cheats his way into gaining great respect in the eyes of the half-learned.

Jn 20:17. Jesus says: [“]Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to my Father.[”] I don’t understand this passage, for how should it be possible to hold on to him when he had ascended. I find something inexplicable in this u�erance.

Lk 24:31. [“]Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight.[”] This can be understood as meaning that the fact that he became invisible to them was the direct consequence of their recognizing him; he cannot be recognized immediately; when one recognizes him―he becomes invisible. This is “faith” which sees; there is no intuition of the

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imagination, for intuition of the imagination corresponds to paganism’s god-images. 163

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What is corrupting about Martensen is this continual talk about Kant, Hegel, Schelling, etc. It provides a guarantee that there must be something to what he says. It is just like when the newspapers write in the name of the public.

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In Acts of the Apostles 3:17, Peter says that both the people and the authorities killed Xt in ignorance. If this is to be understood quite literally, then it of course becomes impossible to come to a clear idea of the necessity that Xt had to suffer simply because he was love and the world is evil. It is almost as if it were a sort of cunning on God’s part. He wants to save hum. beings, but hum. beings can only be saved by Xt’s death. But if hum. beings see his love, how can he be put to death[?]―So it took place in ignorance. Thus nothing from Xt’s life sheds any light on the general lot of the Christian in the world. There are a great many difficulties and problems here. And strangely enough, here one recalls the Socratic notion that sin is ignorance, just as when Paul says somewhere that he was forgiven because he had acted in ignorance.

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How uncertain M. is can best be seen indirectly. He is apparently able to keep himself on a more or less even keel in a paragraph granted to a conceptual definition, but when he speaks of quite other things, incautious u�erances occasionally creep in. Thus, at one point (doubtless in the doctrine on angels; at any rate, it is in the doctrine on the Father and prior to § 93) he suddenly states: [“]We simply appeal to the authority of Scripture.[”] Thanks! In the midst of speculation, in the midst of the system, the speculative system suddenly comes up with this idea, this category of thought that qualitatively is altogether decisive for the question of to be or not to be.

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And then in § 93, p. 210, he says: [“]Inasmuch as we therefore explain the universality of the phenomenon of sin as coming from a free hum. act undertaken at the beginning of the development of the hum. race by the individual, who must be viewed as the beginning personality of the race[”]―here it comes―[“]So here we have the support not only of the authority of biblical tradition.[”] Thus, here speculation is made into something greater than biblical authority. What drivel his whole business is.

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Even our churches express how superficial and externalized everything is becoming. When one goes into one of the old-fashioned churches, with the many closed pews, with the old-time galleries, one cannot avoid receiving the impression of how much can dwell hidden in a person’s inward self―the many closed pews were indeed like a symbol of that. But now everything is a parlor; that is how they build churches nowadays. It is embarrassing and abgeschmakt for someone to possess an inwardness for oneself, it is ostentation: “What is he doing having something for himself like that”―no, we are the public.

Most peop. continually live merely in particulars; the peop. who possess essential ideality always relate to a principle. E.g., most people consider which girl they should marry, about whether to marry her or her (the particular). For the more ideal natures, a girl, e.g., is the occasion for them to reflect upon marrying, upon the reality of marriage. And so on, at every point. And this is why the more ideal natures always appear to be laggards―because they relate to the principles instead of seizing on the particular. It is as I have remarked elsewhere in a journal: every genius consists of scrutiny of one or more questions of principle relating to existence. For most peop. everything is tradition, only that which is particular is something new. It is tradition, thus it is simply given, that one marries―the only question to be asked is: to whom?

18 abgeschmakt] German, tasteless.

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Things are so deceptive in their appearance in the “actual” moments of temporality. One sees oneself surrounded by a great mass of peop., and one thinks that, a�er all, one is just as good a Xn as they are. But in eternity! All these millions who have lived. Just think, what an incalculable host of―blood witnesses. What if this were to be the standard of measure[?] And yet, there is an even greater standard, that of the ideal. Run the experiment backward. Let worldly honor and esteem be the standard of measure, and then just take the whole world’s present generation. To be a bishop in Denmark, an excellency― yes, that’s something when Denmark is the standard of measure. But in the world it is practically infinitesimal. And in eternity sufferings are the standard of measure.

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M. is a droll fellow. At the end of the preface to his Dogmatics he says that nowadays what most people have within themselves is politics. What does this mean? Well, probably that they are not Xns. But now to Martensen’s personal existence―what does it express? It expresses that he―honestly―has profited from the great deception that we are all Xn. For all these distinctions, being the court chaplain, being a knight, being celebrated at social gatherings, are essentially related to the illusion that we are all simply Xn. So see, he has nothing against the illusion―and yet he also wants to be self-important by talking about how most people are not Xns. This u�erance of his can further serve as an example of how a person lacking in character can say everything, that it makes no impression. In having Anti-Climacus say that Xndom, with all these millions of Xns, is an illusion, then I have really said something less than what is said by Martensen, who of course says that most people are not Xn. And yet, people will perhaps get angry at me. How could this happen―unless people have the idea that it does in fact mean something when I say it. But Martensen―he declaims. Mynster has paved the way in this respect.

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It must be borne in mind that the Three Godly Discourses on the lily and the bird are the most recent thing I have wri�en. They are from the 5th of May 49. The Sick. unto Death is from mid-48.

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What an achievement Concluding Postscript is a�er all―there is more than enough for three professors. But of course the author was someone without an official position and who did not seem to want one; there was no §§-importance―yes, so of course it’s nothing. The book came out in Denmark. Nowhere was it mentioned. Perhaps 50 copies were sold, so when the cost of proofreading (100 rd.) is included, the publication cost me ca. 400–500 rd. in addition to my time and effort. And at the same time I was depicted in a newspaper for the rabble, which in this same li�le country had 3000 subscribers, and another paper (also with a large circulation, Flyveposten) continued the discussion of my trousers.

Bishop Mynster has caused irreparable harm not only by genrlly making finite aims a�ractive, but also by having striven to sanctify them, so that worldly honor and esteem were in addition piety!

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I am like a chaplain in a monastery, charged with the cure of souls for hermits and the like―but I cannot have anything to do with the nonsense that nowadays is called piety and religiosity. Literally nothing is said anymore concerning spiritual trial.

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Christ had the certainty that what he suffered paid the debt for everyone, unconditionally everyone, and the consolation that with his every step, every word, “the scriptures were fulfilled.” He was the scriptures brought to life.

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It is also characteristic of Martensen that he never cites Fichte the younger, Baader, Günther, but constantly Schleiermacher, whom he corrects. This means that he profits, without acknowledgment, from what has come out since Schl. and that he also profits by correcting Schl.

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That clergy constantly talk of livings in a manner entirely different from that of worldly civil servants is certainly to some extent a�ributable to the perennial possibility a priest has of obtaining a new position. A worldly civil servant is pre�y much limited to advancement within a single department, but a priest bears in mind the nation’s almost 1000 clerical calls. Perhaps some of this is also inherent in rural life, where there isn’t much else to talk about other than incomes.

48

Geniuses are like thunderstorms: they go against the wind, terrify people, and cleanse the air. The established order has invented a number of lightning conductors against, or for, geniuses: they are effective―so much the worse for the established order, for if they work once, twice, three times―the next thunderstorm will be all the more frightful. There are two types of geniuses. Thunder is characteristic of the first type; lightning, on the other hand, is rare and seldom strikes. The second type contains within itself a category of reflection with which it disciplines itself or restrains the thunder. But then the lightning is all the more intense; it strikes the chosen points with lightning’s swi�ness and certainty―and deadliness.

49

Socrates loved the young―and why? Because there is in them a breath of the infinite, and it was this he wished to preserve. Take Mynster―he truly does not love the young; he loves demoralized men, who have been demoralized by having to make finite goals into life’s earnestness―it is also possible to rule over them.

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Bishop M. has noticed me to the extent of thinking, with respect to me: [“]This person’s misfortune is that he has too much ideality[”]―or, in Mynster’s language―[“]He is impractical. Therefore I can take it easy with respect to him.[”] This means that from the government man’s point of view, for someone just to be even a li�le dangerous he must have an admixture of finite goals, i.e., of something base. The more ideal something is, the more calmly one can―betray it. A person who wants many adherents, each of whom in turn wants his own advantage, a share of official appointments, etc.―he is dangerous. Someone who wants to have no adherents, who himself demands nothing―he is altogether undangerous, for this is ideality, and ideality, as every statesman knows, has nothing to do in this world. If I bungled my task, became worldly, and also wanted to fight for power: Yes, thank you, Mynster would notice that―and I would become “dangerous.” The purer sort of ideality is something a person has no reason whatever to fear, and something to which a person is in no way obligated. The talents I had, the fact that I was the most diligent of them all, that I strove honestly and unselfishly: Bishop M. was aware of this. But this could not move M., nor could what he indeed also knew: that the more refined set intrigued against me and the mob mocked me. All of this could not move him even to bear witness with a single word in behalf of me and my cause. But on the other hand, in his cushy enjoyment of power he could easily and pleasantly take advantage of the fact that, shackled to him as I was by the memory of my father, I did everything to support him. No: a servant of the State Church in Mynster’s style and a teacher of Xnty―they do not at all resemble one another.

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The two treatises by Anti-Climacus (Practice in Christianity) can be published right away. Then with this the literary production comes to a halt; essentially (to the extent that it is entirely my own) it has already come to a halt with the “Friday Discourses.” The concluding pseudonym is a higher one at which I can only hint. The second round of pseudonymity is precisely the expression of the halt. Qua author, I am like the river Guadalquibir, which at one point plunges underground: there is a stretch that is mine, the edifying; behind it and ahead of it lie the lower and the higher pseudonymity; the [“]edifying[”] is mine, not the aesthetic, nor that which is written [“]for edi�cation,[”] and even less that which is written [“]for awakening.[”]

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Anti-Climacus must remain as the higher pseudonymity, and therefore the article “Climacus and Anti-Climacus” cannot be used unless it is by a new pseudonym. This means I cannot be the auth. of the article. But on closer inspection I see that this had never been the intention. The article is by AntiClimacus himself. So it can be done. Though a new pseudonym would perhaps be better.

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Luther’s words at the very beginning of the sermon on the epistle for the 1st Sunday in Lent are true: Experience indeed teaches that the gospel has not remained pure and unsullied anywhere in the world longer than it remains within living memory. But as long as those who had first given impetus to it remained alive, it continued and grew―when they were dead and gone, the light had gone out as well. Then came the sectarians and false teachers. The la�er remark is less important. The former is completely true, though Luther himself seems not to have grasped fully the intellectual category inherent in it. The situation of contemporaneity with Xt is what is true, is the truth of the situation. Therea�er comes what is derived: contemporaneity with someone who is indeed a true Xn in the stricter sense. Xnty at secondhand is nonsense, for it is Xnty without the tension of actuality.

What contributes to my being singled out as an eccentric and as half-mad is indeed quite rightly what is good about me: that I offer a clearer impression of an idea. The lives and strivings of others―for scientific, scholarly knowledge―is something one can well understand, because they are understood in their striving for, or by virtue of, one or another finite goal: they preach Xnty for a living; they teach Xnty as professors, i.e., as civil servants: well, thank you very much―but is this Xnty? Therefore my life is indeed also a bit of an offense: what is offensive is that it does at least approximate expressing that an idea does in fact exist. The lives of others express that there exist wellpaid, excellent livings, titles, and ranks: what could be offensive about this?―no, that is truth and wisdom.

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I find it shameless that in Christian sermons the Christian clergy, and above all Bishop Mynster, dare to assert the worldly concept of dignity, a concept that is entirely different when understood in the Christian sense. From a worldly point of view, it would be beneath the “dignity” of an excellency, a refined man, to preach in the streets―but didn’t Xt do this, and in so doing has he not reconfigured the concept of dignity[?] Worldly dignity is elegance, etc., plus a refined remove; understood from a Christian point of view, it is suffering for the truth and coming entirely to the actuality of daily life.

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The concept “Christendom,” “established Christendom,” is what must be reformed (the single individual). Maieutics is what is needed. It has nothing whatever to do with changes in outward things, nor that I, for example, got hundreds of people to resemble me in the way in which I understand myself before God: it is a matter of getting human beings to become aware of the fact that every individual must seek the fundamental, primitive relationship to God. A �ank attack can be directed at the clergy―though not directed personally against one or another speci�c individual―that it has, after all, become too worldly, but not as though proposals are being made for external changes. It would indeed be impatient of me to want suddenly to abandon indirect communication and personally take responsibility for the whole project as someone extraordinary. Confusion would not be avoided despite all my restrictions and stipulations concerning this measure.

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Christian Proportions in a Very Simple Example The scriptures say: Seek first God’s kingdom. And the whole of the nation’s clergy―who, be in noted in parenthesi have perhaps in fact first sought a pastoral call―they weep, every one of them, when they preach on this. Now take actuality. In a current generation there is one person who takes this seriously. What then? Don’t governments, don’t various private individuals, force official positions and appointments on people[?] So “the others” each seek something of their own: one seeks this position, the other that position; one marries this girl, the other marries that girl, etc., etc. The only one who refrains is he who seeks first God’s kingdom. But then, does everyone honor him for being so godly as to seek first God’s kingdom and give up everything else? Oh, absolutely. No―before long people will smirk at him, he will be pitied as a poor, impractical person, etc. Thus the person who makes a serious a�empt to follow Xnty’s prescription not only sacrifices everything―he also gets pitied and mocked. If he is the quiet or weak sort, he will bear this patiently for God’s sake and probably nothing more will come of it. But if he raises his voice and testifies that this is Xnty and that he is doing this qua Xn, he will next be rebuked for being a hypocrite, he will be hated, shunned, etc., etc. I hear the objection, [“]Is it not true that Bishop Mynster, for example, is cloaked in velvet, with the Great Cross of the Dannebrog, a knighthood, bishop of all the knightly orders, an excellency[”]―would it occur to him to say that he had obtained this by seeking first God’s kingdom[?]

Oh, but how shamefully people have even made use of Christianity in order to refine what is worldly. Someone desires worldly things more than does any pagan―but in addition cloaks it with Christian disdain for everything worldly. Thank you, this is harvesting twice.

4 in parenthesi] Latin, parenthetically.

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A very good counterpart could be wri�en to the scene with the two servants in Holberg’s The Happy Capsize, where the one servant has the line, [“]On the 10th hujus my master wrote a poem and was rewarded with a new coat[”]―and then the other servant speaks. A very good counterpart could be created by le�ing it be the difference betw. an apostle and a preacher in established Xndom: [“]On the 5th hujus my master (the apostle) was imprisoned.[”] [“]On the 5th hujus my master (the priest in the established Church) was made a knight of the Dannebrog for having given a speech about how the apostle Paul was imprisoned.[”] [“]On the 7th hujus my master (the apostle) was crucified.[”] [“]On the 7th hujus my master (the priest in the established Church) was invited to have dinner with His Majesty, who wanted to thank him most graciously for having delivered a sermon about how Paul faithfully embraced his martyrdom.[”] The scene could be titled “An Odd Coincidence,” and it could let the narrator tell how he had witnessed the odd coincidence of these two, one of whom had known the apostle Paul personally and had wri�en a journal of his life, the other of whom was in the service of His Reverence, Senior Court Preacher Th.; and these two would read the lines, just as in Holberg, without seeing one another.

Because everything is ambiguous, what happens to a pers. could just as easily be a test as a punishment, which is something that only the individual involved can decide for himself. So it of course follows that I, in speaking of someone else―and someone else, in speaking of me―ought to explain everything as a test. In any case, it is a dubious matter when, regarding others, a pers. tends to explain their sufferings as punishments.

4 hujus] Latin, in this (here in the sense “in this month”).

[a]

It could also be arranged so that only the dates coincided: [“]On the 25th of July 48, Paul said such and such―for which he was flogged.[”] [“]On the 25th of July 1848, John Doe said that Paul said such and such and had been flogged for it, for which John Doe was rewarded by being made a knight of the Dannebrog.[”]

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§ 128 from pp. 291–306 contains Martensen’s opposition to modern science. Here one can see clearly that he is neither fish nor fowl. When the going gets rough he protects himself with “the offense,” “the objectionable,” etc. But look, at the next instant he makes an effort to comprehend it from the other side―i.e., in order to demonstrate that it is not offensive a�er all. It reminds me very much of that noteb in Fragments where a man says, [“]It is the improbable―just wait a minute, now I’ll make it probable.[”] It is as clear as day that my category is the only Christian one: to comprehend that one cannot comprehend it, to give up wanting to comprehend it. Otherwise what happens is the conversion of faith into something entirely different, so that by going farther than faith I really go away from faith. In faith, the possibility of offense is present as a sublated element―but no farther than that, because of course I must preserve myself in faith. If I believe that now my faith is perfect, that I have faith enough―so that I can comprehend it: then the entire Christian element rlly disappears. Martensen is no sort of dialectician whatever.

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Here one can properly see the subjectivity in Xnty. In other cases, if a poet, an artist, or the like includes himself in his own composition, people criticize it. But this is precisely what God does―this is of course what he does in Xt. And precisely this is Xnty. Creation is rlly only completed when God includes himself in it. Prior to Xt, God was certainly included in creation, but as an invisible mark, like the watermark in paper. But with the incarnation, creation has been completed by God having included himself in it.

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Is this supposed to be scholarliness? At every instant he protects himself by saying that if we fail to think of the ma�er in this way, we fall into one heresy or another. What a way is that for a scholar to talk? If something is rich in intellectual content, what

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does it ma�er to scholarship whether or not it is heresy[?] To reject something because it is heresy is completely unscholarly. The Church makes use of faith and of the possibility of offense to protect itself against heresies. But Martensen is scholarly―he comprehends it anyway. But if he can comprehend it, then it is of course procedurally improper to reject the opposite position because it is heresy. A hodgepodge like this―well, it will probably be a great success! Martensen does not have one single category. There is no more scientific scholarship in his Dogmatics than in Mynster’s sermons, but the la�er are excellent in other respects. If Martensen would take up one single concept, I would quickly be able to demonstrate to him that he is neither one thing nor another. But such an enormous book: and then all the scholarly apparatus―and then all the dogmatics―and then it is hedged around with all sorts of evasions―and when all is said and done, the system is not yet quite completed, and so on!

What Tersteegen writes in “Stimme aus dem Heiligthum” is very true[.] v. 63. (p. 515 in my edition of Tersteegen’s writings by George Rapp, Essen, 1841) Untreu und Trägheit zu verhehlen, Läßt man sich zu den Schwachen zählen; Man scheut, zum Schein, den frommen Schein, Wenn man nicht Lust hat, fromm zu sein.

Another source of sorrow for the extraord. person is that at the moment it looks as if the extraord. person is the only one who accomplishes nothing. For even a rural schoolteacher, every father of a family, etc. accomplishes more than the extraord. person―they at least do some good or help someone, whereas the extraord. person exists only for the sake of the idea. The fact is that the extraord. person rlly exists in order to register the new price and to jack up the price―in a certain sense this is something that is of no interest to anyone whatever. The 24 Untreu … fromm zu sein] German, To conceal faithlessness and sloth,

one permits oneself to be numbered among the weak. One dreads appearances, pious appearances, when one has no desire to be pious.

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others, all of those who live in the established order, in what is given, operate by trading at the given price.

Take the paradox away from a thinker―and you have a professor. A professor presides over the whole series of thinkers from Greece up to the most recent times; it looks as if the professor stands superior to all of them. Well, thanks anyway, but of course he is someone infinitely inferior to them. A prof. such as the late J. Møller, he was a real professor―he understood how to take away the paradoxes.

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All Christian knowledge―and all ethical knowledge in general―ceases to be what it is if it is removed from its situation. A situation (namely actuality, or the fact that a person expresses what he knows in actuality) is the conditio sine qua non for ethical knowledge. A�ention has also been directed to this in the concluding portion of “Come unto Me All You Who Labor and Are Heavy Laden.”

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That the “Christian State” Is Based on an Untruth, Not to Mention a Lie, Illustrated by the Existence of Bishop Mynster. The “Christian state” is of course one in which all the subjects are Christians, or at least where the general run of them do not publicly confess another religion. When this is the case, there naturally emerges a firm concept of the clergy, who become civil servants just like secular civil servants, and some of them will become very lo�y and distinguished as well as well-paid. When this is the case: for if it is not the case―if neither all of the subjects nor more or less the general run of them are Xn― then the Christian Church will of course be a small or a minor society in the state, and being a Christian priest would be neither a civil service position nor particularly profitable, in short, not an occupation for ambitious people. 15 conditio sine qua non] Latin, the necessary and indispensable condition.

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Now take Bishop Mynster. In order to be this distinguished and to be so qua clergyman, there must be a Christian state; his entire existence qua distinguished clergyman supports the concept of the “Christian state” on which it itself rests. But how, in fact, does this man live[?] Or what does his life express existentially[?] How has it been arranged and edited from its earliest days[?] What his life expresses is: For the sake of God in Heaven, let us not involve ourselves with the mass of peop. (in the Christian state, where of course everyone is a Xn); let us live at the greatest possible remove, and with the greatest possible distinction, from the average run of peop. We preach on Sundays, but of course in the splendid house of God, secured by all possible distinction: “Out there―no, I must take care not to preach there.” (He himself has said this or something like it orally in a sermon―it is noted somewhere in the journal, probably in NB11―and it was probably printed in his sermons when they were later published.) [“]Let us be a li�le circle of people who stay together.[”] (In one of his most recently published collections of sermons he provides the consolation, with respect to 48, that “there are, however, still circles”―namely, those in which one can still install oneself quite comfortably.) Here I will not dwell any further on the fact that the circles―or the circle―of which he is a member is scarcely the best collection of Xns, but consists of people of worldly distinction. No, even if that circle consisted of the best Xns: What untruth. He profits from the illusion that this is a Christian state (the profit is to be bishop, the supreme civil servant, having offices and other delights within his gi�, great revenues), and existentially he expresses that the great mass of people are as far as possible from being Xns, but are crude and ignorant rabble. Look, this is the Christian state. What is true here of Bishop M. is true with respect to more or less every clergyman in the capital. The situation is somewhat different with respect to clergymen with rural congregations; they do not derive any particular advantage from the so-called Christian state.

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see also p. 449, top, “prevenient grace, a concept that is used almost exclusively outside the Church,” yes, I should think so; and it is humbug to give the appearance that all are Xns. See Journal NB11 p. 258.

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§ 217, p. 447b must be noted. Martensen assumes that despite the fact that everyone has been baptized, there are “thousands and thousands who live their lives without coming into a personal relationship with Xt,” and there “is only a small band of truly awakened and reborn people.” Aber―then what right does one have to produce this illusion by baptizing everyone[?] If the Christian Church had refrained from marrying into the state (but in that case the comfortable position of the clergy would have come to an end), the question is: In that case, would there not have been many more true Xns? The Church has entangled itself in an illusion that has the precise effect of making it more difficult to awaken to Xnty.

7 Aber] German, But.

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Poetically, by a Poetical Person on Bishop Mynster or Such an Erscheinung in Genrl. I do not deny that his gestures, mighty movements of his arms, are a masterstroke; when he beats in front of his breast or on his breast (where the Great Cross sits and sparkles) and says “when Paul stood before Festus in chains”….. I do not find the faintest likeness between Paul and His Eminence―not that this is to say that His Eminence is without chains: Of course, he is standing there, at that very moment, chained to the whole honor of worldly distinction, chained to the considerations of a slave to worldly distinction. Nor, then, can talk about him be like his talk about Paul: When Paul stood in chains, “he was nonetheless free”―for although he is standing there freely, His Eminence cannot be seen to be anything like “free.”

4 Erscheinung] German, phenomenon.

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Practice in Christianity will be the last thing to be published. This is where I am ending for now. Thus the year 48 has been included, for the things by Anti-Climacus are all from 48. The rest are from 49. As decided, the piece that deals with my writings will be put aside. When Practice in Christianity is published it will have redeemed the pledge, alluded to in a number of places, of truly setting forth the possibility of offense. This is also essentially related to my task, which is continually to jack up the price by bringing a dialectic to bear. But also for this reason a pseudonym must be employed. The dialectical element has always been represented by a pseudonym; to make myself into that person would be both untrue and an all-too-frightfully violent means of awakening.

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Martensen can lecture on everything. In Dogmatics, p. 456, middle of page: “The livelier and more powerfully the proclamation of the faith appears in the world, the more it becomes a sign that is contradicted, and the world is obliged to reveal its hostility to the truth, which in turn is activated by this very resistance.” Very good for rote reading―but now to Martensen’s life: He sleeps with speculation, tarts himself up and courts the approval of philosophy, makes accommodations, etc.―and he himself praises this as wisdom in contrast to the paradox. But faith cannot be powerfully proclaimed in the absence of paradox, and paradox is precisely that which stretches the world on the rack so that the world can be laid bare, whether with or against its will. This, you see, is what can be called a professor, now, yes, as opposed to a thinker.

[a]

As I have demonstrated in every way that the whole of modernity is a dislocation of Xnty back into the aesthetic―so here, too, there is a dislocation: in an u�erly confusing manner people have broadened the concept of the state preparatory to becoming a Xn. Thousands and thousands of peop. who are far, far from being on a par with catechumens with respect to their impression of Xnty, have without further ado been made into Xns. Thus there has been a promotion: if people of this sort are to be Xns, then a mediocre catechumen becomes an outstanding Xn. And this is more or less how things are in “established Xndom.” As everywhere, first place has been allowed to lapse, permi�ing third place―which otherwise is no position whatever―to move up into an actual position, and class no. 2 becomes no. 1. The apostles, the first Xns, the witnesses to the truth, etc. become fanatics.

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The Fundamental Dislocation in Modern Christendom.

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Note God knows whether people will one day go farther down this path and say: The wri�en word is so easily exposed to distortion, even someone with fine handwriting can make an error―therefore the printed word is necessary.

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Dogmatics p. 480, bo�om of page, and p. 481, top. That was an odd syllogism! In an earlier § Martensen makes the case that an oral tradition is subject to distortion over time. The wri�en word is therefore necessary.[b] And now he goes on to say: “Therefore we also see that Christ does not appeal to the oral tradition of the Jews, which he characterizes many times as plants that are to be ripped up, whereas on the other hand we constantly hear him say, [‘]It is wri�en,[’]; we hear him ask, [‘]What do you read?[’]” What a syllogism. Is it because Xt views the wri�en word as more reliable, is this why he appeals to the wri�en word and not to the spoken―thus that Xt in fact assumed that both were equally divine! And now this syllogism that inserts as the middle term “that Christ in many ways designates the oral tradition as plants that are to be ripped up”―a middle term that provides an entirely different view of the ma�er and destroys the concluding part of the entire syllogism. The whole business is such a sermonic syllogism. It was used by Mynster in his sermon on God’s word―but Martensen is supposedly improving on it!

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Martensen on me.

M. appears to be directing sarcasm at me with this talk of a sickly, egotistic life as an individual (it’s in the § on rebirth § 234). This calls for a rejoinder: What Xnty understands by health is something entirely different from what the worldly pers. understands by health. By health, the worldly pers. understands saying good-bye to infinite effort but being shrewd about finite goals, ge�ing oneself a lucrative living and a velvet-covered paunch as quickly as possible, living in aristocratic circles, doing nothing unless it leads to some worldly advantage, not fancifully serving gratis―to say nothing of paying money for doing so (no, better to take advantage of the consistory’s offer to let a person’s book be printed gratis―and then get it re-

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funded from the printer). And when, in addition to this, a man has been married two times, a worldly pers. will regard him as very healthy, indeed he will even see it as proof of unusual health that, in his ethical doctrines, the man himself is capable of teaching that second marriages are not praiseworthy. In this sense, you see, I am certainly a sickly person―and an egotist. To yield to an idea, to lose some of the animal health that selfishly looks a�er itself and the like―this is precisely what Xnty regards as a sign of health.

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In a note to § 255, where M. speaks of “the experience that there are many baptized people who are not personally reborn and believing,” he explains by citing many grounds, among others “the Church’s imperfect administration of the sacrament, inasmuch as it has o�en given baptism to those of whom it would normally be understood that they lack the preconditions needed for the development of the gi� of grace.” There, that was something else! M. has certainly not conferred with Mynster concerning this point. The State Church would explode with the help of this doctrine of Martensen, who indeed assumes that there are thousands upon thousands who are not believers and reborn, for their children would thus also be excluded from baptism. Mynster has a be�er understanding of a State Church: he even wants to have children taken by force in order to be baptized. In the next §, however, he himself has noticed something, and he realizes that in keeping with this reasoning we might easily come to abandon child baptism.

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A�er which things go on as usual; he doesn’t really decide anything; then he decides in § 256 that we should simply baptize all children. But as always it is just humbug. 5 1

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This, you see, is what is in general deceptive about everything of Martensen’s. That Christianity is foolishness to the world is to be taken seriously. The Xn must be willing to suffer for the fact that what is the highest thing for him is foolishness to the world. But here comes the evasion. Instead of being willing to suffer for this, one makes the foolishness into the expression of what is deep, of what is profound, so that it rlly becomes a ba�le between superficiality and profundity. This is dishonest. One must acknowledge that it is foolishness because God wants it thus, and therefore I dare do nothing other than believe it. But if foolishness is merely the expression for what is extraordinarily profound―who wouldn’t want to be profound!

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With respect to ordination we are told “that it does not confer any extraord. gi�s,” “but that neither is it merely a ceremony.” Fine. Then what is ordination? But this is how it is everywhere. It looks like there is something there―but nothing is rlly said. The Socratic method must be employed to reduce Martensen to Yes―and No, because he is entirely sophistical: On the one hand this―and on the other hand that. I would never involve myself with Martensen without having a Notarius publicus present, in order to have at least something that stands firm.

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A person who is to be a teacher in existential ma�ers must always himself be marked by having exposed himself to what is genrlly viewed as being the greatest danger.

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29 Notarius publicus] Latin, notary public.

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When Christianity struggled with the immed. passions, when the lusts of the flesh and everything associated them were the greatest dangers faced by humanity, because they were what was highest to humanity, then the teacher had to show, by being unmarried and by other means, that he was the teacher. In the age of reason, “ridicule” is the most feared of all dangers; in our times a person can more easily bear everything but being made a laughingstock, not to mention being exposed to daily ridicule―people shrink more from this danger than from the most torture-filled death. And when people say [“]It’s nothing[”] when they speak of a person who is confronted with this danger this is only a sort of mad or demonic rapport with the terror―which is precisely a part of the torture. This, then, is the danger. And therefore in our time a teacher ought to be marked by having been tested in this danger. Other people of course provide proof―by holding important offices, occupying high rank, with stars and ribbons, etc.―with these they provide proof that they are teachers. By taking the step of exposing myself to ridicule I have at least proved that I have a notion of what it is to be a teacher.

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In a certain hum. sense we must entirely reverse our usual way of pu�ing the ma�er. We usually find it entirely in order that the disciples felt themselves abandoned when Xt departed, that a miracle was required in order to strengthen them, that it was easy for them to be strong as long as Xt was with them, and so on. We forget what simple hum. experience teaches. In a certain sense, the disciple leads a troubled existence as long as the master is alive and with him. In a certain sense, the disciple cannot come to be himself, wavering constantly, at one moment worried about the judgment of the teacher who is so close at hand, at the next moment wanting the teacher’s support. The law is always this: In order to gain his entire strength a hum. being must have no visible help, but only invisible help. The very same divine help that helps absolutely when it is invisible is in a certain sense, hmnly speaking, also what makes things difficult when it is visible. This is likely also the meaning of Xt’s words: It is to your advantage that he go away, for otherwise the Spirit cannot come.

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At first sight, Xnty is and must be so terrifying that only an absolute shall can drive a hum. being into it. But people have abolished this first aspect. Then they have taken Xnty’s second aspect: the mildness―and now it is recommended for various reasons, it is defended, etc. But this will come to prove quite costly to the human race. Because, as when a spoiled child, to its own detriment, moves its parents to refrain from strictness, so has the race, to its own detriment, fooled or frightened those who should command and make use of authority, so that they do not dare to say: You shall. What the world needs most of all now is this: You shall, pronounced with authority. It is the only thing that can give impetus, and a person who imploringly asks someone else, [“]Just speak strictly to me[”] understands quite well what is good for him. “You shall” has been abolished. In every situation, even in sermons, the present generation has been made into the standard of judgment. The speaker or the individual pleads his case for his wares, whether they be raisins or Xnty―but there is no teacher and there is no gathering of learners: ah, far from it, every gathering is the master, and the individual is the one being examined.

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Truly, if I ever, even once, experienced a situation in which someone had a great terror and came to me for consolation! But it is a frightful torment to be disproportionate in this way: With my religious underpinnings and terrors―to have to console someone with a toothache and say, [“]It will surely be be�er tomorrow[”]; to have to say to someone unlucky in love that in a couple of years you will surely be engaged afresh, etc., etc.

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One would think that it was misfortune enough not to know the time of one’s visitation―and yet this is also presented as something to be punished or as grounds for punishment. Thus in the gospel for the 10th Sunday a�er Trinity Sunday. In this sense, sin is ignorance, but a punishable ignorance.

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There is a fine bit of nonsense by Martensen; somewhere in the Dogmatics he says that even if the apostles’ writings were anonymous we would be able to detect their divine character, their qualitative difference from all other writings. Here we have heresy without Martensen’s being aware of it: the divine is supposedly straightforwardly recognizable. No, the divine is everywhere paradoxically recognizable. The tactic of an apostle is not to lecture on a teaching―so that we others then recognize that this doctrine is divine. No, an apostle steps into the midst of the peop. with his doctrine and says, This teaching is from God. This puts a stop to all intellectual deliberations, and things will now depend on the apostle’s enduring the consequences of this step. But now, for God knows how many years, the world has become totally unaccustomed with “actuality” being a�ained at all or with seeing an actual personality. Everywhere there are nothing but sheer illusions, which divert all a�ention from personality. At one moment the illusion is the public, at the next the editorial staff, at another science, at yet another speculation, etc., etc. It is always called “the cause”―in any case there is no person, and in any case people have perhaps chosen to do ba�le in this way because there is no cause. The paradox is always present in the relation to everything divine, and therefore it is always necessary to have this personality who, by asserting that it is divine, by authoritatively intruding himself upon actual hum. beings, forces them to come to a decision. I know of no one whose life has a�ained actuality in the strictest sense of the term. The appearances are deceptive, but on closer inspection one sees hundreds of illusions that have the effect that, a�er all, one does not quite exist personally, that actuality cannot quite get hold of one personally. No one says: I. One person speaks in the name of the century, one in the name of science, one on behalf of his official position, and everywhere their lives are guaranteed, by tradition, that “others,” “the others” are doing the same thing. In our times most people would bona �de be of the opinion that if the art of printing books had been invented, an apostle could just as well have done his work via the printing press, publishing his Ideas, Maxims, etc., and have lived his own life in the

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manner of an ordinary author, in the greatest possible concealment, and at all costs refraining from involving himself even in the type of exaggeration of which I have made myself guilty by speaking with people on the streets and alleys. Alas, my li�le bit of exaggeration is but an infinitely weak and imperfect, distant intimation of apostolic exaggeration.

The Religious Person Who Truly Believes That God Is His Father

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in which there is much game

Let me imagine such a person. Let it be a man who owns nothing and is without any worldly advantage. Then―let us imagine―he calls on a baron at his estate. The baron is kind enough to show him around personally. Among other things, they ascend a hill from which they can see far and wide, and when the baron gestures over the entire expanse he says, All this is my father’s, these woods that you see over there,a etc. Then the religious person says, Yes, but please direct your eyes upward―everything that the lord baron sees, every bird that flies through the infinite spaces, is my father’s. And in principle, then, your father’s barony is also my father’s. Ah, how many indeed are there in each generation who have the courage to believe in this simple sense that it is quite literally true that God is their father―in the clear, starry night can dare say to themselves, in humility but in faith, [“]This is my father’s[”] fully as convinced of it as the baron that it is his father’s[?]

Luther puts it well in the sermon on the epistle for the 6th Sunday a�er Easter: that the Xn must be disciplined so that every day either God talks to him (by reading God’s word) or he talks to God (by praying).

An adherent is not an α intensivum but a α privativum.

32 α intensivum] Greek and Latin, alpha intensivum, an amplifying alpha, serving as a prefix. 32 α privativum] Greek and Latin, alpha privativum, a negating alpha, serving as a prefix.

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To “a�ain actuality” also means to will to exist for every hum. being, to the extent that one can. On Sundays the priest of course preaches about loving “the neighbor,” but look, in so-called actuality every hum. being lives within a certain relativity; the others do not essentially exist for him. From a Christian point of view, I am not permi�ed to ignore existentially one single hum. being. I am permi�ed to ignore an anonymous publicist, to ignore the public and all such fantasies, but no actual hum. being. Now the problem is that if one does not will to ignore the entire crowd―then one becomes the sacrifice, for that class neither has the preconditions that would enable it to understand a person, nor does it have or can it take the time to do so, nor, again, is one able to speak with every individual―and finally, a journalist can always confuse them all over again. To exist for the crowd when one has something true to communicate and does not want to deceive (for mundus vult decipi) is eo ipso having to become the sacrifice. Here is a collision: From a Christian point of view, one does not have the right to ignore one single hum. being, but if one is not willing to ignore the crowd, one incites it against oneself.

Father in Heaven! When we get ready to go to sleep in the evening, it is our consolation that you are the one who watches over us―and then, when we awaken in the morning, when we are awake all day long―alas, how distressing if you were not a�er all the one who watched over us. That is why the difference we make between sleeping and waking is only a sort of joke―as if we only needed you to be on watch as long as we are sleeping, not when we ourselves are awake.

A poem by Zacharias Werner in his Pentecost sermon (2nd volume of his sermons) Gib Wissenscha� zu wissen, daß das Wissen Von dem Gewissen uns nicht kann entrissen.

18 mundus vult decipi] Latin, the world wants to be deceived. 18 eo ipso] Latin, by that very fact. 35 Gib … entrissen?] German, Grant that science might know that knowledge cannot tear us free of conscience.

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Incidentally, it is a beautiful feature of the German language that Gewissen means certainty as well as conscience. Conscience is the true certainty. It’s a shame that we don’t have the word in Danish. 5

Much of what is said in praise of a mother’s love for her child is of course based on a misunderstanding, inasmuch as maternal love as such is only an intensified self-love, which is why animals also have it. That this sort of love is first of all self-love can also be seen from analogous relationships, in which it will really be quite obvious to everyone how foolish this sort of praise is―thus, e.g., an author’s love of his works. Nor does scripture ever provide a straightforward comparison of maternal love with God’s love for a hum. being; comparison is made only with the strength of a mother’s love. One could also use other metaphors, e.g., by making use of the passion of a miser and the like. But such a metaphor would be unbecoming. Maternal love, on the other hand, is such a beautiful metaphor.

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In a note dated Aug. 10, R. N. has now discovered that the common point shared by Climacus and Anti-Climacus is despair, and in this connection cites the concluding words of Cl. to the effect that he does not say that he is a Xn, which Anti-Cl. must of course call “despair.” In a previous note, Nielsen had thought that the common point was offense. That was in fact much closer to being correct, and his new discovery is quite simply an anticlimax. This, of course, is the scale: what, metaphysically, is doubt, is ethically, despair, and from a Christian viewpoint, is offense. Incidentally, to the extent that there is any truth in his discovery that the contrast does indeed lie precisely at the point of declaring that one is not a Xn, this discovery of R. Nielsen’s has the dubious quality of having been wri�en in my note to him, which accompanied the book, and which he received.

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The most terrible punishment of sin is new sin. That is, the hardened, self-confident sinner does not see it this way. But when

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a hum. being shudders at the thought of his sin, when he would gladly endure everything if he could but avoid falling prey to the old sin in the future, then new sin is the most terrible punishment of sin. Now, there are collisions (especially with respect to sinning in thought) in which anxiety about sin can come close to evoking sin. When this is the case a desperate wrong turn can be taken. Vigilius Haufniensis has described this as follows: Repentance goes out of its mind. As long as repentance is in its right mind, what must eternally remain fixed remains fixed: that sin must be conquered. But in his despair an unfortunate person of this sort can imagine that because the new sin is indeed sin’s most terrible punishment, he must perhaps put up with it. That is surely how to understand what quietism has taught: that a hum. being could be saved, yet still remain in sin. He trembles with mortal anxiety in the face of the new sin, but because it is indeed the punishment, despair takes him captive, as if there were nothing to be done. Here one sees the difference between how temptation and spiritual trial are to be comba�ed. In cases of temptation, it can be correct to flee. In cases of spiritual trial, one must see it through. One must flee temptation, striving neither to see nor hear the tempter. If it is spiritual trial, one must go straight toward it, trusting in God and Xt. Because in our times people have no notion whatever of spiritual trial, a person who suffered from this in our times would also be viewed as a quite extraord. sinner.

People praise this as an a�ribute of true love: the more sacrifices it makes, the more it loves the one who is its object. But this is of course also a form of self-love, because the sacrifices remind a person a�er all of himself.

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course find it unseemly to express one’s thanks to God by saying, [“]Thanks a million, many thanks.[”] One says simply (and this is precisely where the passion lies), [“]Thank you, O God![”] 5

My Literary Work Viewed as “The Corrective” to the Established Order The category “corrective” is a category of reflection just like here/there and right/le�. The person who is to provide “the corrective” must carefully and thoroughly study the weak sides of the established order―and then one-sidedly provide the opposite, very expertly one-sidedly. Precisely in this lies the corrective, and in turn the resignation in the person who is to provide it. Indeed, in a sense, the corrective is a treat given to the established order. Then, if this is properly done, a supposedly clever fellow can come along and raise the objection that “the corrective” is one-sided―and he can get the entire public to believe that there is something to this. Good Lord! Nothing would be easier for the person who provides the corrective than to add the other side―but then it ceases to be the corrective and becomes itself the established order. Therefore an objection of this sort is raised by someone who totally lacks the resignation required to provide “the corrective” and hasn’t even the patience to comprehend it.

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It is quite certain that there exists a presentation of the religious truth―that is, specifically, Xnty― that can only be a�ained if the presenter suffers from indescribable spiritual torment. When I think of what I have suffered day in and day out―or, at any rate, suffered the ever-present possibility that it could begin again tomorrow (indeed, raised to a higher power, these same

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sufferings raised to a higher power in sympathetic pain)―I must nonetheless confess that if this had not been the case, it would not have been possible for me to present Xnty as I have. The moment these sufferings are taken away, my presentation would be more or less à la the priest’s: superficial, worldly, sensorily secure. Sometimes, when I think of my sufferings, it seems as if Governance were saying to me: [“]Dear li�le friend, right now I have use for a presentation of Xnty of just this sort. It cannot be accomplished without suffering. Someone must do it. So I have let it be you. I could easily compel you, but I would rather have you come to terms with it patiently― consider, the sufferings of this time are brief and short-lived, etc.” And so I reconcile myself to it entirely. The truer the presentation of the religious, the more it serves to honor and praise God. But if the suffering helps to present the truth more truly, then of course the suffering serves to honor and praise God―so let me be forgo�en as if I did not exist, even though it is I who suffer―but the suffering is to the honor and praise of God.

Question as to Whether This Could Be Psychologically Correct, Whether, Even from a Purely Psychological Perspective, This Can Be Thought An essentially melancholic individual who otherwise has never been bothered or tempted by the thought of suicide. One day he walks through a lovely forested district. It has been raining; everything exudes freshness and fragrance. It seems to him that he has never or only rarely felt so indescribably, so unspeakably good. As he walks, it occurs to him quite en passant: What if you now were to commit suicide[?]―and he does it. In this case there is no premeditation concerning such a step, no gradual development, nor anything

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In other respects, as in so many cases, the common boundary between melancholia and madness is becoming objective to oneself. What is odd and unusual is the almost idyllic objectivity, idyllically confusing oneself with a li�le flower and the like. It would be a powerful example of holding on to life loosely.

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convulsive. The idea occurs to him more or less like this: Look, there is a lovely li�le flower. He takes the step in about the same sort of mental state as one in which a person bends down and plucks a li�le flower. Thus death is here a sort of higher form of well-being. Can something like this be imagined?

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It would certainly seem that it is easier to proclaim Xnty to those who are happily, healthily, prosperously, pleased with life than it is to proclaim it to the leprous, the sick, the injured, etc., but in another sense I daresay it is much more difficult. The fact is that we are not so careful about what Xnty is. If Xnty is truly to be proclaimed to the fortunate, to those who are happy with life and are enjoying it, then Xnty becomes a sort of cruelty. And on the other hand it is much easier to proclaim Xnty’s consolation―to lepers. But the fact is that people would prefer to enjoy life, etc.―and that is why people are afraid even of seeing a leper, a madman, a beggar; people desire to remain ignorant of them―and then proclaim Xnty to those who have been favored! Ah, I have seen this only all too closely. My own soul has been in fear and trembling, and therefore I have really needed Xnty―and then a young, cheerful girl. Truly, send for me when a hardened sinner,

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on the last day of his life, suddenly awakens to repentance and to the torment of being conscious of his sins: with God’s help, I daresay I shall preach. But a young, cheerful, lovable girl, though without any more profound notions―and then Xnty! I do not know what to preach here. And yet, she is of course certainly much, much purer than I. But then, isn’t Xnty for everyone? Is it only for those who are sick and sorrowful, for those who labor and are heavy laden? Is it an error to want to make everyone a Xn? These difficulties have o�en occupied me. I sometimes take the advice of saying to myself: What concern is that of yours? So you have no need of Xnty, then? Whereupon I answer Yes and then take care of myself.

Sometimes, in a moment of dejection it occurs to me that Xt was not tried by the sufferings of illness, least of all by these that are the most painful, where the psychic and the somatic contact one another dialectically―thus, in this respect the life of the Exemplar was easier. But then I say to myself: Do you think, then, that if you were quite healthy you would a�ain perfection more easily? Ah, just the opposite: You would so easily submit to your passions―if not to other passions, then to pride, to a heightened self-esteem, and the like. Thus even though they are a burden, the sufferings are a beneficial burden, like the braces used at the Orthopedic Institute. To be in perfect physical and psychic health and then lead a true life of the spirit―no one can do that, for in that case he would be carried away by an immediate sense of well-being. In one sense the life of the spirit is the death of immediacy. This, you see, is why sufferings are helpful. When one suffers every day, when one is so frail that the thought of death is quite simplement right at hand, then it at least helps one a bit by making one continually aware of the need for God. Physical health, an immediate sense of well-being, is a far greater danger than wealth, power, and respect. It certainly has a deceptive appearance, as if it would in fact be helpful to have physical, immediate strength. But if one has that, then it is an almost superhuman task actually to live qua spirit. God-consciousness such as was present in the God-Man is required for this. Otherwise a hum. being easily deceives himself

31 simplement] French, simply.

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and confuses immediate well-being with―the life of the spirit. Physical suffering, a frail physique, is a beneficial memento.

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When the category “the single individual” disappears, Xnty is abolished. Then the situation becomes one in which the individual relates himself to God through the human race, through an abstraction, through a third party―and then Xnty is eo ipso abolished. If this happens, the God-Man is a phantom instead of an actual exemplar. Alas, when I now look at my own life. How rare, indeed, is the pers. who is so favored for the life of the spirit, and above all strictly schooled with the help of spiritual sufferings: virtually all of my contemporaries see me as fighting like a Don Quixote―it never occurs to them that this is Xnty; indeed, they are convinced that it is just the opposite. Present-day Xndom existentially transforms Xt into an absolute phantom―despite the fact that they insist that Xt was an individual hum. being. They have no courage to believe existentially in the ideal. Yes, it is true. The race has grown away from Xnty! Alas, yes, in quite the same sense in which a pers. grows away from ideals. For the youth, the ideal is the ideal, but he relates to it in passion. For the older person who has grown away from the ideal, the ideal is some fantasy-laden thing that has no place in the actual world. If possible, in the hour of my death I will repeat again and again that to which every word of my writings testifies: I have never with one single word given occasion for the misunderstanding that I have confused myself with the ideal―but I have been convinced that my efforts were useful in illuminating what Xnty is. The understanding, reflection, has taken the ideal from hum. beings, from Xndom, and has made the ideal into fantasy―as a consequence, being a Xn has to be placed one reflection further back, being a Xn now comes to mean to love being a Xn, to strive to be one: so enormous has the ideal now become. See in relation to this the piece Armed Neutrality, where I have paralleled this with the transition from being called σοϕοι to being called ϕιλοσοϕοι.

39 σοϕοι] Greek, wise men.

philosophers.

40 ϕιλοσοϕοι] Greek, those who love wisdom,

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There are two kinds of instruction. One is Socratic: to ask questions in order to starve out empty knowledge. The other is the opposite: the learner asks questions. Once, in a conversation, Grundtvig made the really valuable remark that the instruction that asks a child questions is wrong―it is the child who ought to be allowed to ask.

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Now that the councillor of state is dead, it is not impossible that she believes that I could initiate a rapprochement, in which case she would have supposed that it was the councillor of state who had stood in my way. Now this is surely a misunderstanding. It was precisely the councillor of state with whom I wanted and thus sought reconciliation. With him there were absolutely no dangerous or dubious consequences connected to reconciliation, and in my view the offended father was the most serious concern. But in any event, I would gladly be reconciled with her, if it were indeed the case that she wished it. She has truly suffered on my account. She has suffered what can most injure a young girl, even if I did everything to minimize the injury and also suggested to her that she be the one to break off the engagement―she has suffered on my account―God knows how gladly I would make every, every sort of amends to her. And also for my own sake: the easier the terms of her release, the easier my own life will be for me. In a way, my own relationship to God is the reduplication of my relationship to her. But on the other hand. If she learns that I made my decision at that time based on ma�ers of religion and suffering, then I run the risk that she will suddenly despair over her marriage. It’s a delicate business: “that it would be her death” and she is the one who married; a delicate business: that I was “a scoundrel”―and must now be seen in an entirely different light. And even if I could easily do all this for her so gently that there would be no danger in this respect, I am well acquainted with her vehement and passionate nature. And it is indeed the case, as I have so o�en said to myself, that I am the guarantor of her marriage. Yet if she herself were to be the one who took the daring step of requesting it, I would view myself as obligated, in God’s name, to do what I would so much like to do. In that case the primary responsibility would not rest on me. By marrying, she has emancipated herself from being my unconditional responsibility. Besides, it is quite certain that my relationship to her has been for me a very close, present-tense study in understanding what faith is. For in this relationship I know best that the way things appear to be is precisely the opposite of what is fundamentally the case. Having endured this situation has benefited me in my relation of faith to God. While my life also opposes me, and the world is practically sheer opposition, I nonetheless have faith. In

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his relationship to God, a person who has had no such experience will immediately want to have a direct understanding, not one of faith. Furthermore, it is entirely fi�ing that the thought of coming to a direct understanding with her has become so important to me precisely when I have been in the process of reducing my existential speed qua author.

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Naturally, as the God-Man, Christ could have held out as long as necessary―it cannot be assumed that suffering wore him out, but in other respects it is indeed typical that he did not live more than 34 years. If being a Xn in the strictest sense is to be endured from childhood on (when the overwhelming impression of Xnty―if it is strict Xnty that is imparted―immediately causes the child to overstrain itself) and continues in the stricter sense without ge�ing involved in some illusion, that person will hardly live to be more than 34 years old.

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A Li�le Contribution.

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A “highly regarded,” handsome, splendid fellow who proclaims that the truth is scorned, insulted, mocked, spat upon― upon my honor, indeed, even if I were to say it in the hour of my death, when I was clearly aware that I would have to repeat it on Judgment Day: It is nonsense! A person of high rank, who lives only in the most distinguished “circles,” who movingly proclaims that Xt “associated with sinners and tax collectors and ate with them, lived on the streets and alleys in the company of the common man”―upon my honor, indeed, even if I were to say it in the hour of my death, when I was clearly aware that I would have to repeat it on Judgment Day: It is nonsense! A man with a lucrative call, with a velvet-covered paunch or with a velvet-covered paunch in a lucrative call, who proclaims that Xt sent forth his “disciples,” saying You should own nothing, neither purse nor staff―upon my honor, indeed, even if I were to say it in the hour of my death, when I was clearly aware that I would have to repeat it on Judgment Day: It is nonsense!

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One thing or the other: either one’s life must at least approximate expressing the situation of being scorned, mocked, of living in the company of the common man on the streets and alleys and eating with tax collectors and sinners, of being poor and needy, or one should hold one’s tongue about such things and preach about the advantages of being a highly regarded, handsome, splendid fellow, as well as about which methods one employs to a�ain “this good;” about the advantages of being a person of high rank and about how pleasing it is to live in distinguished circles; about the advantages of having a lucrative call, as well as the benefits connected with a velvet paunch. A person’s existence is the real sermon. With it a person preaches every hour of the day and very much more powerfully than the most eloquent person in his most eloquent moment. To let one’s existence express the opposite, and then to let one’s mouth run on with glib nonsense about the opposite, is the deepest sort of twaddle and, from a Christian point of view, is to become liable to the judgment of eternity, even if, in the temporal world, it is the path to high office, honor, respect, popular approval, and the like.

Indeed, even Luther doesn’t get it right. In the sermon for the 2nd Sunday a�er Trinity Sunday, he preaches on the text: Do not be astonished that the world hates you. The next Sunday he preaches on humility (God opposes the proud), that without humility one is loved neither by God nor hum. beings. Now he forgets that the Christian formula is: Do good and suffer for it―that is, be humble―and then you will be hated or will continue to be hated by hum. beings. Then, at another point in the same sermon, “Cast all your cares upon God,” Luther comes to say something about how the Christian must suffer. One can see how u�erly undialectical is this way of speaking. When one preaches in encouragement of humility, one omits the difficulty and supposes an unchristian situation; on another Sunday one consoles. I have expressed my view on this at the end of the 1st part of Works of Love, but I cannot emphasize it enough. It is no easy ma�er. Indeed I have worked on this without interruption for quite a number of years, yet I can o�en find myself veering off in an unchristian direction.

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Spiritual existence is enormously strenuous. To prove that I am right from the fact that I am scorned, that I am in the minority― what an enormous effort. And suppose, then, that the majority were to come over to one’s side―then to remember that this was the proof that one was in the wrong, or at least an indication of it. And to have to endure this in a world where one lives in the company of these thousands upon thousands who have no more understanding of spirit than they do of Chinese!

My problem is that I have lived too ideally or too melancholically ideally. When one thinks one will die tomorrow, one either says, Let us eat and drink, or one strives to fill the present day with impressions of something more ideal. And if one lives in this way year a�er year, one loses contact with everything earthly. Here we see a miniature commentary on the text: Seek first God’s kingdom. The sensory-psychic notion that a long life lies ahead for a person, etc. gives occasion for a pers. to become practical, as it is termed, to make a place for oneself in life, etc. But the spiritual notion is to live today. The category [“]a long future[”] is far inferior to the category “today.” The long future, these 30 to 40 years, is a sensory-psychic category and not a proof that a hum. being has an immortal spirit; it merely corresponds to the animal’s instinct of providing for itself―but “providing” corresponds to the sensory-psychic.

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A Final Version of a Catastrophe in My Public Life Mob vulgarity had triumphed in Cph., to a certain extent in Denmark. Everyone, those who ought to provide standards of judgment, the journalists, even the police, despaired and said, There is nothing to be done here. And of course the mob vulgarity increased and triumphed. But it was constantly said―albeit as a wish, a pium desiderium: Oh, but this is intolerable―something ought to be done. Now the question was whether there wasn’t a respected younger person in this country―because in such circumstances an older person doesn’t help, for people immediately say, [“]He’s 33 pium desiderium] Latin, pious wish.

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become old, he doesn’t understand the new times[”]―a respected younger person who dared to do something. There was one and only one person of this sort: “the great pseudonym,” absolutely the most respected author, at that point completely unsullied―and indeed venerated by mob vulgarity, which shrewdly sought friendship from this quarter. It was of course unreasonable that “the great pseudonym” should be untrue to himself and take counsel with others in advance. So he did it without hesitation, though having made a religious decision. What he really had to do, his task, was to see whether he could manage to turn the situation around with a couple of words that were so powerful that they would succeed in impressing even the editors. This succeeded. It is a historical fact: Goldschmidt became unsure of himself, traveled abroad; P. L. Møller sheepishly emerged under his own name and bowed―subsequently he, too, traveled abroad. The Corsair was lost―in a way it was “never itself again.” The question, then, was how dearly the unselfish person was to pay for this step, for of course it was right that it should cost something. This was the problem for his contemporaries, who busy themselves with pronouncing the judgment of the more cultured classes (journalists of the be�er sort). Their task was to support the step taken and to point out that it was unselfish, the only thing that could have been done, heroic. They all remained silent. Here came the treachery―at that moment I saw that my position with respect to the bourgeoisie was gradually being eroded and would for the most part be irretrievably lost. Nonetheless I calmly stood my ground and was basically victorious. Rlly, religiously supported as I was, I never knew how strong I was. If I’d had sufficient financial resources, if I’d been able to look forward calmly to a long future, or my entire life secured in that regard: nothing more was needed, I alone was absolutely the strongest. Everything in the world that was excellent has usually been betrayed by its times. But treachery of the times against me has been of the more wretched sort precisely because it has involved double treachery. It is the more respected people who have rlly betrayed me.

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Apart from this I will only remark that however difficult my situation was―this, indeed, is typical of me―I asked the journalists I knew not to involve themselves in it. It is true that I made this request of them or advised them not to intervene―but what I judged about the ma�er deep down is another ma�er. My cause was pure, dedicated to God―in such cases one does not beg personally for help. Wretched age! The possibility I had otherwise reserved for myself―to live pleasantly in the country when I retire from being an author, owing to my literary reputation ranked not a li�le above the modest position of a country priest―has been lost. When a person has been marked like this it is a burden to live in the countryside.

History will not judge Goldschmidt for having mocked me. No, history’s judgment is never so moral. It judges talent, power, strength, etc. Mockery was of course the task he set for himself, and it is in this category that he will be judged. And therefore the judgment will be that he was wretched. First, that he was editor for 6 years and did not a�ack me―I, the most heterogeneous person of all, who was thus most suited for such an a�ack. That he not only did not a�ack me, but fla�ered me and deified me. The judgment will be that he was a poor ironist who saw himself as a youth compared to me and was afraid of me. Next, that because I gave the order―and because of the way in which I gave it, he exploited the situation so that he could protect himself by invoking the defense: Well, Mag. K. himself gave me permission to do it. This in fact demonstrates that in relation to me he viewed himself as a hired hand. ([C]oncerning this see a passage somewhere in the previous journal―but more likely in the present journal[.]) Last, the fact that he was caught and unmasked by a cunning stratagem, for to abuse the same person whom one has oneself deified is absolutely to despise oneself.

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Just as a person who plays the lo�ery dreams only of numbers and comes up with the strangest combinations because his imagination occupies itself day and night only with this, so is there also a form of scriptural exegesis that, in a good sense, is as

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though obsessed with scripture and is therefore able to find types and the like everywhere. This is not an error. The error in the first case is that of filling one’s imagination with rubbish such as numbers and possible winnings. 5

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The words of Sirach: “What does the person who has not been tried know[?]” could be made the mo�o for the whole of modern so-called speculative dogmatics. Fenelon (that is where I read it, pt. 1, p. 165) cites the passage in Sirach as 34:9. The same passage in Fenelon cites a beautiful saying from the book of Tobias 12:13: [“]Because you were dear to God, so must you not lack for spiritual trial.[”] I think the beauty lies in the emphasis on [“]because[”] and [“]must[”] and [“]you[”].

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There is an obvious example of the disaster of the fusing of what is Christian with what is worldly. There would be a clergy that maintains an entirely worldly concept of dignity. Not only do they shrewdly avoid dangers, sacrifices, but they are honored and respected, because “it would be beneath their dignity” to get involved in things of that sort, to condescend to things of that sort. Oh, you who lie in your teeth. You know well that your words, if not blasphemy against God, are at any rate blasphemy against Xt! For what is Xt? He is the suffering truth who found it worthy to involve himself with all the evil. But imagine a priest who says on his deathbed: I lived in a time when lies and calumny and slander and envy and wretchedness triumphed absolutely. But of course I found it beneath my dignity to condescend to that sort of thing, to condescend to combat that sort of thing―and my life remained undisturbed by it. Oh, my friend, beware: in death only the Christian concept of dignity provides consolation. It is consoling when one ventures to say, [“]I lived at the same time as lies and wretchedness, but this I know: I had first-class accommodations in the madhouse; and this I know: when I died, the power of evil was at any rate a bit less―but at least I did not shrink from it.[”]

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Either there must be separation of church and state or we must somehow or other have monastic clergy. People will say: “Yes, but in his heart, a person who abandons the whole world and lives on roots can be just as vain as someone who has what is worldly.” Oh, I know this, I know this. But I also know that one advantage associated with having monastic clergy is that we at least occasionally get to see actions that formally remind us of Christianity; we get things all jumbled together, and it is at any rate stimulating that while most people act on the basis of the worldly sort of vanity, he―if he is indeed vain―at least acts on the basis of the sort of vanity that might be called godly. For God, this is surely worse that the former, but it does not at all follow from this that his actions cannot be helpful. Take the situation in Cph. when I had to deal with The Corsair. Not one single cleric dared preach against that sort of demoralization, against calumny, against lies, etc. And all wrapped themselves in the cloak of it being beneath their dignity. It was forgotten, entirely forgo�en, that the Christian concept of dignity is precisely the opposite of the worldly concept. And then, when I had to take upon myself the Christian task of honoring the Christian concept of dignity―when it would have been beneath my dignity to have lived with that sort of thing and not taken action―I had to suffer for it, even to point that people found that it was beneath my dignity! What a Christendom. There are 1000 clergy, all earnest men, with dignity―and then a young pers. saunters around, a flaneur―and, in the Christian sense, there was both earnestness and dignity!

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Providing the corrective is really a true task of resignation. No sooner does one begin than the misconception triumphant in the world looks haughtily down on the poor corrective: “It is antiquated, a thing of the past,” etc.

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Then, when the corrective, in its slow but quiet and profound influence, takes on a threatening posture that gradually saps the nerve of that error―then people stealthily exploit the corrective and pretend that it is something they themselves had proposed. Or they cautiously let a certain amount of time pass, during which the corrective is at work, so to speak. During that period they remain officially silent―that is, they do not write. If they notice that the corrective has gained power, they emerge, surreptitiously making use of the corrective―and then take credit for representing moderation. If this succeeds, they go a step further: because they in fact only adopt a portion of the corrective, and because on the other hand, in order to be effective, the corrective must be equipped with the awakening paradox, they therefore portray the corrective as an exaggeration. Cowardly skulking: that is what Martensen is capable of.

How easy with finite goals. One is a professor, has a permanent position, a salary, honor, and respect―and furthermore, his efforts are understood immediately. It is of course assumed that it is serious business. That is how everything worldly joins together here. Assume the relation to an idea, assume a more pure, ideal existence―then you are superfluous, a sort of madness.

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Naturally one seeks the society and company of everyone who amounts to anything, everyone who concerns himself with pronouncing judgment on literary ma�ers and the like. One also keeps a careful eye on foreigners. It helps, you see. It has now pleased Fr. Bremer to bless Denmark with her judgment. Naturally it consists of echoes of what the people concerned have said to her. This

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She lived here for quite a while and had physical intercourse with famous people. She wanted to have physical intercourse with me, but I was virtuous.

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can best be seen in the case of Martensen, who has had quite a lot to do with her. She was kind enough to send me a courteous note inviting me to have a conversation with her. Now I almost regret that I did not reply as I had originally thought of doing, with merely these words: “No, many thanks, I do not dance.” But in any case I declined her invitation and did not go. So I get to hear in print that I am “inaccessible.” It is probably owing to Martensen’s influence that Frederikke has made me into a psychologist and nothing else, and has provided me with a significant audience of ladies. It is really ridiculous―how in all the world I can be considered a ladies’ author[?] But it is owing to Martensen. He has surely noticed that his star is in decline at the university. It will certainly be droll for R. Nielsen and those who are truly of the younger generation to read that I am a ladies’ author.

26 Aug. 49 It could be worth wishing that I might for a moment be entirely free in my relationship to her, in order to see what power she rlly has. A�er all, she besieged me with her pleading and tears so that I included her in my relation to God and I keep her there. She touched a melancholia like mine with a feminine devotion that was moving, but also too powerful. By incautiously begging in Jesus’ name for me to remain with her, she touched an anguished conscience like mine, which gladly would have done everything for her, but penitent as it was, cannot do it, an anguished conscience that itself understands profoundly how infinite is its need for leniency― and then, whenever [my] faith is not strong, has been tormented by the fact that I was of course cruel to her. They are frightful agonies. And they are only amplified by the enormous powers granted me. Truly, when Providence gave man strength and woman

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weakness, whom did he make the stronger[?] Herein lies what is frightful in being involved with a woman: she succumbs in weakness―and then one struggles with oneself, with one’s own power. 5

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Now, presumably they are to reform the Church; then they will convene synods, take votes, etc. Even the most strictly orthodox people, even Rudelbach, appear to have taken the position of directly engaging with all this and doing what can be done to keep things as orthodox as possible. I have always carried out flank a�acks, a�acking from behind. Thus, at the very moment of greatest importance, when we are to reform the Church, I manage to produce a piece that jacks up the price of being a Xn so high that it is doubtful whether there exists one single true Xn in the strictest sense. This is harassment! Undeniably. But it is also distressing and ridiculous that people have not at all noticed where the fundamental corruption lies. My task has always been to delay―it is something like when a man is about to jump, and someone taps him on the shoulder, saying, May I have a word with you[?] This is where Mynster and I share common ground. It is really a diversionary measure. But the fact is that Mynster is in a certain sense afraid of this diversionary measure, especially when it is in my hands. He has used it a bit himself, but as a shrewd supporter of the government―in the present case it is being used by someone who is nobody (these dangerous and suspect persons) and it is being used absolutely teleologically. But it can certainly be done without damaging Mynster, if he will simply take care to say nothing at all and remain very calm. I have always given my operation the appearance that I was entirely subaltern, practically as if I were acting under Mynster’s supreme auspices, giving the appearance that he

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gives his supreme nod of approval and that this is of decisive importance. In a certain sense, there is something troubling in all this lest anything happen, be it merely a blink of the eye or an uncertainty of countenance. But it is quite true that the task is an absolutely dialectical one, and I cannot escape the thought that I must not come into conflict with what reminds me of my father.

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and the one who was be�er than I.

Were I truly to beg for her forgiveness, and truly to receive forgiveness, I would in turn have to justify myself and tell everything. If I do that, then she will for the first time have a true notion of how she was loved, of how I was true and have remained true to her, of what I have suffered, of precisely how the deception, the cruelty were in fact solicitude―and then, then suppose she suddenly has an aversion to her marriage and begins where we le� off in the first round, when I did indeed beg for her forgiveness, two months before the real breaking of the engagement. Anyone who knows how she spoke of Schlegel at that time―that is, how dismissively (it must indeed be remembered that the circumstance that I was the one who suggested that she take Schlegel had to embi�er her and make her lose patience)―will always have his doubts. Her forgiveness cannot make my life easier. But in the final analysis, it is not she who binds me, but I who have made use of her to bind myself. The wound I received from her hand, which I guided, was and must remain a religious wound―the relationship to God is what is binding. On the other hand, if I were to continue the deception to the bi�er end and suddenly emerge in the form of someone who had been a scoundrel and who is now repentant, then I will be deceiving her, and her forgiveness will be a sham. Loving as she is, now she is probably reposing in her marriage. This is how she understands things: I was a pers. of extraordinary talents, in a certain sense too lo�y for her; but still, I was not faithful to her; I set my sights on a more challenging goal―she had to fall. But (she says to herself) I have indeed loved her, and [“]I will piously forgive him, indeed, pray to God for him.[”] From a feminine point of view this makes sense. She contrasts herself to me precisely as the one who was pious.b If I

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were now to come with my own explanation of who was pious, then everything would perhaps be disturbed. It is very clear that my relationship is a God-relationship. But I should give up all self-torment. The self-torment is actlly rooted in my desperate desire that she understand me absolutely. But perhaps God does not want this at all; perhaps it is precisely through this misunderstanding that he keeps me in the relationship to himself. And I am so weak in his hands, for whenever I am lacking in faith, I worry about whether I might not, a�er all, be able to do something to make myself understood by her. When, in faith, I close my eyes and keep silent, I am at peace. As soon as I fail to do this, I am plagued by the misunderstanding, because regarding her, I have everything immediate and external against me. But if she herself were to demand an explanation from me, I would risk it. I would do it so that I said to her directly: There is one point on which I cannot speak; you must not ask me about it, but forgive me for being unable to speak about it. And apart from that I would tell her the truth, and here I think there would be a degree of understanding that might a�er all make her happy. I can truly say: She was the beloved, the only one, that I loved her more and more, that she was the beloved when I le� her, that I will love no one else. Then, with respect to one particular point, I must ask her to trust me. She has sufficient womanliness to do so―then the explanation is almost total. If it were possible that she became dialectical and began to brood over such an insane collision, then she would burst. As long as she has been able to cling to this: that despite everything I was, if not a bad pers., at any rate someone intoxicated by lo�y thoughts, then there is no collision. But if I am to be a religious person, then there is a collision. I have borne the responsibility for her to the point of bearing responsibility for her life. Now, for quite a while she has helped herself by being married. How wrong it was of me to venture into a relationship that I was unable to realize and for which I have suffered my punishment―and if I have not suffered punishment enough (or if I have)―in any case I must beg God for forgiveness. To explain ma�ers to her, to the extent possible, could be dangerous for her, could disturb the illusion of her marriage, could be dangerous for me, could alter my relationship to God. And even if this did not happen, there is still one other consideration: consideration for Schlegel, to whom all caution is owed.

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But, as has been said: just because it can be dangerous, it by no means follows that it absolutely must not happen, for sometimes what is most right is also dangerous. If she requests it, then it can be ventured. God knows, I would more than gladly do it. Perhaps one day it will be clear to me that I ought to dare take the first step myself, but the main thing is of course my own relationship to God, and a�er all, she is married.

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“Her Relationship to Me”

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and surely, the only right thing for her was that I got it; she would have been destroyed; in a very short time she would have torn herself to shreds, overstraining herself because she had such a gigantic notion of who I was, and wanted, if possible, to live up to something more ideal. And in any case, with my spiritual preoccupations and my dreadful reserve, I would have lived in a world of my own. Insane to be squandered on me, insane that it would be for

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A pagan has said: It does no good to want to ride away from grief―it sits hindmost on the horse. A pious man (Fenelon) has said: Cares are like an arrow in the breast―the more vigorously the deer runs to escape it, the more firmly the arrow becomes lodged in it. NB. That is not at all how Fenelon formulated it, nor did he parallel it with the saying by Horace, but the thought is from Fenelon.

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I should and I must have my freedom; even under the most reasonable terms, however, there would perhaps have been punishment enough for my pride in having ventured into something I could not realize. Thus I should and must have my freedom. Perhaps, however, she ought to have understood this to some extent herself and made my situation a bit easier―perhaps. Alas, but she was so young, and she was too lovingly devoted to me―ah, in altogether too humble submission―for it to occur to her that she ought to take sides against me. Furthermore, she was in a difficult position. She must surely have had a presentiment of how furious and embi�ered the councillor of state, the much-feared figure in that family’s eyes, would become. Furthermore, she had perhaps indeed been somewhat unfair to Schlegel by accept-

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ing me―and now this catastrophe. Finally, I myself have dialectically made the situation difficult for her. I could of course have asked for my freedom more straightforwardly (either gently, religiously, or a bit more persuasively). But I deliberately did not do so. There was a quite particular reason that I could not marry; it was not upon her, but upon marriage that I foundered, and I foundered upon it for religious reasons. Now, I could not, however, permit her to remain unmarried for that same reason―and that would have happened if I had employed entirely direct communication, for then I would have bound her to me forever. She is thus purely and absolutely free of guilt― indeed, shouldn’t innocence be guiltless! In any case, it is impossible to see her crumb of guilt without simultaneously seeing my enormous guilt for having “carried her out with me into the current.” Alas, those words remind me of the earliest period of the engagement, when it was so clear to me that this was what I had done. But at that time her overweening confidence made me feel quite secure, so that I began to view the danger as insignificant, inasmuch as she took the ma�er so lightly. My guilt is having carried her out into the current, and she rlly has no guilt, even though she ought to have realized earlier that it would have been impossible for her to fight successfully for what she wanted, that I was too strong. But here, too, she is without guilt, for of course I myself gave her the hintc to struggle by means of submission, because I knew that this would be most the dangerous way for me―as indeed it has become. But therefore she is innocent; yet I constantly reminded her to give in because it was impossible that she could hold out against me.

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nothing―or even that she would in this way become an enormously painful burden on me, something she neither should be nor ought to be. I retained my innermost torments anyway. So, had I dared to bind her to myself in such a way that my innermost self was closed to her, and had I at the same time dared to use all my talents to charm her and make her happy: that would truly have been my highest wish. But if marriage obligates me to open myself u�erly, it condemns me if I do not do so, it demands that I admit her to my innermost self―so at that very instant the relationship becomes something unreasonable; then she has been insanely squandered on me, squandered on me in order to make my life more excruciating, which it would also become by my having to look upon her sufferings.―She can ornament Schlegel’s life very well; she can make him happy; he will adore and thank her. It is possible that she retains some inner pain regarding her relationship to me, but perhaps this is precisely what will make her ideal in the deepest sense, and the relationship will truly correspond to her nature, which does in fact include a good deal of pride. If, in feminine fashion, she had been content to accept my first a�empt to break off the engagement, which was designed to be as humiliating as possible to me, and in which I asked for her forgiveness―the situation would never have become frightful. In despair, she went beyond her limits and despairingly wanted to force me to go beyond mine―now the situation became frightful. There was

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only one thing to be done, absolutely only one thing: to support her by means of a deception. That is what I did, and I did not spare myself. But in so doing the ma�er became for me a private struggle with God. At any moment God can cause me anguish about not having her forgiveness―and on this score, hmnly speaking, I am as innocent as possible. Were I now to ask for her forgiveness, I would run the old risk that, on discovering that she had in fact been loved, she would once again cast herself upon me in the same despairing manner. In a certain sense, it is a lucky thing to be a woman. She suspects nothing of all this, “She does not complain that I broke off with her, but about the way I did it.”

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Note And why was it honest of me to give her the hint? [B]ecause I was not the master, but I myself was struggling with a higher power, and her struggle with me was reflected in this inner struggle of mine, so it was important to me, for her sake and for my own, that the ma�er not become too easy for me.

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Aphorisms. 1 Nowadays one becomes an author not by virtue of one’s primitivity, but by―reading. One becomes a human being by aping the others. That one is a human being is not something one knows from oneself, but by virtue of an inference: one is like the others―ergo one is a hum. being. God knows whether any of us is!

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[a] see p. 187 in this journal, top of page.

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)

And in our time, when one has doubted and doubts everything, this doubt never occurs to anyone: God knows whether any of us is a hum. being. 2 Things are wri�en for “the crowd,” which understands nothing, by those who―understand how to write for “the crowd.” 3. Philosophy became fantastic, especially a�er people strayed from Kant’s “honest” path and paid the well-known (honest) 100 rd. in order to become theocentric. Note The 100 rd. are the well-known Kantian example of the difference between what is thought and what is actual.

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My Relationship with Her. My fundamental guilt is having carried her out with me. 1st Section The engagement. I, basically introverted, suffering the torments of melancholia and conscience for having “carried her out with me.” In the relationship to her I was of course love and solicitude itself, perhaps to excess, but I was indeed already a penitent. In other respects I paid no a�ention at all to her, as if there were a possibility that she could be the source of some difficulty. 2nd Section She tries her hand at an inordinate self-confidence. Instantly, my melancholia respecting this ma�er essentially disappears, and the pangs of conscience have no connection with it. I breathe as easily as usual. Here I have some guilt: I ought to have made use of that moment and let her break it off―then it would have been the triumph of her overweening confidence. But the question whether I ought not be able to enter into a marriage was too serious a ma�er for

[a]

My Relationship with Her.

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Christ’s sake and the memory of my late father, not to leave her.

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me, and there was also something childish in her overweening confidence. In any case, in a way I now had command of myself―and I approached the ma�er somewhat from her direction. 3rd Section She yields and transfigures herself into the most lovable being. At that same instant my initial situation returns for a second time, intensified by the responsibility, which of course has now been increased by her feminine, almost adoring devotion. 4th Section. I see that there must be a separation. Here, behaving honestly to her and treasonably to myself, I advise her not to fight by making use of pride―for then the ma�er would become easier for me―but by submission. Still, a break must be made.―I send back her ring, enclosed with a le�er that is printed word for word in the [“]Psychological Experiment.[”] 5th Section. Then, instead of le�ing the ma�er be decided, she goes up to my room in my absence and writes me a note of u�er despair, in which she pleads with me for Jesusb Then there was nothing else to do but dare to the utmost, to support her, if possible, through deception, to do everything to repel her from me in order to rekindle her pride. Then, two months later, I broke off the relationship for a second time.

On “her.” Now this must not be thought about any more, except at certain times, otherwise I will have self-torment in full swing. And furthermore: the explanation, the more concrete explanation, which I conceal in my innermost self, which rlly contains, even more precisely, what the terror is for me―will not be wri�en down. For me, that relationship signi�es God’s punishment. What made it terrifying was that she despairingly cast herself upon me so forcefully that she is a burden on my sympathy and on my relationship to God. The matter will certainly follow me throughout my whole life, even though, in the light of my development, it will come to be understood a little differently.

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Most of all, I now must remember to thank God again and again, for he “himself has provided the explanation,” by letting her get married, and has thereby alleviated the situation. My prayer is that I might, if she so wishes, have the experience of bringing her some happiness in recompense for what she has innocently suffered on my account―some happiness, but, be it noted, the sort of happiness that is truly bene�cial for her. Perhaps the day will come when she will have entirely forgotten me, perhaps; in any event it is an unforced situation [for her]. She once cast herself upon me and upon my relationship to God in such a way that I will probably carry her for my whole life. But I must take care not to fall into self-torment.

It is a merit of this book to have shown that the State Church gave rise or contributed to giving rise to the proletariat. R. himself seems not to have realized how much is implied by all this. In Xndom people live in a completely unchristian manner, also with respect to living together with the common man and what this involves. In this respect my life is like a discovery―alas, in a certain sense I can say that it is a dearly bought discovery. What is unchristian and ungodly is to base the state on a substratum of people whom one totally ignores, denying all kinship with them―even if on Sundays there are moving sermons about loving “the neighbor.”

I could almost say that my genius has rlly been my sufferings. In any case, they have been supportive, just like swimming with cork. To have a strong body and then, e.g., simply to have to maintain, solely intellectually, that death is certain at every instant: Well―good night!―that will usually turn into nothing but priestly pra�le.

[a]

Rudelbach on the Church constitution § CXXXI p. 243 et seq.

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But when one is as weak as I am, it is not difficult. Every day I live causes me astonishment. That I can be so doomed―and yet that I live! Yes, my existence is like a satire on what it is to be a hum. being. But this is also why my version is truthful. This is only all too true of hum. beings―i.e., that they are altogether too physically strong to dare involve themselves with ma�ers of this sort.

Remarkably enough, in the period immediately a�er I got engaged, one of the things I spoke of most o�en was that there were peop. whose significance was precisely that they were to be sacrificed for others. As with a shipment of fruit, where there are some pieces that get bruised, partly because they must bear the pressure of the others, partly because they protect the others from pressure, so in every generation are there some who are sacrificed for the race. Early on, I had an inexplicable intimation that this was my destiny; but now, just now, it has become so clear to me that this was my destiny―and why[?]: Precisely because I had become engaged―thus precisely because I had stepped beyond the boundaries of my character and wanted to broaden my existence instead of remaining an intense point. And it was precisely that thought and its constant presence for me that provided an indirect indication that I must leave that relationship. But, strange reduplication―alas, doesn’t it seem as if she has in turn been sacrificed for me!

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“Gold and silver have I none,” said Peter, “but such as I have, I give you: Rise up and walk.” Later on the clergy said, [“]Gold and silver we have―but we have nothing to give.[”] This is occasioned by reading in Rudelbach (on the constitution of the Church) that a prelate showing off a splendid ewer supposedly said that now it was no longer true that we have no gold and silver. I have edited it to make the epigram stand out in greater relief.

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With Christ as the Exemplar, what we human beings might call intellectuality is not at all prominent. That is why we would find it offensive to think of Xt laughing, something that is expressed in the hymn: Why does he cry, who never laughed[?] But it is nonetheless a misunderstanding for a Christian human being to want to be so ideal that he cannot laugh. Furthermore, even in edifying discourse there is an essentially related comic element that is as true and as pedagogically appropriate as tears and sternness.

Now, under circumstances such as these it is also improper for him to withdraw out to the countryside and remain there longer than usual. It is once again a halfway measure, a sort of reversion to that system-based way of acting impersonally. He weakens his own impression and that of his cause. His book comes to be viewed as a pointless product of perfectibility, which is obliged to a�empt this sort of thing―and now he exaggerates―just as at one time he exaggerated qua Hegelian. [“]But he’ll soon get bored with this,[”] people say, [“]Nowadays you never see him, etc.[”]

In his most recent note he tells me that out in Lyngby he had a clash with Martensen on the term [“]mediation.[”] On that occasion I would have liked to have said: To clash with mediation―how could that rlly be possible! One clashes with the paradox―that is something I understand. One clinks glasses with mediation―that is something I understand. Mediation, of course, assumes a position of fantastic grandeur above all contraries, even over those that are feigned. With such grandly elevated grandeur as this it is impossible to have a clash. And on the other hand, mediation―as the word implies―is something that yields; it is itself aware of its own fragile or feeble grandeur. For indeed, if one takes the word “to clink” in its other meaning―as when one reads, above the stair at a cellar entrance, “Clink the latch shut”―it is a sort of mo�o for the term [“]mediation[”]. I can only understand mediation comically. In its fantastic grandeur

[a]

On R. Nielsen.

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it is―as is always the case with fantastic things, which are precisely the opposite of what they seem to be―living on the cellar stair. Either I deludingly amuse myself by le�ing its grandeur pass for grandeur, and then I clink glasses with it and laugh―or I see through its grandeur and see that it actually lives on a cellar stair, and then here, too, I laugh. Once, in its day (for now mediation has been weakened) it might have been right to write a li�le piece titled [“]Mediation, or the World Seen from a Cellar Stair,[”] accompanied by the mo�o [“]We clink here[”].

Even in relation to loving a hum. being this principle holds: If it is truly true that you love him, then you must also see that all things, even the most desperate, work together for your good. And how, then, could this not hold in relation to God[?] Actlly, it is God who causes things to be the way they are in the first case. God, who sees your love and who is love, lets even this, your love for a hum. being, work for your good.

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Not only is it the case that abuse at the hands of the vulgarity of the mob has developed me profoundly, profoundly, but it is quite certainly responsible for having provided a musical key that I would never otherwise have had within my range: the sort of lyric called [“]The Lily and the Bird.[”] Dialectically, this abuse has also enriched me with Christianity’s essential collision with the world, something that otherwise would have eluded me, overly preoccupied as I was with inner sufferings. And what has been educative about this suffering has again been that I have been the superior one and yet have fought with a weaker power which in one sense is the stronger. If I were to take each

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individual in the crowd, how in the world could it occur to me to fight him―and yet it can surely be burdensome to fight the crowd. But on the other hand, it may propel me toward the ideal, and in the direction of sadness, precisely because I feel all too clearly my totally disproportionate superiority, and in addition, that I have wished these peop. so well: and then, in another, lower, vapid sense, for “the crowd” to be much, much the stronger. Here again what rlly had to be developed is my relationship to God. When one fights with a hum. being who is either actually, in the ideal sense, one’s superior or one’s equal, the relationship to God is completely obscured and forgo�en. But no fight is so calculated to develop a hum. being in the godly sense as a fight in which he is the stronger and yet where, in another sense, the weaker is the stronger. The fact that I cannot rlly get any objecta means precisely that God will make use of this fight to develop my relationship to God.

a propos of that verse by Brorson : While the air is still so full Of winter snow’s shivering-cold thus the winter snow is still far from having finished falling: it remains there, tormenting the air―and this is certainly also the way it is with cares, worries, difficulties, and the like: as long as they have not yet fallen, so that one can see what it is (actuality), as long as they hover and torment in possibility, they are worst.

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a

to fight with

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(it can be found commented on in an earlier journal, probably NB10 or NB9; see also NB14. p. 171.[)]

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As on the particular day, when you first have a look at the weather to see if it is weather to go out in, that is how all of life lies before us―but here it does no good: One must go out.

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It is quite right, a�er all, that Practice in Christianity be pseudonymous. It is the dialectical element, and it would be much too strong if it were brought to bear by me personally. Thus The Sickness unto Death, Practice in Christianity, The Point of View for My Work as an Author, the “3 Notes” belong to the year 1848. The year 1849[:] “From On High He Will Draw All to Himself,” Armed Neutrality, and other lesser pieces, including the one on Phister. Even if I were to publish “From On High, etc.” under my own name, it is still guaranteed that the conception in my works focuses finally on the discourses at the communion on Fridays, because The Point of View is of course from 48. NB. And in order that “From On High, etc.,” which is a�er all somewhat polemical, not be the last work, yet another round of discourses at the communion on Fridays could of course be wri�en, which would thus constitute a second series. One and as good as two are already finished, and there are hints at a couple of additional ones in one of the new folders that bookbinder Møller has made.

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In every generation, most peop., even those who, as it is said, put on airs of thinking (professors and the like), live and die in the delusion that things keep on going, and that if it were granted them to live longer, things would keep going onward in a continuing, straightforward ascent with more and more comprehension. How many experience at all the maturity of discovering that there comes a critical point where things turn around, when what matters from then on is an increasing comprehension that more and more comprehends that there is something that cannot be comprehended[?] This is Socratic ignorance, and it is this that our age’s speculation has needed as a corrective. As Joh. Climacus rightly notes, at the point where a higher life ought to dawn on them, most people actually turn aside and become the practical “husband, father, and celebrated marksman.” As Anti-Climacus rightly notes, most people do not experience becoming spirit at all: thus neither do they experience that qualitative encounter with the divine. For them, the divine is a simple, rhetorically nonsensical, vacuous superlative of the human; therefore they become blissful in the delusion of being more and more capable of comprehending it, so that if only they had the time―and did not have to go the of�ce, to the club, talk to the wife, etc.―if only they had the time, they would certainly comprehend the div. completely. Socratic ignorance―though note well, modi�ed in the spirit of Christianity―is maturity; is intellectually what rebirth is ethically and religiously; is what it is to be a child again. It is quite literally true that the law then becomes: increasing profundity in comprehending, more and more, that one cannot comprehend. Thus here is the return of what is childlike, but raised to a higher power. The person who is mature in this way has naïveté, simplicity, wonder, but has it essentially humorously, though without it being humor. And that this life is blessed, is as blessed as it is blessed to worship, even more blessed than it is for a woman to be truly in love―well, those blissful in their delusion have no clue concerning this. They never get to the qualitative pressure, but deceive themselves more and more.

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But it is impossible that what I have to say concerning the paradox could become popular. It �atters human vanity to presume to comprehend. The alternative is the blessedness of humility. But, to take one example, how many girls are there really in each generation who are truly capable of loving? 99 out of 100, after all, prefer to love for “reasons.” People do not notice the subtle way in which “reasons,” instead of founding something or strengthening it, detract from it―the more reasons a person has for her love, the less is her love. But here again it is seen how silence comes of itself because if such a girl who was truly in love―who had no reasons whatever― talked about this to other girls, she would be looked down upon. And therefore―oh, wonderful love of Providence, which has provided every animal with one or another means of defense― thus, too, does Providence make every more profound nature silent. Through silence he saves his life, in silence; saved, he possesses his blessedness.

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A Reply That Crazily Turns a Person Inside Out Imagine a contemporary of Xt who says (this first part of the reply is used in Practice in Christianity, no. 1): [“]I cannot have any opinion concerning him; first I must see the result of his life, and thus literally, he must be dead. And perhaps that will scarcely be enough. But if I lived 1800 years a�er his death, and I saw that he had triumphed, then I would accept the teaching[”] (and now comes the new part, which was not included in that book, the rlly crazy part) [“]and I assure you that I would give my whole life to have lived as his contemporary, that it is my most fervent longing to have lived as his contemporary.[”]

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A strange nemesis hovers over the Pharisee (in the gospel about the Pharisee and the tax collector). It is of course pride to ignore others, and yet it is the proud Pharisee who notices “this tax collector,” while the tax collector humbly ignores the Pharisee.

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7 Sept.

On “Her” This girl had to be very costly for me, or I had to make her very religiously costly to myself. She herself pleaded with tears and supplications (for the sake of Jesus Christ, by the memory of my late father) for me not to leave her―I could do anything to her, absolutely anything; she would put up with absolutely everything and would nonetheless thank me all her life for her relationship with me as the greatest act of kindness. The father, who explained my behavior as eccentricity, begged and beseeched me not to leave her: “She was willing to put up with absolutely everything.” As far as he and the rest of the family were concerned, he promised me in most solemn fashion that if I wanted it, then neither he nor any of his family would ever set foot in my house, and as soon as I married her, she would be under my absolute control as if she had neither relatives nor friends. Now of course―assuming there were no inner difficulties about it on my part―I could have allowed myself to marry her; I could easily have bound everyone to me with obligations of gratitude, being otherwise altogether a tyrant, while always retaining this frightful means of coercion, namely that what I had done for her was of course an act of kindness. Truly, if I had done that, I would have been a scoundrel; in the meanest, outrageously meanest, fashion I would have taken advantage of a young girl’s distress, which brought her to say what she never ought to or could have meant in that way. But she certainly was not mistaken in understanding that if I indeed decided to have her, I would surely do everything I could to make her life worth living. That is, she had faith in me. Then I would have married her. Let us assume that. What then? In the course of half a year or less she would have torn herself to shreds. There is something spectral about me―and this is both the good and the bad in me―something that makes it impossible for anyone to endure having to see me every day and thus have a real relationship with me. Of course, in the light cloak in which I gnrlly show myself, it is another ma�er. But at home it would be noted that I fundamentally dwell in a spirit world. I had been engaged to her for 1 year, and yet she did not rlly know me.―So she would have been sha�ered. In turn, she would probably have made a mess of me, for I was constantly overstraining myself with her because in a certain sense her

[a]

On her.

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reality was too light. I was too heavy for her, and she was too light for me, but both can truly lead to overstraining oneself.―Then I probably would not have amounted to anything, or perhaps I would have been developed anyway, but she would have been a plague to me, precisely because I would have seen that she had become improperly situated by having married me.―Then she would have died. And then, then everything would have been over. To take her with me into history when she had become my wife―no, it cannot be done. She may certainly become a Madam or a Mrs., but she may no longer remain in the role of my lover; it must be presented as the story of an unhappy love affair, and for me she is to be the beloved “to whom I owe everything”: look, then history must take her―that is something I will certainly teach history. The ma�er is quite simple. My understanding told me quite clearly that what I wanted to do was the right thing, the only right thing. But if I had not had the relationship of conscience to support me, she would have won. I would not have dared to defy her tears, her supplications, her father’s agonies, my own wishes, solely on the basis of the reflections of my understanding―and I would have given in. But I had to struggle with the ma�er in a much higher place, and this was the source of my inflexibility, which was seen as heartlessness. On the other hand, if I had not had the relationship of conscience, the situation would never have developed to that extreme―I would surely have yielded before that point. She would actually have come to the point of surrendering altogether too completely, and there would always have been a question of whether she could come through it. My understanding said to me, She can take Schlegel. Later, she herself admi�ed to me that had I not come along when I did, she would surely have become engaged to Schlegel. So in that way the ma�er was in order. And who knows?―that li�le girl who believed that my pride was the reason I le� her.―Who knows, perhaps her pride was the reason she chose me when she did. And a�er what

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she had gone through with me, her relationship to Schlegel could indeed have been fine. She got a man, then, a fine man, whom she had in fact once loved. She would then come into her own as a woman, for her life would be of great importance to him; he would gratefully appreciate every day and hour of their life together, all of her lovely charm. And truly, if he did not, he would be a fool. Alas, I am indeed somewhat spectral, and it would have been an agony for me to see all that adoring charm wasted on me, just as though it were not infinitely valuable, just as though the fault were hers and not my own. But I would never have go�en her out of that delusion, for she was overwhelmed and would have been even more terribly overwhelmed by living together with me every day in my home.―Her relationship with me would then once again be perfectly in order. She did not become a beggar in my house, but the beloved, the only beloved. Thus she belongs to history. I don’t cling particularly tightly to life but would gladly die. The day I die, her position will be enviable. She is happily married, and her life has an importance that is unusual for a wife’s to have for a husband, who surelyb But as for myself, it becomes increasingly clear to me that it is Governance who has used her to capture me. The possibility of her: that was how I was to be developed, and then there was responsibility in the relationship to God. I was to be captured. And I had to be captured by having to struggle with myself in the deepest sense. Therefore, the other party had to be someone who in a certain sense was no one, an object and yet not an object, an inexplicable something that in succumbing caused me to struggle with myself. For this a woman was used, a woman who struggled in womanly fashion by employing weakness. And she had to be lovely so as to be all the more touching― so as to make it all the more certain that I would come to struggle with myself. And she had to be so young that her youth would place the entire responsibility on me and bid me take her side―and to

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is not far from worshiping her―and thus my life expresses that she was the only beloved; my entire existence as an author is to accentuate her. And, if not sooner, she will understand me in eternity.

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Incidentally, it would really be desirable if someone could tell me definitely the extent to which I have any renown (for I know that my significance will be revealed in history, but of course I have always thought of myself as destined to suffer) or whether the vulgarity of the mob and the envy of the elite have already succeeded in making me into a half-mad eccentric. If the la�er is the case, then I of course possess nothing of which I can be said to have deprived her unfairly. It was also for this reason that I have thought of my life as one of suffering: my first a�empt was “The Seducer’s Diary,” which failed; but I succeeded with The Corsair. When I enjoyed some respect, she was, first of all, not engaged; then at any rate not married; and finally, the councillor of state was still alive―it was his death that caused me to consider whether she might not have believed that he was the one who stood in the way. But even when she had married, a certain amount of time had of course to pass before her marriage could be assumed to have consolidated itself―and then, then I was already deeply embroiled in persecution by

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struggle all the more with myself. She had to be so young that her father, almost looking upon her as a child, felt himself called upon all the more to place the entire responsibility on me. So I was captured, or I had to capture myself in the relationship to God. Then, when it had happened, it was as if Governance said, [“]Look, as for her, she will certainly be looked a�er, she will emerge from this very well. But you are captured. She can neither release you nor bind you; no maneuver can do anything one way or the other, for you are trapped by the responsibility and bound to me.[”]

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the mob.―Should my life suddenly take a turn so that I enjoyed the esteem of my contemporaries, she is to be included. But my life is designed for suffering. My wish is to die for her, and it won’t be long before the renown that is certainly mine will belong to her.

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Aphorism. see p. 158 in this journal It is one thing to proclaim (pro�teri) a faith, a knowledge, an ability, something else to profit from it.

I cannot direct an a�ack against any particular, named man, for at that very instant I am in one way or another making a concession to the public as the forum of judgment. And therefore I will let everyone pass unchallenged rather than make that concession.

The growth of civilization, the rise of great cities, the centralizations, and what accompanied all this and essentially produced it, the press as a means of communication, has imparted a completely wrong direction to the whole of existence. Personal existence ceased. Quite literally to make ordinary daily life into one’s stage, to go out and teach in the streets: this was more and more done away with and in the end became the most ridiculous sort of exaggeration. All reform, to the extent that there was any, was now directed unilaterally against government. Of course, reforming “the crowd” didn’t occur to anyone; finally one became fully and firmly convinced that such an idea could only arise in a madhouse―and yet, this is rlly the idea behind what it means to reform. 3 profiteri] Latin, publicly declare, proclaim, confess.

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People allowed “the crowd” to exist, and actlly this was the category―or it was the press, with the assistance of this category―that reformed the government, with the help of the crowd. This must increasingly leave a deposit of something inorganic in states. This becomes the public, and here also is the proletariat. But wanting to reform the crowd―indeed, even now, when one finally begins to open one’s eyes a li�le―is something from which anyone shrinks, petrified with terror. And yet, this is rlly what it means to reform. And this is rlly where martyrdom is to be found. A�er all, what is being persecuted by the government compared with being persecuted by these thousands upon thousands of people every day, every hour[?] The fear of peop. is so dominant that merely drawing peop.’s a�ention to oneself is one’s downfall―regardless of whether it is for a good cause, or no cause, or for a crime. But nowadays it is impossible to labor in behalf of the good, the true, and the like, on a reasonable scale without drawing a�ention to oneself, and one’s downfall is thus assured. “A�ention”―especially because it has been insanely intensified with the help of the daily press― a�ention is the annihilating principle that will kill “the single individual.” And on the other hand, only “the single individual” can truly labor for truth. If Christ were alive now, “a�ention” would make the most desperate efforts to see whether it couldn’t succeed in stifling him. Every single day, every newspaper would contain an article on him. Every most insignificant detail about him would be broadcast across the country in 10,000 copies. Everything would be set in motion to make the situation crazy, if possible. And yet, it is on this path that the world must proceed. If not, then Xnty is a chimera. The pa�ern of existence in our time expresses that Xt is a chimera, for it expresses that the collectivity, not the individual, is what drives development. But

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Xt was truly no collectivity, nor does he prefigure collectivities. Oh, but it is in vain, in vain that I bear witness and strain my existence to the limit. The few who do understand me to some degree dare not understand me. If they understand a li�le of me, they immediately busy themselves with ge�ing themselves understood by a collectivity, and then everything is once again confused. Meanwhile, there are 1000 clergy who have turned Xt into money, have obtained ecclesiastical livings out of “the truth suffers in the world.” And these clergy are or at least aspire to become knights of the Dannebrog, etc. And the country is Christian, that is certain, and now we will soon have a synod summoned to reform the Church. God in heaven!

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But what I have always said is: Only a dead man can govern the crowd. This is also true of my life. As long as I live I have a dialectical reduplication that I cannot remove, that only death can take away. Then the situationa will also be toned down: people will not see this physical individual; he will be idealized; as they pass by, it will no longer occur to a shop boy, a university student, the garbage man, etc., etc. to determine whether he indeed looks like them, whether he is not so fine a specimen, so that it would be impossible that he could be the vessel of something higher.

This Past Summer, has been as if calculated to support me in what I have indeed understood to be my task, that of stopping my literary production now; it has tormented

Note It is obvious that the truth also becomes smaller, because it now has the aid of an illusion. Oh, how o�en I have run my head up against this, which almost brings me to despair and which can best be seen in the highest situation. When Xt lived on earth, Xnty was at any rate surely truest―and then they all abandoned him. Now, in 1849, now when Xnty has already been completely victorious for many centuries―well, no thanks. That means that one illusion, crazier than the other, has triumphed―and people say that this is the victory of Xnty.

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[a] In addition, I have also been frightfully hindered by my relationship with R. Nielsen; though I myself have understood it as follows: through him I have become acquainted with the confounded meandering that cha�ers on and on, treats topics willy-nilly, and God knows, spends half a year, I think, to publish a li�le book―and nevertheless, I wanted his to come out first. And then he finally publishes, but for the most part produces only confusion.

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me by constantly bringing me a new external torment as soon as I have weathered the previous one. The war had taken Anders from me; the ambience of my house had been diminished, and the extremely unfortunate business of Strube’s illness had diminished my sense of the place even more; I wanted to travel far away, but it was impossible for me to leave. Then there were all my financial worries and the lamentable fact that, like a bolt out of the blue, we will probably get an income tax. Then Reitzel has brought me to the point of despair. When, as has been the case for me, being an author has involved such sacrifices, when I have to spend money qua author and perhaps ruin my future by writing―then not even having a publisher who is accommodating, but to be suffocated by his anxieties and hesitations, his unreasonableness in wanting me to have 1 or 2 signatures printed each week and to have the book appear at a more opportune season. All of which turned out to be a lie, but in my situation it was excruciating to have to undergo this sort of thing. And then the tanner at whose place I live has tormented me with a stench all summer long. Many, many times I have really had to make a mental effort to keep from ge�ing sick from impatience. Abused in many ways by the vulgarity of the mob and by people’s inquisitiveness, my home has been my consolation, having a pleasant home has been my greatest earthly encouragement. It was with an eye to this that I acquired such a fine and expensive apartment―and then to pay 200 rd. in order to suffer like this. Then I have again and again gone through spiritual trials in connection with publishing the works that have been completed. It is almost impossible for me to find diversion in Cph., for if I merely show myself, I am immediately besieged by a confounded inquisitiveness. During all this I have suffered my usual summertime torments.

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Then Councillor of State Olsen died, and that gave me new worries. And during all this I have had to deny myself my real strength, I have not dared to start any new literary productivity, let alone increase the tempo and the impetus. I have even decided to stop my literary productivity. And yet writing is rlly my life. Naturally, my melancholia has thus had greater latitude than usual, for when I write I forget everything. It has truly been a difficult time for me. I interpret it simply as an exercise in patience, and I hope that as such it will truly be of benefit to me. However painful it is, it may help me become more concrete. But may I never forget to thank God for the indescribable good he has done for me, so much more than I had expected. And may what is original in my soul, what is blessed, always remain: that God is love, his wisdom infinite, his possibilities are infinite where I have only a sparrow’s portion of understanding, and where I scarcely have one possibility, he has millions of possibilities!

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As the Draconian laws were of no benefit because they were too abstractly cruel, so with the idealizing pra�le of priestly discourse: they do not make it concrete, and the existential element remains untouched by the Christian element.

A Situation. Only in the situation of actuality can one rlly get a true impression of Christianity. When Xnty was persecuted, when accepting Xnty meant having one’s name immediately entered into the list of proscribed persons, that was a situation suited for making a pers. consider whether or not he wanted

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to be a Xn. In a trivial dead calm of illusion, where everything is le� to a merely internal decision, one can have anxieties and be fearful about oneself, about whether or not one is actually a Xn, about whether it isn’t just something about which one is deluding oneself. I will now imagine a pers. who says to himself: [“]It is of course easy to see that what is proclaimed in the churches by people with clerical livings is not Xnty. On the other hand, I know what Xnty is. Now (for my own sake, so that I can bring about the situation of tension that is necessary for a decision of infinite importance) I will simply state this fact, placing it right in the midst of Xndom. Naturally, Xndom will then be furious, and I will experience something like persecution. But this is what I need so that I can at least properly approach the question of whether or not I want to be a Xn, and this is actlly also what Xndom needs.[”] Does a hum. being have the right to do this[?] He does so on behalf of the truth, and I cannot rlly judge otherwise than that he does have the right to do it. But I do not think that I dare assume such a responsibility myself. I believe that when a hum. being is to be used on such a scale, Governance will surely help him by constraining him to do it. Governance will guide his development, leading him forward li�le by li�le; it is not by virtue of an arbitrium that he will come to make a decision about something so great. In general, the consolation for those who are actlly used as instruments consists precisely in the fact that in one sense, they suffer against their will. As Plato says in the Republic, those who are to rule are exactly those who have no desire to rule: thus, too, does Governance make use of a hum. being to do what in a sense he least desires. Thus Governance uses the most tender-hearted hum. beings for what are just about the most cruel sorts of business, the weakest and most anxiety-ridden for the most demanding tasks, just as it used Moses―who indeed pointed out that he was least of all suited to be a speaker―to go to pharaoh.

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On marriage.

The most dangerous thing about being married is all the hypocrisy to the effect that one does what one does for the sake of one’s wife and children. One wallows in worldliness and cowardice―and in addition one gives it an appearance of sanctity: it is a 25 arbitrium] Latin, will, arbitrary choice.

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fine thing one is doing, for of course one is doing it for the sake of one’s wife and children.

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Ah, some day a�er I am dead, Fear and Trembling alone will be enough to immortalize my name as an author. Then it will be read and translated into foreign languages. People will practically shudder at the frightful emotion in the book. But at the time it was wri�en, when the person who was believed to be its author went about in the incognito of a flaneur, looking like the very soul of roguishness, wit, and frivolity, no one could really grasp the seriousness. Ah, you fools, the book was never as serious as it was then. That itself is the true expression of the horror. Had the author appeared to be serious, the horror would have been less. The reduplication is what is monstrous in the horror. But when I am dead, people will form an imagined figure of me, a dark figure―and the book will be terrifying. But the book itself has already said something true by pointing out the difference between the poet and the hero. There is a predominantly poetic element within me, but Fear and Trembling contains a deliberate mystification, namely that it actlly reproduced my own life. The book was already hinted at in this fashion in the intimation of it that can be found in the oldest journal, the one in octavo, that is, the oldest journal from my time as an author.

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Xnty does not actlly exist. At any rate, I have not seen one single existence that is Christian in the strict sense, any more than is my own existence. But, a�er all, what sort of frightful sham is it that an entire country is Christian and that 1000 men live off the entire country’s being Christian[?] Xnty does not actlly exist. This situation, compared to original Xnty, is like a tender and sentimental engagement compared with a marriage. People keep open the possibility of Xnty―perhaps in case one dies―but in other respects they do not put it on existentially. No one ventures daringly―so to speak―to leap existentially into the ethical. Xnty does not exist; everything is merely about Christianity―it is not.

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Even if my life had no other significance, I am now well satisfied with having properly discovered the absolutely demoralizing existence of the daily press. The press―more specifically, the daily press―and the whole of modern life corresponding to it are rlly what have made Xnty impossible. Think of Xt: there are 17 reasons why it would be nonsense for him to have to use a newspaper to proclaim his teachings, and it is blasphemy, among other reasons, because every word he speaks must have the personal emphasis of the speaking I, but communication via the press is an abstraction that is supposedly superior to the individual personality―but in the case of Xt, the situation is surely the very opposite of this. There are a very few people who in fact are beginning to understand me, but høchstens they admire me―and shrink back. They themselves have nothing to venture, if they dared like this, they would not recognize themselves.

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On “her.” The ma�er is extremely difficult, also when it is viewed as follows: My life’s fast tempo. Its fortissimo in the tendency toward even becoming a martyr also expresses this: [“]You have a murder on your conscience[”]―and in a way, despite my own rational understanding, I have had to understand the ma�er in a purely religious sense. And now she is not dead, but alive: is this supposed to mean that it was I who took the ma�er too hard? But which ma�er?―the fact that a lovable young girl despairingly believes that it will be her death, and that a worried father assertively repeats this. Double confusion when the two of us are placed in proximity to one another: her matrimonial situation and my life’s enormous strains. But let those ma�ers be as they may, I certainly got them se�led properly and in a fine fashion. But now, to continue: if she opens her eyes even halfway and sees that I was not exactly a scoundrel, and sees how much she was loved―what then? Then assume that the passion is ignited once more and that we have the old story, raised to a higher intensity. Assume that she bursts the bonds of marriage, that she kicks over the traces and casts herself upon me in desperation, that she wants a separation,

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wants me to marry her―not to mention what is even more frightful. What then? It would be impossible to employ the cruelty of reduplication for a second time, it would be impossible for me to regain my position.―This, you see, is something my rational understanding understands, and I am quite clear about understanding this. My understanding understands that if there is to be any talk of changing methods now, it must involve pu�ing her instead on a stricter diet, so that she never gets to see me, and if she were to encounter me in church, not to let her catch my eye. But then when the ma�er is brought into my God-relationship, everything becomes confused. I (who infinitely need div. compassion), even though I have not been cruel to her, it seems to me, in fear and trembling, as if I now am [being cruel to her], now that she is married. These words torment me: Become reconciled with your opponent while you are on the way with him. Finally, it would satisfy me religiously to transfer to her the entire glory of my renown, and as I once presented the world with a frightful example, now I present it with the exact opposite.―Though if I act on this and things go wrong, my understanding will rise up against me and say: Of course, I saw that this is what would happen.―Frightful suffering to be the superior one! In a certain sense it is enviable good fortune to be a woman!

Ah, there is indeed something sadly true in the circumstance that it would be be�er that Xnty not be preached at all than that it be preached as it is nowadays. To be elated for an hour in this way once a week just as one is in the theater, and then the problem is exactly that one gets accustomed to hearing everything without it in any way occurring to a person that he do something.

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Sometimes I find it edifying to consider that the thorn or barb I have in the flesh, the suffering of which I patiently strive to bear―that this is exactly what will become, or what will help me to become a thorn in the eye of the world.

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Sermonic discourse functions more or less as follows: With the help of Christianity it entices mildly, and then it resorts to terror to repel. Be humble, it is said, be humble, because―inasmuch as the manner of sin is always the manner of punishment―the proud person, who wants to stand on his own, will come to stand on his own as a punishment. But, but, but Your Reverence, of course Xt also came to stand on his own, so by imitating him one goes with even greater certainty straight into the terror―which, however, had been used as the deterrent that was supposed to terrify a person into the mildness.―Be indulgent, it is said, because the obstinate and imperious person will end up being mocked, ridiculed ― ― but, but of course this is how Xt ended up. Such a person will be put to death ― ― but, but of course Xt was crucified. Thus everything is confusion. And what reveals an even deeper confusion in Xndom is that if I wanted to present this as poetic lines in the mouth of a wi�y fellow in a novella, I would be admired, applauded by layman and learned alike―for basically all agree that this is perdü. But when I say it straight out, people become enraged, because it of course looks almost as if a hum. being was mad enough to want Christianity to be taken seriously.

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Vigilius Haufniensis has properly drawn a�ention to the concept of “anxiety” as a middle term in relation to temptation. Properly speaking it is the dialectic of temptation. If a hum. being were able u�erly to be without anxiety, temptation would never take hold of him. This in turn is how I understand the fact that it was the serpent who tempted Adam and Eve, for the serpent’s power consists precisely of anxiety; it is not so much the cunning that is wily as the cunning that knows how to create anxiety. And (as Anti-Climacus rightly remarks with respect to the immediate―it is right at the beginning of the book, where the universality of despair is treated―) anxiety is strongest when it makes use of nothing. Thus it is that the tempter and the temptation even impute the invention of the temptation to the person who succumbs, for the tempter and the temptation say: I really said nothing at all, your anxiety was about nothing. Anxiety is the first reflex of possibility, a twinkle, and yet a terrible magic.

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Alas, this is how it should be: the thought of God should make a hum. being so joyous that from that moment on, the whole of his life, every hour of it, would be in service of God―Alas, and this is how it is with us: all we rlly want is for God to love us.―And I confess that the very thought of a hum. being daring to say to God, [“]I love you[”] seems to me almost too lo�y.

Ought not we think that it is a fine, a properly moral world, this world where―as is the case today―there are placards on street corners that say: “The World Wants to Be Deceived.” Alas, precisely this shameless, frivolous knowledge constitutes the deepest degradation.

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Look, this version of things will endear Fredrikke Bremer to various circles. I am now living here, have voluntarily made myself vulnerable and endure the long-drawn-out and perhaps most embi�ering of martyrdoms, that of ridicule (doubly painful because it is on such a small stage and because deep down people themselves recognize how much has been granted me and what I accomplish); I endure this under frightful mental strain, have kept up my literary productivity in the face of continuing financial sacrifice―and yet it is clear to all that I have not come out with one single utterance concerning this ma�er. In Frederikke it is stated that I am so sickly and so irritable that I can become embi�ered if the sun does not shine as I wish it to.―Goody-goody old maid, frivolous tramp, you’ve hit it just right! This explanation will unite different circles that perhaps are not so different from one another. On the one side, Martensen, Pauli, Heiberg, etc. On the other side, Goldschmidt, P. L. Møller. It was a fine world: Martensen may bear witness “before God and his conscience,” and didn’t he also get a velvet paunch and become a bishop, and didn’t Frederikke come running to him every day, reading the Dogmatics, of which she received galley proofs (this is well known)[?] And Goldschmidt may say: It was a fine world, and I always had 3000

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subscribers. All of them together: It would be a fine world, except that Mag. K. is so sickly and irritable that he can become embittered if the sun does not shine as he wishes it.

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This, too, is characteristic of Xndom: if Christianity has any special affinity for anyone, if it can be said to belong especially to anyone, then it can be said to belong especially to those who suffer: the poor, the sick, the lepers, the mentally ill and similar people, sinners, criminals―and look what Christendom has done to them, see how they get removed from life so as not to create a disturbance―earnest Christendom: [those people can] scarcely find a priest, and if so only a mediocre one. Xt did not divide people in this manner; he was priest especially for these people. The priests, on the other hand, cling to worldly wealth; there they embellish life: “they alleviate the sorrows and ennoble the joys,” that’s what they do, and the most curious thing of all is that they do it in accordance with a fee schedule. What has happened to Xnty in Xndom is like what happens when you give something to a sick child―and then a couple of stronger children come along and seize it. These altogether too strong, worldly peop., whose entire lives and way of thinking are worldliness, seize Xnty, seize all its consolation, which was presented in the form of hum. compassion―and those unfortunates who ought especially to have benefited from it, they are shoved aside.

Zacharias Werner (in the sermon for the third Sunday in Advent) puts it superbly: John is the voice of the one who cries in the wilderness―and there is still wilderness, our heart is a wilderness.

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The woman who was a sinner, who was, a�er all, a woman and a sinner, dared to go see Xt in the Pharisee’s house, where the Pharisees were gathered for dinner―Nicodemus, who, a�er all, saw himself as a righteous man, dared only come to him at night.

A Point de vüe with a Lutheran Tendency. What Luther says in the preface to the Postil about the difference betw. Xt as exemplar and as gi� is quite correct. I am also well aware that I have tended in the direction of Xt as exemplar. But in this connection something must be borne in mind. Luther was confronted by the exaggerated misuse of Xt as exemplar, and he therefore emphasizes the opposite. But nowadays Luther has long since triumphed in Protestantism and has caused Xt to be entirely forgo�en as an exemplar, and the whole business has rlly become a pretense about hidden inwardness. Furthermore, I have also been of the opinion that as exemplar Xt must be used in a different manner than that actlly contemplated by Luther or the Middle Ages. As exemplar Xt must in fact jack up the price so frightfully that the prototype is the very thing that teaches hum. beings to take refuge in grace. The error of the Middle Ages consisted in imagining that it was possible to resemble Xt. Then came sanctification by works and the like. Then, just so, Luther came and emphasized Xt as gi�, making the same distinction betw. Xt as gi� and as exemplar as that between faith and works. But I wonder if Luther could have dreamed of the pretense about hidden inwardness that this has engendered. And further, I wonder whether Luther, when he married, could have dreamed that this would finally be carried so far that a priest would come to believe more or less that if only he got married, he would have done everything that God required of him. I can very well see how someone could mount an a�ack on me precisely from Luther’s standpoint; but truly, I too have understood Luther quite well―and I have also been careful not to blunder about in the fog, as if everything were still as it was in Luther’s day.

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[“]The world wants to be deceived[”] can be said in quite different ways: 1) by a shrewd person who avails himself of it and says, The world wants to be deceived; 2) by a shrewd person who hypocritically defends himself by saying that this is simply the way things are in practical life, The world wants to be deceived; 3) by a person who has mystified his appearance to be infinitely worse than he is, so that he appears to be a scoundrel and heartless, when he was indeed a loving person, and who then, having been confirmed in his belief that the world rlly does like the scoundrel best, exclaims in terror, But my God and Father, the world does indeed want to be deceived; 4) by a witness to the truth who sadly says, It wants to be deceived; it is not merely deceived, it wants to be deceived; I patiently suffer the consequences―all the persecution, mockery, scorn, etc.―of not wanting to deceive it.

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Xnty does not actlly exist. Christendom is awaiting a comic poet à la Cervantes, who will use what is essentially Christian to create a parallel to Don Quixote. The only difference is that in this case no poetic exaggeration whatever will be needed as in Don Quixote―oh, no: he can take any essential and true Christian existence whatever, not to mention simply taking Xt or an apostle: that will be sufficient. The comic element emerges because the times have changed so enormously that they find this comical. That someone actually, literally renounces this life in earnest; that he voluntarily gives up the happiness of love that was offered to him; that he endures all sorts of earthly hardships, despite the fact that he has been offered the opposite; that he thus exposes himself to all the suffering of spiritual trials (for spiritual trials only arise when they are voluntary); and that, suffering all this, he then submits to being mistreated for having done so, hated, persecuted, mocked―which is Christianity’s inevitable lot in this world. Such a life would seem absolutely comical to everything in our age. It is a Don Quixote.―All the business about the eternal can be all right, can be accepted―if one also gets what is worldly, or is at least permi�ed to seek it even if he does not get it: that is all right. But to forsake things voluntarily! That is

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too lo�y. There was a time when this was so excessively lo�y that people said in admiration: I cannot do it. In our times it is so excessively lo�y that people find it ridiculous. Just look at some lesser examples. Even a girl who has been unlucky in love and wants to remain faithful to “the deceiver” is abandoned by the passion of the times. The passion of the times is to get married―if that sort of thing can be considered a passion at all. And because people basically consider everything having to do with the herea�er to be doubtful, uncertain, extremely dubious―as is inherent in the categories themselves―then it is comical when a person wagers absolutely everything on it. People would say to that girl, [“]Now how can you be so foolish as to want to believe in such a pers.―take hold of yourself, you still have your life ahead of you.[”] Alas, fundamentally people also regard God in Heaven as the most cunning of all deceivers and seducers, who tries to entrap a person’s imagination, seducing a person into wagering everything on this uncertainty―and then. What wonder people find it comical! In an age less dominated by the understanding, people find it unfortunate―lamentable, touching―to be deceived. In an age in which the understanding is everything, people find it comical: it lies in the categories themselves. What is frightful is that people still want to call themselves Xns, claim that all are Xns. And if someone wants to tell Xndom unreservedly how things are, he is persecuted as someone who is not a Xn―is persecuted by Christians.

God knows what is rlly going on with him. Suppose he actually―perhaps without being clearly aware of it himself―has wanted to exploit me instead of serving my cause! With the view of my cause he claimed to have, he certainly ought to have assumed a more truly helpful posture. Assume, instead, that he intended to make a splash, that he reckoned that if I granted him my approval (which he received when I permi�ed him to approach me personally) he would shine―ah, and then there would be no punishment. He has imagination and has not been formed and educated by profound sufferings―in such a case it is very easy for the imagination to insert a notion of suffering that has a shortened perspective, so that it becomes the worldly notion of victory. From the very beginning, I have warned him.―Now he lies ill and I am rlly unable to determine how sick he is. Presumably he will now have to endure quite a bit from his wife, who

[a]

R. Nielsen

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Fundamentally, however, the result is also quite strange. The world, which has always been diametrically opposed to me, has now almost become angry with R. N. because he has wanted to resemble me, and now I am elevated all the more―so that I can be used against him. But here it comes again: this definitely would not have befallen him if he had declared as formally as possible right in the preface that he had made use of my writings. As the one person who knew most about the situation, I was willing to remain silent, and I have remained silent. I was actually of the opinion that this quasi-falsehood would have worked for him, and that inasmuch as I was not particularly well-liked, the same message said by someone else would find a hearing―I would have had to put up with that. But there you are, it’s happening in spite of this. This is also typical with respect to my relation to the times: people are envious and contentious and will not acknowledge my distinction―but if there is someone who wants to play my part, they grant me my distinction and use it as a criterion against him. The last time I spoke with him, Bishop Mynster said: “To surrender oneself like this and copy someone else is just all wrong, dashing from the one extreme (absolute Hegelian) to the other. Of course we are all influenced by you and your works, we all acknowledge that.” [a]

On “falling away”

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probably does not exactly sing my praises but holds me guilty of everything. But what can one do[?] I have said to him again and again, I have repeatedly said that to proclaim the truth is to suffer: and now, however, he seems to be despondent. He has regarded me as stronger than Martensen and his consorts, and there is indeed some truth in this, but how o�en haven’t I told him that they might very well still be stronger in the worldly sense. The more truth a pers. has, and thus the stronger he is, the more likely―indeed, the more certain―it is that “the others” are stronger in the worldly sense. For gibberish and vacillation are always infinitely more popular than truth; selfishness more popular than selflessness, etc.

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What Zacharias Werner says in the sermon for the 3rd Sunday in Advent is very true: “St. Gregory the Great puts it very well in noting that when John the Baptist says quite freely, I am not Xt―this free and humble acknowledgment already says who he is, for one is immediately forced to note that this was a great prophet and lover of the truth.”

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The prototypes are anonymous or eternal images: “The Tax Collector,” “The Woman Who Was a Sinner,”―a name can so easily disturb, se�ing tongues wagging so that one comes to forget oneself. An anonymous prototype forces one to think of oneself as much as possible.

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Perhaps the “falling away” foreseen by Xnty prior to the consummation of everything will issue, indirectly, from Xnty itself.

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Xnty’s deepest confusion is the confounded, frivolous manner in which it has identified Xnty with the world, making everyone into Xns without further ado; in short, the deepest fall is the concept “Christendom,” as it is understood in our time as being simply identical with the hum. race. Now if Xnty once again rises up and regains its resilience, this Christian world will be furious; then indeed the decision will be at hand―and perhaps the decision will be that if people are to be serious about being a Xn, they will give it up. It must not be forgo�en that “falling away” can come from the world, from the offended, demons, free-thinkers, and the like, but also, as shown here, it can come dialectically and indirectly from Xnty itself. Of course, the world took greatest offense at Xnty when Xt was alive. Then the whole world rejected Xnty. That was not a falling away, because at that time the world was not shamming Xnty. All this silly optimism about everyone becoming Xns has no place in Xnty. Xt himself says: When the Son of Man comes again, will he find faith on the earth[?]. The “falling away” will constitute a greater guilt than the first offense at Xnty, because the reason for the “falling away” is of course the fact that people have passed themselves off as Xns.

Christ is born in a stable, swaddled in rags, laid in a manger―so apparently insignificant was this child, so li�le valued. And immediately therea�er, this child was so costly that it cost the children of Bethlehem their lives. This is the sort of extravagance there can be in connection with this child.

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Friday Discourses This can become a standard literary format.

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3 Discourses at the Communion on Fridays. No. 1. Lk 7:47: “but the one to whom li�le is forgiven, loves li�le.” No. 2. 1 Pet 4:7: love shall cover a multitude of sins. It is of course quite especially true at “the altar” that “love,” namely Xt’s love, covers a multitude of sins. In the strictest sense Xt’s reconciliation was love’s work or a “work of love” ϰατ᾽ εξοχην. 1

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No. 3: Lk 24:31 could be used. The very fact that he becomes invisible to me is the sign that I recognize him: he is of course the object of faith, a sign of contradiction, must thus in a sense become invisible when I recognize him. He is the prototype, must therefore become invisible so that the imitator can resemble him. At the altar he is invisibly and yet truly present.

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No. 3. 1 Cor 11:31, 32. can be used another time. in the 30th verse, it indeed also says that it was when he blessed the bread, broke it, and gave it to them that they recognized him.

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1 Cor 9:18 Paul says: my reward is that I can present the gospel of Xt without being paid, thus his reward consists simply in the fact that he takes no payment. Here, you see, this is a discourse fi�ing for an apostle.

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Thomas à Kempis says: A hum. being has two wings with which he ascends to God: simplicity and faithfulness.

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In those situations where by remaining silent I would appear less good than I am, I should remain silent―for example by giving alms in secret. When

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11 ϰατ᾽ εξοχην] Greek, in the eminent sense, par excellence.

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NB12:170. The markings underneath the marginal note are wri�en in red pencil, and were added by later editors of Kierkegaard’s papers.

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by remaining silent I would appear be�er than I am, I should speak―the confession of sins. The good a pers. does he should, if possible, keep to himself; he should speak of the evil he has done. Incidentally, in connection with this la�er, there are some very strange conflicts involving what is voluntary. If a pers. bears the heavy awareness of a sin, but it has not been discovered and is perhaps of the sort that does not concern the civil authorities, should he himself go and confess it publicly[?] Here a certain sort of Xnty would say that this is tempting God―he can indeed go quietly, bearing his punishment, and in other respects honestly let his life serve the good.

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In this world one certainly sees quite o�en a person who does not believe that he himself needs rigorous Xnty, but believes that he must be rigorous with others. In my life I have never gone further, nor will I surely ever get further, than that point of “fear and trembling” at which it literally becomes certain to me that every other hum. being will surely be saved―excepting only myself. And in another regard: I have always been afraid to present Xnty’s rigor, for it seems to me that it is too rigorous, and that in view of my life, I could certainly have need of such rigor, but others do not. As soon as someone turned to me personally, I would immediately reduce the rigor significantly and grant the greatest possible leniency―but I do not escape the rigor.

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My Standpoint. I set forth what Xnty is; to an extraordinary degree I possess all the prerequisites for this, and I quite literally understand this to be my calling, to which I have been guided in the most peculiar fashion since my earliest years. I do this in partly poetic form. Now it depends on how the age will take it, and on this my fate also depends. If it [the age] remains calm and quietly allows itself to be in�uenced by it, the situation will be as gentle as possible.

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If it does not, if it turns on me and attacks, then in one sense, it will be so much the worse for the age, for in that case I must remain in place. From the reception accorded my presentation I may draw a straightforward proof of the case against Christendom. Then the rigor will everywhere be raised to a higher power. Naturally, this will also be rather rigorous for myself as well, but I must certainly be a part of it. I have never maintained that I was an extraord. Christian. My situation is actually more as if I imagined a prince who captured a man known for his excellent talents and his knowledge of a particular �eld, held him prisoner and said to him: [“]I want you to present this matter. If you do as I want, things will go very well for you. Every day you will have suf�cient free time to rest and divert yourself, but you must also work diligently and strenuously for a suitable length of time every day.[”] Thus it actually seems to me that I have a peculiarly childlike relationship to Governance. I get a certain amount of free time every day in which I divert myself, and it never occurs to me that I am not totally allowed to enjoy myself in purely human fashion, as best I can, and that it is the will of Governance that I do so. But nothing more. And for the rest, if I do not do as it wills, it has frightful means by which to compel me. Ah, and this is how I live alone in the in�nite world. When I look the wrong way, and look at the others, at how they live, busily occupied with activities of the moment and with �nite purposes, it is terrifying. But when I believe, I am secure and happy.

For me there is consolation in being certain that I am headed in the right direction, that if anyone in my times can be said to have been constructed for inwardness, I am precisely the person, precisely that person―who nonetheless may lay claim to a li�le bit of externality. In this there is certainly indeed a guarantee that it does not simply tend in the direction of sanctification by works. But the fact is that the business of hidden inwardness had become such nonsense that a cunning person was needed in order to get behind it and a�ack from behind.

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In the sermon on the gospel for the 4th Sunday in Advent Luther himself says―and this is of course eternally unchangeable―that every sermon begins by being first of all a sermon of Law. And I find what he then says about the sermon of the Law to be in complete accord with what I usually say about using the prototype to preach peop. to pieces so that they seek refuge in grace. For the basic error of the Middle Ages was that they indeed clung in childish (and to that extent forgivable) fashion to the naive view that they could succeed in resembling, in attaining, the prototype. But it is certain that the prototype must remain the prototype, that is, that one must strive to resemble it and yet at the same time the prototype is also that which by its infinite distance crushes the imitator, as it were, or casts him down into the most yawning gulf―and then again the prototype is himself the merciful one who helps him [the human being] to resemble him. Properly understood, the doctrine of the prototype encompasses everything. But back to Luther. Luther says that when the Law is properly preached to a pers., he feels his misery―and then he becomes embi�ered at the Law―and this is precisely what passes judgment on him. This is quite correct. The Law captures one totally, not by fulminating against one or another of a person’s actual sins―no, it makes him despairingly into a total rebel against the Law from which he nevertheless cannot wrest himself free―and so he is caught.

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There is alas something indescribably sad in my life situation. I wanted to live with the simple man. It was indescribably satisfying to me to be friendly and kind and a�entive and sympathetic to precisely that social class that is altogether too neglected in the so-called “Christian state.” What I could accomplish was in many ways merely insignificant, but it could nonetheless be of some significance to this sort of peop. Let me take an example, and I have scores of them. An oldish-looking woman from Amager sits in the arcade selling fruit. She has an elderly mother whom I have occasionally helped out a li�le. When I greet her, I have not really done anything. Nevertheless it pleased her, it cheered her up that every morning a pers. whom she might regard as fortunate in life came by and never forgot to say “Good Morning” and occasionally also to exchange a few words with her. Ah, truly, if it is to atone even the least bit for the scandalous injustice of its

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existence, the Christian state in fact has need of precisely the sort of flaneur I was. For everyone grasps for the higher, more distinguished relativities of society, and as soon as they get there―who cares about the common man of the people[?] There is a need for a flaneur of this sort, or many of them, as a connecting link. How heartening it is in so many ways for the class of peop. who must otherwise stand and wait in anterooms, who are hardly permitted to say a single word―how heartening it is that there is one pers. whom they always see on the street, a pers. whom they can approach and talk with freely, a pers.―and that was me―a pers. who is all eyes for the sufferings of this very class of peop., and furthermore, that this is a pers. who has a secure place in genteel society. Ah, even if it was partly my melancholia, it is nonetheless also Xnty. This has now been fundamentally disrupted. For that class of society I exist as a sort of half-mad fellow―now I can do nothing to help them, now I must avert my gaze and absent myself if things are not to end with my becoming a mad Maier who collects a crowd. And this is the product of the very journalism that claims to protect the common man―from the distinguished classes. This, you see, is what comes of a state in which “boys judge us.” A truly clever head, a youth who―not with respect to his crimes, for in that respect I served only to warn and admonish him, but with respect to what was perhaps a be�er possibility― sat at my feet, learning (and this he will scarcely deny): he has 3000 subscribers in a country where I have 50 buyers. Nonetheless, nonetheless, things go round. I will be understood, perhaps while I am still alive, and perhaps much sooner than I think―and when I have garnered even a modicum of understanding, I am convinced that no one will be so hard-hearted as not to be moved by my life―and then the fact that I have endured this will once again serve me well, or not me, but rather my cause. The common man is my task, even if I have always been obliged to take my place at the highest levels of the world of culture and distinction. And among the things my life will come to include will be this atoning element: that a�er all, it is not so much the refined class that perpetrates injustice against the lowly as it is their own leaders and heroes.

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It is indeed quite true, what the pseudonyms o�en point out: that the paradigms that are used in sermonic discourse should employ possibility, not historical actuality. Historical actuality is a result; the speaker now views the ma�er quite one-sidedly from one particular aspect: that this man was the good, the noble character. But in doing this, the entire picture is disturbed. Everything must be done realistically, in the situation of contemporaneity, when it is still undecided whether or not the man is good. It is only from a presentation of this sort that I can actlly learn anything for my life. The other method merely creates various sorts of confusion. For example, in the 2nd sermon of his first volume, Grundtvig presents the episode in which the Jews mocked Xt, saying: [“]He has helped others and cannot help himself[”]. He says that this is a good example of hellish delight. But here a false effect is produced because we believe in Xt. Incidentally, Grundtvig ought to search his own soul to see whether he might not have u�ered the same words if he had lived contemporaneously with someone whom he saw as a fraud and who came to such a bad end. The words express joy over nemesis. One should not approve of such words, but rather combat them―but simply presenting these peop. as candidates for hell is nonsense.

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Texts for Friday Discourses No. 1, 1 Cor 11:31, 32. No. 2. Mt 13:45–46. The kingdom of heaven is compared to a hum. being. He found a pearl of great price―and yet he went and sold everything he had and bought it. But if he found it, he of course did not need to sell anything―in order to buy it, for of course it was his. Here one can see the true Christian scale. It is grace, which you cannot buy, cannot earn―it must be given (just as he must find the pearl)―and only then can it be bought, only then can you sell everything you have in order to buy it. Thus, too, at the altar. No. 3 Revelations 3:20. Of Xt it is told that once, a�er his resurrection, when all the disciples were gathered together, he came to them through closed doors. This is o�en misused as a metaphor that supposedly depicts the zeal with which Xt seeks souls: that he even goes through closed doors (people who are indifferent or even those who have hardened their hearts). But this is untrue. He stands at the door and knocks. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will go in to him and hold communion with him, and he with me. For it is certainly true that communion is this visible thing, that these actual peop. are now kneeling at the altar, and every one of them receives the bread and the communion―but it does not follow from this that Xt holds communion with every such person. No, only the person who hears Xt’s voice (but this must be executed in a different style than the earlier one, “My Sheep Hear My Voice”), only the person who opens the door (the door of the heart―for the doors of the Church stand open to all, and one person can open the church door for

[a] Remarkable that the kingdom of heaven is compared to a hum. being―one would of course think that the kingdom of heaven was something outside a person, into which a pers. is taken up. But of course the kingdom of heaven is also “within you”―it can therefore be compared to a hum. being. The unity of the subjective and the objective: that the very objective kingdom of heaven is compared to a hum. being.

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another, but only the individual himself can open the door of his heart). To him will I go in (for it is certainly the case that during the communion hour, following the invitation “come here,” you come to Xt, but it is only true communion when Xt comes to you), and hold communion with him, and he with me (for of course it is not you who hold communion with Xt, but Xt who first holds communion with you, and only then do you hold communion with him. Grace is everything).

Texts for Friday Discourses

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Lk 21:28, When these things begin to take place, look up.

No. 1. Mt 28:5: “Do not be afraid; I know that you are look ing for Jesus who was crucified.” That the sinner’s first relation to Xt is to flee from him, to fear him. See Journal NB11 p. 186. No. 2. Lk 18:13 “But the tax collector … would not even li� up his eyes to heaven.” First the significance of this is described. Next, Xt’s words to the person born blind (Lk 18:42) are used as a counter-theme: [“]Look up[”] (not as in the Danish text, [“]See.[”] What is wri�en is [“]αναβλεψον[”]), [“]your faith has saved you.[”] The significance of looking up―of looking upward, fresh, and cheerfully courageous―of course this is how we address the sick, the afflicted, the careworn person, when we want to encourage him to take hope: Look up! Unwillingness to li� one’s eyes to heaven is a sign of having lost one’s cheerful courage, but Christ gives cheerful courage: Look up. No. 3. Mt 8:8 “And the centurion answered, saying… but only speak the word, and my servant will be healed or, as it says in the old hymn, One word from you heals For all eternity. Being at a loss for words, sometimes even in relation to a hum. being―for example, the word Yes, to the lover; words of forgiveness from someone one has wronged, etc. But this is how it is with Xt’s words at the communion. Many words he spoke to his contemporaries have been preserved, but the words of communion are spoken directly to us: [“]This is my body which is given for you.[“] 20 αναβλεψον] Greek, Look up.

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It is really remarkable if you read the description of the future found toward the end of A Literary Review of “Two Ages” and then consider how quickly and precisely it was fulfilled two years later, in 1848, and how no one noticed it when it was wri�en, but everyone believed that everything was secure, that both “the system” and states were virtually at the highest point of perfection.

In an otherwise really maundering funeral piece on the Gospel story about the widow’s son in Nain, Visby nonetheless came up with a remark that deserves notice. He said that “sorrow,” ϰατεξοχην, is always sorrow over those who are dead; to bear sorrow, to walk in sorrow, etc.―always has to do with sorrow over the dead. But why is this sorrow the sorrow ϰατεξοχην[?] Visby stressed that this was the case because there is relief for every other sorrow, understood in the sense that the sorrow can still be transformed into joy. But it is impossible to have the dead person back again. In itself this is a very true statement. However, I think it ought to be used in order to show that there exists a far deeper sorrow than that over someone dead. The discourse ought to arranged like this: that for the natural hum. being, sorrow over someone dead is “the sorrow;” for the Xn, sorrow over sin is the deepest sorrow. The loss of the deceased is in no way irreparable, for of course there is eternity, but the loss inflicted by sin is eternally irreparable. Thus a sermon could have been preached on the gospel story about the widow’s son making use of the theme: The Irreparable Loss. In describing an excellent or wonderfully lovable pers., people do indeed say that his loss is irreparable, but this is not true. Only the loss inflicted by sin is irreparable.

In his sermon for Whitsunday (the Sunday a�er Easter), Zacharias Werner says that Gregory the Great has said: “Neither the faith of Magdalene nor that of Peter is as instructive as Thomas’s lack of faith.”

13 ϰατεξοχην] Greek, in the eminent sense, par excellence.

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It is in fact not merely frivolous, it is base to be a religious speaker. Xnty has never asked to have these, it has asked for: witnesses. Assuredly, one must speak, but one’s life must speak in very powerful fashion. God in Heaven! how these worldly, refined, pampered, and morally cowardly but well-spoken speakers have demoralized Xndom! Just a couple of small examples. If a person truly suffers, if he truly is poor, if the world truly opposes him―even if he had the tongue of an angel, the mass of peop. would be afraid to hear him. But a fine man who is surrounded by plenty, who possesses worldly power and influence, who is decked out in silk and velvet: if he speaks movingly, everyone flocks to him, they weep. He also surreptitiously appropriates the compassion that should rightly be given to the true sufferer, and isn’t this as mean as devouring the homes of widows and orphans―and isn’t this “to pray lengthy prayers for appearance’s sake”! A man who truly is persecuted―indeed, if his tongue is more eloquent than that of an angel, the peop. are afraid to hear him. But someone who gorges himself on worldly goods, possesses power and honor and respect―if he movingly declaims about how the persecuted suffer for the faith: everyone flocks to him. A speaker of this sort also usurps and purloins the compassion that rightly belongs to the person who is actually persecuted, adding it to his stars and sashes and ribbons as one more refinement on his velvet paunch: righteous God! These liars, these tarted-up rhetoricians, pamper peop. so that they fail to recognize true suffering in real life. As someone who has never seen beggars anywhere but on the stage would shrink back in horror on seeing an actual beggar, thus do these speakers make peop. cowardly and so�; and far from leading them to Xnty, all their talk leads them away from it. Things ought to mean something. If a man simply wants to be a rhetorician, if he wants permission to spare his own life self-indulgently while he carefully trains his voice, his gestures, etc.― well, then, he is to be regarded as an actor, and is to be paid, judged, and acknowledged accordingly. But a priest, etc.―no, he is not permi�ed to be that! There is nothing to object to in actors; as far as that goes, there is no problem in making room for godly actors―but one thing must not happen: this must not be confused with being a priest. Ah, but illusion has been brought into the churches―more illusion than is sought a�er, o�en so vainly,

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in the theater―which have become playhouses for these confounded rhetorician-comedians. It is these rhetorician-comedians above all who are to blame for making the unshakable principle that one’s actions match one’s words into a laughable exaggeration. How laughable as well, when all the advantages are beckoning, to get oneself castrated and become a rhetorician-comedian, how laughable, then, to take the trouble of pu�ing into practice the least li�le bit of what one speaks about, when all the dangers and troubles await a person; how laughable―and it is even more laughable the more one dares to do what one speaks about, for the dangers become all the more certain. Just take this one respectable fellow, Tryde. He ordains Kofoed-Hansen and declaims movingly about how, in these times, the servants of the Lord must reflect quite especially on the fact that this is a ma�er in which one’s life is at stake. Absolutely, thanks for that. Tryde would―if only! And now for the splendid part of the story: It is well known that Kofoed-Hansen had applied for a call to a parish and then had to withdraw his application. And why? Because the living a�ached to the call was a couple of hundred rix-dollars less than he had expected. And Tryde knows this. I raise no objections against Kofoed-Hansen―he of course is not the one who speaks in such high-toned language―but against Tryde. How is anything other than the demoralization of the entire congregation possible[?] Look, when someone comes along who is in earnest about merely exposing himself to the danger of ridicule, they all laugh, “He is mad.” Ah, how o�en haven’t I had to hear that, haven’t I had to let myself be publicly abused on the streets―ah, but the other situation is moving, is moving because of course everyone knows the whole story, that in this case it is only a joke to speak of pu�ing one’s life in danger―realiter it is about the income being 200 rd. too small.

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Equality, of course, is what the world wants, loving one’s neighbor―and then I am persecuted because I lived and continue to live on the streets. But if there was a purpose behind it, it was indeed calculated to weaken the worldliness that had stiffened into relativities. By being that µεταβασις εις αλλο γενο[ς] namely to the existential sphere, my daily existence, or a daily existence of that sort, was worth infinitely more than 10 or 32 realiter] Latin, in reality.

40 µεταβασις εις αλλο γενος] Greek, transition to another conceptual sphere.

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20 newspaper articles and an entire journal that declaim but that, existentially, remain in the old sphere. But certainly at least a part of the reason I was misunderstood was that I did what I did for religious reasons and not in order to serve an esteemed, cultivated public. For this same reason I cannot defend myself, for in so doing I would of course concede to the public. But my life will contain the most precise, existential police investigation in the Christian spirit. From various angles, everything will be arranged to illuminate this thesis: With What Right Has Denmark, in specie Cph., Called Itself Xn, With What Right Have 1000 Civil Servants Made Xnty into a Living and into Nothing Else[?] In addition, my life will be a complete existential study of the hum. selfishness and all the deceit and hypocrisy that is propagated by means of Xnty.

Xnty teaches this: An eternal blessedness awaits, a blessedness that surpasses all understanding and that even in this life can to some extent can be present in a hum. being as the blessedness of faith. But in addition, further: now comes what is next. No one, quite literally no thief, robber, or cheat can be said to cast himself down into certain ruin as surely as does a Xn. And no one, no one is so hated. For the world does not hate the robber et al. who of course expresses that the world is be�er than himself. The world does not hate the thief, who expresses as powerfully as any miser that money is a great good. Only the Xn is hated. He must be annihilated in a fashion as mean as that reserved for any criminal. Otherwise, worldliness will have no peace and can take no joy in what is worldly, the influence of which is weakened by the Xn, who expresses that romantic love is selfishness, that friendship is selfishness, that honor and the like are zero, and that money is less than zero. Isn’t this outrageous[?] Isn’t it the basest sort of abomination[?] Ought not Barrabas and all the others be set free, almost honored and respected in comparison with so villainous a criminal as a true Xn[?] For even worldliness itself is not so worldly that it concerns itself about what is worldly in and for itself, unconnected to the notion that it is earnestness and honesty to heap up money, to acquire respect and esteem―but this is the very notion that the Xn dispels. Nor would anyone concern himself much with friendship if he had to confess publicly that it was selfishness. No, but this appearance―that this 9 in specie] Latin, specifically.

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sort of solidarity is true love―the world wants this appearance. And this appearance is exactly what the Xn dispels. The more truly a person is a Xn, the greater the resistance will become, right up to the end. If the resistance fails to appear, it must be because he has in one or another way spared himself, has shirked. This is Xnty. The terrifying aspect of it becomes increasingly intense and inevitable and is guaranteed by the fact that avoidance of suffering is an accusation against oneself.

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Concerning the woman in relation to the man (love―marriage) it is quite definitely the case―indeed this is precisely what is lovely about her―that she “only sets her mind on human things” Mt 16:23: sparing the beloved, caring for him, making life more beautiful for him, and the like―which are diametrically opposed to the true div. extravagance, which is the impatience of martyrdom, which is se�ing one’s mind on what is God’s.―What is true of the woman is also true of the friend in the genrl hum. sense of the term. From this one easily sees that during his lifetime “the martyr” will be accused, hated, cursed for his egotism, vanity, hostility to humanity, and the like. And from this it can also be seen how right I am in my fundamental accusation against Xndom, that Jewish piety has been covertly substituted for Christian piety. Jewish piety consists of clinging to this life and merely se�ing one’s mind on hum. things―Xnty consists of se�ing one’s mind on what is God’s. Fundamentally, sermonic discourse remains silent about the Christian element and tarts up the Jewish element. People make use of Jewish piety in order to situate themselves cozily in this life―and then, with the help of Christianity, they add the atonement and eternity. This sort of religiosity is the most comfortable yet devised.

Grundtvig gave up his post because Clausen was teaching false doctrine and had not been removed―that was something, at any rate, a bit of an awakening. But he ought to have given it up because the concept of a “clerical living” is incompatible with Xnty―yes, indeed, then the uproar would have been something quite different.

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Text for a Friday Sermon No. 1. Philipp.: for to me, living is Xt and dying is gain. No. 2.

It is no longer I who live, but it is Xt in me.

No. 3.

Our life is hidden with God in Xt.

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Something Concerning Myself That Must Constantly Be Kept in Mind. I have never maintained, nor do I maintain that I am a Christian to any extraord. degree. Oh, no. If, given my imagination, my passions, etc., I had been a human being in the ordinary hum. sense, I would no doubt have u�erly forgo�en Xnty. But bound as I am in excruciating misery, I am like a bird whose wings have been clipped while I nevertheless have retained all my intellectual powers, surely extraordinary powers. But I have been denied even the most basic prerequisites for being a hum. being while in another sense I have been granted the extraordinary. Thus I have been stopped once and for all: at every hour of the day, if need be, I can be made to feel the chains. Then in other respects I am equipped with great abilities, have been well brought up in Xnty since childhood, and furthermore am in possession of all the necessary prerequisites: and then it has become my mission to present Xnty. But free, free in the way in which a hum. being usually is―that I have never been. For the rest, I have been raised too strictly in Xnty―it has really been a source of offense for me―but I have never been free, never free so as to be able to forget it. For when one expects to die tomorrow, and when, today, one feels frequently and perhaps painfully how miserably one is bound, then there is no room for forge�ing. I know full well how infinitely much has been done for me; this is the truth in me: I cannot sufficiently thank God for all he has granted me and given me, the most wretched of all―I am the one best able to see the significance of this. I have also been more and more mollified by understanding my life in a religious way. Ah, but especially in my early youth, what would I not have given to be human being for just half a year! All my eccentricity―oh, it is nothing but a cunningly devised deception under which I concealed my misery. What quietly cost me the bi�erest tears and brought me to despair―I explained as pride and the like. I do not maintain, and I have never maintained that I have not married because it was supposedly contrary to Xnty, as if my being unmarried was, from a Christian point of view, a mark of perfection on my part. Oh, far from it. Had I been a hum. being, the danger for me would certainly have been something else, namely that of being altogether too devoted to women, and I could possibly have become a seducer. But it is certain

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that I would have been delighted to have married my fiancée. God knows how gladly I would have done so, but once again, here comes my misery. So I remained unmarried, and then I had a chance to consider what Xnty actlly had in mind when it commended the unmarried state. I do not maintain, nor have I ever maintained that the fact that I do not seek any official appointment is a Christian perfection on my part, or that this was the reason I refrained from doing so. Oh, no, far from it. From the moment my financial situation became difficult, and even before then, I would gladly have accepted an official appointment. It has always been easy for me to get along with people, and accustomed as I am to being bound, it has never seemed to me that this would be very burdensome. But once again, here comes my misery: I cannot do it because I am not a hum. being, because I am melancholic to the verge of madness―something I can certainly conceal as long as I am independent, but that renders me of no service in situations where I myself do not decide everything. People think it is pride―well, it’s the same old story. So I have had to endure in uncertainty, and have now had plenty of opportunity to consider whether it can rlly be Xnty’s position to have anything against accepting an official appointment. Look, all this explains why I always assume a poetic relation to my presentation of Xnty. In a certain sense, I am constantly being compelled to act against my will―and so I discover Christianity. Thus I am freed from the danger that what comes into my mind might be vanity. I have not disdained marriage out of vanity―far from it. Marriage has its warmest defender in me. I have not disdained serving in an official position out of vanity―far from it. I would gladly have accepted one. It seems to me that if I could a�ain greater tranquillity and imagine a longer life in that situation, I could achieve something greater. This may indeed be an illusion, but that is how it has sometimes appeared to me.―Therefore I would not dare tell another pers. to do what I do, for it is certain that I did not have

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Oh, how pleasant, how soothing, for a pers. to be able to say, I love so and so, and my life expresses this as well.―Alas, my life expresses cruelty toward the beloved: all the love that burns within me thus expresses cruelty. And in moments of fearful spiritual trials I myself become fearful for myself, as if it were indeed actual cruelty, as if God would have to treat me the same way.

The Way It Really Should Be Said. It should be said that Xnty does not rlly praise romantic love and friendship. Nor should you be in too great a hurry, but only hold out with God for a li�le while―or be�er, for as long as you can. But if you notice that God is overstraining you, then accept the help of this hum. assistance. Thus, too, with earning a living, occupation, and all such ma�ers. But the relationship is not to be reversed, as is done in Xndom; one does not have the right to make romantic love and friendship into the truest form of love, nor is one permi�ed to transform earning one’s living and everything connected with it into the true earnestness of life. In brief, what Christianity fights for is, quite simplement, that God has first priority in a person’s life at every single point in a person’s existence, in every relationship of a person’s life. And this must be in earnest―not a way of speaking on Sundays. But on the other hand, God is not some cruel creditor or mortgagee, nor should a hum. being have the audacity to want to be more than a hum. being, a demon or a God-Man.

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Nor should people be able to accuse me of narrow-mindedness, of being unable to see the other side, for the other side has its warmest spokesman in me.

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But a hum. being or hum. beings must not live in such a way that, following an irresponsible upbringing, they fool around in life, never truly thinking in any deeper sense of God and the priorities he requires, instead regarding romantic love, and friendship, and making a living, and so on as life’s earnestness. No: having been put under the maximum possible tension by the strictest religious upbringing, and a�er having persevered, faithfully and with youthful confidence, in a strenuous relationship with God―a hum. being should have learned that this is life’s earnestness. But then he probably has also been humbled so that he can accept human assistance and relief, accept it as something beautiful that is blessed by God, but he does not become infatuated with it, he does not forget what truly is life’s earnestness.

What makes my life so frightfully strenuous is that everything is reversed, is a dialectic in which every moment of spiritual trial is transformed for me into its opposite. I seem to myself to be inferior to everyone else, a penitent―it is for this very reason that I dare as I have dared: but look, in the eyes of peop., my life appears to express pride, ambition, etc. Then, when spiritual trials arrive, they exploit this, because I possess no straightforwardly outward aspect, but always have a reversed―i.e., pure and simple―relation to spirit, which turns into the opposite the instant faith is absent. And yet, precisely because I am a penitent, have had to learn to cling to God on a scale entirely different from that of other peop. I have had to learn not to shrink away, have acquired the courage to dare as I never would have otherwise―and then God helps me to achieve on an extraord. scale; but of course this can easily be seen as pride and haughtiness. Ah, what frightful suffering, never, never to be understood. Thus, too, with my love-relationship, which from the hum. perspective looks like cruelty. And yet it is certain that only by having persevered in living like this has it been possible for me,

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or granted to me, to be able to describe true Christianity; for it is indeed Xnty. Someone who could get close to the ma�er would of course be able to see that Xt’s life in relation to his mother and his disciples looks like the greatest sort of cruelty, and that must have been understood as such by them―and yet it was love. This is something I have presented in Works of Love.

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In 1 Cor 2:15 the spiritual person judges all things, but he himself is judged by no one. This means that the spiritual person has the power and the key to explain all lower existences. To that extent he of course cannot be judged by anyone who is not higher than he.

On the Year 1848. In one sense, 1848 has raised me to a higher level; in another sense it has broken me. Financial worries came upon me suddenly and entirely too closely. I cannot simultaneously lift two such disparate burdens as the world’s opposition and concern about making a living. When I rented the apartment on Tornebuskegaden, it was my plan to live there for half a year’s time, quietly contemplating my life, and then seek an of�cial appointment. Then suddenly confusion broke loose. Within a couple of months a situation developed in which it was possible that the next day I would own nothing, but would literally be in �nancial straits. This took a severe toll on me. My spirit reacted all the more strongly: I wrote more proli�cally than ever, but more than ever like a dying man. This was the highest that has been granted me with respect to Christian truth―that much is certain. But in another sense it was also something altogether too lofty for me simply to make it my own, stepping into that role.

[a]

that is, it has broken me religiously, or to put it in my language: God has outrun me. He has permitted me to take on a task that I could not manage in its most demanding form, even with con�dence in him; I must therefore take it on in a lesser form. And thus this matter has― inversely―truly become my own religious upbringing―or my further religious upbringing. In one sense, I would be so happy to take the risk: my imagination beckons and encourages me, but I must indeed learn to go along with taking the risk in a lesser form. It is quite certainly the most perfect and true thing I have written, but I must not be the one who bursts in on all the others, almost in judgment―no, I myself must �rst be brought up by

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the same thing. Perhaps no one will be permitted to humble himself under this as much as I myself before being allowed to publish it. I, the author, being nothing (the highest thing) myself, will not be allowed to publish it under my own name, because it passes judgment. I myself must �rst have found my place in life and have admitted that I am in fact weak like the others―then I can publish it. But what tempts my imagination is precisely to be permitted to do it before I have, humanly speaking, given way. It is quite true that in that case the blow would be more powerful, but I would also gain a false ascendancy. It is poetry―and therefore, to my humiliation, my life must express the opposite, the weaker position. Or should I become an ascetic who can live on bread and water[?]― And nonetheless I should be willing to submit to this humiliation: but I can accept an of�cial appointment. Look, in a still deeper sense, here is my dif�culty. And here, before it becomes possible, if it becomes possible, there may lie an even greater humiliation.

1849

This is the deeper meaning of the new pseudonym, which is higher than I myself am. Oh, I know it―I have not spared myself. I have wanted, to the point where it bordered on madness, to compel myself to venture recklessly. But I cannot do it―I cannot justify it. Thus does Governance constantly protect me―and govern. I had never thought of assuming a new pseudonymity. And yet the new pseudonym, though to be sure one that is higher than my personal existence―is precisely the truth of my being, the expression of the limit of my being. Otherwise, I would �nally have literally become more than a human being.

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In his sermon on the gospel for the fourth Sunday a�er Easter, Zacharias Werner says that in his sermon on the two men who walked to Emmaus, he had noted that Xt was continually subjected to questions. And in today’s gospel he [Christ] again says, None of you is asking me, [“]Where are you going[”?] Here perhaps there is also a point for a juxtaposition of Xnty and paganism: Socrates is the questioner; Xt is the one who is questioned.

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On her. As mentioned, it is not unlikely that now that her father has died, she expects an approach. Without deviating from my usual pa�ern, she has more than once managed to pass so close to me that it was almost a collision. Oh, but I cannot very well take the first step. I of course have no official knowledge of her situation, while of course, with her marriage, her life expresses that she has forgotten the story. Suppose that even if not entirely forgo�en, it were forgo�en in such a way that tearing it open at this point would be dangerous. And then there is Schlegel: it would almost be an injustice to him for me to appear in the same piece. And yet

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I am anxious at the thought that I could in any way be unloving, cruel to her―for alas, my love was once that frightful thing: loving cruelty! And as a fairy tale bogeyman who thirsts a�er blood, I thirst a�er making all possible amends to her. People truly believed that I was proud―yes, of course, thanks: so proud that I turned my back on my honor; no, but I would take satisfaction in being permi�ed to show the world, for once, how proud I am―by making her into everything. Good Lord, humanly speaking it is a�er all a rather paltry request for a renowned figure, such as I indeed am, to beg that he be permi�ed to assume the modest position of a sort of unhappy lover at the side of a girl who had adoringly begged to become his maidservant. And yet I ask no more, only that it might become quite clear to me that I have God’s consent to act in this direction. Irony is indeed inseparable from my nature, but here it comes close to being sadness―how ironic to imagine my religious satisfaction by being a sort of unhappy lover. But what a remarkable and yet touching pa�ern! Usually it is like this: Either it is the girl who could not be satisfied with something less but grasped for something more spectacular―and then there was a decent fellowa who had loved her in the past: so she reserves a so� spot in her heart for him and he is permitted to trot humbly alongside her as an unhappy lover for whom one has a bit of affection. Or he is someone famous, etc., and abandoned the girl who became a memorial to him, while he was wedded to a girl of greater distinction. And yet nothing suits me so much as precisely this situation. To walk as an unhappy lover on the le�-hand side of a girl who had disdained my love: No, I was not suited for that. But to walk like this alongside a girl whose love I truly had not disdained, but which I had to give the appearance, humanly speaking, of disdaining: Yes, this is the task for me. But is there not, perhaps, danger associated with this situation[?] Perhaps she never so much loved as admired me, and perhaps I never so much loved her in the erotic sense as, in the most beautiful sense, I was moved―I could truly say―by this lovable child. And furthermore, if I see that this is possible, then of course the power whose consent I have obtained will also hold its protecting hand over us. But it would certainly be a relief for me (God knows whether I would recognize myself) if I―who am altogether too practiced in the sort of love that looks like cruelty―if I some time were permi�ed to express a love, a friendship a li�le more directly.

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JOURNAL NB13

JOURNAL NB13 Translated by Bruce H. Kirmmse Edited by Vanessa Rumble

Text source Journal NB13 in Søren Kierkegaards Skri�er Text established by Kim Ravn and Steen Tullberg

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NB13 Sept. 28th, 49.

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Concerning the completed work and myself . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . On that single individual, my work as an author, my existence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . With respect to the idea of my life . . . . . . . . . . as an author . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (aAnother facet of my public situation . . . . . . . About the writings concerning my work as an author . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . On myself qua author . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . On my position qua author . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Lines about myself . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . On the three Friday discourses (The High Priest, etc.) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . On my works . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The turn in my works, when the new pseudonym (Anti-Cl.) was presented . . . . . . . . On the three communion discourses (The High Priest, the Tax Collector, the Woman Who Was a Sinner ) . . . . . . . . . . . . On my works as a whole . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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p. 36. p. 45.) p. 50. p. 56. p. 69. pp. 86 etc. p. 91. p. 93.

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The dedication to Regine Schlegel , if there is to be talk of such while I am alive, could well be placed at the beginning of a li�le collection of Friday discourses, though it essentially belongs to the writings about my works. When, as I have wanted to do from the beginning, I step decisively into the character of the religious―at that instant she is the only thing of importance, because I have a God-relationship to her. ►

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The dedication could read: ... with this piece, a body of wri�en work that to a certain extent belongs to her, is dedicated to her by one who belongs entirely to her. Or with a collection of Friday discourses: ... is dedicated this li�le piece.

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The relationship to God is not like the relationship to a hum. being: that the longer they live together and the be�er they get to know one another, the closer they also become to one another. Ah, it is the reverse with the relationship to God: the longer one lives with him and the more infinite he becomes, the smaller one becomes oneself. Alas, as a child it indeed seemed that God and hum. beings could play well together. Alas, as a youth, one dreamed that if one unreservedly made an effort―frantically, like a lover, albeit worshipfully―then the relationship could be established a�er all. Alas, as a man one discovers how infinite God is: one discovers the infinite distance. This is the upbringing―it has something in common with the Socratic ignorance with which one does not begin, but ends―it ended with ignorance!

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No. 1. Mt 27:40: “You, who destroy the temple and rebuild it in 3 days, save yourself.” They say just the opposite: if he had saved himself, the temple would not have been destroyed. Save yourself―[“]Oh, no,[”] the Christian must say, [“]Do not save yourself―you, the Savior of the world―for then the world is lost.[”] In this way one can also learn something from the mockery. No. 2. Mt 27:40: “if you are God’s son, then come down from the cross.” No, precisely because he was God’s son, he remained on the cross, or precisely because he remained on the cross he proved that he was God’s son. But human beings do not comprehend what is God’s―they draw the opposite conclusions―they want to conclude that

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if he saves himself, then he does not destroy the temple.

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had he climbed down from the cross, he would be God’s son―and then he would precisely not be God’s son. No. 3. Mt 27:42: “He has saved others, he cannot save himself”―well, no wonder, indeed―if he had wanted to save himself, then of course he could not save others; it is precisely in order to save others that he will not save himself. Here again mockery says something quite the opposite of what it intends.

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This is really spoken like a father confessor. In his sermon for the 4th Sunday a�er Easter, Zacharias Werner says: “In the confessional booth, many very good but despondent Christians accuse themselves of all sorts of sins that are not sins at all or are of the most insignificant sort―No, you should instead accuse yourselves of your true sins, saying rather: the sin of despondency, for despondency is a sin that can end in mistrust of God’s grace and mercy, which is a frightful sin.”

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Luther’s sermon on the gospel for New Year’s Day contains the true Christian distinction, the rigorous one: Xt is no savior for this life, but for eternal life. Yes, what is more―something Luther also in a way says in this same passage―he is precisely the opposite of a savior for this life. For Luther says that in this life―precisely in order to express the fact that he is no savior for this life―he lets his faithful trudge about as in a swamp. This, incidentally, is also the distinction betw. Jewish and Christian piety, for Jewish piety wants to have a savior for this life. But in Xndom they have wholly reinvented Christ as merely human sympathy. But I think that what is most rigorous must truly be heard, that one is not permi�ed to overlook it and ignore it, that it must be heard so that one can humble oneself under it; but it is not to be proclaimed in such a way as cruelly to force people to want to become spirit in accordance with such a frightful criterion.

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Here is my difference from Mynster, etc.―he wants nothing at all to be said about this. I want to have it spoken of, and furthermore I am willing to declare that when I speak of it, I do so only poetically, as my life is far from being that spiritual. Generally, I believe that ethical respect must be introduced. Wherever I present something higher than my own life, I must straightforwardly add: I am only a poet. To the extent that my own existence expresses what I proclaim, I make use of and must make use of a sort of authority. But if what is presented is higher than my life, then for the sake of the truth I must confess that I am only a poet. And above all, I must not remain silent about what is highest and make my li�le tidbit―a 2nd place, or 3rd place, or 10th place―into the highest. Mynster may be quite right in everything he says to the effect that a person must scale things down, etc.―but, but one must not scale things down by silencing what is highest. No, it must be presented with its full requirement―and then one must say to peop., [“]If you cannot do it, then entrust yourself to God, confess your weakness: he is no cruel master, he has great compassion. But you are not permi�ed to remain ignorant about God’s highest requirement.[”] If a young girl were to say to me that she would refrain from marrying if I regarded not being married as something higher, I would reply: If you are in love, if it truly is your dearest wish to be united with your beloved, then you must simply tell this to God; and then I would gladly perform the wedding and do everything to make things turn out best. But you must know that God could also require that you should renounce this joy.

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Ah, there is indeed an indescribable blessedness when a person really and truly feels himself literally to be nothing before God, less than a sparrow, less than a grain of sand. Let us imagine that God then became annoyed with a hum. being and said to him, [“]Now I no longer want to have anything to do with you,[”] and that he gave him a kick so that he fell 40 million miles. Ah, if he really and truly felt that he was nothing before God―at the very second he came to his senses he would say, [“]O God, just one more thing: accept my thanks, thanks beyond description, for every year, every day, every hour, every second I have rested in your confidence. I am indeed provided

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for, because I want to do nothing other than continue to express my thanks, thanks beyond description, for every year, every day, every hour, every second that I have felt the blessedness of your confidence, the blessedness of being with you.[”] But the person who imagines that he amounts to something― he would surely shout: [“]God is a deceiver.[”] If it truly is the case that I am literally nothing, then it is grace and benefaction beyond description that he has permi�ed me to taste the blessedness of being with him, even if it were only for a second. This is how one must be in relation to God: willing to strain oneself to the utmost of one’s abilities, and [in fact] straining oneself to the utmost of one’s abilities―but even if one had held out ever so long, one must beware of bringing into the God-relationship the merely human seriousness that so easily becomes self-important, as though it amounted to something. At that very instant one must be willing to plead like a child, saying, [“]It was only a joke.[”] This is how the religious person must speak: Ah, these 70 years of frightful efforts and sacrifices, frightful in human terms―when you look upon them, o God, I say, [“]bi�e, bi�e, it is only a joke, forgive me for it, forgive me for having made an a�empt to express my love, for wanting so much to show you my love.[”] If a child sat and worked on a birthday present for a whole year, if it had denied itself every amusement for a whole year―which, hmnly speaking, is a great deal for a child―just to have the work finished and not be hindered by it from doing his real job: what a foolish and tiresome child to want to come and present his gi� with such pompous seriousness. No, the child comes lovingly with his gi�, but is willing at the same instant to transform the whole business into a joke and say: It was only a joke, oh, forgive me for venturing to express my gratitude.

What it means to pray in Jesus’ name can perhaps be illustrated most simply as follows. A governmental official commands something in the name of the king―what does that mean? First of all, it means, I myself am nothing, I have no power, nothing to say of my own―but this is in the name of the king. This is how it is to pray in Jesus’ name: I do not dare approach God except through the intermediary, so if my prayer is to be heard, it must be in Jesus’ name; this name is what gives it strength. Next, when a governmental official commands something in the name of the 19 bi�e, bi�e] German, please, please.

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king, it naturally follows that what he is commanding must be the king’s will; he cannot command his own will in the name of the king. This is how it is to pray in Jesus’ name: to pray in such a way that it is in conformity with Jesus’ will. I cannot pray for my own will in Jesus’ name. Jesus’ name is not a trivial endorsement, but is of decisive significance. To pray in Jesus’ name does not mean pu�ing Jesus’ name at the beginning, but praying in such a way that one dares mention Jesus’ name in connection with it, which means that I think of him, of his holy will, together with what I am praying for. Lastly, when a governmental official commands something in the name of the king, it means that the king assumes the responsibility for it. This is also how it is to pray in Jesus’ name: then Jesus assumes the responsibility and all the consequences: he steps forward for us, steps into the place of the person who is praying.

The antithesis of antiquity, in which the 3rd person is used of oneself because one’s life is merely a fact, is to venture to the utmost by saying [“]I,[”] saying the highest with direct reference to oneself. This is expressed in the God-Man. The God-Man would not be the God-Man if his greatness consisted of tending in the direction of becoming a third person.

It would be hard to �nd a better parody of antiquity’s use of the third person than Lamartine’s speaking of himself in the third person. This is completely disgraceful. At the peak of lyrical re�ection, Lamartine includes all this―and yet speaks of himself in the third person. It is affectation. Indeed―and this has a sort of aesthetic value―he goes so far as to include mimicry. He says: [“]Then Lamartine said this with a certain facial expression,[”] etc. Here Lamartine has really made a sort of discovery. He has discovered what absolutely cannot be said in the third person, namely, that which it is impossible to know about oneself. It becomes utterly comical and calls to mind Charles in The First Love, who also relates his life in the third person.

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Using the third person is either childish―for at a certain age a child speaks in the third person, precisely because a child is not yet a person―or it is something elevated, something more than a person, a person who is himself an event. Anything situated between these two becomes comical if it uses the 3rd person.

The Fundamental Error of Christendom is rlly that people have wanted to make all religious instruction into Christian instruction, assisted by the ridiculous assertion that all peop. are Xns because they have been baptized as children. As Christianity historically came into the world a�er an entire prehistoric religious development had been undergone, so must a hum. being first go through an entire religious schooling if he is to receive a decisive impression of Christianity. Christianity is truly too spiritual for a person simply to begin with it right off. What discipline is presupposed in order to understand truly―so that it is the truth within oneself―that sin is the only misfortune and that Xt is the only savior in this regard. The best thing to do in Xndom would be to build a number of houses of prayer―which in the eyes of many would be quite a lot―and proclaim Jewish piety, but never mention Christ’s name. It is my continuing assertion that the li�le fragment of piety that exists in Xndom is Jewish piety (a clinging to this life, a hope and belief that God is to bless them in this life, etc., so that the proof that a person is God’s friend is that things go well for him in the world), and yet they continually put Xt’s name on it.

Serving the truth entirely, solely occupied with it, I either lack the time to secure for myself the

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goods of finitude or I forfeit the opportunity to do so. But, hmnly speaking, this is of course my merit. But what is shabby is that this, precisely this, is what people use to portray me as an exaggeration. For people know only all too well that finite goals are what make a person popular. But, how shabby. There are none whom I have opposed in their pursuit of official positions, honor, esteem―at many points I have supported them. I have demanded nothing for myself. Alas, indeed, I once thought that it would be possible to move peop. when they saw an endeavor undertaken in more ideal fashion. Thanks a lot: no, it is precisely this [endeavor] that had to be weakened in peop.’s imagination―that is evident―for otherwise they of course would not have all the advantages of official positions and honor, whereas they now also have the advantage that their endeavors, which are self-serving and profitable, are also regarded as true seriousness.

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At root there is something pharisaical both in this living quietly with one’s goods and especially in this living in grand ecclesiastical offices with high rank, etc. True enough, they assert that they are not like the Pharisees; they acknowledge before God that they are sinners―but this acknowledgment and this confession is at the same time indeed somewhat pharisaical, which they can surely see for themselves simply by reading the Holy Scriptures: that something quite different is required, that there must also be an occasion for them, too, to venture a li�le more. Is it really Xnty to give a tiny portion of one’s fortune, the interest on it? Is it really Xnty to step aside from every danger so that one may continue to be honored and respected? And what good is this acknowledging and confessing that one is a sinner if deep down one hardens oneself against God’s word?

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[a] Incidentally, my situation in this entire matter has been and still is an example of something close to the greatest distance between appearance and reality. I am the scoundrel―and yet it was I who did everything to make this marriage possible: one word from me, and it would have been an impossibility. I was the scoundrel, always the scoundrel: and yet I am the one who sustains this marriage, who could be tempted every moment to be a little less cruel to himself―and then perhaps the marriage would be disturbed; at least this is how things have been for a long time, and is it not still true that my merit consists precisely in my continuing unchanged as the scoundrel.

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My Relationship to Her: The Final Word, for Now. The fact is that as soon as I think about her in any detail, a poet immediately is brought to bear on her. Just as it brought me indescribable joy at the time to see her enchantment in falling in love, so would it again bring me joy to see her happiness when she truly realizes that it was precisely by this step that our relationship has been brought to the highest level. And this should not be dif�cult to achieve poetically. Indeed, I see her prick up her ears―true enough, she herself is not poetic, but unless she is utterly confused, when the poetic beckons, she is schlaget an und gebet Feuer, as it were. For, as to whether she understood me at the time?―Yes, indeed she did. That is, she did not understand my innermost self, she understood precisely that it was αδυτον. But as to whether she understood her erotic relationship to me?―How could I �nd enough A-pluses and gold stars to add to the highest marks she deserved, both for rote learning and for inward appropriation, etc.[?] Therefore it would again require a poet to explain to her that precisely this sisterly relationship was the poetic. If she understands this, then every danger of the erotic sort will have been averted, for with the poetic―and then with a little bit of help on my part―she can walk a very �ne line. And it is truly sad that this girl is continually consigned to the shadows, as it were. Schlegel is surely a likable man; I really think she feels quite happy with him. But this girl was an instrument he does not know how to play. She is capable of tones that I knew how to summon forth. It is remarkable, my objectivity with respect to her. For someone else it would have been more or less enough that the girl had �nally married―and for me, for me that is a matter of the greatest indifference; I am concerned only about whether it is possible to make her happy and her life more beautiful―for she has moved me. She can do almost anything she wants―I always have in readiness a poet who will 13 schlaget an und gebet Feuer] German, take aim and fire. 17 αδυτον] Greek, the inaccessible (as in the holy of holies in a temple).

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be able to explain to her that that, precisely that, was the most beautiful, the most poetic thing. But it is a frightful responsibility, now that I have helped her through the greatest dif�culty by having her get married, and really very happily married. There is―and God knows it, this is the truth in all innocence―there is a higher leap possible for her, a conception that would render precisely this marriage of hers more beautiful to her: if it can be done, how gladly would I not do it for her. However, the most proper thing to do―and this is what I indeed have done―is surely for me to retreat one step in relation to her in order to �nd out just where we are. She will notice it immediately, for she is clever. Ah, but how economically my life has been constructed: I need only one girl. She has an imploring look that has moved me: that is something about her that I will never forget.

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The gospel story about the wedding at Cana could also be understood as follows: it is the first miracle precisely because it is, as it were, a mo�o for Xt’s life: first suffering―then glorification. Xt’s reply to Mary, [“]Woman what have I to do with you[?”] also bears a certain faint resemblance to his reply to Peter, [“]Get thee behind me, Satan, you are an offense to me.[”] The fact is that at that instant there is in Mary something of that earthly impatience that wants to be helped immediately.

It must of course never be forgotten that Christ indeed also helped with temporal and earthly suffering. It is also possible falsely to make Christ so spiritual that he becomes sheer cruelty. On the whole, “spirit,” absolute spirit, is the greatest cruelty for a poor human being. Thus Christ also helped people who had earthly sufferings, healed the sick, lepers, the possessed, fed

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the people, changed water into wine, calmed the sea, etc.―but the priest says that we dare not expect such help, so this all disappears, and Christ becomes almost more cruel to us than to his contemporaries. The reply to this must be: No! Please note that inasmuch as the strain connected to becoming and being a Christian is in proportion to contemporaneity with someone who in the strictest sense is a Christian, contemporaneity with an apostle is so strenuous that none of us will come to experience it. And now, contemporaneity with Christ himself. But here the miracle, the miracles of compassion with respect to earthly suffering, are at any rate somewhat palliative, and are the completely indispensable palliative―for otherwise it would have been impossible to live with Christ. If for even one single day Christ had expressed what it is to be absolute spirit and nothing else, the human race would have been devastated. But we who live 1800 years later, we are content to grasp the terror through the imagination, and on the other hand, we are only all too likely to transpose everything into human compassion: thus, you see, we live under much more lenient terms than did Christ’s contemporaries, who had the miracles to hold on to.

Weeping for oneself: this is the only right place for tears. Praised be the person who can say, I myself am the only object I find worthy enough―or wretched enough―to weep for.

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A Sigh! Ah, the way in which I have lived with the common man: In the entire generation there is perhaps only one person who could do it, and how few there are who merely understand this and understand the hard-heartedness and cruelty of the differences in class and rank on which contact with the common man is generally based. And then, that this is denied me, that it is to be regarded as a ridiculous exaggeration, and that therefore I now am no longer able to do anything for the common man, because for him I exist as a sort of half-mad person. And that this has been accomplished with the help of those “who speak for the common man against the aristocrats.” Oh, how sad!

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Note The most truthful expression, however, is that there is something in addition; for I have in fact understood part of it from the beginning and always understood it ahead of time, before I did it.

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On the Completed Work Concerning Myself. 5

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The dif�culty with publishing the pieces about my writings is and continues to be that I have really been used without really knowing it myself, or without knowing it fully; and now, for the �rst time, I understand and can see the whole of it―but then of course I cannot say “I.” At most (that is, given my anxiety about the requirement to tell the truth) I can say: this is how I now understand the writings that have been produced.a But then the problem is that if I don’t do it myself there will be no one who can present it, for no one knows it as I do.b But this is my limit: I am a pseudonym. I am to present the ideal ardently, glowingly, and when the listener or the reader is moved to tears, I then have the task of saying: I am not this, my life is not like this. It is quite true: I think I could have a greater effect if at this moment someone emerged who spoke in his own name and gesticulated with his own existence: but perhaps this is not what Governance thinks―I must truly learn that there is something higher that I can certainly think, but dare not venture. “From On High He Will Draw All to Himself” is to be made pseudonymous.c

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No one can illuminate the structure of the whole as I can.

On a scrap of gray paper included with this manuscript it is noted that in a way this work includes a dialectical heresy. Namely, in one of the expositions (no. 5 or 6) it is argued that in our time sermonic discourse has become impersonal―and this is stated by a pseudonym! But for one thing this is my limit: I can only direct attention. And for another thing, I am of course the legally responsible publisher, and people will in fact regard it as having been said by me. The extra element in it is actually this: although the person speaking is surely a no one, a pseudonym, the publisher is an actual person, and he acknowledges that he is judged by what the pseudonym says. c

NB13:21, wri�en lengthways, with additions above and beneath the main entry.

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It is a�er all easy to see that hum. beings must be very spiritual (and indeed actually so spiritual that they do not need a teacher) in order to be able to reward with money, honor, esteem, etc. the person who truly teaches them self-denial―making an assumption of this sort is just as peculiar as if a person, unable to remain silent himself, imagined that another person, whom he asks to remain silent, is capable of doing so. On the other hand, if a person is truly supposed to be a teacher of self-denial, what would he do with money and the like[?] This, too, is why the clergy have so eagerly wished to be salaried by the state or that the state should be the middleman in their pay―for otherwise the requirement that they themselves ought to be the paradigm easily comes too close.

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Yes, if my suffering, my weakness, were not the basis for all of my intellectual activity, I would of course make another a�empt to deal with it quite simply as a medical ma�er. A�er all, it just doesn’t make sense to suffer as I suffer and simply do nothing about it if one’s life is absolutely without significance anyway. But here is the secret: The significance of my life corresponds precisely to my suffering.

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How true what Thomas à Kempis says (in Imitation of Xt 1st book 2nd chapter): [“]do not become conceited about any art or knowledge, but rather fear for the knowledge that has been given you. For the more you know, and the be�er you understand it, the more strictly you are to be judged if you have not lived all the holier.” Look, those were some words. One seeks knowledge, one strains all one’s thoughts, one acquires it―and look, one has entrapped oneself. At the same time, however, it must be borne in mind that this applies only to ethical and ethical-religious knowledge.

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It would a�er all certainly be most proper if I once made a straightforward confession concerning how I regard the poetic element within me, despite my being a religious author―to the effect that indeed, religiously understood, it is my imperfection, but that I cannot yet do without it, nor can the majority of my contemporaries.

Another aspect of the cunning of sermonic discourse is that in warning against “meritoriousness,” one quite insidiously confounds all the fantastic asceticism of the Middle Ages (selfflagellation and the like) with exposing oneself to the dangers and strains and sufferings that are linked with confessing Xt in a decisive way, which of course is surely what is required of Christians―in a decisive way: this means without all the illusions of being a public official and the like, so that one proclaims Xnty and confesses Christ qua public official and tradesman.

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On “That Single Individual” My Work as an Author, My Existing.

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The movement described by the whole of my writings is from the public to the single individual. It appears for the first time in the preface to Two Edifying Discourses―and for the second time, or to the second power, at the most decisive moment, in the dedication to Edifying Discourses in Various Spirits (see in this connection the li�le piece, “The Accounting,” that is finished and is to be found together with On My Work as an Author)[.] As an aesthetic author I have, as it were, set out to take hold of the public―and this was also expressed with my personal existence, living on the streets and alleys―thus is described the movement from the public to the single individual, and thus, consistent with this, it ends with me, myself the single individual, living in a parsonage in rural isolation. Yes, it fits. Even if I were not compelled to do so by extraneous circumstances, it would still be the most proper thing to do. Ah, but Governance always helps me―this is something I see constantly―in looking backward.

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On the Text by Paul: When I was a child I thought and spoke like a child; now I have become older and I have put away childish things: [I] could speak on this theme:

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what do you judge concerning your childhood and youth do you judge that it was foolishness and fantasy? or do you judge that it was precisely then that you were closest to that which is most high? Just tell me how you judge your childhood and youth, and I will tell you who you are. Tell yourself how you judge, that you might come to wisdom, for wisdom is nothing other than judging correctly about childhood and youth, expressing through one’s life that one has judged correctly.

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Concerning the Idea of My Life as an Author. This, too, was my idea all in the course of time. The truth must never become the object of pity; serve it as long as you can, to the degree that you can do so completely without reservations; squander everything in its service―and then you can of course stop. Truly, a person does more good―if this is to be the case― by serving the truth genuinely and without reservations for only a year than by mixing and mediating concern for oneself with concern for the truth and spending an entire life on this mixture. No, it must be clear when I am serving the truth and when I am serving myself. Naturally, I have no objection to a person’s working for a living and the like; I myself intend to do so, and in no way do I pretend to be a pure spirit; but it must be clear that it is not in service of the truth. The truth has absolutely no need whatever for me to become a high and important man and so forth: if I live on bread crusts, it makes no difference whatever―consequently it cannot be for the sake of the truth. If it is done, as people say, in order to accomplish greater things with the help of one’s position, this makes a mockery of Christ and all the witnesses to the truth, who have done nothing other than show how one accom-

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plishes the most for the truth. If I nonetheless want to have the prestigious official position, very well―but with one concession: that it is for my own sake.

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Ah, when two chamberlains throw open the doors for one, saying, “The King,” even this can be a quite difficult business―to express with one’s demeanor that one really is the king. But when one stands there, bleeding, having been flogged and spat upon, while the judges are clad in purple, making it clear that they are the rulers―then to express, [“]I am nonetheless a king.[”] Indeed, what wonder that he was put to death. This sort of thing is intolerable. But when “one” is so mighty that “one” easily understands that this is a crazy man who is to be shown to his place in the madhouse, then one takes no further action. Ah, but if the crazy man omnipotently threatens to transform the whole world and the human race into a madhouse in which he is the only sane one, he, “the king,”―well, then it is, if you wish, a ma�er of self-defense: he must be put to death. All concepts are exploded at their roots; everything, everything is lost if there is no challenge to this as blasphemy―that he says he is a king who has come to the world in order to witness to the truth.

Apart from whatever the similarity would be, if there were one, in other respects the difference is certainly that I am a penitent―Apart from this, I nonetheless couldn’t be farther from being one, à la an apostle or something of that sort. No, I merely discover this: I discover retrospectively what such an existence must be like. My limitation is that I can say nothing, not the least bit, in advance. From this comes the fact that I am likewise unable to make use of “authority.” I am reflection. I always begin with nothing, with zero, expecting to die tomorrow, but then make rather intensive use of today. In this manner I steal away―and look, when I then look back upon what has happened, I become almost anxious and afraid of myself, for what has happened was the extraordinary. But at that same instant the old situation begins again: that I will presumably die tomorrow, and that therefore what ma�ers is to make

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On myself.

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quite intensive use of today―and then I again steal away. “In advance,” no, I dared not and dare not and cannot say one word in advance. My life is reversed. Instead of what ordinarily is the case for hum. beings―that a future lies ahead, so that he is oriented forward―for me, what lies closest is death. This forces me to turn around, and thus begins my living, even to this day. Naturally, by living this way I have missed having all earthly goods and finite ends, for to get them one must take action in a forward direction. Thus I have missed having all that. But not merely this: I have also had the opportunity to discover Xnty from its very foundations. For in addition to forfeiting all the advantages, I also have to suffer for doing so, have to be misunderstood, declared an egotist, vain, proud, self-infatuated. There is a point to which I continually return and at which I have suffered indescribably. Xnty came into the world and commanded: Love God and your neighbor. But Xt’s own life and the lives of all the martyrs and witnesses to the truth express this: if you really, seriously love God and your neighbor, to the degree that you do so, peop. will regard you more and more as an abominable egotist. You yourself experience, in fear and trembling, how exhausting and painful it is truly to be “spiritual”―but then peop. become indignant about you because you come and disrupt the whole of their earthly arrangements, in which everything is so delightful and lovable that one could almost be tempted to forget heaven. In their eyes you become a criminal, more dangerous than any other criminal, because you disrupt existence much more than any criminal. And thus in one sense, your life is an eternal torture: God threatens you if you do not do it, and hum. beings threaten you if you do―and what we are talking about is something that flesh and blood do not exactly relish doing.

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Incidentally, all the nonsense that has been said about me is long forgo�en and makes no difference one way or the other. But if it comes to the point that a person exists for the lower classes under a nickname, if it comes to the point of a person being branded with one or another “ridiculous” characteristic that he is obligated to bear in his person (for I cannot, a�er all, remove my

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legs―though of course I can do so in the grave), then it is a daily martyrdom. Whenever they feel like it, even respectable people are capable of informing me that this is how I exist for the mob. And such a martyrdom is not the easiest sort. The whole of my fame is exploited in sustaining the mockery. This is enough to make one both laugh and weep, but it certainly would be a relief if I could get Goldschmidt to write, e.g., about my dress coat, my vest, my hat, so that my legs could have some peace, at least for a while.

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This is very relative, however.

Another Aspect of My Public Situation. For 6 years the literary villainy had been permi�ed to grow and to spread insanely relative to the proportions of the li�le country: absolutely dangerous precisely because it was related to the peculiar characteristic of the country or the people―a sense for the comic―and because it was related to something to which a small country is always vulnerable, something from which Denmark has always suffered―narrow-mindedness, narrow-minded envy, looking askance at one another―we, who are scarcely a nation, but a couple of peop. That was how ma�ers stood. With what right could such a country call itself Christian, where it was notorious that villainy was the only career that paid well, and in addition came close to exercising a tyrannical influence. Ought not such circumstances be a call to action to every Christian priest, every honest journalist, etc.[?] No, everyone remains silent―but on Sunday the priest preaches that if it were to happen―then he would be willing to expose himself to every sort of derision, if it were to be required of him; but here, in this situation, no, there was no occasion for that. That was how ma�ers stood; then I took action. Who was I, then? I had earlier been regarded as an impetuous hothead who got mixed up in everything. Nothing less. With talents of a magnitude that everyone surely had to concede, with almost superhuman effort and diligence, remaining taciturn, I had at my own expense developed within a few years an entire literature. So when such a pers., having acquired a literary reputation that is quite literally spotless, when he takes action, and does so in circumstances as intimate as ours, he has a reasonable expectation that people will take what he has to say a bit seriously. When, in righteous indignation, he puts his famous name on the line, then―if there is to be any meaning at all in speaking of a Christian state―people should pay a�ention. Furthermore, it was well known that the man who was the source of this villainy saw in me something extraordinary that he venerated, and that when I took decisive action, it was from the pinnacle of having been immortalized by him. When one takes a step such as this and cannot be certain of being respected, the country is rlly no country, only a provincial market town. When, furthermore, people had hinted to me in many ways that I was the only person who was in every respect capable of acting decisively in this situation, then

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indeed the step I took was surely the fruit of careful consideration, but was also a work of love. And what happened? What happened was that everyone remained silent, that opinion turned against me in envy, maintaining that I was mad to expose myself to this sort of thing. Well then, I am not accustomed to begging peop. for assistance. I knew very well where I was. I based my claims on the supposed Christianity of the country and the city. Evil can triumph right under one’s nose―but the priest preaches that if it were to happen, if it were to happen that he had lived at that time, at the time when―but now there is no occasion. Well then―then we must emphasize what it means to be a Christian. I have been sacrificed, but I am still the person I was, and my contemporaries should certainly feel the consequences of the fact that I have become a sacrifice. I admit the truth: despite everything I had learned about Xnty from childhood on, I had nonetheless lived in the illusion that world was a�er all be�er than it is. Now my eyes were opened.

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The Gospel about the 10 Lepers. How the 9 were healed of their leprosy―and then contracted an even worse leprosy: their ingratitude and lack of appreciation.

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The Difference between Sickness of the Body and Sickness of the Spirit. Sickness of the body makes itself known on its own. The leper did not need to made aware of the fact that he was sick―so he cried out to Xt to be healed. But that ingratitude was a sickness simply did not occur to them (a new potentiation of ingratitude); they did not think they needed Xt in connection with this. What is dangerous about sicknesses of the spirit is precisely the fact that a certain degree of health is required even to become aware, and to know, and to admit that one is sick.

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Concerning the Writings on My Work as an Author. They contain something that makes their publication suspect. This, however, is a view, a later view; I cannot say that I thought it in advance. There is a poetic element in them. In completing [my] work as an author, I have also included myself. Now it is certainly true that in the writings I have again and again repeated this and emphasized it, but I am continually afraid that by publishing them I might in some way infringe upon God, while at times it has also actually occurred to me that I would infringe upon God by not publishing them. Basically it is like this. My nature has been the possibility of being an author. Governance is what has constantly arranged situations for me in such a way that they practically pressed literary production out of me; and yet nearly all my affairs are characterized by my having freely involved myself in them. But the fact is that I was far from understanding what they contained until I realized it afterward. It is true that I have been willing to venture, to make sacri�ces, to expose myself to dangers; it is true that I have thought about the way in which I have personally offended, and I have had the hope of doing something good, if possible, to make amends―but I must also admit that this entire life has been for me an indescribable delight or satisfaction, which indeed is also why my constant prayer to God has been to thank him for the indescribable good he has done for me, so much more than I had expected. Basically, being an author has been my only possibility. I have continually had the notion of becoming a country priest, but the problem is that in one sense, an unfortunate sense, I am not a human being, and therefore it is dif�cult for me to take this sort of thing upon myself. But even if I had been able to do so, in the beginning I could not have managed it anyway: my need to produce was too great, and producing satis�ed me too much. Therefore I am refraining from publishing these writings: better, by remaining silent, say too little about myself than, by speaking, say too much. But one thing is certain and true: I did not become an author in order to become a success in the world―ah, when I started Either/Or I hated myself; I can say that I wished that everyone would rise up against me. But I do, after all, have enough understanding of the religious that I do not straightforwardly call this pure religiousness―it was a sort of intoxicated religiousness.

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Right now I truly feel what blessedness and consolation it is to me that I know, before God, that I suffered in leaving her, that precisely this was suffering. What strength this gives me! Truly, if I had le� her out of selfishness and in frantic pursuit of brilliant success, my life would have been certain despair. So now I am at peace.a Deep down I know that there is not one single pers. who would tremble, who would not be moved to the deepest sympathy, if he truly knew, quite literally, how I suffered. But this was precisely what increased the pain: that I knew that I was certain to be a victim of pity―therefore I did everything I could, and it was granted to me that I might conceal it entirely. The suffering was frightful. Melancholy as I was, I understood that my own intensified wretchedness was to have all my wretchedness increased by having made her unhappy―and then, then in my soul there suddenly burst forth a wealth at which I now tremble when I look back upon it. This is where my strength rlly lies: my suffering is my superiority; it is also frightful when one considers that behind me and behind my relationship with a contemporary lies a diametrically opposite understanding of myself before God. What has happened to others before me will probably happen to me: now, or before long, people will think they understand me because of the result. Ah, but when I stood alone in my wretchedness, so wretched that I cannot (even now) get my pen to write about it, despite the fact that I know and remember only all too well what I mean: when I stood alone like that―and then it was not as a sufferer, oh no: with a girl’s accusation that it would be her death; with a father’s grief, as though she were already dead; cursed by a family; with hum. language and everything against me! If I had not been able to walk around and talk with a market lady here, a coachman there, etc., I could not have endured it. I have been struck by what I have read about Napoleon: when he crossed the Alps he was as distracted as a dreamer and preferred to speak with his guide, with whom he discussed the la�er’s domestic circumstances. Of course, Napoleon was also carrying a plan for the world; I was only carrying a deep melancholia, more or less the deepest possible.

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precisely there, where in the opposite situation I would say, Now I have lost: that is where I now say: Now I have won.

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On Myself qua Author. Thus I have again come to the point where I was last summer, the most intensive and the richest time of my life, when I understood myself to be what I might call the poet of the religious, though not in such a way that my own life was to express the opposite―no, I am striving, but my being a “poet” expresses that I do not confuse myself with the ideal. My task was to situate Christianity in re�ection and not to idealize it poetically (for of course Christianity is itself the ideal), but rather to present the entire ideal poetically, fervently, in accordance with the most ideal criterion―and then always to end with: I am not it, but I am striving. If this latter does not suf�ce, if it isn’t the truth within me, then everything has been transposed into intellectuality and has failed. In the rush of last year’s literary productivity, I also managed to understand the entire body of work and myself. I understood myself to be the poetic re�ector of Christianity, capable of setting forth all the Christian existential categories in their full ideality; I understood how I had been led to this point from my earliest days and by the strangest pathways; I understood what, thank God, I still understand in the same way: that I can never suf�ciently thank God for the good he has done for me, so indescribably much more than I had expected. All this I understood, as well as the entire structure of my works, and this was set down in the piece on my work as an author. Then I misunderstood myself for a moment, though not for long. I wanted to publish that piece,a forgetting that this would be overstepping my limits. If I explain that I am this poetic re�ector and one who strives, then I make myself into something more than what I explain myself to be―in one way or another I myself come to be the more ideal �gure, come to lay claim to being that �gure. Then the whole matter would remain in the domain of the interesting, making my contemporaries coconspirators in my intrigue―yes, but I am not quite permitted to call it that, for it is also my own development. I have in the strangest ways been prevented from publishing it. And now the turn has been taken, the new pseudonym put in place. I have no merit whatever for this, for once again it is as if a Governance had helped me do the right thing. Often enough I made preparations to publish the writings about myself, but no. I had been able to write them with the same tranquillity in which I usually work, but the minute I took them out with the notion of publishing them, I felt an uneasiness, an overexertion that I had never sensed before. It was my limit. By publishing them I would have caused great confusion. Despite all the disclaimers in the writings, it would not have been possible for me to prevent my being regarded as the extraordinary Christian instead of being merely a genius; in the end, perhaps I myself would have erred and regarded myself as the extraordinary Christian. The truth, on the other hand―and this is something I have learned precisely by means of my writings―is that I am in fact very far from being the extraordinary Christian, that there is in fact a poetic element within me that, from a Christian point of view, is something negative. Publication of those writings would have been a misleading poet-confusion. In one sense, the understanding I had attained elevated me, so that I understood what extraordinary things had been granted

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me and how an in�nitely loving Governance had guided me from the beginning; but this same understanding humbled me in another sense by making me understand how far I still was from being a Christian in the strict sense. But precisely this understanding was acquired through the suffering of having wanted to publish and having been unable to do so. If I had not been prevented from doing it, if I had been allowed to rush ahead and publish, a confused obscurity would surely have entered my soul. Were the situation to change such that my times demanded that I provide an explanation, then I would certainly be able to provide it, though only after having requested permission to speak entirely without reservations. Having been thus requested to do so, it would be one thing for me to explain what is inherent in the matter itself and how I now understand myself, and quite another to explain how things turned out in the end, despite all my protestations: to put into print my life’s development, transformed into my intention. The understanding of myself and my existence as an author were, if I dare say so, a gift to me from Governance, a gift that should also be a helpful Point de vüe in the effort to go further in truly becoming a Christian―the misunderstanding was that I wanted to publish it. a

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15 Point de vüe] French, properly “vue,” point of view.

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Justice Takes Revenge―Love Is Avenged.

In dealing with the question of whether Xnty could be preached to pagans or was only for Jews, it is indeed rather curious that people did not think of the story of the Canaanite woman, according to which Christ himself―despite the fact that he says the opposite,“ that he had come to seek the lost of Israel[”]―nonetheless yields. Incidentally, the gospel story about that woman is moving when at one point she makes the error of pu�ing herself entirely in the place of her daughter, for whom she is pleading: Lord, help me.

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Example of Horror. in a Situation On the heaving, foaming sea there is a boat in which there is only one man, a pilot or what you will. He sits calmly in the stern of the boat with his hand on the tiller while the boat surges forward in the proudest flight. Now it is flung up on the crest of a towering wave―spectators on the shore shudder in admiration; he himself is calm, seeming almost to enjoy the delight of the shuddering―suddenly he notices a li�le tremor in his hand: it signifies to him, Either your hand has been paralyzed or the boat is not responding to the tiller. It would have been impossible to see this, even if one were si�ing beside him as the calmest of observers―and, unchanged in his calm posture, he steers into the abyss. What is horrifying is that the horror is concentrated in one single, almost unnoticeable point, that the horror is not rlly given the least expression, that he remains si�ing, entirely unaltered, in the same daring, calm posture, and yet he is paralyzed, so that he steers into his downfall. The horror consists precisely in the fact that the horror finds no expression whatever, not so much as the movement of an arm.

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Something can be immodest when viewed from one side, and the opposite can be immodest when viewed from the other side. If a pers. were allowed to wish for something, and he wished for a kingdom, one might perhaps say, [“]That was immodest.[”] But if a person were allowed to wish for something, and he said, [“]Well, I rlly don’t know what to wish for other than that I had worn thin boots instead of cork-soled boots today,[”] then this is simply immodest, for what it rlly signifies is that the person is ge�ing along very well (if he isn’t insane or slow-wi�ed). But if someone were ge�ing along very well―except that he has put on his cork-soled boots instead of his thin boots―and a spirit comes to him and allows him to make a wish, then he ought to turn away from that spirit and turn to God, saying, [“]No, indeed, I will not make a wish, but will thank you, my God, for all the good you have done for me.[”]

. . . . And if, li�le by li�le, gradually consumed by the continual gnawing, I had fallen to the ground or collapsed, entirely devoid of feeling and passion―then people would say, It was his own fault. Not one single word would be spoken to the effect that the step I took might be viewed as eminently shrewd and level-headed, done with intimate knowledge of the situation, and furthermore, in the Christian sense, a work of love.―It would be said, He was mad to expose himself to that sort of thing, and he himself was thus responsible for his fall. Not a word would be spoken to the effect that, insofar as the step taken failed of its purpose―or to the degree that it failed―the fault lay elsewhere, not simply in the a�ack by that journal, but in the fact that my contemporaries betrayed me by coming up with the opinion that I had been mad to expose myself to that sort of thing; that the important and respected people of the day, who shared my view of the journal’s villainy, betrayed me; that the fault lay precisely in an entire age having transformed itself into spectators; that in its capacity of the public, this same contemporary age abuses and betrays a pers.; that there was no one, not one single person, who had a word to say in public―at once both frightful cowardice and an indirect compliment to me―for who could be the accuser, when all, in their various ways, are accomplices[?]

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And this is why in the midst of all my sufferings I am nonetheless so indescribably happy and glad. For my imagination almost collapses when it contemplates the millions of possibilities God has at every instant. Then I do something wrong. I notice it right away. What is to be done now? My melancholy imagination immediately senses the possibility that this li�le error could ruin everything. But look, then at that very instant I say to God: [“]Bi�e, bi�e, that was wrong; even though I am a pest, an impudent pest, o God, make this very error into something correct.[”] And then―God, who at every instant has millions of possibilities―then the circumstances are combined a bit differently, and quite so, this very error then reveals itself to be the correct thing. And then, then I worship God. And then, then I have more joy from this error than from the most correct thing I myself have ever done.

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The fact that I used nearly half of my strength to repel people, to work against myself; that I wanted no adherents (which, in the present moment, has harmed and delayed my cause); that this was a category of the ideal, a more ideal category: these were things that certain important people understood very well. And then, then not merely not to u�er one word on this topic; no, to remain silent; indeed, not merely to remain silent, but to circulate a view that makes use of the confusion of this more ideal category with the very opposite category, to the effect that I was an unclear, confused thinker, an eccentric, and that this was why I had no adherents, etc.―Phooey! Thus they wanted me continually to use half my strength to work against myself in the finite sense, so that they could profit from this in the finite sense and be prophets―against me.

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Indeed, the life of Christ also manifests this difference betw. possibility and actuality: that in “possibility” one can understand what one does not recognize in “actuality.” Had not the prophets prophesied that Xt was to suffer―and then someone came who was a sufferer and who himself said he was the Messiah―but look, they could not recognize him, he whom the words of the prophets fit perfectly; and yet they could understand the words of the prophets. This is how it always is. If I were to invite a pers. to come to my home, and I then were to explain to him that I intended to take one or another magnanimous step that would cause me loss and suffering, he would understand me completely: he would think it was glorious; he would admire me and depart from me full of fervor and enthusiasm. And if I were actually to take that step, and if just a bit of time had passed during which I had been an actual sufferer, he would be unable to recognize me. The imagination always wants to shorten things and slip in a different image, an image in which one sees this magnanimous sufferer being admired by everyone. But in actuality things do not happen so quickly; actuality keeps a distance of perhaps 50 years. Only a very few people are capable of receiving the impression of “actuality.” Most people must be satisfied with being deceived, either by receiving only the first impression (the magnanimous moment that comes before, when the actuality of suffering has not yet begun) or the last one, when the result is present, and he has triumphed.

It could be a good theme for a sermon, the words that appear somewhere in part two of Either/Or: The dreadful thing is not that I am to suffer punishment when I have done something wrong; the dreadful thing is that I could do something wrong―and there would be no punishment.

In its primary meaning (its formal category) “consecration” is the individual’s concentration in himself. When an individual begins an effort with the consciousness, or is himself conscious, that instead of leading to the a�ainment of finite goals, this effort will indeed prevent him from a�aining them, he then becomes

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introverted in redoubling of the self. This is the merely human aspect; the religious aspect then depends on the extent to which the individual then refers everything to God. 304

The truth is exposed to the concept of offense―or, as it is called, scandal―just as o�en as is untruth. Thus, when untruth has entrenched itself in “an established order” and has made itself comfortable, and the truth then stirs, the la�er will be declared a scandal. In the days when literary villainy had acquired squa�er’s rights to exist, when people found it in order, rather than a scandal, that it existed on such a disproportionate scale, then no one at all dared say a word, because they were afraid of stirring up a scandal. Thanks, much appreciated. And then when I did it, many people thought and said, It is a scandal, a scandal he ought to have avoided. Take a lo�ier example: How many thousands were they who found it a scandal when Luther began to tamper with the pope[?] This is also how it is in other situations. When a person has situated himself comfortably within an established order from which he derives all possible profit, when the truth has become a sort of luxury, and jumbling all possible points of view together in a muddle has become the highest wisdom―then bringing up the truth is a scandal. And when it is professor against professor, yes indeed, then it is a frightful scandal. But that it was scandal with all that mendacious peace and unity, that precisely this was the scandal: there must be no talk about that.

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I have understood quite clearly how ambivalently I have been situated in the literary scene here. Thus the word about me was that I was so extraordin. that no one could take it upon himself to review me; in the meantime I had to bear the burden of being so extraordinary without ever having heard it expressed.―And then suddenly Martensen bursts into print with a view he has certainly sought to cultivate for a long time: that my entire project amounted to nothing. Oh, you shortsighted people! Have no doubt that I have seen very clearly how I have been betrayed; it is true that in a way I have freely consented to what has happened, that I have also lent

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support to it. But why, then? Yes, here, right here, is my power―I have understood myself as a penitent, I must not receive any reward. You see, in one sense this most hidden thought is a frightful power. That is why I have been able to remain silent and have gained strength by remaining silent, because “God’s intimacy dwelt with me.” And the longer I remained silent like this, the deeper I have cut into existence and the greater is the scale on which I reveal the others. It is, however, quite certain that Martensen has gradually become spoiled by having been permi�ed, unchallenged, to swagger like this among “the circles.” He has finally come to believe that things were as he said they were; probably he has finally come to regard my silence as some sort of lunatic idealism―and then he blurts things out in print. Perhaps this ma�er, these very words, will prove to be very danger-fraught for him, just as those foppish words by Heiberg about Either/Or. For in another sense it is also certain that deep down, many people have the idea that I am a�er all something extraordinary, but they are a li�le envious. But the person who wants to make himself into something great by disparaging me had be�er be cautious. It won’t work. It succeeded for Goldschmidt, for he was himself something contemptible. But if there is someone who himself wants to be something great, then the envy turns around and is not unlikely to give me the distinction that is my due. How strangely things happen in life, and god-fearing silence is so powerful.

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Xnty is an existential communication that came into the world through the use of authority. There is to be no speculating; Christianity is to be kept moving existentially; becoming a Christian is to be made more and more dif�cult. Take a quite simple example. At a riot a police of�cer says, Behave yourself―no arguing. No arguing―why? because he uses authority. So, is there to be nothing objective in Xnty, or is Christianity not to be the subject of objective knowledge? Well, why not? What is objective is what he says―he, the authoritative person. But no arguing, least of all of the sort that, as it were, wants to sneak behind

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Christianity and Speculation.

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the back of the person in authority and �nally speculate him away, too, and transpose everything into speculation.

How can a divine teaching come into the world at all? By God taking possession of a number of individual human beings, and, as it were, overpowering them to the degree that they then become willing, throughout their long lives, to do everything, to endure and suffer everything for this teaching. This, their unconditional obedience, is the form of their authority. They make use of authority and appeal to God, but they also support this with their unconditional obedience. If you are not willing to become a part of the Good, then we are certainly prepared to suffer everything, and then we will indeed see who is stronger. It is like an auction. People want to terrify the person sent by God, show him every horror, but he says: I will bid anyway, for my unconditional obedience―by which I myself am compelled―means that I can bid so low (with respect to being able to endure everything) that you cannot underbid me. So he endures; �nally he dies. Now he is the one who compels. Now he compels the human race, and thus he forces the divine teaching upon the race; his unconditional obedience, which was what had supported him, now transforms itself into the explanation that he had divine authority, something he himself had said. As long as he lives and struggles, what he rlly makes most use of is the unconditional obedience, for of course he cannot �nd people willing to listen to his div. authority; but then he dies, and then authority works all the more powerfully. The two short essays by H. H. are very instructive.

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I look at the country’s 1000 clergy and their respective theological degrees, and I see a difference among them: that some of them regard Xnty or orthodoxy as being one thing, and the others regard it as being something else. But when clerical livings are under attack, when there are questions about promotions and getting better livings, when the focus is on exposing oneself to dangers, on the true renunciation of worldly advantages: then I see that they are all cut from the same cloth, they all follow the same worldly wisdom.

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This means that if Christianity exists, it exists as a doctrine, not as an existential communication; people argue over it as if it were about Plato, about how one or another passage is to be understood. I assure myself quite often that it is frightful for �esh and blood to read what demands the NT makes on a person in order to be a Christian. Without in the least way priding myself on being any kind of extraordinary Christian―alas, I am scarcely a Christian, though I do a little: and I am regarded as a ridiculous exaggeration. This is how I live in the midst of Christendom, day by day; nowhere do I have the least support; on the contrary, the whole of the worldly clergy �nd it very urgent to arrive at this judgment: I am mad.

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Lines Spoken by a Poetic Individual. By chance I happen to own a very rare book; perhaps I am the only person here in the city who owns it: The New Testament of Our Lord Jesus Christ. By chance I learned as a child to read in an ordinary grammar school, something on which I place great emphasis inasmuch as I am, alas, also a doctor of philosophy and of theology and a member of a number of learned societies. By chance I have subsequently limited my reading almost entirely to that rare book. As a result of this continued reading, what follows below has occurred to me. If I were to convene a gathering of 100,000 peop., assuming I could speak loudly enough to be heard by such a gathering, and if I were to say: [“]I cannot live on air, and not only that, but I regard it as my duty to look out for my future[”]―then not only would there not be any thundering shouts of approval, but people would almost regard me as mad for bringing up such a ma�er, something that every reasonable man regards as reasonable. And yet, if I then close my door and take out that very rare book in a private chamber, then it seems to me as if there were a voice that said to me, “You scoundrel, you shameless fellow. When I, God in Heaven, command something in my Word, see to it that you obey immediately. Who has required that you live on air[?] What an impudent, presumptuous exaggeration in order to make my Word ridiculous. Go to the workhouse and acquaint yourself with what a hum. being needs in order to live―you cer-

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tainly need no more than that.”―If this is how things are, where, then, is the passage in the NT where a person swerves over into fat clerical livings[?] In general I believe I have discovered that Christianity can only be communicated in something like a private chamber, and the greater the number of people, the more insignificant Christianity appears to be, becoming almost ridiculous.

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Thomas à Kempis says: Habits (bad ones) are driven out by habits (good ones).

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At the conclusion of Luther’s sermon for Easter Monday there is a remark on the incomprehensibility of faith, and that there must be no speculating.

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Lines about Myself. If someone were to say that as a religious author I am very severe on my contemporaries, then (without, however, entirely conceding that this was the case) I would reply: but why are you so severe with me[?] Consider my life as an author, my diligence, my exertions, my unselfishness―and then the judgment is to be that I am a kind of eccentric, an exaggeration―while you who carry on the most contemptible literary trade live in plenty and possess power, while everyone who seeks finite goals is rewarded with them and is also regarded as being serious. Isn’t this severity against me? My life, a�er all, is lived in ongoing rapport with an idea, and I personally feel myself to be religiously obligated; I cannot endure half-heartedness and nonsense―everywhere my life is an either-or. If I am to be an ornament to my country, well then, say so; but if people are to be permi�ed to do everything against me, well then, in that case I must in turn say that living in my native land is a folly on my part―and I must have this idea with me: I cannot do without Christianity, ergo I must force the price of being a Christian

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further up. If wantonness and crudeness and envy are permitted to treat the altogether respectable efforts of an author as I have been treated, well then, they will have to put up with the fact that I have my suspicions about whether such a country can rightly call itself purely Christian. They will have to put up with my jacking up the price of being a Xn. I may very well suffer for doing this, but I will not let go of the idea. If people press me harder, well then, I will come to suffer more, but I cannot let go of the idea, and the counter pressure I exert will be all the stronger in consequence. I do not exactly take pleasure in this situation, but when it comes to the idea, I cannot do otherwise, and I feel myself to be religiously obligated. Or has the fact that I am an author become a crime?a 3 years ago Concl. Postscript was published. It was the capstone of a grand authorial project from an earlier period; it is itself the fruit of 1 or 1-1/2 years’ diligent work, and I mean diligent; it cost me betw. 500 and 600 rd. to publish. This book sold 60 copies. It was not mentioned in one single place. On the other hand, I was depicted and mocked in The Corsair, much to the delight of the rabble. In Kjøbenhavnsposten P.L.M. poured scorn on it and on me; in Flyve-Posten they wrote of my trousers, that they had now become too long; this was wri�en to whip up the rabble’s ridicule of me. And then they want to complain that I am too severe―but there is not to be any talk of the severity shown against me.

In the worldly sense, one ascends as follows: when a hum. being has reached one step, he desires and aspires to reach a higher one. On the other hand, when a hum. being has involved himself with God so that God truly takes hold of him and uses him, the ascent is as follows: at each additional step he is to climb, he begs like a child to be excused, for he understands very well that, hmnly speaking, suffering and wretchedness increase to the same degree, and spiritual trials similarly. How o�en have apostles not begged in this way.

On the three Friday discourses (The High Priest, the Tax Collector, the Woman Who Was a Sinner) they are related to the last pseudonym, Anti-Climacus.

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Text for a Friday Discourse see journal NB12 pp. 226 and 227. The text cited under no. 3 was not used.

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The Suffering of Reversedness In other cases, one suffers because one did not become what one wished, someone great, etc. But the reverse: to know―with unshakable certainty―to know that the extraordinary has been entrusted to one―and then both not to dare speak of this to one single person, so as not to affront the highest power who does not want such cha�iness, and, even if one were to speak, to be certain that one would not be the least bit understood!

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Religion is also used to fla�er peop. in an extremely shabby manner. Every pers. would like to be fla�ered by fancying that he possesses a bit of the extraordinary. Now the priests help out: if a man suffers the least li�le bit, they immediately draw an analogy between his sufferings and those of the religious paradigms― with Abraham, who sacrifices Isaac; with Paul and the thorn in the flesh; with every suffering―with these words―[“] We must through much tribulation to enter into the kingdom of God.[”]

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On My Writings. The heterogeneity must by all means be maintained: here we have an author, not a cause in the objective sense, but a cause for which an individual has stood on his own, for which he has suffered, etc. But, just as people have not understood why Concl. Postscript is structured comically―that precisely this is earnestness―and just as people therefore think they are improving the cause by taking individual theses and transposing them into a didactic mode, so here, too, it will probably also end with a new

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confusion, in which people treat me as a cause and transpose everything into objectivity, making it into something new, that here we have a new doctrine―rather than that what is new is that here we have a personality. As a penitent, and also because I believed that in a way this corresponded to my original nature, I have not wanted to put myself forward. All of my work as an author and the whole of my existence as an author are like a challenge: I have surrounded the terrain, everywhere inciting people and watching to see whether that single individual might not arise―in which case I would instantly have assumed the position of his master of ceremonies, indicating the order in which the pseudonyms always show themselves: that the elder serves the younger, who expresses something higher, while the elder is nonetheless the maieuticist. This has not happened. Had R. Nielsen, without any personal help from me, been immed. capable of taking a position, then I would at any rate have paid a good deal of attention to him, even if the extent to which he could be the single individual had remained dubious. But now he himself has determined his situation by seeking personal support. With respect to the idea he is now, if you will, a disciple.

The Difference betw. Immediacy and Reflection in Relation to Religious Suffering. The immediate person has also had his time of suffering, perhaps frightfully so―then for him everything is suddenly transfigured into bliss (this is immed. awakening). He himself then forgets all his sufferings because of this bliss; this can be quite proper. But then he begins to preach to others, and in a way he comes to deceive them, for he entirely forgets the part about the suffering, thereby causing them either to take the entire ma�er in vain or, later on, to become almost furious with him when they themselves come to experience suffering, furious with him for not having told them of this in advance. Reflection does not forget; it remembers backward; and reflection situates the suffering together with the bliss. Immediacy produces much greater effects at the moment; reflection works slowly but thoroughly.

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Oh, how Xnty has been damaged when only the leniency is taken, thereby fooling peop. into the delusion that they were Xns, and emasculating Xnty, instead of including the severity right from the beginning, gaining fewer but genuine adherents. 5

In Xndom the dialectical moment has everywhere been abolished. They elevate the doctrine of “grace” an entire stage too high. Xnty has demanded the genuine renunciation of the worldly, has required the voluntary―and then, that one must nonetheless acknowledge that one is nothing, that everything is grace. Xndom removes the entire first stage―and then permits grace to move up; it gra�s “grace,” if you will, immediately onto the worldly mindset.

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The degree to which Xnty is rlly lost can best be seen in the tolerance exhibited by the orthodox. Their mo�o is: if only we are permi�ed to keep to our own faith, let the world look a�er itself. Merciful God, and this is supposed to be Xnty―this was the power that once burst into the world and by its willingness to suffer forced Xnty upon the world, exerting a force mightier than any tyrant. The orthodox have no notion that this tolerance of theirs results from the influence of sheer worldliness, that it exists because they do not in fact rlly have any understanding or respect or courage for martyrdom or any real belief in eternity, but instead prefer to have things go well for them in this world. And now (and this makes the situation even more frightful) this “tolerance” is willing to let the enormous fraud―that the entire world calls itself Xn―remain as it is, even though orthodoxy’s most fundamental belief is that the world is pagan. How low Xnty has sunk, what a powerless wretch it has become! The understanding is what has triumphed―the understanding, which has exercised tyranny over enthusiasm and the like, degrading it into something ludicrous. That is why people dare not be enthusiastic, dare not assert that martyrdom is something glorious beyond compare: people are afraid of being laughed at rather than of being put to death―and so people make compromises: they wrap themselves in their donkey skins,

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they ask merely that they themselves may dare to be Xns, calling this tolerance, and nonetheless boast about being the true Xns.

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There was some truth in Peter’s words when he once remarked that there was a religious difference between him and myself: that he regarded the relationship to God as one of being loved, I regarded it as one of loving. This remark was not exactly something new to me; I have o�en considered whether God was not altogether too infinitely lo�y for a hum. being to dare love him—but of course it is wri�en: You shall love the Lord your God. Furthermore, I myself have in fact always said that it is God who does everything for me. But nonetheless, this is not a bad way of describing the difference between the two of us. The fact is that Peter has never been young in a spiritual sense; he received a morbid impression of the religious; he has become so anxious and fearful before God that he is stuck in this state of pusillanimity—and God knows whether he will become truly ardent by daring to believe that he is loved by God. In the physical sense I have never been young. But spiritually I have been a youth, and in a good sense. Overwhelmed by God, annihilated into something less than a sparrow before him, I have nonetheless acquired a certain cheerful courage, so that in youthful fashion I dare involve myself with him; in childlike fashion I have been able to get it into my head that God’s infinity consisted precisely in his capacity to concern himself about the very least things; in childlike fashion I could enter into the pious notion that he would not react ungraciously if, referring to my own honest strivings, I were to say to him: Bi�e, bi�e, do not refuse me, O you infinite one, you for whom at every instant I am indeed less than nothing. This is youthfulness, it is childlike, but it has truly been a part of my nature. It has been a blessing to me that this has been so natural and geläufigt for me to understand, that I have had this at my fingertips: that the more infinite someone is, the less he can concern himself about small things—oh, no, I have never been that reasonable! No, the more infinite someone is, the more he can and will concern himself about small things. I have believed that it was literally true that he concerned himself with every sparrow—literally, yes, naturally, this was of the greatest importance to me because in another sense it has always been true for me that I am a sparrow, or something less than a sparrow. 33 geläufigt] German-Danish, easy.

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Call it madness, but in my final moments I will pray to God that I might be permi�ed to thank him yet again for having made me mad in this way. In truth, if God cannot make a person mad in this way, it is very questionable whether that person will ever have a proper understanding that he exists before God. In other respects I am of course willing to recall what I have o�en recalled, that in one sense development of one’s relationship to God is this: the longer one lives with him, the more distant, in a way, one feels oneself to be from him, because he has become all the more infinitely lo�y. As a child one simply lives with him without further ado; as a youth one believes that if one truly makes an effort it can still be done; and as an adult, alas, one notices that he is indeed altogether too infinite for a person; however, it makes quite a bit of difference if one has been a child and a youth or begins right off in the old man’s situation.

The concept “Christendom” is what must be reformed. What must be done is the dialectical opposite of introducing Xnty, and yet in another sense it is somewhat similar: to introduce Xnty― into Xndom. The illusion that all are Xns has reached its high point―well then, of course there cannot be any talk of introducing Xnty― there must instead be examinations in Xnty; in propounding Xnty there must be an examination about what it in fact means when it is said that everyone is Xn. Here there is an analogy to Socratic questioning. Just as he began with the Sophists who said they were Xn, and then questioned them until they were empty, here the beginning will be the statements of those who say they are Xn. And just as he said he was ignorant, here the examiner must be someone who says that he is not himself a Christian. And just as the fruit of this Socratic questioning was a sharper definition of knowledge, here the fruit must be a sharper definition of what it is to be a Christian.

A�er all, even a hum. being can approximate an understanding of this: that a hum. being does not live by bread alone but by every word that proceeds from God’s mouth―notwithstanding the fact that these words and the context in which they are used (namely in the story of the temptation, where the contrast is with

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having fasted for 40 days and 40 nights) are superhuman, for a hum. being is indeed not so pure a spirit that he can literally live on God’s word instead of food and drink. Ah, but a hum. being can indeed live for a long, long time, year a�er year, suffering and perhaps tormenting himself with a certain understanding of some specific Christian thing―and then it suddenly dawns on him that he can view the same thing from a different angle and then feel a relief like that when a hungry person receives food or a person who has fainted is revived. Take a person who is truly conscious of being a sinner, who has tormented himself by continually being capable only of imagining Xt as the Holy One, and who therefore only trembles before him, yet continues to cling to him―what a transformation when it truly becomes clear to him that Christ is the Savior, is like a physician upon whom one calls precisely in one’s weakest moments, whereas he, to the contrary, had only dared turn to the Holy One in his best moments.

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Even if a poet suffers actual persecution by his contemporaries, he reproduces and transforms even this actual suffering of his into a work of poetry and gives his contemporaries occasion for a new―enjoyment. An ethicist takes this sort of situation seriously, turns it into actuality, saying, [“]It is you, you contemporaries, of whom I speak.[”] He does not change the scene of the action, does not keep the ma�er at a poetic distance. In a certain sense the poet has greater resignation: he does not actually insist upon justice, he drops his case against actual hum. beings and transposes the entire scene into the medium of the imagination. But the poet lacks courage; his imagination terrifies him so that he does not dare a�ack actuality head-on; he distills something poetic out of it and restrains himself. This would perhaps be among the most interesting tasks: to present a poet who was developed to such an extent and had advanced so far that he himself rlly began to understand that he ought to carry out a µεταβασις εις αλλο γενος, specifically, to pass over into the ethical, the heroic—but who still could not convince himself to do so, and who then remained dialectically fixed at that point.

35 µεταβασις εις αλλο γενος] Greek, transformation into a different kind. See also explanatory note.

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A counterpart to a seducer, except that he seduces men: seducing a man into becoming a fanatic. If it is to be kept within the realm of the interesting, the one who is seduced must in fact be an older man, for with a younger man it would be altogether too easy. Lines for a seducer of this sort: “I have o�en considered whether it would be easier to seduce if one has the advantage of being regarded as an honest person or if one has the difficulty of being regarded as a cunning fellow, against whom everyone is on guard. I view this la�er role as the easier. Precisely because a person is, as they say, on guard, it is easier to seduce him. A remarkable cleverness is required if one is not to be deceived―when one wants to be clever. That is what I am counting on. By remaining on guard, as they say, a person easily becomes conceited, and if he becomes conceited, he easily comes to feel secure. Thus one dupes him by fortifying his notion that he is clever, that it is impossible to deceive him. One tells him how a person has deceived others and how one is able to deceive others; he himself sees that he cannot be deceived in that way. During all this one makes a study of his weak sides and of how he is to be deceived. Now one dupes him even more powerfully, convincing him that it is impossible for him to be caught―and then he is caught.”

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If when the NT is cited in defense of the polemical element in Xnty, someone says, [“]Yes, that was then, but now—in Xndom,[”] well, then, let us take Luther, who certainly lived in Xndom. Read, e.g., his sermon on the gospel text, [“]A li�le while, and you will no longer see me, and again a li�le while, and you will see me.[”] No, it is precisely because of the mendacious illusion of Xndom that the situation in Xndom is infinitely worse and more dangerous than when

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Xnty dealt with paganism; therefore the polemical element ought if possible be even stronger.

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Oh, how far indeed we hum. beings are from the spirituality that truly grieves only over its sin and only in relation to God: How rare is even the hum. being who has the courage to be entirely open to another hum. being concerning every secret guilt.

Christianity’s Situation in Possibility―and in Actuality. As soon as I take Xnty as a doctrine and use my perspicacity, or my profundity, or my eloquence, my imagination to present it, people think well of it; I am regarded as a serious Xn, am beloved, etc. As soon as I want to express existentially what I say―that is, when I want to situate Christianity in actuality―then I explode existence, as it were; people immediately take offense. Take the rich young man―let me preach about how he was not perfect, about how he could not decide to give everything to the poor, but about how the true Xn is always willing to give everything: then people are moved and I am beloved. But if I were a rich young man and went and gave my entire fortune to the poor, peop. would be offended and would find it a ridiculous exaggeration.―Take Mary Magdalene―let me preach about her deep consciousness of sin, the passion that is indifferent to everything except sin; she goes to the Savior, exposes herself to all kinds of mockery, etc.―I promise I will move people to tears, and I, the speaker,b will be regarded as a serious Xn, beloved. If, on the other hand, I am myself conscious of being a sinner, and suddenly I want to step forth and actually make public confession of my sins, then people will immediately take offense. It will be seen as vanity and as a ridiculous exaggeration.―Preach about how a true Xn takes counsel with God about everything: it

[a]

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but naturally preaching must be your job; otherwise it doesn’t really sink into people; you yourself become an exaggeration in their eyes.

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moves people.c―If a pers. in the actual world comes forth and announces that he has taken counsel with God, it will be decried as presumption, pride, exaggeration, madness.―Depict all those quiet souls who lived out of the mainstream of life, filling their souls only with the thought of God: it will move people to tears.d Let someone carry this out in real life, and he becomes a ridiculous figure whom people almost feel a duty to insult and mock.

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The ethical expression for the distinction that an artist, a thinker, a teacher of morals insists upon is that he himself renounces pecuniary advantage. If pecuniary advantages are made important, what sort of prudery is it that concerns itself with this great difference betw. such a person and any other businessman[?] But art and scholarship are of course different from other things, and a difference can of course be conceded to exist between them and other businessmen, analogous, e.g., to the one profession being more respectable than another. But of course being a teacher of morals does not lend itself to differences of this sort; in this case, the more pecuniary advantages are emphasized, the more he becomes something even less than a pure and simple businessman.

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Ah, a martyr who gesticulates with his daily existence cannot concentrate in the moment as can these refined speakers who are pampered all week long until Sunday, when they strut and u�er solemn assurances for an hour. Ah, a martyr who gesticulates with his daily existence cannot voluptuously direct aesthetic a�ention to the mellifluousness of his voice and to his mighty gestures, for inasmuch as all his gesticulation essentially consists of translating into action, it escapes the fleeting a�ention of the moment.

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Ah, patience is required merely in order to understand this. But the deceivers, who ally themselves with the sensuous aspect of a hum. being, they of course have infinitely superior strength. This difference alone: what I have to say requires a silence almost like that of an individual in the confessional booth―what the others say seems be�er the more thousands there are who hear it. An actor is truly an honest man―on the placard he announces in advance what will happen this evening: that between 7 and 10 o’clock he will play a noble father and chief forester, a suffering witness to the truth, a lo�y hero, etc. He is honest; he does not lead anyone into the unfortunate confusion that he is himself the character portrayed. People have taken exception to the fact that the theater has been placed under the cultus minister; I think it would be be�er if the cultus minister kept control over what has been entrusted to him―the theater and the Church―but took the title of theater director. I don’t rlly see what Xnty can object to in the theater as far as truth is concerned: the truth is simply that the actor acknowledges that he is an actor. There is nothing that can upset me so much as when a man misuses his imagination and his eloquence to depict the suffering truth when his life expresses exactly the opposite. Then he himself mendaciously becomes the object of admiration, love, sympathy, whereas the actual witness of the truth suffers mockery and abuse. Ah, what is an actual seducer compared with a seducer such as this[?] He charms a girl, he piques her desire, indeed―but he does not, a�er all, rlly fundamentally confuse her concepts as does the other seducer, whose forgery indeed contributes to our growing hard-heartedness in relation to the genuine witness to the truth, because the la�er’s existence only becomes even more eccentric in comparison with the other’s deceptive appearance.

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Shrewdness immediately resorts to the means of the moment; the Good renounces use of them. Then, when the Good has triumphed nonetheless, then sometimes, assisted by the result, people want to explain the Good as a sort of shrewdness, saying, [“]It was a�er all the shrewdest thing.[”] Here we now see the difference. They [the means and the result] must be compared in “the beginning.” For when the result is there, people overlook the “daring,” overlook the fact that it really was daring to refrain from using the means of the moment. Were shrewdness and willing the Good identical, people would have to see them as being identical in “the beginning.” “The beginning” is what judges. It is decisive.

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That is how Xnty has been abolished, by everywhere forcing personality to withdraw. People seem to fear that an [“]I[”] could be a sort of tyranny, and therefore every [“]I[”] is to be leveled, pushed back behind an objectivity. I must not be allowed to say, I believe there is a God. I am to say, This is Xnty’s doctrine: I believe. But then this I is something more universal, not my personal I. Everywhere there is doctrine, objectivity, and everywhere people are prevented from ge�ing the impression that a pers. has an immed. relation to God.―If a priest occasionally uses his I from the pulpit, it is forgiven because his I from the pulpit is not, in fact, taken to be his personal I in the strict sense, but a sort of dramatic I, or an I qua civil servant. As learned commentators so o�en insert themselves disturbingly betw. an author and the readers he preferred, as the daily press has inserted itself disturbingly betw. genuine literature and the reader―so has objectivity everywhere been disturbingly inserted betw. God and actuality, smuggling God far, far away. Instead of doctrine being the objective element, and then my I appropriating it personally so that I thus speak in the first person in actuality, they want to make me abolish my I and speak objectively. For that which is to govern the world is not to be God, who acts upon the I, but is to be something objective, an abstraction to which individual I’s are related as leaves to a tree, as animals to a species.

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What is true with respect to actors, artists, poets is also aesthetically true with respect to “speakers”: the antithesis is generally the precondition for, or is something that corresponds to, the performance. Personal existence is generally the opposite of what the performance expresses, for it is this very longing, nurtured by the antithesis, that produces the glow in the imagination from which the performance proceeds. From this it can be seen how hopeless it is to let Xnty be represented only by “speakers.” One single ascetic walking among us preaches in a manner entirely different from 20 such speakers. In general this is also the best proof that people have completely transformed Xnty from an existential communication into a doctrine: speakers, lecturers, and the like have been substituted for ascetics. Of course it is very easy to rebut this by immediately serving up something about flagellants and the like. But in doing this the ma�er is not truly rebu�ed, and by talking like this people only show that they would prefer to drop the ma�er, the sooner the be�er. Let the authorities at the poorhouse determine how much a pers. needs to live on―and let that be the wage. The concept of asceticism by no means includes anything deviant. Xt, too, was an ascetic. Just look in the NT and see how much he needed to live on. The same with Paul. The true concept of asceticism is to reduce the requirements of life to a minimum and then, of course, not to abuse oneself with flagellation or the like. Ah, this is very easy to understand, and the reason why people are so slow to understand is also very easy to understand. I, too, can understand it, but I will not propose it, for my existence does not reach that far; I am tried only by being abused by my contemporaries.

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The Turn in the Writings When the New Pseudonym (Anti-Cl.) Was Presented. My idea was to publish all the completed manuscripts in one volume, all under my name―and then stop completely. This idea was an exaggeration, but I suffered indescribably by continually wanting to cling to it. I went and sketched, �rst in one little place (especially the writings on my work as an author), then in another, while I continually overexerted myself on the whole project, especially given the added factor that I was supposed to make an existential turn of this sort, and yet in a way conceal that there was something false in my stepping into character on that scale―conceal it by withdrawing entirely. Then it �nally became clear to me that I de�nitely had to consider my future and that it was more than I could manage to deal with both at once: to undertake literary productivity of that sort and also to be concerned about making a living. So I decided to put aside the entire literary production, which lay completed and ready, until better times―and then not to write anything more and to take steps toward getting an of�cial position. Then once again the thought dawned on me that it was perhaps indefensible to leave those works lying there; also, I became a bit impatient at the thought of how dif�cult it in fact is for me to get an of�cial position, even if people did everything, and then I go in vain both to Madvig and Mynster. Then I took hold of the matter again―I sent the �rst part of the manuscript to the printer under my name, so it was now possible to deal with the whole project. My idea at that point was to let actuality exert its pressure on me and to get a close look at the matter, and I placed myself in God’s hands, hoping for his help. In the meantime Councillor of State Olsen died, and a lot of dif�culties followed―I understood, too, that it was rash and excessive to instigate such an abrupt action―and the upshot was that The Sickness unto Death became pseudonymous. In doing this I gained by coming to understand myself and my limits. I gained an ingenuity concerning the structure of my writings, which, again, had not been my original idea. I understood that it had been almost an act of desperation on my part to want to venture out so far in the direction of being a sort of apostle, and in so strange a fashion, so that I was supposed to break off immediately and by the same step possibly have destroyed my future. If this had not happened, if I had left my entire literary production lying there, I would have returned every week to the thought of realizing that foolhardy notion after all, and I surely would have harrowed myself, for it would not indeed have been realized. Now my literary production has resumed, the pseudonymity has been established, I have gotten fresh air and relief and have been liberated from that phantom of overexertion.

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On the Three Discourses (The High Priest, the Tax Collector, the Woman Who Was a Sinner) They are now delivered to the printer. 1) I must find a point of rest, but I cannot rest on a pseudonym; and these [discourses] correspond to Anti-Climacus; and the position of Discourses for the Communion on Fridays is once and for all designated as the point of the rest for my works. 2) Since at present people are focusing on my pseudonym (Climacus), it is important that there be emphasis in the direction of edification. Once again, how loving it is of Governance that what I need and am to use always lies ready. 3) “The Preface[”] calls to mind the Two Edif. Discourses of 1843; it is important to me to emphasize that I began as a religious author right at the outset; it is important for the repetition.

From the ethical point of view, the situation of the sermonic discourse itself, of preaching, as it is presently understood, is as if calculated to deceive the speaker and the listener. In a splendid building, where art and good taste have produced the aesthetic concept of solemnity, when the mighty tones of the organ have filled the arches and the last notes are dying away―then a speaker steps forward; he now sets everything in motion to emphasize the moment; he himself is stimulated when he senses the effect he has; he is intensified, etc., etc. The late Spang once said that he had had some of his most splendid moments in the pulpit. Yes, alas, yes, from an aesthetic point of view, this sort of amplification of mood and imagination is indeed something. But wouldn’t an actor say the same thing about producing a stillness in the theater, so that one can hear a pin drop―and then at the next instant hear the cheers, etc.; wouldn’t an actor also say that he had had some of his most splendid moments on the stage, through the intensification of electrifying others and being electrified by them[?] And the priest would even more so, he who himself is of course the I who speaks qua author. And so they speak movingly about how a priest feels the need to preach; if he hasn’t preached for a month or two, he feels an emptiness, a lack, etc.―well, yes indeed: what wonder is it

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indeed that a person who is pampered by such weekly aesthetic amplifications when, in an enthusiastic temper, he is exalted and moves others, and is himself moved by depicting faith, hope, love, high virtues, the blessedness of suffering, etc.―what wonder is it indeed that a person feels that something is lacking: when a person is addicted it isn’t so easy to do without alcohol. But then, where in all this is there room for lowly ethical existence and action[?] It would be just about as impossible for Mynster to stand on his head as it would be to demonstrate, even to a merely mediocre dialectician, a difference betw. an actor and someone who preaches in Mynster’s style. For the difference betw. a preacher and an actor is simply the existential circumstance that the priest is poor when he preaches about poverty, is mocked when he preaches about being subjected to derision, etc. etc.; whereas the actor simply has the task of creating illusion by completely ridding himself of the existential, in the deepest sense the priest has the task of preaching with his life. Yes, one could say, a bit paradoxically, that preaching is something close to keeping one’s mouth shut but expressing existentially, in one’s deeds, one’s life, that for which words are otherwise used. The resounding organ, the splendid arm waving, etc., are not really needed: a mute can preach, and a cripple who has no arms can also preach.

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On My Writings as a Whole.

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In a certain sense it is a question posed to the times in the form of a choice: one must choose either to make the aesthetic element into the idea behind it all, and then explain everything in that way, or the religious element. Precisely therein lies what is awakening.

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see p. 133 middle of page. In order, then, to remove the aesthetic illusions and distractions, either only a few people should be preached to at a time, more or less as in a confessional, or there must be preaching to the “multitude” in the street, and not by civil servants with ecclesiastical livings.

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O�en enough people have defended preaching in overfilled churches by appealing to Xt and the apostles, who indeed shouted and witnessed and addressed themselves to the multitude. Aber first of all, they did so in the street (and in that case aesthetic illusions do not arise); next, insofar as they did so in the synagogues, they were of course not in the service of the established order or in agreement with it―an analogy to this would be more or less if someone who was not a civil servant or a priest with an ecclesiastical living wanted to use one of our churches to preach against this entire degenerate Xnty; finally, both Xt and the apostles, in scrupulously expressing their teaching with their existence, lived in the character of their teaching, not in the character of a councillor of justice, knight of the Dannebrog, and a member of an order. Within an established order of civil servants and representatives with ecclesiastical livings, to preach in a splendid church is, from a Christian point of view, rlly nonsense. It becomes sheer illusion―this is something one can easily confirm for oneself by listening to people talk about the distinctions they draw between preachers, for one always hears aesthetic terms used.

That was how they put me off, by saying that everyone was privately willing to concede that I was so extraordinary that no one was capable of judging me―that was why there were no reviews, etc. There was some truth in this. On the strength of this, I acted. I dared―and this was something that was not rlly in my interest, but which I did for the sake of others―I dared to break with the mob vulgarity. Now it was not a ma�er of having my writings reviewed, but of securing my ordinary hum. rights. But no, everyone remained silent, and I was sacrificed to the judgment of that forum before which I cannot possibly exist, which, partly blameless, is entirely without a clue concerning the ideal that constitutes the sublimity and seriousness of my life.

4 Aber] German, but.

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If the ma�er is to be decided before a forum of businessmen, I have eo ipso lost. Prof. Martensen needs only to put on his vestments, the silk gown and the velvet paunch, the cross of knighthood, and perhaps, for the sake of completeness, a note in his hand or on his hat, on which is wri�en: [“]ca. 2,000 rd. a year[”]―he doesn’t need to say a word, there will not be a single one among the businessmen who does not shout, This is life’s seriousness. When it is I―alas I, wretch that I am, I who am still a nobody―when it is I who step forward, when, for the sake of completeness, I have in my hand or on my hat a note on which is wri�en, [“]A certain amount a year, which he earns by being an author, straining himself on the greatest possible scale.[”] Yes, even had I the tongue of an angel I might just as well keep my mouth shut, I will not move a single businessman to abandon his view that I am a frivolous fantast. So go home, li�le children, and read the NT. I do not blame the businessmen, oh, far from it. But what is contemptible is that Prof. M., who a�er all has, or ought to have, a notion about the real status of things, subjects himself, or allows himself to be subjected, to a forum of businessmen: that an entirely wrong concept of earnestness has been dishonestly substituted.

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When in one way or another, a teaching offers a learner some sort of an advantage, and for this reason it is proposed that he adhere to it, well then, this is worth a hearing. But when a teaching reverses the situation, when it has not come into the world to serve hum. beings, but in order that they should serve it, sacrificing everything for its sake―then must not a practical man judge this to be madness[?] And yet this is more or less the situation with Xnty as viewed by a practical man. For a�er all, a practical man cannot care particularly much for the business about eternal blessedness, and Xnty actu-

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2 eo ipso] Latin, by that very fact.

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ally reverses the situation with respect to all relative τελη.

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Prof. Martensen’s Status It is now a good ten years since Prof. M. returned from his foreign travels, bringing with him the latest German philosophy and creating a great sensation with this new material―he who has rlly always been more of a reporter and a correspondent than an original thinker. It was the philosophy of standpoints―and this is what is corrupting in overviews of this sort―that enchanted the young people, opening the prospect of having everything ingested in half a year. He is hugely successful, and at the same time young students take the opportunity to inform the public in print that with Martensen a new era, epoch, epoch and era, etc.b is beginning. (The corrupting influence of permi�ing young peop. to do this sort of thing, by which everything is reversed.[)]

Foremost in the Church, as the leader, stood the man who is still standing there, unchanged, the admired bishop of Zealand, who by a strange misunderstanding is sometimes criticized for something that is to his credit―because it is indeed praiseworthy when someone who is called and appointed to govern in fact wants to govern. Mynster is now supposedly weakened by public opinion (“he has remained stuck at Jacobi.[”])c In the court of public opinion, M. has also lost the ba�le over the principle of contradiction,d but he exercises an even greater power thanks to his personal superiority. Then a literary project begins: the pseudonyms. Right away Victor Eremita emphasizes the ethical, taking aim at “the System.” Johnannes de silentio does so quite clearly―and Mynster signals [his support] from above. Pseudonym follows upon pseud2 τελη] Greek, ends, purposes.

[a]

Prof. Martensen’s status.

1

Note see the preface to Philosophical Fragments.

b

Note see the li�le piece Prefaces[,] no. d Note see Maanedsskri� for Literatur. c

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The literature has become rather embarrassing, and as its German correspondent Martensen has naturally become equally so.

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where Bishop Mynster―he who in due course is to be taken out of service―is made into the true dogmatician.

g

―quod felix faustumque sit!―

9 quod felix faustumque sit] Latin, would that this will be fortunate for you. See also explanatory note.

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onym, up to Joh. Climacus, in continuing opposition to the System. It does not develop into a ba�le, but the terrain is surrounded. In the meanwhile, the situation in Germany has also changed somewhat.e Martensen’s standing at the university is not at all as secure as previously; indeed, it appears as if some sort of decisive moment might be in the offing. Then something new happens: Prof. M. becomes a court preacher. This was a diverting µεταβασις εις αλλο γενος. He is again hugely successful at the Palace Church. He himself almost seems to be infatuated. He does not notice the many illusions: 1) the rumor that Hegelian philosophy had now come down to the cultured classes, to ladies, etc., who thought they had go�en some contact with it, a li�le taste of it, when he preached for them; 2) that Mynster was his protector; 3) that M. had not become a real priest, “not an ordinary man of the cloth for every Sunday,” but a court preacher for every 6th Sunday. They entirely forget that a li�le [“]NB[”] had been brought up at the university.

Finally we return to scientific scholarship, and now the Christian Dogmatics is published.f It consists of the lectures that had been titled “Speculative Dogmatics,” but this adjective had indeed been removed (a difference rather like the one Peer Degn makes in reference to the same book, one copy halfbound in vellum, the other in full leather binding). The earlier tradition of the speculative is exploited, while at the same time advancing the new opinion that―wonder of wonders!―it has now become so popular that every ordinary cultured person can read it and grasp it. In opposition to Magnus Eirikson, a theology graduate and tutor [of whom] it is said: this is altogether too lo�y for him―and at the same time it is said that any person with a merely ordinary level of cultivation can read it and grasp it. In order that Christian Dogmatics does not lack for a forerunner,g a lady novelist takes upon herself

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this honorable office: Miss Frederikke Bremer. She has―oh, God save us, she, too, is to be a judge!― with the consent of the author she has in advance acquainted herself with Christian Dogmatics. She announces in advance something that she of course can and will vouch for, both in advance and a�erward: that this will be the rebirth of scholarship in Scandinavia. She implies that Martensen is Xt―and thereupon travelsh to North America, presumably to prepare him room and prepare the way.―As with the forerunner, so with all the rest of the entourage. Flyve-Posten appoints itself the master of ceremonies who makes space for “the speculative genius, Prof. M,” who―and this is something about which Fl.-P. knows everything―has remained true to his first love; in addition, it presents a proof ex consensu gentium that will be found completely satisfactory by all businessmen, that M. is the truth, that he has almost as many listeners as Fl.-P. has subscribers, ergo . . . . . Merchant N. of Berlingske Tidende steps into character as someone who swears: he swears, or he is at any rate willing to swear, that “conviction can be detected in every line of Chr. Dogmatics.” This proof is completely satisfactory for the entire bourgeoisie and for businessmen. So this high-flying speculation is Christian Dogmatics, argued for on the basis of―widespread circulation. All that’s needed now is for Prof. M.―who at any rate tolerates this line of argument―himself to argue in the same fashion: then he will have triumphed absolutely. At the instant that he himself appeals to widespread circulation, I will guarantee him that he will instantly have an additional couple of hundred buyers. One may presume that this sort of thing can be done, that it will pass unchallenged. The most appropriate person to take up a position in opposition to Christian Dogmatics was surely myself. But this is something he knows―His Right Reverence, Hr. Prof. Court Preacher and Knight Martensen with the many buyers―he knows that I will at all costs shun the use of illusion, and that indeed, it was also likely that I would remain completely silent. But 16 ex consensu gentium] Latin, by common consent.

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h

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―absit risus atque scurrilitas!―

1 absit risus atque scurrilitas] Latin, now, no laughter and improper merriment.

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even if I spoke, if he wanted to make use of illusions, or even tolerate their use in his favor, I would eo ipso end up drawing the shortest straw. This entire way of behaving, which begins by boasting in a speculative, high-flying fashion and then falsifies things by shi�ing the forum of debate, is disgraceful. So I have wri�en this in order that my silence not be held against me.

Collision A pers. can of course have sinned in many ways without on that account becoming liable to legal punishment, even if his guilt became publicly known. But still, doesn’t God have the right to require that a pers. subject himself to punishment of another sort than what would follow if his guilt were known[?] I have given indescribably much thought to this, and in a way the collision is outlined in one of the earlier a�empts in the first journal, journal JJ, the one in octavo, under the title de occultis non judicat ecclesia. On the one hand, if one’s guilt is not manifest, not subject to legal punishment, to want to make it public oneself could seem analogous to tempting God. On the other hand, it could be true religiousness. Suppose that for this reason a pers. decided to forfeit his entire life’s happiness, hmnly speaking. Ah, would that I lived in a different age, when there was at least a li�le bit of sympathy for these collisions of mine, which are truly Christian. But, living with such thoughts in the midst of Xndom, I am so alienated, so deprived of all sympathy and understanding, that if I want to present such collisions seriously, I am almost treated simply as a madman.

A New View of the Relationship of Priest and Poet in the Sphere of Religion. Xnty has naturally known very well what it wanted. It wants to be proclaimed by witnesses, i.e., by peop. who proclaim the teaching and in addition express it existentially. 18 de occultis non judicat ecclesia] Latin, the Church does not judge what is secret. See also explanatory note.

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As things now are, the modern concept of a priest is a complete misunderstanding. Inasmuch as priests presumably must also express what is Christian, they have quite logically discovered how to reduce the requirement, how to abolish the ideal. What is to be done now? Yes, now we must prepare a different tactical advance. First a detachment of poets: almost fainting under the requirements of the ideal, with the glow of a certain kind of unhappy love, they present the ideal. Then those who at present are priests can come in the second wave. These religious poets must indeed be able to present things so powerfully that it helps people out into the current. Then, when this has been done, when a generation has grown up that from childhood on has had a passionate impression of expressing the ideal existentially, then both the monastery and true witnesses to the truth will return. That is how far behind the cause of Xnty is in our time. What must be done first and foremost is to create passion, to make use of superior intellect, imagination, acumen, and wit to guarantee a passion for the existential, which “the understanding” has reduced to something ludicrous. This is where my task lies. A young pers., someone quite simple, can be used for the highest existential purposes―the only thing needed for this is the ethical. But when “the understanding” and the power of the understanding have triumphed in the world and have almost made what is truly existential into something ludicrous, then neither a youth nor a simple person can prevail. Then there must first be a maieuticist, someone who is in a certain sense older, who is in eminent possession of all the gi�s of the intellect―and he makes use of these to stir up passion about passion. Any young girl can truly fall in love. But if I were to imagine an age that had sunk so deeply into worldly calculation that all the bright intellects, etc., used their gi�s in order to make love ludicrous, then no young girl can simply prevail. Then there must first be an older person who can crush this understanding and create passion―and then, hail to thee, you youth, whoever you are―then there is a place for the powers of youth, which in one sense are much weaker. And yet in one sense―as is always the case with the pseudonyms―the situation is that the young pers. stands above this older person. Alas, this is illustrated by my own life. Only now do I see where the turn is to be made―now, a�er having almost over-

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exerted myself for 7 years, now, when I have to start bearing a new sort of burden, concern about making a living. Oh, why was there no older person who was concerned for me as I am for the youth[?] Yet to a certain extent, I myself still belong to the old order, but I guarantee passion. Mynster’s error is not the shrewdness, etc. that he has employed. No, the error is that, infatuated with the effects of this shrewdness on temporal affairs, infatuated with his power and influence, he has rlly permi�ed the ideal to vanish. If there were still one thing in Mynster’s sermons―a continuing, profound sadness that he himself had not been sufficiently spiritual to become a martyr―then I would have approved of him; then I would have said of him what I say of myself: he did not become a martyr, but he can give birth to martyrs. No one can take what has not been given to him, and therefore neither can I. I, too, am marked by having been born in Xndom, spoiled by my upbringing, etc. Had I not been brought up in Xnty, had I stood outside Xnty, it might perhaps have had the power to swing me a stage higher, if, please note, Xnty itself had been represented as in its earliest days, when there was a surplus of passion. But no one can take what has not been given to him. How true it now is to me that all of the recent literary production has rlly been my own upbringing, a humiliation. In youthful fashion, I ventured forth, and it was granted to me to present the requirement of the ideal in the highest sensea―and quite rightly I am the one who sinks under it, humbled, and learns even more profoundly to take refuge in grace. This, which I have now experienced again, even more personally, has incidentally already been brought to consciousness in the writings themselves, for Anti-Climacus says in the moral to “Come unto Me All You Who Labor and Are Heavy Laden”: The Exemplar is to be presented so ideally that you are simply humbled by it and learn to take refuge in the Exemplar, but in a quite different sense, namely, as the merciful one.

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Note: Apart, naturally, from what is always my first priority, the solicitude of Governance, which causes me always to understand things best retrospectively, the fact that I have been successful with this presentation is connected with: 1) the injustice and abuse I have suffered qua author, which of course had to have an especially powerful impact on my polemical nature; 2) my melancholia; 3) my religious presuppositions and inner sufferings; 4) the notion I also have that it is precisely as a penitent that I must dare what others do not dare. This la�er is nonetheless a point concerning which I must be extremely cautious―for here it is so enormously difficult to know oneself―and not confuse daring with being truly willing to suffer. a

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But everyone must relate to the ideal, and however far down, however far away I am, my gaze and my sigh must nonetheless have a direction that makes it clear that I, too, relate to the ideal―only in this way am I a person who strives. And then, as Anti-Climacus says, then no vehemence that overwhelms itself. But what a difference: to begin as a youth can begin, and then nonetheless in one’s best days to have belonged to the old ways. Nonetheless one thing remains: that of course it is by grace that we are all saved.

1

[a]

On the “voluntary”

[b]

bound in silk with a velvet back or paunch.

On the “Voluntary” I now understand very well why Chrstnty holds fast to the voluntary. The existential authority to teach corresponds to the voluntary. Who is to teach poverty? The person who himself struggles to acquire a fortune or who has one can of course talk about it, but without authority; only the voluntary, the person who voluntarily gave up wealth and is poor―only he has authority. Who is to teach disdain for honor and esteem? The person who is himself decorated with honors and stars and sashes bound in gilt-edged velvet: he can certainly “lecture,” “declaim,” and also teach it, but it is done without authority and it can easily become a touch of elegance to have this and then in addition to congratulate oneself on it. Nor can the person who is actually despised do it either― here, then, is the voluntary: the person who voluntarily gave up or renounced honor and esteem.―There is a special dialectical dif�culty here, however. For if it is an esteemed person who teaches that one should disdain honor and esteem, peop. say, Thanks a lot. And if it is someone who actually enjoys no honor or esteem, then peop. say, Well, who cares about what he says―he enjoys no esteem. This “voluntary” is a very strange thing, however; it is so extraordinarily high and highly dangerous: there are so many ways for pride, vanity, etc. to become included in it.―But it is certain that Xnty has commanded the voluntary, and it is certain that the “voluntary” has absolutely, literally vanished; and it is certain that when the voluntary has absolutely vanished, Xnty is rlly abolished. The voluntary is the precise form of being spirit qualitatively. But there is a lower form of religiousness that thinks of God in more childlike fashion, childishly thinking that God has nothing

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against―and almost savors―the child’s happiness, and is happy about what the child is happy about. Thus one remains within sensory-mental categories, except that one refers everything to God. The voluntary is the highest form of religiousness; therefore it also has the characteristic that this is where God is most rigorous. The religious is arranged according to increasing levels of rigor. It is like the situation of a child in relation to parents. If the child wants to be a child, the parents are lenient. But suppose that on a day off from school a child were to say to its parents, [“]Instead of going out [to play], I would prefer to stay home and do some work.[”] Then the parents have nothing against it, but they do become absolutely strict about it, for now they also require that the child live up to it freely and happily. If in the middle of the day the child begins to complain about the work, the parents disapprove, saying, [“]You should have remained a child and made use of your freedom.[”] This is also how God is with respect to the voluntary. In thinking of the voluntary, however, one must not think of the dangers to which a person exposes himself for the sake of the truth, witnessing for the truth and against evil, but of what the Middle Ages understood by the term: the voluntary surrender of temporal things, without this surrender having any connection to serving the truth, but itself wanting to be an expression of the religious. The voluntary has disappeared. Christianity has become too lenient. Were I to describe it more precisely, I know of no more �tting expression for it than what occurred to me just today: To be brought up in Christianity from childhood makes it too lenient, something like what happens when a child is brought up not by its parents, but by its grandparents. To us God is not so much our father as our grandfather. It must, however, be borne in mind that God is in no way an enemy of the voluntary; that would be a self-contradiction, inasmuch as he commands it in his Word. But precisely because God had become a grandfather, it is so dif�cult to enter properly into the fear and trembling that corresponds to the voluntary or that makes the voluntary into truth. If, in the �nal analysis, God is for me truly as lenient as a grandfather, then the voluntary is untrue and ill-mannered foolery. I have concerned myself a great deal with this matter. I admit that in my own case, my notion of God is surely too lenient. Therefore, neither have I ventured into the voluntary, nor have I ever made use of authority. Even the fact that I exposed myself to

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Christiant. has become too lenient. Only when it is enormously rigorous can a person venture into the voluntary without it occurring to him that it is something meritorious. If Christianity is lenient, it is almost impossible for the notion of merit not to sneak in, for deep down, there is rlly no reason for this daring.

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attack by The Corsair is not the voluntary. For one thing, it was quite simply an action in the direction of witnessing to the truth, and for another, it could just as easily have led to the opposite result, to my victory―indeed, there was even a human likelihood of this happening, and it would have happened had not the shabby envy of the distinguished people created a disturbing counterweight to me. But that it happened was surely providential. And yet even the little bit of the voluntary, if you will, that my life demonstrates is too lofty for most people. That is how far Christianity has retreated. Were I now to consider beginning on the voluntary―without, however, daring to say that I would succeed―it would have to be like this: I would say to God, I certainly understand that you command the voluntary in your Word; but I cannot conceal from you that there is in my soul the thought and the certainty (wherever it has come from) that you will be just as fond of me if I refrain from doing it and in childlike fashion remain a human being; and after all, this appeals to me much more, whereas the other causes me anxiety. Nonetheless, I constantly remember that it is indeed in your Word. So then, couldn’t you help me just a little in making a bit of a beginning on it―bitte, bitte, for I do, after all, think I understand that in a certain higher sense it makes you happy, even though I understand that you do become, and you must become, more rigorous with respect to the voluntary; bitte, bitte.―See, there we have it: one does not after all get to the voluntary in that way; God becomes too lenient; it is always the grandfather, whom the child suspects is not really that rigorous. And, as mentioned, if the rigor disappears, then the “voluntary” disappears as well.

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Also with respect to “temptation” it is, a�er all, true that it is only for a short while. Temptation has its power in “the moment.” It has frightful powers to create anxiety and, as it were, to concentrate everything in a moment―at the next moment it is powerless.

Indeed, Luther puts it very well with respect to the great catch of fish: the apostles got it not because of their work and troubles―no, on the contrary, they got it only a�er they had wasted their work and troubles.

Xnty’s Position at This Moment The cataclysm is really much closer than people think. The most recent group of free-thinkers (Feuerbach and company) has a�acked or has grasped the ma�er much more cleverly than had been done previously; for if you look closely you will see that they have actually taken on the task of defending Xnty against the present generation of Xns. The truth is that established Xndom is demoralized; all respect of the more profound sort (for these assurances of respect are indeed nothing) for Xndom’s existential obligations has been lost. Now Feuerbach says, [“]No, stop: if you are to be permi�ed to live as you live, then you must also admit that you are not Xns.[”] Feuerbach has understood the requirements, but he cannot compel himself to accept them―ergo he would rather renounce being a Xn. And thus, however great a responsibility he assumes, the position he takes is not incorrect. It is indeed a falsehood when established Xndom says that Feuerbach a�acks Xnty―that is not true, he is a�acking the Xns by showing that their lives do not correspond to the teachings of Xnty. This is infinitely different. It may well be that he is a malicious demon, but he is a usable figure for tactical purposes.

[a]

Christianity’s Position at This Moment.

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And therefore one can say, with respect to Feuerbach: et ab hoste consilium.

4 et ab hoste consilium] Latin, [one can take] counsel even from the enemy. See also explanatory note.

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Traitors are indeed exactly what Xnty needs. Xndom has betrayed Xnty in a very insidious manner by not truly wanting to be Xn, by wanting to have the appearance of being Xn. Now there is a need for traitors. But this concept of a traitor is dialectical. The devil also has his traitors, his spies, so to speak, who do not a�ack Xnty but a�ack the Xns―namely, with the intention of causing more and more of them to desert. God also has his traitors, godly traitors who are absolutely loyal to him and who present Xnty quite naively, so that people can for once at least see what Xnty is. Naturally, established Xndom also views them as traitors, I believe, because Xndom has made use of a monstrous falsification in order to take unlawful possession of Xnty. How strange! I always understand things best in retrospect. For Joh. Climacus is of course simply a defense of Xnty that is so extreme, in the dialectical sense, that to many people it may look like an a�ack. In that book one feels precisely how Xndom has betrayed Xnty. This book truly has an extraordinary future. And I, the author―as always, I am, in a way, made out to be a fool. I end up doing things the full meaning of which I in fact only understand a�erward. This is something I have understood again and again. This is precisely why I cannot be serious in the trivial sense in which serious men are serious, for I understand that I am nothing. There is an infinite power that helps me, as it were; when I look upon it, I worship it―this, a�er all, is indeed seriousness. But when I look at myself, I almost come to laugh: that I, a miserable cur, etc., have apparently taken on this significance. I cannot quite make myself intelligible to others, for they simply a�ribute my productions to myself. But I myself understand how things really are: there the jest is almost unavoidable at every turn. Yet it is a godly jest, for precisely when I smile at myself in my nothingness, this is of course in its turn an expression of worship. To use a metaphor and an analogy, it is as if a li�le girl were loved by an intellect that was eminently superior to her, as she herself understood. This relationship does not develop into a serious one in the usual sense of the term―what is lacking here is the relationship between equals that provides finite security and seriousness. She will be unable to stop smiling at herself when she considers that she is loved by―him, and yet she feels the blessedness during every moment of visitation. Nor does she dare say to herself, in the trivial sense, that my relationship to him is “serious”―he loves me. For she will say, My

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relationship to him is rlly nothing―the moment he leaves me, he will be doing nothing whatever wrong, for there is no relationship betw. us, but the relationship is blessed as long as it exists. Except that in my situation there is also the peculiarity that it is in reflection, so that I only see retrospectively―you see, there I have been helped once again. I take hold of the pen, commend myself into God’s hands, am diligent, etc.―in short, I do the best I can with my poor human abilities. Then things go along merrily with pen and paper. I am entirely of the view that what I produce is my own. And then, then, a long time―or some time―later, I understand in the most profound sense what has been produced, and I see that I have been helped. Dialectically, it is easy to see that Joh. Climacus’s defense of Xnty is taken to the farthest extreme, for dialectically understood, defense and a�ack are only separated by a hair’s breadth. “Joh. Climacus” was actually a deliberation, for when I wrote it, my soul indeed contained a possibility that I would not be able to let myself be conquered by Xnty, even though my most honest decision was to do everything throughout the whole of my life, in daily diligence, to be a part of the cause of Xnty, to do nothing other than present it, even if, like the Wandering Jew of legend, I myself did not become a Xn in the final and most decisive sense, but led others to Xnty.

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JOURNAL NB14

JOURNAL NB14 Translated by Bruce H. Kirmmse Edited by Joel D.S. Rasmussen

Text source Journal NB14 in Søren Kierkegaards Skri�er Text established by Finn Gredal Jensen and Steen Tullberg

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NB14. Novbr. 9th, 49.

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On publishing the writings concerning my work as an author . . . . . . . The significance of the entire body of writings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The new pseudonym Anti-Climacus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The new pseudonym Anti-Climacus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . On myself . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The category of my work. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . On the preface to Practice in Christianity. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Luther’s doctrine of faith, or Luther as point de vüe and my understanding of myself . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . On the occasion of H. H. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . On H. H. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Proclaiming Xnty. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “The Prodigal Son” ― “The Father” ― “The Brother,” arranged as discourses or as godly diversion for the sake .of edification . . . . . .

8 point de vüe] French, properly “vue,” point of view.

p. p. p. p. p. p. p.

10 p. 41. 14. 16. 27. bo�om 43. 47. 50.

p. p. p. p.

57. 157. 166. 198.

pp. 219 et al.

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Texts for Friday discourses are found in NB13. The locations are indicated on the blank page at the beginning, as are the page numbers of the hitherto unused texts for Friday discourses in Journal NB12.

A saying by Thomas a Kempis could perhaps be used as a mo�o sometime; with respect to Paul he says: Therefore he surrendered everything to God, who knows everything, and defended himself only by means of patience and humility . . . . . Occasionally he defended himself, so that the weak would not take offense at his silence. 3rd book, chapter 36 § 2 or p. 131 in my li�le edition.

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A Caprice. Poetic Attempt to Demonstrate the Omnipotence of Genius.

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A pair of lovers has been tragically separated in such a way as to constitute a religious collision, and, be it noted, this religious collision exists only for, and is understood only by, the [male] lover, who understands that God’s punishment of him requires that he give up this love. He himself is suffering almost to the point of despair and madness―he realizes that the girl would absolutely lose her mind if she were to be told that even though in leaving her he had indeed acted like a scoundrel, he was nevertheless a good person―yes, that the entire business was religious― thus, that it was to assuage her that he actually turned himself into a scoundrel, it was his dastardly deed.―One can easily see that this is close to being the most painful of all possible erotic collisions. But what happens[?] After a number of years pass, the situation is transformed so that he now actually dares to be hers―and in the meantime she has been faithful to him in spite of his deception. The moment of understanding has arrived. Dialectically, it can easily be seen that this moment of understanding is close to being absolutely the strangest that could be imagined, precisely because it involves a religious collision, so there is no talk whatever of regret or anything of that sort. The girl is beside herself with bliss. Then he says, “Now if there is anything you want, just say what it is you want, and you shall absolutely have it―I feel myself to be as mighty as a god.” She replies, “Oh, no, there is nothing I want, nothing. If only I may see you, I am happy beyond description.” “Well, those are pretty big words. No, this our important day must not pass unnoticed. Say something, say what you want, some desperate thing. Listen, I have it―what do you think―if you want, if it would make you happy and contribute to embellishing this,

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our important day, then I will go out and slap the king in the face.” “Oh, but darling, you have indeed gone out of your mind, how can you think of such a thing[?]” No sooner said, however, than done. He happens to be known by the king, who is in fact fond of him. He hurries out to the palace, requests an audience, is granted one, steps in, bows most humbly, and when the king approaches in a gracious manner―he slaps him hard in the face. His Majesty thinks he has gone out of his mind, calls the chamberlain and orders that he be taken away. He says: [“]Just one word, Your Majesty.[”] The king, (impatient and incensed): [“]No, no. Take that person away. He is mad.[”] He: [“]Just one word, Your Majesty, listen to what I have to say, oh, just listen. You have it in your power to make me unhappy―that is the least of it. But if you do not listen to me now, you will miss a witty and interesting situation―and since Your Majesty is a connoisseur, .... isn’t it true, ah, isn’t it true[?][”] The king is molli�ed: “Well, then, speak. But by our royal honor, woe to you if you fail to satisfy me.” Then he asks that the chamberlain leave. This is done. Then he comes daringly close to the king. The king instinctively retreats a step, remembering the slap in his face. He: “Your Majesty need not be afraid; as de�nitely as it had been decided that Your Majesty should have a slap in the face, that is how safe you are now.” The con�dent backwardness of these words almost causes the king to smile, and now the man begins to speak to His Majesty. He tells how he has loved that girl; he depicts her sufferings, his almost insane torment―he moves the king to tears; he depicts the bliss of their understanding―and the king is so moved that he embraces him in tears.a “Whether I forgive you[?]―oh, my friend, entirely, entirely; I thank you―you have given me one of the most sublime mental impressions I have ever experienced.” “Well, then, one more request.” “It is already granted―ask for whatever you want. If you are mad, then you have also made me mad.” “Well, then I ask that Your Majesty instantly get your coach ready; I will now hurry to her and get

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He relates how, almost insane in his bliss, he found this singular way to express his delight: for the sake of her glory and honor, to slap the king in the face.

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her ready. Then Your Majesty yourself will arrive and witness the truth―and be witness to our bliss.” “Agreed.” Something of this sort is not impossible. Do not ask a philistine about this, no, ask Aladdin. Incidentally, I would like to present this in order to illuminate from an aesthetic standpoint how in�nitely stupid it is to judge Christ’s miracles solely with respect to their charitable intent, as if the power of the in�nite, which breaks all laws and boundaries, simply were not―si placet―a reasonable basis for the miracle. Thus with the miracle that changes water into wine at a wedding.

If an Arab in the desert suddenly discovered a spring in his tent, so that he could always have spring water in abundance, how fortunate he would consider himself: this is also how it is when a hum. being, who qua sensory being is always extroverted, in the belief that his happiness is to be found outside himself, finally becomes introverted and discovers that the spring lies within him―not to mention when he discovers the spring that is the relationship with God.

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What is wri�en in Galatians 2―through the Law I have died to the Law―corresponds precisely to the way in which I usually present the relationship to “the Exemplar”: “the Exemplar” is to be presented as the requirement, and then it crushes you. Then “the Exemplar,” who is of course Xt, transforms himself into something else, into grace and mercy, and he is precisely the one who reaches out for you in order to support you. But in this way you have of course died to the Exemplar through the Exemplar.

9 si placet] Latin, if you please.

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[a]

If the writings about my work as an author are published by a pseudonym, it could be done like this.

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Mag. K’s Work as an Author, as Understood by the Author. Poetic Venture by A-O. Preface. As in a mathematical equation, when one factor is given and another is sought for, so also with this poetic venture. The given is: 1) all the works of the author, with which I have acquainted myself in great detail[;] 2) Mag. K’s personal existence, to which I have paid careful attention from an early period, and which I daresay I know as completely as is possible for a third party. What is sought is: an authorial personality, a unity of inwardness corresponding to the work of the author, which is the given. I understand that an author’s body of work, such as that given here, which everywhere tends toward personality, requires for its de�nitive completion that the author himself be included in the conclusion. But it seems to me that dialectically this is really impossible for Mag. K himself to do, for by doing it himself he would dialectically explode the dialectical structure of the entire body of work by the author. I have now dared to make this poetic venture. The author himself speaks in the �rst person, but bear in mind that this auth. is not Mag. K but my poetic creation. I must certainly beg the pardon of Mag. K for thus venturing right under his nose, so to speak, to understand him poetically or to poetize him. But nothing more than this apology, because in other respects I have poetically emancipated myself from him quite entirely. Indeed, even if he were to declare that my understanding of him was factually untrue with respect to one detail or another, it would not follow from this that it was poetically untrue. And of course the conclusion could also be reversed: ergo, Mag. K has not measured up to or realized what would be poetically correct. A-O.

This transformation or poetic communication is absolutely correct with respect to categories, corresponding to everything that I understood at the time and that can be found written down, most likely in Journal NB11 or NB12: 1) that I am essentially a poet[;] 2) that the writings are my own upbringing[;] 3) that I am sheer re�ection, thus am always placed in retrospection[;] 4) that I am a penitent, and inasmuch as I cannot speak absolutely unreservedly about this, neither can I speak about what corresponds to it: the inwardness of the relationship to God[;] 5) that I have reached my limit; that the turn with the new pseudonym (Anti-Cl.)― and now this new pseudonym (ah, I would like to be amazed at this ingenuity, which, however, is not my own) is the dialectically absolutely consistent expression that I have reached

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my limit, that I have also been granted the inconceivable good fortune of entirely understanding my limit, of including my limit in my thinking. Oh, how could I ever suf�ciently thank Governance! In other cases, matters are poetized in such a way that something extra is mendaciously added; here, matters are poetized in such a way that something is mendaciously taken away: the fact that the whole thing is indeed actual. But I am no apostle or anything of that sort. And if I communicate directly here, then all the cautionary rules, etc. will not avail. No, but here there is once again a singular consistency―God knows, it is not my invention, I had not the least notion of it in the beginning―once again, the inversion, as with everything in my life: here, to poetize means mendaciously to remove some extra something; in becoming poetry, it becomes one key lower than actuality. This is how pressure is to be brought to bear on the times. It becomes a purely spiritual pressure. What remains for me, then, is simplicity: quite simply to accept an of�cial position, and now I have the doctrine of sin and grace. If anyone asks me directly about the work as an author, I must say: I cannot speak of it directly, for the problem is that it is my own upbringing, and that nonetheless I myself am the author. Thus I quite simply come forward as the simple person, but I do not take this step with the impetus of the entire authorial project, which would cause the whole thing to remain within the realm of the interesting. The writings are separated from me by the yawning gulf of indirect communication: they are not mine, they belong to something higher. Moreover, this is a frightful boundary skirmish here! It was a poet-existenceb that by a hair’s breadth avoided taking a wrong turn into actuality. But with respect only to the dialectical dif�culties of this con�ict, it seems to me that one could almost become an old man merely by considering that a head has been able to bear it.

Note Especially in view of the fact that I have been wealthy and have thus not been tested in that sort of actuality, and have lived prodigally, which, however, is in turn connected to my productivity and to its poetic impetus; this prodigality has surely made sense, but primarily in poetic fashion.

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Luther makes a nice distinction when he says that it is not wri�en in the gospel that “your hand shall not kill,” but that “you shall not kill,” thereby showing that it is the thought, the mentality, that is of decisive importance.

The Signi�cance of the Entire Body of Writings is a directing of attention to Christianity. Attention is not to be directed at me, and nonetheless attention is to be directed to the personality or to the signi�cance of personality as something decisive for Christianity. Therefore my personality is certainly utilized, but always in order, at the decisive moment, to point beyond myself: I am not that. To direct attention is to place Christianity in a relationship of possibility to human beings, in order to show them how far we all are from being Christian.

Here one sees quite simply how deceptive official appointments and clerical livings are when all preaching of Xnty is limited to them. Of course many priests preach the requirements of Xnty as vehemently as I do. They speak of the Christian, the true Christian: he is not like Nicodemus; he is not like that rich young man. No, the true Xn gives everything to the poor. And when the priest says this, it makes absolutely no impression―whereas there is panic when I say it. Why? Because in the one case it is of course his living, his office, etc.; therefore no importance is a�ributed to what he says or to the fact that he says it. Whereas it is precisely because I am acting as a private individual that importance is a�ributed to the fact that I say it.

[a]

And this is the curious thing about the difficulty of my life as opposed to the ordinary situation of a priest. A priest most o�en has the difficulty that his own life expresses absolutely nothing of what he preaches. My difficulty is precisely that in a number of ways my life is existentially so extreme that if I were merely to add an explanation, my contemporaries would take hold of it and make me into a sort of apostle. Therefore here, as everywhere, my deception is that I make myself out to be something less than what, humanly speaking, I could estimate my worth to be.

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The New Pseudonym Anti-Climacus. It was in fact understood from the first moment that the entire literary production called Practice in Christianity was poetic, so that the greatest pains had to taken in order that I not confuse myself with something analogous to an apostle. In general, my hypochondria has also played a role in all the later works; for even though things have undeniably become clearer, they were in fact understood in this way from the beginning. When the work “Come unto Me All You Who Labor etc.” was wri�en, [“]Poetic Venture―Without Authority; For Inward Deepening in Christianity[”] was immediately put on the title page. And then my name was put there. And that was also how it was with the others. But over the course of time it became clear to me (here the best places to check on this are especially journal NB11 or NB12, but most likely NB11) that if possible there must be an even stronger expression of the fact that it was poetic―and that it would be best if this were a new pseudonym. That had become clear to me. Nonetheless I still wanted to wait a while, during which I suffered greatly, constantly overstraining myself on the entire literary production and plagued by the obsessive and desperate idea of pu�ing the entire business into the literature with one, single leap and then leaping aside and disappearing―something that I surely understood, deep down, could not be done but that nevertheless captivated my imagination, so that I would not properly let go of the possibility, even though it became increasingly clear to me that if I was going to get any breathing space, it would have to be broken up. So I finally decided to put the entire literary productivity aside―to seek an official appointment; and then, when that had been done, to publish the completed material gradually, in small portions. So I called on Madvig and Mynster and met with neither of them. And since in another way I was strongly impelled in the opposite direction, I took it as a hint from Governance that I had been about to make a misstep, that I should indeed venture everything. Now came the reaction. I wrote to the printer and gave orders for typese�ers and that “things were to done quickly.” I received word from the printer that everything was ready and could they have the manuscript. At the very moment this happened, I learn that Councillor of State Olsen had died. It made

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a strong impression on me; had I known of it before I wrote to the printer, it would have been cause for a postponement. But now, a�er having so o�en been on the verge of doing it, frightfully overtired as I was, I feared that I would be paralyzed if, having taken this step, I now retreated. I was under great strain and slept rather fitfully, and strangely enough, words occurred to me to the effect that I was about to leap to my downfall. In the morning I reconsidered the ma�er. Action had to be taken, that was how I understood it. Then I decided to refer the ma�er entirely to God: to send the first manuscript (The Sickness unto Death) to the printer without saying anything whatever about whether anything else was to be printed. I would now let actuality test me: it was possible that everything could be printed, and it was possible that I could turn aside. Under tension, it became clear to me that it should be pseudonymous, which I had understood earlier but had postponed doing because it could be done at any time. During typese�ing there was some nonsense with Reitzel, which made me extremely impatient. Once again, it occurred to me to take back the entire manuscript, to put it aside and wait yet again and see whether I shouldn’t let everything be printed at the same time and without pseudonymity, for the pseudonymity had not yet been established because the title page had not been printed (in a breach with my customary practice, I had originally given orders that it was to be printed last). I went to the printer. It was too late. The typese�ing of most of it was as good as finished. So the pseudonym was put on it. That is how one must be helped, and helps oneself, when it is so difficult to act.

How fi�ing, in a Christian sense, is the expression [“]to become sober.[”] How rarely is someone ever really found who became sober in such a way that he understood (in the sense of acting accordingly) that in the Christian sense the least actual [self-]denial is much greater than the most daring venture of the most eminent intellect, even in connection with disseminating Christianity and the like. The fact is that we are a�er all unable to form a proper notion of God’s sublimity. We always come running with our aesthetic

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quantifying, with the surprising, the great, the far-reaching, etc.―whereas God is simply so infinitely sublime that the only thing he looks at is the ethical. 352

That an individual has been right in opposition to “the crowd”―yes, that has been seen. But that he has received justice―that has not been seen.

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Stick to the established order, be like the others, why do you want to be conceited and imagine that you are different from or greater than the others, etc., etc. Well, that’s all very well, and in a certain sense I entirely approve of such talk. But of course extraordinary people have in fact existed―how did they become so? Yes, this is rlly a cruel business. Most frequently it has surely happened like this: They have painfully felt their difference from others from their earliest days and in the most unhappy fashion. These words―Why won’t you be like the others?―have had a cruel sound for them, rather as it if it were said to Sarah in the book of Tobit, “Why don’t you marry like the others” (see Fear and Trembling). Thus, through sufferings and torment they are prevented from becoming like the others―and then, perhaps a�er a long time, this difference of theirs has in turn transfigured itself into an exceptional difference.

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The error of the Middle Ages was that poverty, the unmarried state, etc., were regarded as things that in and of themselves could please God. This has never been Xnty’s view. Xnty has commended poverty, the unmarried state, etc. in order that hum. beings, by having as li�le as possible to do with finite things, could all the be�er serve the truth. And indeed, it is certainly clear that a man who can live on roots, an unmarried man, etc. both has more time to serve the truth and can do so more unreservedly.

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But people have found it easiest to dismiss the entire ma�er by pretending that the error of the Middle Ages was Xnty’s doctrine.

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On Spiritual Trial Precisely because that which in the stricter sense is Xn is in many ways related inversely to what is universally hum.: hmnly speaking, Christian love is like crueltyb; compassion is a higher form of rigor and yet is nonetheless compassion, except that here there is a sort of dialectical middle term, for otherwise what is Christian and what is simply hum. would end up as the same thing: Precisely because things are this way, the terror of spiritual trial is that because a hum. being feels so weak, he reverses course back to the merely hum. and it almost seems to him that he must repent precisely for what is most decisively Christian, as if it were pure and simple cruelty, pure and simple rigor, pure and simple pride, etc. Thus does God have the Xn in his power. The school of spiritual trial is a frightful school. Spiritual trial can also express itself in such a way that it seems to a person that he should repent―as if it were a sin―for ever having ventured so far out, for ever having come into contact with spiritual trial. Because the person who does not involve himself with God in a decisive way is eo ipso free of spiritual trial. Indeed, in weaker moments it does seem as if venturing so far out was pride. And of course one ought to repent pride. And yet it is precisely Xnty to involve oneself decisively with God. Spiritual trial is frightful. Yet I owe it to the truth to a�est to the fact that an intimation of a higher and more blessed understanding nonetheless constantly smolders within it. It is almost like the torment of having a word on the tip of one’s tongue that one cannot manage to speak. One senses the blessedness―but for the time being it expresses itself only in the most terrible torment.

Deep down, peop. would rather have a fanatic who says that he himself is the ideal (you can either deck him out in finery or quickly get rid of him, saying rightly: Of course, he wanted to be 22 eo ipso] Latin, by that very fact.

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On Spiritual Trial.

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Xt) than someone who honestly strives, who humbly says that he is nothing more than a poet and admits how infinitely far behind he is. His times cannot be done with him so quickly or so soon; he can become the continuing unrest of the times. 5

The New Pseudonym (Anti-Cl.) That there is a pseudonym is the qualitative expression of the fact that it is a poet-communication, that it is not I who speaks but another, and that I am being spoken to just as much as are the others; it is as if a spirit were speaking, while I of course have the burden of being the editor. What he has to say is something we hum. beings would rather forget. But it must nevertheless be heard. Now, it is not as if everyone must do it, or that blessedness is made dependent on my doing it, oh no. Indeed, I confess that my life does not express it either; but I humble myself under it, I regard it as an indulgence, and my life has an unrest. In relation to ethical-religious communication (that is, with respect to presenting the requirement of the ideal―which is different from grace and from what is connected to grace, different from it, i.e., precisely by tightening the rigor so that one feels the need for grace, though without being permi�ed to take it in vain) I am not permi�ed to communicate more than that I am the person speaking, thus in my own, factual first person, nothing more than what corresponds existentially to my own life, at least approximately. If I situate the requirement any higher than this, I must express that this presentation is something poetic. It is quite appropriate that I present it, for perhaps I can move someone else to strive farther, and I myself am to define myself as someone striving in relation to it―to this extent different from an ordinary poet, to whom it of course absolutely does not occur that he himself should strive in relation to the ideality he presents. In other respects, what is so terrifying here is that the requirements of ideality are presented by people who never think in the least way about whether their lives express it or do not express it at all. That I have taken notice of this is shown by the fact that I call it something poetic―although I do strive. That the communication is poetic can either be expressed by the speaker, saying in his own person: This is a poetic communication, that is, What I am saying is not poetic, because what I am saying is simply the truth, but the fact that I am saying it is what is

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poetic; or he can do it qua author with the assistance of pseudonyms, as I have done now for the first time in order to make the ma�er quite clear. But the difference between such a speaker, author―and an ordinary poet is that the speaker and the author define themselves as striving in relation to what is communicated. And this entire distinction about poetic communication is in turn related to the fundamental Christian category, that Xnty is an existence-communication and is not―as people have meaninglessly and unchristianly made Xnty into―a doctrine, so that the question is merely what it would be in relation to a doctrine: whether or not my presentation of it is truthful, as, e.g., with respect to Plato’s philosophy. No, the question is: Does my own life express what is communicated or does it not[?] As long as my life expresses what is communicated, I am a teacher; where this is not the case I have to add: What I say is certainly true, but what is poetic is that I am saying it; thus it is a poetic communication, which nonetheless has its significance both for keeping me alert and striving, and, if possible, for hastening others onward. In piece no. 1 (“Come unto Me All You Who Labor and Are Heavy Laden[”]), the qualitative rigor it contains is in one sense― the Christian sense―an untrue principle (because it is almost exclusively metaphysical): that Xt came to the world because he was the absolute, not out of human compassion or any other reason―a principle to which corresponds the absolute: [“]You shall.[”] On the other hand, however, Christianly speaking this is the case: Xt came to the world out of love in order to save the world. The fact that he had to, as it were, explode the world, that, hmnly speaking, it became, hmnly speaking, enormous suffering to associate oneself with him, is certainly because he was the absolute. But joy over the fact that he came in order to save must entirely vanquish all this suffering.―These two principles (He came because he was the absolute; and he came out of love in order to save the world) are the difference between whether Xnty is preached in “the Law” or in “grace.” In writing no. 2 (“Blessed Is He Who Is Not Offended[”]) the qualitative rigor is the necessity with which offense is placed together with everything Christian. In writing no. 3 ([“]From On High He Will Draw All to Himself[”]) the qualitative rigor is the necessity with which degradation is linked to being a Christian: that absolutely every true Xn is degraded in this world.

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The times were strict with me, but I was accustomed to seeking and finding my consolation in Christianity. Naturally, the more bi�er people made my life, the less ordinary priestly pra�le was able to help. I had to search deeper―and, thank God, I indeed found blessedness, deeper and deeper. But by doing this, my presentation of Christianity became increasingly rigorous, for the more profound the consolation, the greater the rigor. So if I have been overly strict, whose fault is it? Truly, not mine. I had never dreamed of becoming so strict―I, who was compassion and sympathy. But through strictness they taught me to immerse myself more in Christianity―and then the strictness recoiled back on my contemporaries. Furthermore, in the beginning I concealed within myself a profound doubt, a profundity shared by scarcely any of my contemporaries. My thought was to conceal it, to keep the ma�er very quiet, making sure that I myself come to terms with it, but never to communicate anything I might think would merely disturb people, causing anxiety or unrest. What happened? At a number of points, as a result of the abuse I have suffered, this doubt of mine has come to the surface. True, it was never reported as doubt―no, insofar as it was reported at all, it was reported only to the extent that I had conquered it with a victorious faith. But all the same, the question remains as to whether the whole business has not escalated too far. If this is the case, then here, once again, can be seen the result of the abuse a stupid age heaped upon a person who, as an author, was truly a benefactor. It’s so jolly to treat a pers. with insolence―and then cry Alas! and Woe! when the affair suddenly becomes too strict for them. Nonetheless, I hope to God that this has not happened―there is of course always a higher power who has watched over me, and all my own guidance of things is a�er all only a bit of fun.

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Fundamentally, all of us have too mild a notion of God, like an old man whom one can make listen to reason. Truly, come out a bit farther, out where the blessedness is indeed infinitely greater―but also where the rigor is quite otherwise. Imagine one of those mighty Oriental potentates―and watch as one of his servants, the most important of them, approaches him: what

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expressions of subservience! And yet this is only a metaphor. But, as mentioned, out there, farther out―then, when one frightfully comes to think (indeed, perhaps only a�erward) that at some point one has incurred his wrath (alas, even if it perhaps was only an anxiety-laden misunderstanding, so that one has not in fact erred): then it seems to a person that God will not look upon him again for 70,000 years. 70,000 years! Ah, for him it is indeed only 7 days, but the poor, wretched hum. being, languishing in fear and trembling! And yet, yet, that this fearsome ruler―that he is my father, yes, my father; that I, when I walk in wonder under the bright night sky and behold the stars, that I dare say: All this is my father’s!

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People have made Xnty into too much of a consolation, forgetting that it is a requirement. Woe unto the flabby preachers! The consequences of this will be all the more frightful for the person who is to proclaim Xnty once again.

With respect to the requirement of ideality, it can be proper to present it as something higher than one oneself is, existentially, provided―be it noted―that one make an admission concerning oneself. In this case it can be proper, for one must of course express striving. But with respect to “grace” it would be nonsense if one proclaimed grace for others but denied that it was for oneself. For grace is related to receiving; it is not related to my worthiness, but to my unworthiness. I can speak of grace without any embarrassment whatever, for in so doing I am also speaking indirectly of my own unworthiness.

The fact that Jesus died for my sins certainly expresses how great grace is, but the fact that it is only on this condition that God will involve himself with me also expresses how great my sins are, how infinitely distant I am from God. One can therefore say that this is an expression of majesty,a of God’s majesty: that a sacrifice of this sort, a middle term of this sort, is required so that I can dare turn to him, so that he will involve himself with me. Therefore “the human being” could not invent the atonement in

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this deepest sense, for no hum. being could on his own think so sublimely of God’s sublimity. Only God himself knows how infinitely sublime he is. And what is remarkable is that it is precisely when God wants to express his condescension that he also indirectly expresses his infinite sublimity. I am willing to let myself be reconciled with hum. beings, he says (what condescension!), on the condition that my son lets himself be sacrificed for you―if this is the only condition, what an infinite distance of sublimity!

5

Generally, “the priests” rarely speak of “the martyrs,” but if they were to speak of them, in order to be consistent with the rest of their pra�le they must every so o�en present cautionary examples of those who “by reading in the dangerous book, the N.T., ended by making themselves unhappy,” i.e., they became martyrs. And one must also say that, humanly speaking, no one makes himself as unhappy as does a martyr for the truth.

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This much is certain: the priestly talk that sentimentally wishes it were contemporary with Xt shall certainly come to an end. Here my formula is: I will be honest; I will admit that had I been contemporary with you, I, too, would surely have betrayed you. This, incidentally, has already been expressed in the first collection of Friday discourses.

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see p. 10

The Pseudonymous Publication of the Writings on My Work as an Author.

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But then it is not necessary to publish them pseudonymously; it is not even proper to do so, inasmuch as the matter does not become suf�ciently simple. The category: that I myself am the one who has been brought up, that the whole thing is my upbringing, is decisive enough. The �rst idea of publishing all the writings (including those that have become pseudonymous) in my name and in one volume together with the writings about my work as an author was indeed unclear (just as it was impatient), because the writings on my work as an auth. only go as far as the Friday discourses in Christian Discourses; thus no view is communicated concerning all the new literary production that would be included in the same volume. No. The new pseudonym, Anti-Cl.―which, with respect to dialectics, also contains a new dialectical effort that is to be completed with the edifying discourse on “grace”―furnishes “the halt.” And then the communication concerning the work as an author is located within the halt.

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On Myself The thought of publishing the entire literary production under my name and in one single leap― thus with the greatest possible impetus―and then to jump back, without really ever knowing where, without wanting to take into account the consequences that such a step would have for me, except that I would live in seclusion: this was indeed sheer, desperate impatience. It has never been my task to destroy the established order, but always to breathe inwardness into it. Indeed, I saw what was wrong with this at the very beginning, but it momentarily tempted my imagination and was related to a poet’s impatience. My task has always been difficult. Taking aim at impudent scholarship, impudent culture, etc., that wants to go further than Xnty, I jack up the requirements of ideality so high―and at the same time I also have a great responsibility, just as I have the most vibrant sympathy for the common man, women, etc., lest I cause them anxiety. Generally speaking, woman is and ought to be a corrective in proclaiming the ethical-religious. One must not make it rigorous for men, and then have another kind for women; but in making it rigorous one must also have respect for woman as an authority and use this authority to temper things. And as far as that is concerned, perhaps a woman―precisely because she has fewer thoughts, but also fewer half-thoughts than a man, and consequently more feeling, imagination, and passion―perhaps she is very capable of li�ing the burden.

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In another journal, I have directed a�ention to this difference: that whereas in worldly ascent one always wishes and strives to climb yet another higher step, the opposite is the case with respect to godly ascent, where at every higher step, the person who has been called prays for himself because he understands very well how, hmnly speaking, the suffering becomes greater and greater. This is also why the formula for the lives of these called people is this: when the last lap is to be run, when the last step is to be ascended, it is typically with the help of repentance for having wanted to avoid it. This it how it was with the Apostle Peter’s denial. If there is a step that is too high for a hum. being and must be reached, this is also the last strength a person has: repentance for having wanted to avoid it.

Ordinarily, the religious ought to be kept equally lenient and rigorous. God wants to be the ruler, but he wants to deal with a person as cautiously and carefully as possible, making use of grace, concessions, etc. To suffer ought to be a joy, a ma�er of honor; a person comes and asks God for permission, and God says, Yes, surely, my li�le friend.[a] Things are different with “the apostle”: He is compelled. Here, once again I understand absolutely why it is so important that I restrain myself and make every effort to prevent my being confused with something a la an apostle, precisely because I can provide a point from which one can indeed get something of a glimpse of an apostle’s qualifications. But what confusion, if I myself were guilty of causing the mix-up. It is, however, also characteristic of me that Socrates has made such a deep impression on me. There is something Socratic about me, one could say that.

[a]

Naturally it does not follow from this that one cannot be a sufferer. On the contrary, in the deepest sense one can indeed suffer indescribably, also have one’s thorn in the flesh, but nonetheless, assuming that this suffering cannot be taken away, one can take joy in being permi�ed to work and live for an idea in this way.

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Indirect communication was my natural category. Precisely as a result of what I experienced, of what I went through and thought through last summer concerning direct communication, I have produced a direct communication (the piece about my work as an author, with the category: the whole affair is my upbringing) and in addition have gained a deeper understanding of indirect communication, the new pseudonymity. I think there is something inexplicably felicitous in the juxtaposition Climacus/Anti-Cl.; in it, I recognize myself and my nature entirely, so if someone else had invented it, I would think he had spied on my essence.―The credit for this does not belong to me, for I had not originally had it in mind.

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The category of my work is to make peop. aware of Christianity, but that is why it is always said: I’m not Christian―for otherwise there is confusion. My task is in the true sense of the term to deceive peop. into the religious obligation that they have cast off. But I have no authority. Instead of authority, I employ precisely the opposite: I say, The whole affair is my upbringing. This again is a genuinely Socratic invention. As he was ignorant, so here, instead of being the teacher, I am myself the person who is being brought up.

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To a�ain “actuality” in the religious way, is simply to put one’s personal relationship with God right into actuality, without being covered by the objectivity of a doctrine about the believer in genrl, without the cover of an official position, without speaking of how the believer refers everything to God, but saying, I have taken counsel with God and am acting with confidence in God. He does not say: The believer believes thus and such―rather: I

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believe thus and such, and by virtue of this faith of mine, I am taking action in this concrete situation. Then actuality has been a�ained; then God can come; then the spell is broken; then the illusion is destroyed: God can come to communicate with actuality.

Grace. The fact is that grace is not a cut-and-dried decision once and for all; a person needs grace again in relation to grace. Think of a pers. He is promised grace, the gracious forgiveness of all his sins, God’s mercy―good, but tomorrow is another day, and the day a�er tomorrow, and perhaps he will live 50 years. Now comes the difficulty: from this moment on, does he make use of every moment in a manner worthy of grace[?] Alas, no. So grace is needed yet again in relation to grace. The easiest thing is to die; the difficult thing is to live. In grace everything is intensified and concentrated―the situation of death is still an element. But when I am to live, the unending decision is once again dialectical, as in this situation: that grace is needed in relation to grace. In other words, life is a striving.

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[a] Concerning the Preface to “Practice in Xnty.”

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This, too, was a part of my task: to present Christianity at so high a level that I judge myself―and then, quite consistently, to do so [i.e., judge] myself. This is what has been done in the original preface to Practice in Xnty. The original preface is indeed the right one; a dra� of another one that is on a scrap of paper with Practice in Christianity is not to be used. Thus it happened in that preface. It is also lenient. The pseudonym is rigorous: he judges―whom? Me, the editor. Though I myself acknowledge this in the preface.

[b]

The Arrangement of the Prefaces to Practice in Christianity. Piece no. 1 retains the original preface. The following preface will be used in pieces no. 2 and no. 3, reprinted in each one. Preface. In this work the requirement for being a Xn is forced up so high that it passes judgment on my life,

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that I am not one, even though I strive. Therefore it is a pseudonym who speaks. But it indeed ought to be spoken, presented, heard; from a Christian point of view there must be no reduction of the requirement instead of making an admission and a confession regarding myself. It ought to be said; and I understand this as being spoken to me alone―that I might be kept striving. S. K.

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Right! Here I once again recognize my nature. There is a distant echo of irony’s sadness. And the contrast with the manner in which the awakened genrlly comport themselves―judging everyone except themselves―is also ironic, whereas in this case no one is judged but me.―It is spiritual struggle.

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If, instead of being in character and protesting against the public and proposing the single individual, I had lectured, spoken, wri�en something to the public about “the single individual”―yes, then it would have sunk into people. Here one sees the difference between ethical reduplication and lecturing. Ethical reduplication transforms into action; therefore it requires a sacrifice. In lecturing, one appears to say the same thing―and is a success.

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The Relation: Possibility―Actuality

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Indeed, the infinite difference betw. understanding something in possibility and understanding the same thing in actuality cannot be expressed more definitely than this: Think of the apostles! Of course, they willed as honestly and sincerely as possible. Xt has told them in advance what was to happen― foretold it in order that they not be offended. And then, when it became actuality, they were nonetheless offended.

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The fact is this. When I understand something in possibility, I remain essentially unchanged, remain in the old situation and make use of my imagination. When it becomes actuality, then it is I who am changed, and then the question is whether I can preserve myself. With respect to understanding something in possibility, what is important is that I make every effort with my imagination; with respect to understanding the same thing in actuality, I am relieved of making any effort with my imagination; it is situated very close to me, only all too close; it has swallowed me up, as it were, and now the question is whether I can save myself from it.

Just as in relation to Providence and Governance―or, rather, in relation to what they do―what I do, whether I am an emperor or a matchstick maker, etc., is almost always a joke, as it were: so, too, in relation to the atonement. Xt’s atonement, his suffering and death, is everything, and it transforms the li�le bit I do almost into a joke; whether I reform the whole world or do my job as a manservant, it is all the same, for Xt’s atonement is infinitely everything.

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On “The Sickness unto Death” Though perhaps there ought to have been a tiny li�le postscript by the editor, as originally intended, e.g.: Editor’s Postscript. This book is as if wri�en by a physician; I, the editor, am not the physician, I am one of the sick. As mentioned, this was the original intention; indeed, the various dra�s of such a postscript have been lying in the desk since then. But the fact is that at that time I myself did not yet have as deep an understanding of the significance of the new pseudonym as I now do. And furthermore (this is also

[a]

On The Sickness unto Death.

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noted in the journal from the period when The Sickness unto Death was in press), I was afraid that it would be misunderstood in various ways, as though I myself had become fearful and wanted to step aside, and so forth. Now I understand entirely that in connection with the new pseudonym Anti-Cl. there must always be an editor’s preface of this sort, in which I say: I am one who is striving. Xndom must be judged in some way―aber in such a way that it is I who am judged. This is, if you will, a sort of heroism that corresponds to my nature: a unity of rigor and leniency.

Possibility and Actuality see p. 52. We all weep when the priest preaches about becoming reconciled with one’s enemy. And look, in actuality, seeking reconciliation is regarded as effrontery. Thus Councillor of State Olsen regarded it “as unheard-of effrontery,” became furious about it, or was when he came home.

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The 10 Lepers.

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This gospel text, or rather, the way in which this gospel text is genrlly preached about, once again shows how li�le people rlly understand Christianity as something present, how li�le we take notice of the situation. Thus people speak very genrlly about ingratitude; people forget the specific situation: that by thanking Xt they [the lepers] of course exposed themselves to mockery for his sake; people forget that the priests (to whom they went according to Xt’s word) would in the name of God naturally have done everything to prevent them from being grateful to Xt. Generally speaking, I could almost be tempted to regard this as a test that Xt poses for them in saying, Go to the priests and show yourselves to them. For of course he surely knew that the priests would say anything to them to prevent them from thanking Xt, making it into a crime against God, an ungodliness.

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Luther’s Doctrine of Faith actlly corresponds to the transformation that takes place when a person becomes a man and is no longer a youth; his doctrine of faith is the religiousness of manhood. When one is a youth, it still seems as though it is possible to a�ain the ideal, if only one strives honestly and to the utmost of one’s abilities. There is, I daresay, a childlike relation of equality between myself and the Exemplar, if only I will it to the utmost of my abilities; here lies the truth of the Middle Ages, which believed so piously that the ideal could be a�ained by actually giving everything to the poor, entering a monastery, etc. But the religiousness of manhood is raised one power higher, and it is recognizable by the very circumstance that it feels itself to be one stage farther away from the ideal. As the individual develops, God becomes more and more infinite for him; he feels himself to be farther and farther away from God. Then the doctrine of the Exemplar can no longer simply hold first place. Then faith comes first, Xt as gi�. The ideal becomes so infinitely elevated that, if my efforts are supposed to resemble the ideal, all of them are transformed for me into an insane nothing or into a sort of God-fearing joke, even if I strive honestly. This is expressed as follows: I rest in faith alone. The youth does not notice how enormous the task is; he starts right off in the pious illusion that he will surely succeed. The older person grasps with infinite depth the distance between himself and the ideal―and then “the faith” must intervene first of all, as that in which he actlly rests, the faith that restitution has been made, the faith that I am saved by faith alone. Thus Luther is entirely right; this is a turning point in the development of religiousness. But the error in the religiousness of our time is that people have made faith into inwardness to such a degree that it has actlly disappeared; that life is given permission, mir nichts and Dir nichts, to behave in sheer worldly fashion, and that an assurance about faith has been substituted for faith. In part, this was how I previously understood my own position, by understanding Luther, but now I have come to understand it more fully. I, too, have been a youth, and it seemed to me as though the ideal was much closer, until I was humbled in the deepest sense under the ideal―and then the doctrine of “grace” truly had to show itself to me. On the other hand, all my 34 mir nichts and Dir nichts] German, simply, without further ado.

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polemics against the whole modern humbug were and still are correct. As with the individual hum. being, so does the entire race need repetitions, or tutors who recapitulate the lesson, in order to preserve continuity. Geniuses are recapitulators of this sort. They are developed much more slowly than other peop.; they actually run through the basic forms of existence that world history has undergone. It is precisely here that their significance as correctives is to be found. Although geniuses prophetically display what is to come, they do so precisely by means of a more profound memory of what has been gone through. All development is indeed not a retreat, but a going-back, and this is primitivity. The earnestness of youth is immediately to begin bona �de to want to resemble the ideal. The earnestness of the older person is to situate faith in between, as the expression of respect for the qualitative difference betw. all his striving and the ideal. Modernity is humbug, assisted by the transformation of faith into fictitious inwardness.

In one sense, I think the relation of Xt as Redeemer to the believer is like this. When an adult says to children: Now, I will take care of everything, just remain completely calm and trust me―and then he becomes angry with the children if instead of being happy and le�ing him take care of them, they themselves want to take care of things. This is how I think Xt qua Redeemer becomes angry when the believer wants to busy himself in any way with atoning for his sin. No! The atonement is what is decisive. And then the other aspect emerges: an honest effort, simply out of joy over the atonement―an effort that, note well, one nonetheless regards almost as a jest―however honest and earnest it may be, as a jest, if it is supposed to be any sort of atonement. Human striving does not in any way bring about atonement. But joy over the atonement, over the fact that restitution has been made―that is the joy 17 bona fide] Latin, in good faith.

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that produces an honest effort. More or less as when Luther says, It is not good works that make a good man, but a good man who does good works, i.e., the man is what has become habitual, something more than all the individual actions. And, indeed, according to Luther, one becomes a good man through faith. Thus, first comes faith. It is not through a virtuous life, good works, and the like, that one attains faith. No, it is faith that causes one truly to do good works.

To the passage (in the discourse “The High Priest” Heb. 4) that gold is virtue, that might is right, that the crowd is truth, could have been added that whatever results is the judgment. It is the same type of category as the others.

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A Further Step in Relation to “Her.” I have wri�en a le�er to Schlegel with a le�er to her enclosed, and have received his reply and the other le�er unopened. Everything is found in a packetb in her cabinet, in a white envelope with the inscription: [“]About Her.[”] It was Nov. 19th. This is the situation. Inasmuch as she may perhaps have thought that on the occasion of her father’s death I presumably might seek a rapprochement (and I possibly have some data supporting this), I took up the matter once again. For the second time, I let a poet try his hand at the task and on her situation, and discovered that there was a possibility of a sisterly relationship, which would certainly make her

[a]

Because I have never known the date of the breaking of my engagement, I made an a�empt to figure it out. This a�empt is on a scrap of paper in the older packet, wrapped in gray paper, lying in the li�le drawer of my desk, on which is wri�en: To be destroyed a�er my death.

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In the same packet is also a book in quarto format: “My Relationship to ‘Her’ Aug. 24th 49. somewhat poetical.” And wrapped in a li�le packet of gray paper on which is wri�en “To be burned a�er my death,” lying in the li�le drawer of my desk, there is an earlier and similar view of my relationship to her―concerning whom there are also a number of entries in the journals from last year (48) and this year (49), probably in the older ones as well.

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[c] A copy of my le�er to Schlegel and the le�er to her that had been enclosed with it, are to be found in an envelope in one of the two small desk drawers. [d]

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I also find it remarkable that the Councillor of State’s death took place at precisely the same time I had the idea of turning away from the authorship and entering into the character of a religious author from the beginning. See a scrap of paper lying in journal NB13: that when I enter into the character of the entire authorship as religious, a dedication would essentially relate to “her.” e

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Yes, though she also has a great responsibility toward me because of her misuse of religious entreaties; in a certain sense it is indeed also her responsibility that in her desperate recklessness she pushed the ma�er so far a�er it had been decided in a fashion that was certainly humiliating for me―a responsibility that rlly became clear when she got engaged so soon therea�er. [g]

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If it had been possible, the reconciliation with “her” would have taken place simultaneously with the Three Discourses (The High Priest, The Tax Collector, The Woman Who Was a Sinner), where the preface―for the sake of recapitulating the entire body of writings―contains a repetition of the preface to the Two Edifying Discourses from 1843, a book I know she read at the time.

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happy―something that would make me happy.e Furthermore, the entire ma�er could easily come up again if I have to repeat it some day qua author. My conflict was a religious one. The deception about being a scoundrel was done for her sake. But she let herself get carried away by her despairing declaration of love and about wanting to die, her religious entreaties, etc.: she who is now married―and I unmarried. I submi�ed to that view; entries concerning this will be found in journal NB12. So I took action. The decisive considerations for me in this connection were: 1) An entire life is a�er all perhaps too great a criterion for a woman. It can give me satisfaction to preserve all my devotion to her, to let my life as an author glorify her name, etc.―but how can it rlly help her if she or I must first be dead[?] And what does a woman rlly care about historical renown[?] Such fidelity is almost cruel; it would indeed be better for her if I were a li�le less faithful but she got some good out of it while she was still alive. 2) I was afraid that it could be pride on my part that kept me from acting, that I was unwilling to expose myself to unpleasantness of that sort. Well, then I did not dare refrain from taking action. I knew that refraining from contacting her could not be because of my pride; I am only all too certain of that. No, the sore point was rlly Schlegel, of course. Therefore I turned to him, and he indeed made use of the occasion for a moralizing outburst. Now it is done. Thank God, I did it. For later on, I might have thought, You should have done it― and then it would be too late.―Now I can breathe. All the outbursts of that sort make the ma�er easier for me. Her pleas and pious entreaties―yes, that was powerful.

Moreover, it is impossible to do anything. I dare not enlist my personality. To approach her personally―even if she merely hears my voice, I run the

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Now the ma�er is decided. For it is quite certain―without Schlegel’s consent, not one word. And he has spoken as definitively as possible. It is up to him.

It is terrifying to proclaim the Law, for if it is done vigorously and truthfully it always recoils worst on oneself[;] the person who is closest at hand is always hit hardest, and one must be most rigorous with oneself. Proclaiming grace is a joy.

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Luther makes a good distinction (in the sermon on the son of the widow of Nain): the gospel teaches us not what we ought to do, but where we are to find the strength to do what we ought to do. But at the same time the doctrine of the Exemplar emerges once again. For example, there is no reduction in self-denial, but the gospel teaches me to believe that God and Xt help me toward self-denial. “Grace” actlly relates to the juxtaposition of temporality and eternity that constitutes a hum. being. If a body is rotated too rapidly, spontaneous combustion may result. It is similar when eternity and the requirement of ideality simultaneously collide with a person and make their demands on him: then he may despair, lose his mind, etc. In such a situation he must cry out to God: Give me time, give me time. And this is grace―indeed, this is why temporality is called the time of grace.

[h]

And naturally, not one word to her about convincing Schlegel of my idea. No, never! I understand about respecting a marriage. I had devised for her the possibility and had looked forward to delighting her with it, enhancing her marriage―and only God knows whether I had not required too much of myself by squandering myself in this way―it was to have been a gi� from Schlegel to her. If he had understood me, if he had believed me, then I would almost have become a servant in his hands.―But now the ma�er is rlly decided. And never have I felt so light and happy and free with respect to this ma�er, so entirely myself again, as just now, a�er having taken this sacrificial step; for now I understand that I have God’s consent to let her go and spare myselfa Nov. 21st a

complying only with her last request: “to think of her now and then,” and in this way preserving her for history and eternity.

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In eternity there rlly cannot be any question of grace. For indeed, in one sense, temporality consists simply of anguish―and yet in the divine sense, it is the time of grace. Faith, which relates to grace and grasps it, intervenes redemptively. In faith there is rest. Faith relates itself to grace, and behold: Now, precisely the opposite situation emerges; now, in one sense, there is nothing whatever to run a�er―everything has indeed been done. Here is the atonement, the restitution. Only in this way can a poor hum. being continue striving. In order to obtain the courage to strive, he must repose in the blessed assurance that everything is already decided, that he has won―in faith and through faith. Then he begins to strive, but faith, relating itself to grace, is always instantly ready to strengthen him in patient striving, always granting time, the time of grace. Ah, but if even a hum. father or mother has plenty of trouble dealing with a child―what miracle of patience it is for God in Heaven―or when one is God in Heaven―to have patience with a hum. being’s striving! 1

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[c]

Of course, it is quite another matter when the immediate person, sensing something extraordinary within himself, boldly ventures forth, fully convinced that only one outcome is possible: triumph. And look, the opposite happens―that is, he does triumph, but in a spiritual way, which is to succumb. This is something entirely different, for he had not been dialectical, he had not understood beforehand that the extraordinary is dialectical, that a tiny change has to be made, that perhaps the extraordinary is so extraordinary that the adequate expression of it is to succumb, to be regarded as madness, etc.

Ah, but it is very fatiguing to be located at this discrimen: to understand and to sense that something extraordinary has been granted to a person, and then to understand that at the instant it is to be put into the actual world, there is a line like a hair’s breadth that determines whether it is to be directly expressed as the extraordinary and become the object of admiration―or is to be expressed in the opposite way and be rejected by the times. The higher one is, the more glaring appear these contrasts, which never emerge in relation to the ordinary sort of undertakings that lie within the sphere of the probable. And then, to continue working for the same thing with the same equanimity, while alternately seeing 28 discrimen] Latin, boundary, divide, turning point.

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A nice poem that I read in Baader’s Fermenta, part 5, p. 54. Durch der Welt Noth Und der Welt Spo� Bringt Dich Dein Go� Aus der Welt Koth!

“Grace” is usually understood as a dead, onceand-for-all decision, rather than as something related to a striving, because, to recall a saying of Baader, it is an advance payment. But it is always difficult to understand talk of a striving, and, in a certain sense, for Christianity the easiest situation is death, simply because there can then no longer be any question of a striving. For the thief on the cross it was also a relief in one sense, because there was no question of any striving.

The fact that grace is free finds perfect expression in the New Testament. An heir has no merit, not the least―everything is the benefaction of the testator. Now, if one examines the ma�er only from the outside―that is, that the heir is permi�ed to do whatever he wishes with his inheritance―then the whole ma�er has been taken in vain. In situations of the spirit―that is, where the inheritance is not something external―then “faith” is the prerequisite for becoming (and for becoming aware that one is) an heir; the duty connected with the inheritance is something essential―here again is the concept of striving. 8 Durch … Koth!] German, Through the poverty of the world and the mockery of the world, your God brings you out of the excrement of the world!

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Hamann rightly says: As “Law” annuls “grace,” so does “to comprehend” annul “to believe.” This is my thesis, of course. But in Hamann it is merely an aphorism, whereas I have fought through it, or fought it out of the whole of given philosophy and culture, to the thesis: to comprehend, that one cannot comprehend faith, or (this is the more ethical and God-fearing aspect), to comprehend that one must not comprehend faith.

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“If God is with us, who can be against us.” This looks so easy and straightforward. But of course in genuine Lutheran fashion one must say: It is precisely when God is with us that the whole world tends to be against us. But―and here comes the consolation―but what this means is that when God is with us, the opposition of the whole world can accomplish nothing against us. What the apostle means by these words, [“]who can be against us,[”] is obviously [“]who can be against us in such a way that he was the stronger.[”] Thus the words correspond to that passage: The one who is in us is stronger than the one who is in the world.

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In the magnificent palace church, a handsome court preacher, the cultivated public’s chosen one, steps before a select circle of the distinguished and cultured, and preaches movingly on the words of the apostle, [“]God chose the lowly and the despised[”]―and no one laughs.

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If there were suddenly to be a sharp increase of interest in religion, I think it would end with Goldschmidt, as a businessman, founding a journal for domestic devotions, Christian anthologies, and the like. I would give 4 shillings toward it; it would be a

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good contribution toward illuminating what people rlly understand by a priest nowadays, for there is no doubt that Goldschmidt would be able to do it just as well or be�er than many priests. Naturally, he does not read much of that sort of thing and uses his imagination for the rest―and so we get an analogy to that temperance priest who gets 4 schnapps for every member he recruits for the society.

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What Socrates rlly meant in wanting to have “the poets” expelled from the state was that, by presenting things in the medium of the imagination instead of urging peop. to ethical realization in the realm of actuality, the poets pampered them and weaned them away or diverted them from doing so. One could be very much tempted to raise the same objection against “the priests” of our time. Yes, compared to Socrates, Plato himself was already a misunderstanding. Only Socrates managed to keep himself on the pinnacle of continually expressing the existential, constantly remaining as a presence, so that he had no doctrine, no system, and the like, but had practice. Plato took his time―with the assistance of this enormous illusion, it became a doctrine. Gradually the existential element disappeared more and more from view, and then the doctrine became dogmatically broader and broader.

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What is particularly lacking in sermonic discourse is the awakening [“]You[”] of authoritative application: that You are the one being addressed. The awakening of the son of the widow of Nain is always presented as a symbol of spiritual awakening―well, then, Xt certainly did not walk over to the bier and give a speech about the fact that there is a resurrection of the dead. No, he said: You, young man, I say to you, arise.―Obviously, I am not of the opinion that a priest can perform miracles. So what is important is, as Luther says in his sermon on this gospel text, that you must hear Xt say it to you―but the usual talk about it does no good.

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The Difficulty of Christianity and the Cunning of Our Times.

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As I have always said, and as Anti-Climacus has especially emphasized, Xnty’s difficulty only rlly emerges when it is linked to the single individual, when the single individual, you and I, must appropriate it in earnest, daring to say: This is about me. For then Christianity is altogether too elevated and the offense cannot be avoided. So, just as we evade the other of Christianity’s difficulties―contemporaneity―and transform it into something in the past, so do we avoid the difficulty of the single individual by continually slipping in something objective. When I am to say: Xt loves me as does a bridegroom, me, S. A. Kierkegaard, or me, H. Martensen, or me, J. P. Mynster―yes, then it pinches. So what do we do? Then we slip in the Church: Xt, as a bridegroom, loves the Church, which is the bride. You see, now things proceed very pleasantly. So enormous a thing as the Church, the Church that has now existed for 1,800 years, consisting, as they say, of millions and millions―so enormous a thing: this appears to be commensurable in the ordinary hum. sense, commensurable with Xt. And so the offense has disappeared. And now, think of the confusion! When I speak of the single individual it must be some sort of subjective hobbyhorse―but the other business: That is objective Xnty! Oh, you scoundrels! Or, be�er, they themselves have no idea how ingenious their tactic is for undermining the whole of Xnty. To my great delight, today I read Luther (in the sermon on the gospel text for the 20th Sunday a�er Trinity Sunday, the king who prepares his son’s wedding banquet) where he discourses on how “bthe blindness and obduracy of flesh and blood fights mightily against the notion that Xt loves me and you as does a bridegroom”; I read this passagec:…. [“]Indeed, the world grudgingly concedes that Xt is a handsome, noble, pious, and faithful bridegroom, and that his Church is a splendid, blessed bride. But when each one by himself is to believe that he also belongs to Xt and that Xt has such heartfelt love for him―then everything comes to a halt.” Thank God for Luther! He is a�er all always a great help against the almost insanely pompous dogmatic and objective conceitedness that, by going further, abolishes Xnty.

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Oh, but it is almost a superhuman strain truly to involve oneself with God and to have anything to do with him.―Now one comes to feel all the blessedness of his love, that every one of a person’s past sins and errors have been forgo�en―and then, strengthened by this indescribable something, one must begin. And look, in the very next hour one’s efforts will be very imperfect; and God can be fully justified in saying, once more, [“]Now you yourself are once again to blame for the fact that everything is spoiled.[”]―Ah, in one sense, what a frightful strain, but then there is the infinitely different and greater task of patience: to be God!

The true Christian is also at the mercy of the world in this way: the world is very well aware of what the Christian requirement is, how much self-denial, how much patience, how much compliance, etc. But for its own part, despite the fact that the world calls itself Xndom, the world says, [“]No, thank you, I would rather be free of it.[”] Then there is one person for whom being a Xn is something serious: [“]Bravo![”] cries the world, [“]It will be great fun. We can do whatever we want to him, and we have the additional amusement of seeing whether he can take it in Christian fashion. It is a be�er comedy than what plays in the theater. Let’s strike him on the right cheek―and then we will see if he turns the le� one toward us. If he does, he will get one on the le�. It would be a sin to do otherwise, and there will also be something to laugh at. If he does not do it, then he is of course a hypocrite, he, who says he is a Christian, and then we can persecute him for that.[”] It is absolutely unavoidable that a true Xn―part of which, however, is the acknowledgment that one is a Xn, and that one does not sit and fart in a cozy parsonage or is not one of the cozy quiet ones―is eo ipso “a spectacle unto the world.” And now that Christendom has become so extraordinarily tolerant of Jews, Greeks, Mohammedans, Lama worshipers, etc., etc. (presumably because it does not occur to Xndom to assert that it is itself Jewish or a Lama worshiper), and since a li�le religious persecution is, a�er all, the spice of life, then Xndom will probably also do what it has always done, and give some consideration to persecuting the true Xn.

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If the world―which of course has no essential notion of religion―is to be the judge, then a true religious action is eo ipso pride, arrogance, and the like. A true religious action is in fact incommensurable with finite purposes and cannot be explained in terms of such purposes: ergo it is madness or pride―yes, or it is religion. How easy it was at the time for the times to come to the conclusion that when I exposed myself to the vulgarity of the mob, it was pride, arrogance. Was there a single person who imagined that at that very moment the only counsel I sought was in an edifying work[?] I am far from claiming that for this reason my action has any perfection before God.

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Well, it is certainly fine that “language” is what distinguishes hum. beings from animals. It is also certain that it is precisely because all instruction takes place by means of language that hum. beings are easily misled. Language is namely an abstraction and always provides the abstract instead of the concrete. When ma�ers are dealt with in terms of natural science, aesthetics, etc., how easily a hum. being is induced to have the illusion that he really knows something for which he has the word. Concrete intuition is so easily lost here. And then ethically! How easy it is to mislead a hum. being to think of [“]the hum. being[”] (the abstraction) instead of himself, this enormous concretion. This was the truth in Pythagorean instruction, to begin with silence. It was reflection upon the concrete.

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In This Way, too, Does True Consolation Take the Form of Cruelty toward Other People and Come to Suffer Instead of Being Thanked.

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The more profound the consolation and the more profound the compassion, the more it refrains from stopping at one or another suffering or trouble, but instead searches out those who suffer in the deepest sense, as Xt sought out the demoniacs and visited tax collectors and notorious sinners. But look, then the times become embi�ered. For the race as a whole has a different tactic: it has such dread of the demoniacal and of the deepest sort of suffering that it does not even want to

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hear that there is consolation and healing for them―out of fear of being reminded that there are people who suffer in this way. Thus a “consoler” of this sort disturbs the happy society that prevails in life’s various circles. To them it of course seems like cruelty for him to visit demoniacs, etc. in order to heal them―instead of behaving like the public, like Xndom, like the circles of the distinguished, Goethe, and Mynster, who in every way fortify themselves in the ignorance that such wretchedness exists. It is the same with the wretchedness of sin. By wanting to provide salvation from sin, placing on it the emphasis of eternity, the Savior of course reminds us of sin on a scale that is inconvenient for the public, for society, etc. Ergo this is cruelty on the part of this consoler and Savior; ergo we are justified in hating him and persecuting him. And as things went for Xt, so, on a lesser scale, do they go for every person who has a tolerably profound and sympathetic notion of suffering and has a true Christian notion of sin: his si placet joyous message that there is consolation and salvation becomes a nuisance for society by reminding it of the frightful scale on which suffering exists in the world and of the terrors of sin. No, a consoler and savior who is to be a success in the world must not grasp things too profoundly, must merely concern himself with curing ordinary contagious diseases, with knowing sage advice for minor accidents, and―with respect to sin―take grace in vain.

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From a Christian point of view, a life of glory, honor, esteem, abundance, pleasure, distinction such as Bishop M. has led can only be justified under one assumption: that Bishop M. take comfort in maintaining that the li�le world in which he has lived, that Denmark or his diocese of Zealand, or even just Copenhagen, has been composed of true Xns―or at any rate in denying that the great, overwhelming majority are non-Christians. Dare he deny that the words of scripture apply to this li�le world, too―that it lieth in wickedness[?] If so, then, from a Christian point of view Bishop Mynster’s life is a lie. 18 si placet] Latin, if you will.

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he who nonetheless “teaches” that the world still lieth in wickedness! He found no occasion to suffer―he with his if―throughout this long life that has coincided with world revolutions, he found no occasion to suffer; he with his if, he did not find one even to the very end[.]

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Yes, as long as he himself was in possession of power, when it was a ma�er of “episcopal concern” to prevent the appointment of one single, poor theology graduate: yes, then Bishop M. was ready, then he was in charge or imperious. But when the moment arrived, when there was occasion to demonstrate that one was in charge―and, from a Christian point of view, that is something one demonstrates best precisely by succumbing―then Bishop M. was as pliable as a journalist, as servile as someone who rents out clothing.

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And therefore, inasmuch as I can demonstrate from His Right Reverence’s sermons that the world is absolutely no be�er now than it was earlier―his life is of course a lie. The lie is that he has cravenly evaded actuality, has arranged a sort of private world consisting of circles of the elite in which―as he himself knows, by the way―Xnty has not exactly been the dominant factor: and that is where he has lived. How o�en has His Right Reverence not movingly given assurances that if it were required of him, he would willingly sacrifice his life, his blood, everything[?] If! But he must have lived in a truly fine world, inasmuch as he, with his spirited if, not only has not found any occasion to suffer, but has found nothing but occasions on which to increase in worldly glory and esteem, to be celebrated in social circles, cultivated by women, admired by actors, courtiers, and diplomats. He found no occasion to suffer―he with his ifa―not even when it was a ma�er of doing his best to protect the Church from scandal by refusing to consecrate Bishop Monrad.b If this is “Christian wisdom,” then what is worldly shrewdness; if this is Xnty, then what is worldliness; if this is truth, then what is untruth; if this is serving God, then what is it to serve oneself; if this is to sacrifice oneself, then what is it to seek one’s own advantage; if this is to guide, then what is it to lead astray[?]

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Priests no longer concern themselves with the cure of souls; physicians now take care of that. Instead of becoming another person through conversion, one now does so through baths, spas, and the like―but we are all Xns!

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“Grace” and “Law” “Grace” has been shoved into an entirely wrong place; people use grace to reduce the requirement of the Law. Meaningless and un-Christian! No! The requirement is and remains the same, unchanged; indeed, if anything, it has perhaps been made more rigorous under grace. The difference is simply this: Under the Law, my salvation is linked to the condition of fulfilling the requirement of the Law. Under grace, I am freed from this worry, which at its maximum must bring me to despair and make me entirely incapable of fulfilling even the least of what the Law requires―but the requirement is the same. The Law is what makes things taut; and certainly making something taut, as when one makes a bowstring taut, provides impetus, but one can also make a bowstring so taut that it snaps. That is exactly what the Law, as such, does. But it is not the requirement of the Law that causes the break―no, it is something that has been added: [“]Your salvation is dependent on your fulfilling the Law.[”] No hum. being can endure this; indeed, the more earnest he is, the more certain is his despair at that very instant, and it becomes u�erly impossible for him even to make a start on fulfilling the Law. Then comes “grace.” Naturally, it knows very well what the problem is. It removes that worry, that injunction to fulfill the Law, which was precisely what made its fulfillment impossible. “Grace” removes this worry and says: Only believe―then your salvation is assured. But then, no more than that―then, not the least reduction with respect to the requirement of the Law: it is precisely now that you must begin to fulfill it, but there must be tranquillity and peace in your soul, for you are certain of your salvation if only you believe. But just as people have made a mess of Xnty in every way by muddling it together with hum. compassion, so, too, with respect to “grace.” It is this really harebrained notion of “grace,” to the effect that our Lord has become an old dodderer who does not

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look too closely at things. No, if our Lord was ever comparable to an old man, it was rather in Judaism, for he himself understood very well the impossibility of fulfilling the Law. But in Xnty he became like the young teacher who looks at things very carefully: Now I truly want this to be in earnest, now that I have given an advance payment of grace. In Judaism, God sat up in the heavens, as it were, saw that the Law had not been fulfilled, scolded and punished, but then he just let things continue on. Then came Xnty, and God became young, as it were: He descended to the earth, himself became a hum. being, walked among peop. and said: I want the Law to be fulfilled―here is grace, but now things are indeed to be in earnest. If I dared put it like this, I could be tempted to say that it is like when a new teacher comes to a school, a new teacher who in one respect is infinitely more lenient and yet in another respect more inflexible about wanting to get the task done. The old teacher scolded and punished, and was perhaps too strict as well, but however all that may or may not have been, the task was not done. Then the new teacher came. Right at the start he made a concession of infinite leniency, so that the entire school was reborn and rejuvenated―and then, then he said, Look, now we are to begin, and the requirement, the task―yes, it is old one. I could be tempted to present this in a metaphor, which of course does not illuminate anything, but perhaps it can awaken. Take a class of adult students. The old teacher has treated them in an old-fashioned way as boys; he scolds and punishes, but the instruction makes no headway. Then the new teacher comes. He liberates them. He says, Gentlemen, my friends, etc. But the instructional requirement―no, he does not reduce that: they must get down to work in quite a different fashion than under the old teacher.

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As far as that goes, it is also a misunderstanding that the state appoints and pays “teachers” of Xnty.

The entire concept of a “Christian” state is actually a self-contradiction, a sham.a I am certainly permi�ed to let myself be paid for being a teacher of Xnty (a laborer is worthy of his pay), but then there must be some actual Xns, so that in accepting my pay I also vouch for the fact that they are Xn, and that I dare accept this pay qua Xn and teacher. But I am not to receive this pay via a third party that if need be will use worldly force to collect what is owed me, a third party that in the deeper sense does not give a damn about being Xn and merely maintains the illusion that all

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are Xn, so that the priest, appointed by the State Church, comes to a congregation with instructions concerning his wages, and it makes no difference if there is perhaps not one single Xn in the entire congregation, if no one goes to church, etc. The priest takes his turn preaching and the state sees to it that he gets his wages. The state is related to the category: the human race; Xnty to the category: the single individual. From this alone it can be seen that they are heterogeneous. In relation to everything worldly, item art, science, etc., it is proper that I am involved with the state. Now one sees how mistaken are the efforts of the clergy, even wanting to be paid directly by the state. If one cannot instill in peop. enough of a notion of the importance of Xnty for them to pay voluntarily, then neither should one accept their money. Xnty is too highborn to be patronized by the state. If the individual citizens of a state were to sink so low that they had no sense for art and science, and the state then said, [“]Well, it cannot be helped, you have to pay anyway[”]―that is proper and praiseworthy. But Xnty is infinitely elevated above the state; if peop. reject Xnty, the punishment must be that they do not get to hear of Xnty. If for once peop. actually tried to do this, I believe it would work. If the proclamation of Xnty was ever really silenced, its day would certainly come again―instead of maintaining an illusion, as is done nowadays by means of this pitiable preachifying of Xnty.

Inasmuch as God himself indeed has created and sustains this world, one must certainly guard against the ascetic fanaticism that simply hates it and annihilates it. No, in the gentlest Christian manner, I could present the situation as follows. This world is like a game and a plaything for a child. The father can even find the game beautiful and enter into it in childlike fashion, but he nonetheless demands that the child be gradually weaned from it. Thus also with an upbringing for the kingdom of God or for Xnty. God is no impatient or cruel man who wants to harm a pers. by rushing him along. No, God is a God of patience. Still, God wants a pers. to understand that he must break once and for all with what is earthly, and do it so profoundly that the spirit comes into existence in earnest. And he wants a person, even now, gradually to wean himself away. 9 item] Latin, as well as, also.

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But no fanaticism of the flesh, for alas, there is indeed a fanaticism that is fleshly. You are to believe that God is fatherly enough to want to rejoice with you in childlike fashion when you are happy in accordance with your hum. notions. But you must remember that there must be striving, that there must be striving so that the mind can be reshaped away from what is earthly. That is how I understand it. But I also understand that what the whole of Xndom and I need is indeed for someone to step forth who would really and truly be strict with himself, who dared to be strict with us, in order that we could be encouraged both to strive and to appreciate the leniency. But God is gentle. I have always understood this. My own life makes this clear to me, for when I wanted to enjoy myself once in a while, it never occurred to me to hesitate in praying that God might help me now and grant that I might truly enjoy myself― which would be nonsense if God were a fanatical bogeyman. Yet of course, more than anyone, I truly have an extraordinary notion of the bonds with which God binds me at every instant. Perhaps most people would u�erly lose their zest for life if they were ever to understand―even to the degree that I understand it―how at every instant God could move a person over into a more rigorous regimen. And in turn―if I were to understand this to an even greater degree and constantly have it present to me to an even greater degree―things would perhaps go with me as they do with most people.

The expression “the authors’ author,” which I myself once came to use because it was unavoidable, and which was subsequently adopted by several people: this expression actlly designates the unusual extra something that I possess. I am actlly an author for authors; I do not relate directly to a public; no, qua author I make others productive. And thus it is right here that my suffering lies: as long as that is not understood, this unusual extra something I have becomes a minus instead of a plus. Martensen is ridiculous, by the way. With the aid of mediocrity, it will probably end with him becoming classical―and me artificial. Thanks a lot! Now, for once take a look and see if his work has had the least bit to do with making others productive!

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That a bare and naked liberum arbitrium is a chimera can best be seen from the difficulty, the long, long, continuing struggle that is required merely to break a habit, even if one has quite earnestly made a resolution to so do. Or it is seen when one considers spiritual trials in which when a pers. fights things beyond his control, fights them with mortal anxiety, and at first, precisely because of this anxiety, the struggle summons them up rather than removes them, until finally, a�er a long, long, continuing struggle, he gradually wins.

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Luther’s teachings are a�er all not merely a return to the original Xnty, but a modification of Xnty. He emphasizes Paul onesidedly and makes less use of the gospels. And he himself best refutes his Bible theory―he who rejects the Epistle of James. Why? Because it is not part of the canon? No, he does not deny that. But on dogmatic grounds. Thus he [Luther] himself has a higher point of departure than the Bible, which surely was indeed his view, inasmuch as in his conflict with the pope, he only posited the scriptures in order to have a fixed point, conceding that he would allow himself be convinced if they could convince him on the basis of scripture. And this was right enough, for what he wanted to get rid of was precisely the nonsense of tradition, which they certainly were not going to find in the Bible.

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Odd that Luther so frequently preaches that we should give money to priests and schoolteachers. He does this even in the sermon on the gospel text for the 26th Sunday a�er Trinity Sunday, Mt 25, about judgment day, when Xt is to separate the sheep from the goats.

“Be Satisfied with My Grace, for My Power Is Made Perfect in Weakness.” 1) Indeed, it is almost like a choice. Could you wish to be “strong and free,” and then be exposed to the danger of forget1 liberum arbitrium] Latin, free choice, free will, arbitrary freedom.

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ting me[?] And the reply to this must certainly be: [“]No. Even though, in suffering the pain, I wish and pray that the thorn might be removed, ah, if it were to mean that I would forget God―no, then let it remain! If by having the thorn removed I were to have a less lively sense of my fellowship with God, then let it remain. And therefore, when I pray that it might be removed, my thought is that the gratitude and the joy might then bind me all the more strongly to God. But a�er all, God alone rlly knows what binds best. 2) Consider, therefore, that it is precisely this weakness that increases your strength, for when “God’s power” “is made perfect” in weakness, then in this way you are of course stronger than you are in all your own power, as surely as God’s power is the stronger.

“What you have not done unto the least of these my brethren, neither have you done unto me.” It could perhaps also read: [“]neither would you have done it unto me.[”] Xt is suffering humanity, although more specifically, he is humanity suffering simply because of his fear of God. Here is the criterion. Peop. say, [“]If we had been Xt’s contemporaries, then, etc.[”] Xt replies what he will reply on judgment day: [“]If you have not been contemporary with the sick, the poor, the unjustly treated, the sufferers, etc., and if you have done nothing for them, which, however, would have been considerably less onerous than performing works of love toward me when I was alive―I who exposed to danger everyone who dared belong to me or acknowledge me.[”]

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Talleyrand―when Mirabeau, meaning himself, described what a�ributes a deputy ought to have―could perhaps have been even more ironic than when he said: “You are forge�ing one thing:

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he ought to be pockmarked.” He could have said: [“]You are forge�ing one thing―but that is obvious, that is self-evident―he ought to be pockmarked.[”] That would have been more Socratic. 5

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While the air is still so full Of winter snow’s shivering-cold (Brorson) On a day when the winter weather is so intimidating that you do not want to go out―and then, when an entire life like that lies before you, and the question is whether to go out into it!

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The principle that fear of a greater danger provides the courage to venture into a lesser, also forms the basis of corporal punishment. A horse shies; then the coachman whips him and forces him forward: the greater danger lies behind; therefore the horse goes forward―into the danger from which he had shied away.

Balance Sheet Regarding My Move against The Corsair. A. The Consequences for the Situation. 1) What ma�ered was separating P. L. Møller and Goldschmidt, and ge�ing G. away from The Corsair―this succeeded, a�er all. 2) The change in the shape of the entire affair a�er I leaped in[a] was, a�er all, a relief for many of those who had been a�acked, 3) Preparations were made in order to awaken awareness with respect to the presentation of reli-

[a]

and indeed from the height of having been immortalized and praised.

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gion―which is what is to be emphasized―and if one is to have the common man on one’s side, it is always safest first to let him do something wrong, in order that he can see a�erward that he has done wrong, for the common man is always good-natured and can most easily be won over when he feels regret. One must not get into a power struggle with him, but grant him the power and then induce him to abuse it. He is satisfied that he did in fact get power, and he is all the more willing to regret having abused it.

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[b]

Of course, I had struck the note of irony: What a satire upon myself, then, what an annihilating judgment, it would have been if I had not done absolutely everything possible to avert the notion that [“]of course, The Corsair is also this sort of irony―the two of them acknowledge one another, The Corsair immortalizes him as the master.[”] And from a Christian point of view, what a judgment it would be upon me if I had been the contemporary of such demoralization and had then either been so stupid as not to see it, or so cowardly as not to act.

B. The Consequences for Me. 1) The satisfaction of having been faithful to myself and my idea by not shrinking from any consequences, but daring to the utmost. This satisfaction corresponds in turn to my historical significance, and this same step has very considerably prolonged my future renown. 2) When I gave up being an aesthetic author and thus lost that support for guaranteeing indirect communication, it was nonetheless guaranteed in another way, namely by creating this opposition to myself. 3) Had I not taken that step, I would have completely escaped the double danger with respect to Xnty, so that I would always have come to understand Xnty solely in relation to the difficulties of inwardness. 4) It has been my own upbringing and development. 5) As an author I have go�en a new string on my instrument and have been made capable of producing notes that I would never have dreamed of otherwise. 6) I have come to “actuality” in the stricter sense of the term.

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On closer inspection, all this talk of wishing that one had been contemporary with Xt is indeed presumptuous, for of course this means imagining that one was fit to be an apostle. And of course even the apostles fell away, and they had to be equipped with extraordinary div. powers in order to be―i.e., in order to be able to endure being―contemporary with him, which is the best proof that no one can on his own endure being contemporary with him. But those who speak in this way about contemporaneity do not know what they are talking about; it is the usual: they take the glory―and leave out the difficulty. It is pandering. As I have noted somewhere else in a journal: of course, Xt’s life also has another meaning, it is the atonement. Were Xt only the Exemplar, then it would be like cruelty for Him to push the ma�er so far; but He has to die―in order to save the world.

This is, a�er all, how things turn upside down for me. How o�en have I not heard it said “that I have no cause,” and in the final analysis I will surely be the only person who can be said to have had a cause in the deeper sense of the word. But the others have actlly never had a cause: they seize onto something here and something else there, and they always speak of having a cause[.] It was precisely because I had a cause and felt myself to be consecrated that I remained silent. Silence is precisely the criterion for the extent to which I have had a cause―but the silence (which of course existed precisely because I had a cause) was what made people think that I had no cause, because I did not cha�er.

The Epistle for the First Sunday in Advent The whole thing is actlly one metaphor: to arise―and dress (put on Xt).

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Life is compared to a day: one awakens (the night is past―the day has come). So one arises, dresses (puts on Xt). To put on Xt is thus both, with respect to the atonement, to appropriate his merits (in the parable of the king who prepared his son’s wedding banquet, there was one person who was not clothed in wedding a�ire), and to seek to resemble him because he is the Exemplar and the pa�ern. This is a substantial expression for making something inward. In similar fashion, the expression he uses with respect to his teaching―that it is food―is the strongest expression for appropriation, just as pu�ing on Xt is the strongest expression of the fact that the imitation [of Christ] must be done according to the greatest possible criterion. It is not said that you should strive to imitate Xt (when that sort of thing is said, it indirectly implies that the two nevertheless remain essentially unlike)―no, you are to put him on, a�ire yourself in him. As when a person goes about in borrowed clothing, this is satisfactio vicaria, a�ire yourself in him―as when a person resembles another almost to the point of being indistinguishable from him, not merely striving to imitate him, but reproducing him. Xt gives you his clothing (satisfaction) and then requires that you are to reproduce Him.

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[a]

About Peter.

NB This is his own account.

b

About Peter. Well, now Peter is going to speak about my writings. How does one react to that? I know very well that he has only read passim in several of the books―you see, that is enough for him.b Then he took it upon himself to give a lecture at the convention. But it so happened that the prepared lecture could not be used―then, the evening before, it occurs to him, [“]You could say something about Martensen and Søren and R. Nielsen.[”] So the lecture is given―and then it is printed. If one were to point out to him that it rlly does not demonstrate knowledge of the subject ma�er, he would reply: [“]Yes, good Lord, it was just for a lecture at the convention.[”] But then, why must it be printed? And not only that, but precisely because it was first delivered orally and then printed, it in fact speciously takes on a sort of higher importance. How sad! In such a li�le country, where I have not yet even been reviewed, everyone exploits my writings as an opportunity to get something said. Thereby my cause is injured rather than 17 satisfactio vicaria] Latin, vicarious satisfaction (as in Christ’s atonement,

his suffering in our stead). 26 passim] Latin, here and there.

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advanced. Naturally, it is “not the time or place” to go into all the finer, concrete details with which I depict the ma�er. People generalize me into twaddling truisms―so I could just as well have refrained from writing. And then the lamentable illusion that it is my brother, “who must of course have the inside story.”

Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem, from a Christian Point of View. As he said about the woman who anointed him: She did it for my burial (for he always had death before his eyes; indeed, he had come to the world in order to die; his entire life was directed at dying)―so, too, was the entry into Jerusalem a part of precipitating the catastrophe. But just as those who were present surely understood that woman differently, not thinking in the least about burial, so, too, did the disciples and the people understand Xt even less during the entry into Jerusalem. They thought: Here it comes.―He knew: Now things have been made ready for my downfall. This solitude is an essential part of Xt’s suffering as mental suffering: this solitary knowledge, which interprets all the signs in reverse fashion. It is in vain that he speaks to the disciples, telling them in advance―it does not help. If he had said to them in advance that this very entry helps further my downfall, well, they would perhaps have understood him while he was speaking. But then, when he put it into action and they heard the jubilation of the people, the situation would immediately be reversed for them, and they would think: Now he triumphs. Only Xt understands the jubilation as the sign of downfall. But what good can it do to explain things of this sort to my generation[?] Perhaps people will learn to repeat it by rote―and yet not understand it. In order to understand it, one must be profoundly acquainted with suffering and be a quiet man, quieta from having long since understood that nonsense and foolishness and busyness have infinitely superior force.

a

alas, indeed quiet

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People must indeed have lived in far simpler fashion when they believed that God revealed his will in dreams. People must have lived far more simply even with respect to their diet. An idyllic pastoral existence, living partly on vegetables―then it would have been possible. But imagine life in large cities and civilized manners: no wonder people ascribe dreams to the devil or to demons.―Furthermore, the poor opinion of dreams typical of our times is also connected to the spiritualism that constantly presses upon consciousness, whereas those simpler times piously believed that the unconscious life in a person was both the dominant and the most profound aspect.

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A Polemical Comedy, which has now been published, is surely by Heiberg. The quasi-strength of the polemic is itself evidence of this. Heiberg has always pandered to the public: he acts as if he strikes at them and yet really does not strike at them; he thunders against the public and shows how bad it is―and then he is happy when the public shouts Bravo! This is a very demoralizing situation. When he is to strike at the public, he actlly flirts with it about whether it likes being hit like this. Heiberg has not only demoralized the public by fla�ering it (both in the vaudevilles and in the theory he developed in the book on the vaudeville, to the effect that the public is the judging authority), but demoralizes it even worse precisely because he wants to reform the public without himself having the ethical strength to do without it, which is the conditio sine qua non for a person to be truly capable of striking a blow. As a consequence, the very a�empts at reform have become a game, a form of pandering. This is what is most dangerous; it is like a preacher of repentance who is a comedian and who with great bravura creates a sensation with the public― whom he chastises.

32 conditio sine qua non] Latin, the necessary and indispensable condition

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Another consequence of living in a li�le country is that one’s [first] name can become so wellknown that at its mere mention, everyone―or most people―understand it to be an allusion to a person. This is how it is with my name: Søren. Indeed, a person’s title, or whatever you want to call it, can be equally notorious. At one time, for half or a quarter of a year, Berlingske Tidende carried a serialized supplement, translated from the Swedish, in which a character appeared under the name [“]the crazy magister[”] or [“]the crazy priest[”]. And for many people the association of ideas led to me. (It was A Night by Bullar Lake).

An example of how not to preach―indeed, of how it is much be�er to say nothing and simply read the word of scripture aloud. Martensen preaches on the text he himself has chosen: Let the dead bury the dead. And what does he do? Presto! He wanders off into an observation to the effect that there have been entire eras and generations that merely buried their dead, spiritually speaking. Yes, thank you very much. Entire generations, eras, millions upon millions―excellent diversion! Where, then, am I, the single individual, with my tiny bit of taking action: it is more or less the same whether or not I do anything.

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This is also one of the passages in which Xt’s consciousness of his divine nature emerges clearly: He who merely gives the lowliest person a cup of cold water for my sake will receive it again tenfold.

[a]

Martensen.

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Luther is indeed not really clear,

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[a]

On asceticism: in my view Schleiermacher puts it very well in one of his (no. 2) Reden über die Religion: every pers. of the deeper sort has his own asceticism.

not about the doctrine of the voluntary, for example, in the sermon on the epistle for the 1st Sunday a�er Epiphany (Rom 12), where he quite definitely treats asceticism. Nor is Luther clear with respect to another aspect of the voluntary. As is well known, the cra�y orthodox abolish the voluntary solely out of fear of tempting God, but sometimes Luther, too, fulminates against it, as when he preaches that everyone must obey the authorities, etc., etc. But just look at Luther himself! Did he not voluntarily expose himself to certain danger by opposing the pope―it was of course not the pope who a�acked Luther; it was Luther who a�acked the pope. Or I wonder what Luther would think of the theory Peter developed in order to put a nice face on whining: A person should witness for the good, but not against what is evil. And I will be judged in accordance with this. Thus, when evil is shrewd enough to ignore all a person’s witnessing for the good―perhaps even doing so impudently, praising it and thus turning it to its own advantage―then a person should not dare witness against evil, should avoid tempting God. In that case, just about every single one of the martyrs of the Church would be judged guilty of having tempted God. Surely, it is more likely that a person tempts God by making theories of this sort, which conceal a person’s lack of courage and faith and confidence. As surely as rushing forth in foolhardy fashion is tempting God, so also does a person tempt God by slinking away and staying home when he had expected that you would be there―is this not tempting his patience? Let us take a metaphor. Was Napoleon angrier when a general dared to do something on his own, or when the general failed to appear out of caution―yes, or incautiously and indefensibly[?] In the final analysis, the greatest virtue of pusillanimity is to sleep―so as not to sin or tempt God. But back to Luther. Luther acted correctly, but his sermons are not always clear or in agreement with

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his life, which means that in this case we have a rare instance: his life is be�er [than his preaching]. This is the fact of the ma�er. One must acknowledge that in the final analysis there is no theory. As the king was the law and the end of the law, so, in the final analysis, is our Lord himself every theory. You, you single individual, should take counsel with him: that is the theory.

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The Formations of the World.

[a]

Governance becomes more and more thri�y; less and less is to be squandered. In antiquity only one individual lived―the masses, the thousands, were squandered on him. Then came the idea of representation. Those who truly lived were still only a few individuals, but the masses nonetheless saw themselves in them, nonetheless participated in their life. The final formation is the single individual, understood such that the single individual is not in opposition to the masses, but each one is equally an individual. But the task for the missionaries who are to prepare the way for this also becomes more and more strenuous. In the past, the teacher was an individual, but then he had disciples. In this there was something consoling for his hum. side: he had a sort of hum. probability that all his efforts would not, a�er all, disappear without a trace, because he indeed had disciples, and thus he expanded in the realm of finitude. But when the final formation begins, the teacher becomes the single individual, who neither has nor dares have any disciples. And what a frightful effort, how is it possible to avoid dizziness! In the midst of this whole vortex of millions, where everything else is solidarity and parties―there, such an individual stands u�erly helpless. He makes himself helpless, for he does not want to have any disciples. How easy it is, then, for the waves of

[b]

The Formations of the World.

and the teacher also had the opportunity to make himself comfortable by having disciples, had relief by having a relative criterion.

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time to wash over him and erase all his efforts as if they were nothing! What faith, to persevere in this life, day a�er day, what faith, to believe that his life is noticed by God, that this is enough. And how squandered such a person is in God’s service! But the more that is squandered with respect to the teacher, the greater the thri� with respect to the race. In the past, thri� was exercised on the teacher, and the masses were spent; now the teacher is spent precisely because the upbringing must be in the category: the single individual.

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[a]

R. Nielsen.

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I noticed how R. N. exclusively concerned himself with my writings, and I had to fear that he would suddenly go out and begin lecturing on them. (This will be found noted in the journals from that period, 47, or early 48.) Also in order to prevent this, the best thing was to draw him a li�le closer to me― and on his part, he made the most decisive effort to be drawn. But the main thing that led me to a descision was the following. Suddenly one day it occurred to me that as part of all my labors I indeed had a responsibility not to bypass completely every sort of hum. criterion: Assume I died tomorrow―there would be no account of my life. This became completely clear to me during a carriage ride to Hirschholm, right at the time I had gained an understanding of myself qua author. In the meantime I let a few days pass, but gave the ma�er a religious formulation and then acted by virtue of a religious decision. Then I drew him to me. (There is information concerning this in the journals from that period.) His writings up to that point had not pleased me very much. The fact is that I had not wanted to tell him directly―or could not defend telling him―what he rlly ought to do. I had to leave that to him; and then there emerged the ambiguity as

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to whether it was not more likely that he was the one who wanted to profit from me, rather than that it was my cause that was to profit from him. Well, patience.―I almost had to regard his big book as a betrayal of me: that he exploited his relationship with me in order to slip through; that, having been supported and developed by me, he played the role of someone independent. (Concerning this, see the journals and a separate packet in the desk: [“]Polemics Concerning N’s Big Book[”].) At the same time, because I have included him in my relationship to God, I have honestly persevered with him. The second book, the review of Cl. and Martensen, is certainly yet another suspect affair, inasmuch as he himself, influenced as he was, immediately cashed in his royalties, as it were, and was thus permi�ed to pass judgment on Martensen, almost pu�ing the pseudonym in an untenable position. (Concerning this, see the journals and a separate packet in the desk.) Nonetheless, he showed a bit of daring with this book, and I reckon that in his favor. Most likely, he does not rlly understand me; but the eagerness with which he has familiarized himself with my writings is worthy of respect, and I believe that I will be pleased with him, even though up to now he has rlly slowed me down, and I have spent a lot of time on him―time that for a moment almost looked as if it had been worse than wasted. What he ought to have done right at the outset was to declare quite simply and straightforwardly that these writings had convinced him, and that he had changed his standpoint and had then dedicated himself to serving the cause. That would have been brief, ethical, and in character. Then I could quickly have determined whether he could be of use. In that case I could have accepted him and then quickly closed the door again―whereas now, inasmuch as he slipped through the way he did, now I will bec holding out the crowd of people who are to pass judgment on me. Certainly, I have patiently put up with a great deal from him, and have done so precisely because I

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[b]

And with respect to my cause, what he should have done right at the outset was this: He should have illuminated the heterogeneity of the entire phenomenon as briefly but as categorically as possible. Instead, he did just the opposite: Himself confused, he also writes a big book in which he indeed ignores how he has made use of me and has been helped by me. And the second time (the review of Climacus) he still has come no further than making use of several individual theses from one single pseudonym, on which he lectures.

c

having difficulties in

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Actually, R. N. was not originally developed by reading my writings; it was only through my personal influence―and therea�er through study of the writings. But he has never found occasion to express this. More than once, he himself has confessed to me that the only thing he feared was that he would slip past me. On the occasion of his big book, I gravely pointed out to him the dishonesty of the situation, in which he privately confessed everything but remained silent about the truth in public.―This with reference to the circumstance that now it could almost appear to someone that it was I who le� R. N. in the lurch, rather than his own cunning, which punishes itself. But of course he can make amends. If he had originally been simpler and more honest, he would have avoided all the nonsense of being a Schüler.

25 Schüler] German, pupil, disciple.

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have had him in my relationship to God. But it has also developed me further in a religious direction. On the other hand, if he has shrewdly wanted to deceive me, even if he himself was not clearly aware of it, then he has actlly deceived himself. Because he has not been on guard against the fact that the surrounding world is of course busily trying to force him into the role of disciple, he has put himself in the embarrassing position in which things must look as if he had wanted to go off on his own and play the role of someone independent. If he had taken this step in a simple manner, it would have been much more certain and true. In one sense, his situation does not affect me one way or the other, for I am unchanged in my religious conviction that it was my duty to take someone on. What concerns me is that I treat him honestly, in accordance with the highest standards. If he had become, if you will, a disciple, an adherent, or something of that sort, it would nonetheless not have become a coterie, for what is decisive with respect to a coterie is not that two people are united, but that they unite in order to achieve one or another finite purpose. If ten people united with respect to an idea, they would never become a coterie. The place reserved for him was also one of very great value, namely that of someone whom I acknowledged as a reliable reviewer, a position for which I had until then rejected all applicants, at great cost to myself. And his position would absolutely have been important, for precisely through his relationship with me, through his personal contact with me, he has acquired insights―and would have acquired even more―that would have made the reviews into something much more than an ordin. review. In the beginning of our relationship I developed him quite a bit, but when―particularly a�er the big book brought it to my a�ention that an extremely dangerous deception could suddenly arise here―I drew back a bit and made the relationship more distant; but I have by no means abandoned him. The fact that I am keeping silent is the best proof that at

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People here in this country are truly excellent: they can see right away whether something is wri�en by me or by a Schüler. Thus, when Prof. Nielsen’s name was on his book, they could see right away that it was by a Schüler. And when at the same time I put H. H. into the world―they all saw that it was someone copying me. No, that Nielsen was copying me was something even I myself could have seen, but people in genrl are not so developed.

Just as people who do not have much ideality cannot understand a caprice, a wi�icism, an anecdote, etc. without finding out “whom it was aimed at” (the name), so it is with peop. without much ideality with regard to working. They are incapable of working silently in the realm of the ideal to transform themselves into points of intensity. The moment they get a random thought, it must immediately be communicated to these actual peop., so and so (the name), or they must immediately a�ack so and so (the name―external actuality). Then there will be a sensation, a riot and a crowd, alarm in the camp, lots of noise. It looks as if they produced a quite different effect than do points of intensity. Why? Because they use weaker means. The most intensive means always look “at the moment” as if they accomplished nothing at all, moved nothing at all. And on the other hand, the weakest means―i.e., the least intensive, which have the most in common with the whole moment―move the most, precisely because in the deepest sense they do not move at

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all. There is in fact no external point―which, however, is what is dialectically necessary in order truly to move something―motion is within the momentary itself. It has no heterogeneity whatever. Everyone can immediately go along with it or at any rate immediately understand it, and so names are named: the names of the supporters and the names of those a�acked, etc. And then at the next moment the wave of history washes over this entire movement and it is as if forgo�en. But in the moment a�er that, the most intensive movement arises, transfigured.

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3rd Sunday in Advent (Mt XI:2–10). Here is a special sort of dialectic, qualitative dialect. One could most easily think of it in this fashion: The forerunner (Jn. the Baptist) confirms that Xt is the expected one. But dialectically speaking, this situation is problematic with regard to precedence: for in order to confirm something, one must be superior to that which one is confirming. Therefore it is John the Baptist who sends forth disciples to Xt to ask whether he is the expected one―and then Xt, a�er answering the disciples, ends by confirming that Jn. the Baptist is indeed the forerunner. It is not Xt who supports himself with the authority of the forerunner (which indeed would be a paralogism), no, it is he who draws the forerunner within his authority, and by virtue of his authority confirms him as the true forerunner. Only now can the words of the forerunner―that Xt is the expected one―be believed, now that Xt has confirmed that the forerunner truly is the forerunner. This looks like a circle, but is as far as possible from being one: it is the only consistency within the dialectic of authority.

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A hum. being can also experience a situation somewhat analogous to that of Xt before Pilate. Perhaps he is offered a recognition that people already think is quite extraordinary, and yet, keeping faith with the truth, he must say, No, I will not accept it, it is untrue―I owe it to God and to the truth to demand more. Then they become embi�ered―and now he has to accept the opposite expression of recognition: suffering.

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Peter’s Remarks at the Convention. Moreover, it creates confusion to take that passage in Paul and then point out Martensen and me as the two tendencies. For if Martensen is to be compared with Paul, then Paul (including his σοφροσυνη) becomes ecstasy pure and simple. The Martensenian-Petrine notion of soundness of mind is to some extent an irreligious notion of bourgeois philistinism and complacency. Moreover, Peter ought also have pointed out that in our time what is most difficult is the representation of ecstasy. For mediocrity, worldly deal-making, etc. are precisely what predominate. What also ought to be pointed out is that the specific characteristic of my ecstasy is that it is supported by an equally great sober-mindedness: the mere fact that in representing ecstasy, I make use of pseudonyms, fictional characters―thus, not myself― whereas in the edifying discourses I myself speak in subdued and gentle tones; the difference between the way in which the pseudonyms make use of the category of the single individual and the way in which I use it, etc. But what does all that mean to Peter[?] In self-satisfied fashion (and, of course, to the cheers of country priests), he proclaims mediocrity: there are two tendencies (that is, those that accomplish something), and they are one-sided: but we, we who accomplish nothing, we are of the truth; and we are also in the majority. Just believe me, I know it, how could I not know it―I am, a�er all, 8 years older than my brother.

4th Sunday in Advent It has been thought that there is no connection to be found between the gospel and the epistle. But when one considers it, it is nevertheless there in what Jn. the Baptist says about himself: The person who has the bride is the bridegroom, but the bridegroom’s friend is happy to hear the bridegroom’s voice: this joy of mine is fulfilled. Thus a theme is possible here: perfect joy. 7 σοφροσυνη] Greek, soundness of mind, sober-mindedness.

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Peter’s Remarks at the Convention.

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And this would entirely correspond to the epistle. And thus the theme for the epistle could be:

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[a]

the most reliable joy.

The Perfect Joy, Joy in the Lord. 1) the joys of placability through meekness (v. 5). The most beautiful joy. 2) the joy of being unworried (v. 6) in prayer (v. 6). The most blessed joy. 3) The joy that is the peace of God. It is the most perfect joy: a) it passes all understanding, so indescribable is it; b) it preserves hearts and minds in Xt Jesus, so different from all other joys, which we must take care not to lose, whereas this joy takes care of us, preserves us: what reliability!

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[a]

About Peter.

[b]

see p. 158 bo�om in this journal.

About Peter. I have lived qua author for such a long time, and Peter found no occasion to say anything about it. But as soon as it looks as if people want to pay somewhat more a�ention to me, he busies himself with ge�ing something off his chest, presumably to make an offer involving me in behalf of the party, and he is surely especially delighted at this desirable opportunity to enter the lists against R. N. (a very promising undertaking at the moment) and make an example of him for being a follower―he, who has been a follower and copier of Grundtvig to the point of ludicrous affectation. The entire affair has touched me quite painfully. During the entire period when I was suffering persecution by the mob, there was absolutely no sympathy from Peter: literally not one word, either wri�en or spoken, from him in this connection. We have never been very close, but from that time onward, he withdrew entirely. He knows that I have been concerned about my finances―never a word about that. He knows that I suffer from being

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disproportionate to the size of the country―never a word about that. But finally he sees his chance. He places himself above the two tendencies: Martensen―and S. K. (true, he of course assures people that he is not mediating between the two positions, but it is nonetheless implicit in his presentation that he only wants to exploit these two tendencies―ergo he is indeed situated at a higher point). He breaks into loose jargon in a manner calculated to appeal to the public, which thus enables him to judge 7 years’ work in a half hour. He heartily proclaims the supremacy of the rural clergy and the rule of mediocrity. He cautiously covers himself with the excuse that this is just something thrown together at the last minute. He profits from the illusion: [“]As the author’s elder brother, I must of course know how things are[”]― which is of course frightfully untrue, so much so that he ought to have emphasized this fact. He has tied my hands, inasmuch as I can scarcely make a move without the world shouting: Scandal. And he remains amiable, inasmuch as what he says about me is of course very much to my advantage―which is yet another source of suffering for me, for people will say that he has been partisan. He puts me in a difficult position vis-à-vis R. Nielsen, who possibly believes that I am behind this a�ack on him, and then, when R. Nielsen a�acks Peter, he will certainly think that I am behind R. N.[d]

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So now people have become terribly preoccupied with the notion that I want to form a school. This is supposed to be an objection against me. But how did people treat me before[?] They took the almost superhuman ideality in vain; they counted on confusing me with an eccentricity that was u�erly foreign, while they profited by borrowing from me.

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[c]

His words are very odd: He does not want to mediate between two sinful hum. beings; in ordinary hum. language one would say: I, a sinful hum. being myself, will not take it upon myself to mediate between two hum. beings.

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[d]

I do not think that all this has been clear to Peter, but some of it ought to have been clear to him and would have been clear to him if he had not become so pampered into smugness by these country priests and conventions that he perhaps even believed―in a sort of foolish gemütlichkeit―that to some extent he was doing me a favor, even though he ought in fact understand that in order to do that, he would have to employ a criterion and actually shed some light on my work as an author, and least of all connive with quantitative measures used by hum. beings and with the illusion-makers.

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It is what I have always said: Only a dead man can govern the situation in Denmark. Indiscipline and envy and nonsense and mediocrity are in charge everywhere. Were I to die now, my life would have an extraordinary influence. Even much of what I have casually jo�ed down in the journals would come to have great significance and influence, for by then people would have become reconciled with me and would be able to concede what was and is my due.

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[a] On the Occasion of H. H.

If only I had physical strength, just a li�le, then a good number of things could be accomplished. It is so burdensome and sad that much that is simply explained as pride and the like is just a lack of physical strength. I am so weak that I have to use my mental powers even with respect to the most insignificant things.

100

On the Occasion of H. H.

101

No ma�er how one thinks of simplicity a�er (beyond) reflection, it is never exactly the same as the simplicity of immediacy; it is distinguished precisely by reflective knowledge, which is always present but is ethically subordinated. This is the difference between the martyr of immediacy and the martyr of reflection; therefore the immediate martyr cannot have genuinely sympathetic collisions. It is easy enough to pretend that once a person has thought reflection through, then a simple resolution emerges merely as a simple resolution of an immediate person, not in the least dogged by any reflection. This looks so grand, but it is the same sort of twaddle as all the Hegelian business about doubting and then arriving at certainty, etc.―the only people who talk like this are those who have never a�empted anything, precisely those who are furthest from trying it in earnest.

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About Peter. Peter came down in the month of December. He told me that at the last convention he had given a lecture in which he had spoken about Martensen and me, and was surprised that I had not heard of it. In addition, he said that in this same lecture he had actlly spoken against R. Nielsen and a certain H. H. Thereupon I said to him, H. H. is me. He was a bit taken aback by this, for he probably had not really read much of the li�le book, fully and firmly convinced that it was not by me. So we talked about it a li�le. Then Peter said, Well, there is not much point in our talking about it any more now, because first I have to write up the lecture. So he wrote up the lecture. Well, he said very li�le about H. H., and he also noted that there is certainly a striking resemblance to S. K. God knows what he actually said at the convention. This is quite an odd business, especially if one wants to be a person of conscience, etc. In a way that I find offensive, at the least, he has also recently taken up the biblical passage “All are yours,” which is also used in the lecture. In an earlier conversation, I once pointed out to him that, a�er all, there is a certain integrity which requires that one indicate the source of certain ideas and phrases―to which he replied that this was absolutely unnecessary because for the true believer it is the case that All are yours.

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In referring to my activity as an author, I could use the words of John the Baptist: [“]I am a voice.[”] In order to prevent a mixup in which I myself would be taken for someone extraordinary, I always retreat, and the voice―i.e., what I say―is what remains. Yet I always retreat in such a way that I do acknowledge that I am striving. Thus, I am like a voice, but I always have one more listener than speakers generally have: myself.

Thomas a Kempis (4th book, chap. 6) cites Ezekiel 33:16 as follows: None of his sins shall remember him. Gnrlly, this is read differently: None of his sins shall be remembered. It would be curious if the former translation is correct, for it is indeed a much more powerful expression of the forgiveness of sins.

411 [a]

About Peter.

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Christmas Day. Today a Savior is born unto you―and yet it was night when he was born. It is an eternal metaphor: it must be night―and in the middle of the night it becomes day when the Savior is born. [“]Today[”] is an indication of eternal time, as when God says, [“]Today[”], and as in books that are published [“]in this year.[”] It is repeated from generation to generation, to every individual among these millions―and every time a person truly becomes a Xn it is said: Today a Savior is born unto you.

A Suggestion to Put an End to All the Nonsense about How One Comes into Xnty. What rlly ma�ers most in connection with all existential knowing is producing the right situation. This is what has been completely forgo�en, and therefore people cannot get an impression of Xnty. Therefore, I am thinking of a pers. who has not yet had any particular impression of Xnty nor any profound sense of his sin, but has gone along living in the comfortable notion that he will surely be saved. Then let him take the N.T. and read it. No one can deny that the ethical teaching presented here is of the sort that will move every hum. being’s imagination. Well, then, let him begin at this point. He then carries out his intention of making Xnty into something real, and for the present he says that it makes no difference to him whether or not Xt existed, who wrote the N.T., etc. So he puts it into practice. But you see, when he puts it into practice, his life, in the Christian manner, will collide with the world; he will be vilified as an egotist precisely at the point when he acts most unselfishly, etc. Now things become difficult; now he is unable to hold out on his own―now he must have religious help. In order to hold out against the surrounding world, he must have religious help. But not only that: he must also have religious help in order to hold out against himself. For precisely because the world presses on him so powerfully, in order to be able to hold out, on his own,

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against that world, he must at every moment be entirely certain that there is not something wrong with him, that he puts the good into practice perfectly. Now, you see, things are moving along at full speed; now he needs grace; now he needs Xt. This is how it is with Xnty. As soon as a person begins to want to put it into practice in earnest, he will learn what it is to need Xt. Let him literally give away all his wealth to the poor, literally love his neighbor, etc.―he will quickly learn to need Xt. Xnty is a garment that looks quite inviting at first glance and to the imagination, but as soon as one actually puts it on, one must have Xt’s help in order to be able to live in it. This seems extremely simple to me. But people have u�erly abolished this aspect of Xnty. And yet, it is this aspect that is alluded to in Xt’s words: If anyone wants to act in accordance with my words, he shall experience etc. He shall experience, yes, it is almost ironic: He shall experience first of all that he needs Xt’s help.

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About H. H. Peter finds it inconsistent that when a person says “Only someone who remains silent becomes a martyr,” someone is saying it. Quite right, aber this happened because that was precisely the point at which I wanted to turn aside. You see, my dear Peter, here is a consistency of which you are not aware. At the same time, a form of martyrdom is nonetheless made possible right in the book itself, namely to be put to death for having defended the proposition that a hum. being does not have the right to allow himself to be put to death for the truth, because the times would certainly regard this as enormous arrogance. And finally, it was and is my opinion that a step such as being put to death for the truth also requires that one plays the right card in order to assist one’s times in becoming suitable accomplices, so that they can participate―for otherwise the responsibility becomes too great. All this and much more, by the way, can be found noted in the journal from the period when I published H. H. But of course I cannot illuminate such things without betraying

[a]

About H. H.

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the clandestine machinery; on the other hand, I note that Peter is not a particularly clever detective.

Peter’s Remarks at the Convention. The misfortune and fundamental defect of the times was―reasonableness. What was needed was indeed―the ecstatic. But it would have been impossible for the ecstasy of the immediate to have gained acceptance―the times would have protested that this was ridiculous. I daresay what was required, then, was my brilliant sober-mindedness and cunning in order to dupe the times into it. So I transformed myself existentially into a shrewd and frivolous person and then―also for other reasons, and for my own sake―I made use of the pseudonyms. And Peter knows nothing whatever concerning all this―the heterogeneity―but he goes out and makes me―me, personally―immediately into ecstasy and pro dii immortales as opposed to Martensenian sobermindedness! It is a misunderstanding that is so enormous that if it triumphs I am weakened by 50 percent.―You see, this is how things go when one brother, silently, in obedience to God, works absolutely quietly, making every sacrifice―and then the other brother, showing off, takes it upon himself condescendingly (a�er half an hour’s preparation) to decipher the signs of the times with great profundity. And then the invidious parallel between an existential author of my elasticity, and my wingspan, and my ethical daring and something ordinary: a professor who has a career at a university. Yes, let Peter―who persuades himself and others that he has such profound feelings for the cause of Xnty―let him consider carefully how he could really defend doing this. But it actually seems that Peter―having go�en into the habit of being self-satisfied at conventions, etc.―has become rather worldly minded, so that he might like to be a success, perhaps as a nonsensical mediator, a very rewarding role.―Incidentally, this is curious: I spoke with Grundtvig two days ago; he made quite scornful remarks concerning Peter in connection with his lecture: “his pro and contra and his mediating, without accomplishing anything himself.” It does not, however, by any means follow from this that Grundtvig and I are in agreement. Perhaps, indeed, Grundtvig would have preferred that he had a�acked me instead of this twaddling 17 Pro dii immortales, Latin, by the immortal gods.

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mediation, for Grundtvig probably only has the merest notion of my character, my diligence, and sacrifices. Finally, it is also irresponsible of Peter to forget that I of course exist for the entire public at large. So when his fragmentary mention of me (supported by the illusion that as a brother, and as an older brother, he must be truly well informed) labels me as [“]the ecstatic one[”]―what then? Then it takes on quite a different meaning. In the world at large, [“]the ecstatic one[”] is just another expression for a fantast, for something close to madness. And this is actlly the way the world at large judges an apostle. You see, that was something I knew. And that is the reason for all the cunning with which I, the shrewd, [“]interesting[”] one, artfully worked in the ecstatic. And all this will be lost―unless, fortunately, all Peter’s discussion of me is quickly forgo�en, which, incidentally, it surely would be, were it not for the unfortunate circumstance that he is my brother.

While the air is still so full Of winter snow’s shivering-cold, Why, then, do you open the window[?] Brorson

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But to “open the window” is a symbol of impatience; the patient person does not sit by the window, he always has enough to do; or, if he sits by the window, he does his work and does not look out the window. It is impatient even to steal a glance out the window now and then; and the impatient person forgets his work in order to look out the window; then he puts his work completely aside in order to look out the window; finally, he even opens the window. And what does it mean not to open the window (something the patient person does not do)―it means to be introspective, which the patient person is, whereas the impatient person is extroverted. As time passes, the patient person reposes quietly in himself; the impatient person does not find repose in depth―therefore his mind clings to his eye, which of course is also like a window through which he stares.

[a]

see NB 12 p. 171.

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“The church,” where the organ provides music, sometimes even assisted by trumpets, is a�er all not rlly the place to proclaim Xnty.―No, in actuality, when the music is provided by derision, then, in the Christian sense, a person is properly supported by an accompaniment―if one can preach under such circumstances.

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[a]

Mag. Stilling.

During the time Xns were persecuted, among the atrocities practiced was to smear the martyrs with pitch and the like, ignite them as torches, and then use them to illuminate ceremonial occasions. In Christendom fundamentally the same thing continues to be done: the unbloody martyrs in particular have had to burn slowly―and this suffering of theirs has nonetheless been the light in the Church.

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On the Occasion of Stilling.

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…“Thus, it is a pleasure for me to regard you, not as an adherent of myself, but as a declared adherent of a transfigured person, your spouse. And―permit me to tell you this―this is a possible way for you to understand the situation. This is something I know how to treasure: no connoisseur of gemstones has a keener eye for refractions than I have for the noble treasure of existential possibility. By belonging entirely, in pious dedication, to a deceased person, one is quite well protected against wasting one’s time on frivolities or deceiving one’s life into ‘serious’ vanities. In ‘the honesty of one’s heart,’ a person’s strength―and a person will acquire strengths, more and more strengths―a person’s strength will direct itself toward one single thing. A person’s life will acquire significance for oneself and will take on deeper and deeper significance for others. And then, at the completion of this life, which was so profoundly satisfying to a person―for it was indeed a life lived together with the deceased―in the moment of departure from this life, one will say: ‘I do not wish to be remembered; the significance of this life was a memorial to the deceased, whom posterity shall remember in gratitude for what I have accomplished.’ That is what will be said at the moment

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of departure from this life, and yet there is scarcely time to get it said, for the moment of departure is of course also the moment of meeting with the person from whom one fundamentally was never separated, or who never was fundamentally separate.” For a moment, I thought I would write this to himb. His life is constituted such that it is could become a religious existence of a more unusual sort. But everything depends on how deeply he has been wounded by the loss of his wife and how deeply he appropriates the wound ethically. If this is not the case, then a reply of this sort only becomes an incitement, tempting the imagination; and if this is the case, no incitement is needed. But he interests me because I understand how to evaluate his existential situation.

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…. Or when His Eminence, with an artistic gesture, places his hand on his breast, on the spot where the star of his knightly order sparkles―though perhaps it is just in order to conceal his shame―and movingly gives assurances “that even if everyone abandoned Xt, if Xnty vanished from the world, I would nonetheless…” Well, whether he places his hand on his breast in order to argue on the basis of the knightly star or in order to conceal it, it does not convince me: for, a�er all, concealing the star with one’s hand for an instant is too li�le; in order to have any faith at all in this sort of assurance by a speaker, I would have to demand a view of a reality that is the precise opposite of this: marks of derision.

This is yet another way in which peop. o�en deceive themselves: In private conversation and association they say that so and so is a bad pers. or that his life injures the cause of the good, of Xnty―but in public they say nothing, counting this as a sort of leniency on their part, gentleness. Well, no thanks: doing so in public would be difficult, inconvenient, perhaps dangerous. What a double deceit. I have made it a principle not to waste my time going around privately, saying that someone is a scoundrel and the like. If I regard him as such and the ma�er as important, then I do it publicly. But in my view, going around like this and spewing nonsense privately is doing too li�le and is repulsive to me.

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on the occasion of the li�le book against Martensen he sent me.

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When I stood alone, using more than half my strength to stand alone, people impudently took advantage of the situation, and even though they had an inkling that this was in fact ideality, they raised the popular objection: Well, this isn’t really anything, it’s just one individual. Now people are reversing the situation and are invoking their previous position against me. Now they say that I supposedly have acquired adherents and so on. And nonetheless they make an odd, indirect confession concerning themselves, for fundamentally, what they confess is that now they need to include me―now they cannot avoid the pressure, which once was used impudently in turning my ideality (which they now maintain was the highest thing) into eccentricity― whereas they had in fact done all they could to ignore me. But if it was the highest thing, they of course ought to have applauded it, etc., instead of ignoring it.

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It is quite certain that the more costly something becomes, the more peop. value it. If it cost money to go to church, more people would go to church, etc. So common sense might think that it could serve Xnty by doing this or introducing such a fee. But there is another difficulty here: the divine does not want to be supported in this way. The infinite excellence of the divine consists precisely in the fact that it wants to be squandered, without the support of illusion―though of course infinitely aware that it is the divine, and sorrowfully aware that this is precisely why it enjoys so li�le respect. But it would never be possible that the divine would want to be helped by an illusion.

116

It has now become so easy to join in, now the ma�er is more or less se�led; then Peter comes, too, and says, referring to Martensen: I said it right from the start that he was no thinker. But why, then, did he not say so publicly, right at the start―but only at the end[?] The only response to the words [“]I said it right from the start,[”] is: not really.

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Ah, but there is beauty and the power of the eternal in this single word of Luther concerning the epistle from Phil. 2: Xt humbled himself―not: he was humbled. Ah, infinite elevation concerning which it is categorically, necessarily true that there was no one in heaven, on earth, under the earth who could humble him―he humbled himself. Herein is Xt’s infinite qualitative difference from every hum. being: that in every humiliation he suffers, he himself must unconditionally approve of being subjected to this humiliation. This is infinite elevation above suffering, but qualitatively, it is also infinitely more intense suffering.

Here is yet another way in which it will be clear that merely by taking the words “seek first the kingdom of God” for a moment at anything like their face value, a person will be spirited out of actuality, as it were: the others immediately create an enormous confusion, employing methods that are, if not unclean, then at any rate dubious―and then things get moving in a hurry. Meanwhile, a poor hum. being such as him stands there, daring to use only the purest of methods, those of eternity! How easy it would be for me very quickly to fire off some li�le newspaper articles that no one but I could write, but I dare not do it. And that is how it is with everything.

The day before yesterday I went for a walk with Nielsen. It was the last time for this year. In the course of the conversation he himself admi�ed that his entire change of course had in fact been determined, at least to some extent, by something personal. “He felt himself shunted aside in comparison with Martensen; for a number of years now, Martensen had occupied the seat in the Scientific Society that was supposed to be his” and so forth. Now, it is all very well that he himself says this. It is my hope both that actuality will work on him appropriately and that through his relationship with me he will come to have quite a different view of life: then something good could certainly come of this. The fact that he himself now acknowledges this is indeed an indication that some change has already taken place in him.

[a]

R. Nielsen.

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[a]

Joh. Climacus.

[a]

Goldschmidt.

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In all the usual talk to the effect that Joh. Climacus is mere subjectivity, etc., people have completely overlooked the fact that, in addition to all the rest of his concreteness, in one of the final sections he points out that the remarkable thing is that there is a How that has the property that when it is precisely indicated, the What is also given―that this is the How of “faith.” Here, indeed, maximum inwardness is in fact shown to be objectivity. And this is a twist of the subjectivity principle that to my knowledge has never previously been carried out or accomplished in this way.

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The title I could most wish to make into a standing appellation for Goldschmidt in the future is [“]the goody-goody.[”] It is an allusion to The Happy Capsize, where the whore who is to be married is given a wedding poem: [“]The Lily Entwined with the Rose,[”] dedicated to the goody-goody maiden, etc. And when G. made the transition from the whoring life in The Corsair to the proper respectability of Nord og Syd (entirely analogous to a whore ge�ing married), he ought at least have seen to it that a poem of this sort appeared in the newspapers.

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Dialectics People have a pious suspicion concerning subjectivity, to the effect that as soon as the least is conceded to it, it will immediately lay claim to being meritorious―therefore objectivity is to be postulated. Fine. In order to constrain subjectivity it is rightly taught that no one is saved by good works, but by grace―and, consequently, by faith. Fine. But am I myself therefore unable to do anything with respect to becoming a believer? Here one must either immediately answer with an absolute No, and then we have a fatalistic understanding of election

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by grace, or one must make a li�le concession. The fact is that people are always suspicious of subjectivity, and when it was established that a person is saved by faith, people immediately became suspicious that too much had been conceded here. So they added, [“]But no one can give himself faith, it is a gi� of God for which I must pray.[”] Fine. But can I myself pray, or are we to go further and say, [“]No, praying―i.e., praying for faith―is a gi� of God that no one can give himself; it must be given to him[”]? And what then? Then, once again, the ability to pray rightly that I might have the ability to pray rightly must also be given to me, etc. There are many, many complications―but at one or another point they must all be stopped by subjectivity. Making the criterion so great, so difficult can be praiseworthy as an expression for the majesty of God’s infinity, but subjectivity cannot be excluded unless we want to have fatalism.

Berlingske Tidende trumpets Ørsted’s book (The Soul in Nature) as a work that is to clarify the relation between faith and science, a work “in which, even when polemics are employed, it is always done with the finest phrases of the most cultivated urbanity.” One could be tempted to reply: From beginning to end, the whole book is scientifically (i.e., in the philosophical sense of science) insignificant, and even where it wants to be most significant it always moves toward the most insignificant of insignificant turns of phrase.

Epigram. “Science” is defended by Flyveposten and Berlingske Tidende―it is a�acked by Prof. Nielsen and Magister Stilling, men who have absolutely no understanding of science. Truly, the barbarians are

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at the gates. Who? Yes, wie es euch gefällt; I have in mind the barbarity that science is being defended by Flyveposten and Berlingske Tidende. If that is not the barbarity you fear, then keep calm, there are (yes, barbarians truly are at the gates) already reinforcements on the way: “The Lily Entwined with the Rose,” i.e., Nord og Syd’s (espoused) goody-goody, maiden bride, the divorced spouse of The Corsair, Herr bGoldschmidt seems not disinclined to take sides in order―in the most proper, respectable, and goody-goody manner possible―to defend “Christian science.”

There is a�er all really something base, something coarse in most of Holberg’s comedy, and this certainly explains why it is so popular, for it is linked to quite ordinary, hum., teasing, grinning malice. To present as comical, or actually to laugh at, the circumstances under which a hum. being suffers―no, I could not bring myself to do that. Under such circumstances I have no inclination whatever to laugh; I would rather try to help the man put things right, or I would seek to avoid him. Once he has been so incautious as to marry a young wife, an old man fears being made a cuckold―then he really suffers from this imagined notion. No, I do not consider this comical; as mentioned, I would either try to make it clear to him that this was a delusion or I would let him go for what he in fact is―but not that sort of comedy, nor the sort of wit characterized by a Troels. The more I consider this, the more I see how demoralizing this sort of comedy is. And the more I come to think of you, you noble one, you who a�er all were the only one who nobly and profoundly understood the sort of comedy that befits a noble spirit. It is absolutely necessary that the person concerned be satisfied with himself in his ridiculous delusion; the moment he becomes dissatisfied 1 wie es euch gefällt] German, whatever you want (title of Schlegel and Tieck’s German translation of Shakespeare’s As You Like It).

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with himself in his ridiculous delusion, we stop laughing at him. Next, this noble irony is not to be represented as being at the head of grinning crowds or as something physically strong, but as you―o noble, simple man!―who at the moment were much, much the weaker, whereas the Sophists had the power, honor, and esteem, and were themselves exceedingly happy in the delusion an entire era shared with them―so that they were far from suffering under it, this delusion, the ridiculousness of which was seen only by you, you noble wise man!

This is yet another reason why it can be a good thing for Christianity to be represented by an unmarried person. In the end, the li�le bit of Christendom that is Christian is absorbed into the festival of Christmas and its Christmas cookies. The li�le baby Jesus: this is the sort of Xnty that is farthest removed from accentuating the concept of imitation. Of course it is not a question of becoming a child oneself―no, the Savior himself is neither more nor less than a child, and that’s that. And Daddy and Mommy also regard their li�le Sophie as a li�le God-child. Sheer effeminacy. In general, this absolute and singular emphasis on Christmas turns Xnty completely upside down. Christmas only arose in the 4th century, but in this respect the orthodox are not eager to cling to the first 3 centuries.

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It is a shame that Dr. Kierkegaard has made a mess of himself. As Gedske in The Lying-In Room is unable to speak a single word without crying, as in Troy (see Ulysses von Ithaca), where custom dictated that when a man wanted to say, “Give me my boots,” he sang it with trills and tremolos, so it is with Dr. K., who cannot make the most insignificant observation without saying, “When we gaze upon history, seeing for ourselves with our eyes and with our hearts, fixing our gaze upon history, then the

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vision becomes clarified: it is wonderfully delightful for a person, one vaguely discerns, etc.” A person loses patience with this bombast, which promises so much and contains so li�le. And one becomes more than impatient because this bombast is continually accompanied by an equally affected modesty that speaks of its own lack of knowledge and so forth, the point of which is surely the notion that the person we have before us is a seer. And yet the truth is surely this: Dr. K. is a man of unusual abilities and is very well-read, a clever mind. On the other hand, he is not―and this is something one sees right away―he is not what he leads himself and others to believe through his copying of Grundtvig: he is not a seer who sees for himself with his eyes and with his heart, when he gazes upon history, vaguely discerning―no (as Joh. Climacus has said on a similar occasion), no, he is merely jesting. Would that he might take possession of his actual talents and lay down a proper criterion for his work, understanding that in a country as small as Denmark, every talented person ought first and foremost make an effort to uphold that criterion; would that he might do this and disdain what is easy and affected: being a seer in the eyes of some rural priests who presumably also see for themselves with their eyes and hearts.1 (for such things can be repeated infinitely, and even the caraway pretzel that Niels Klim lost in his fall―of course, even that immediately assumed a posture imitating N. K.)

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As a bass singer can sometimes sing a note so deep that it simply cannot be heard, and only when one stands very close to him and notices some convulsive movements of the mouth and throat, can one be sure that anything is happening at all―in this same way, sometimes Grundtvig gazes so deeply into history that one can see nothing at all; but it is certainly deep!

Other people who have been the objects of persecution by the rabble, as I have been, have at least something that exercises a restraining influence: high government posts, large incomes, rank and title―these are things that “the crowd” nonetheless respects, and in any case it prevents the crowd from regarding the person

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involved as half-mad. I have nothing, am nothing; I have only the unusual purity of my cause, my selflessness, my sacrifices: well, thanks anyway―in this wretched world, these things by themselves are enough to cause a person to be regarded as half-mad. 5

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And this confounded greed for ideas, audacious expressions, and the like! I cannot rlly talk, in the deeper sense of the word, with anyone. For in order even to be tolerably capable of understanding me, a person must be more than a li�le developed. And when that is the case, he cannot resist the temptation to exploit my words in order to produce something; so one person exploits them in books, another in sermons, a third person in conversations with others, etc. My misfortune is that I am and continue to be out of proportion to our small scale. And no one understands how a person can suffer from this; no one can understand it, they can only envy it. Naturally, in relation to God I can do nothing other than give thanks for the indescribable good he has done for me, so much more than I had expected.

The Proclamation of Christianity. This is the difficulty I have run up against: if Xnty is to be proclaimed in its truth, as it is in the N.T., then it is a language of God, and it takes someone who is actlly more than a hum. being to proclaim it. The spiritual inversion in relation to ordinary hum. ma�ers―that I simply ought to rejoice when the world goes against me, that this is rlly what it is to have good fortune, etc., etc.―well, even if, straining to the utmost, I were somewhat capable of remaining on this pinnacle, it is nevertheless cruel to speak to other peop. in this way. I understand this. But what has happened? Well, genuine proclamation of Xnty has disappeared from the world. The Xnty that is proclaimed is anything but Xnty.

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So I thought that something poetical was needed. Xnty is presented in a poetical form in its true superhuman sublimity―and then how far out one can venture must be le� up to each person. But with this the ma�er nevertheless becomes more difficult, for when the person who has div. authority is included as the person in command, his decisive orders are precisely what provide assistance in venturing.

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What a painful self-contradiction there is in Xt’s relationship to the disciples. He, the Master, He who demanded that He be adored―He of course sees that, hmnly speaking, the disciples in fact suffered by being His disciples, so that, hmnly speaking, it was indeed almost as if He ought to thank them for remaining faithful to him. And what a strange dialectic of dignity: to know oneself to be God and yet to be so far from being able to assure a bit of esteem for one’s faithful disciples, that, on the contrary, they must suffer degradation precisely because of their relationship to oneself― and then to uphold the notion of infinite dignity. But is this not how it is everywhere: Christianity can only be illuminated by analogy to madness. A madman can continue to cling to the delusion that he is king, despite the protests of the entire world―ah, but when one is not mad, then, when everything expresses contempt and mockery, then to cling to the idea that one is in fact the infinitely exalted one, to sustain this vis-à-vis the disciples, who of course, hmnly speaking, instead of adoringly giving thanks for having been permi�ed to become disciples, would certainly be within their rights, hmnly speaking, in le�ing him feel that it was sooner he who ought to thank them―he, who in a certain sense cannot do without them, for he has to have and make use of a couple of peop.: you see, this is superhuman!

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Here one sees the consequences of not being dialectical. In a sermon Luther expresses the most vehement opposition to the faith that is related to the person instead of to the Word; true faith looks to the Word, regardless of who the person is.

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Yes, this is certainly true with respect to a relationship between one hum. being and another, but in other respects Xnty is abolished by this theory. Then we would have a teaching in the ordinary sense of the term, in which the teaching is more important than the teacher, instead of Christianity as the paradox that what is more important is the person. Why, then, would Paul so vehemently insist that he is an apostle ουϰ απ᾽ ανϑρωπων ουδε δι᾽ ανϑρωπου except to point out the heterogeneity, which of course is authority. In another connection Paul can quite consistently remove this difference when insisting on the presence of Xt’s person, as when he argues against the fact that some say they are of Peter, others of Apollos, others of Paul, instead of all being of Xt. In general, Xnty’s paradoxical heterogeneity from all other doctrines of the scientific-scholarly sort consists in the fact that it posits authority. A philosopher with authority is nonsense. For a philosopher extends no farther than his teachings extend; if I can prove that his teachings are self-contradictory, erroneous, etc., then he has nothing to say to us. The paradox is that the personality is higher than the teaching. And therefore it is indeed nonsense for a philosopher to require faith.

Ah, but this is typical: religiousness (as one always finds it presented in more rigorous edifying writings) regards the longing for death as something pious. And in our times people censure this, almost want to make it ludicrous, ostentatiously clinging to this life. Here, as everywhere, something close to an absolute reversal of religiousness has again been achieved, even while people play at being religious. The ma�er is quite simple: fundamentally, people do not believe in any sort of eternal life, and they fear death―therefore every effort is made to uphold a zest for life, and people mutually reinforce one another in doing so.

Just as nowadays people feel disgust and get the shivers when they think of being a Jesuit and the like (because people immediately think of abominable degeneracy), one day they will come to think this way about being a journalist.

8 ουϰ απ᾽ ανϑρωπων ουδε δι᾽ ανϑρωπου] Greek, not of men, nor by any man.

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Fine men are to be found among butchers, but a certain brutality is inseparable from being a butcher; it is a part of the profession. It is worse with being a journalist: a certain degree of dishonesty is inseparable from even the most honest journalist. The human race’s deepest falling-away from God is designated by the word “journalist.” It is an ungodly a�empt to make something abstract into an absolute power, and anonymity completes the triumph of the lie. If I were a father and I had a daughter who had been seduced, I would not despair over her; I would hope for salvation. But if I had a son who became a journalist and continued as a journalist for 5 years, I would give him up. It is possible that in a given circumstance I could be mistaken, that the daughter could be the one who was lost and the son the one who was recovered, but viewed as an idea, my remarks are correct: to serve politics with the help of the daily press is too much for a hum. being. Who, indeed, would dare deny that he had ever once―perhaps many times―told a li�le lie: but to use a li�le lie every day, and in print, so that one thus addresses thousands upon thousands―this is frightful. One shudders at the brutality with which the butcher uses a knife―ah, but this is infinitesimally small in comparison to the irresponsibility and callousness with which a journalista uses untruth.

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In order to endure intellectual exertions such as mine, I needed diversion, the diversion of chance encounters in the streets and alleys―for associating with a few distinguished people is not rlly a diversion. This has now been made impossible for me, because diversion is impossible when one is recognized by everyone, who constantly and almost insanely do nothing but remind a person of one thing. Thus I had previously had the consolation of being able to retreat to the countryside whenever I wished, to live in idyllic peace, making use of the respect I enjoyed in the capital to keep people at a bit of a distance, and then, with the ease thus granted me, I delighted in talking to everyone. This, too, has been denied me. Marked as I am, a person can only live in a larger city, where there at least are others who have a notion of what this sort of thing means. Even the bourgeoisie in town are impossible rlly to

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associate with, because this sort of thing means something quite different to them, whereas the country folk know nothing at all. And all this is the consequence of living in a country that is not a country, but a provincial town.

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The vain li�le Danish people, who are so conceited with respect to their renown, ought at least have enough sense to realize that when everyone in a generation strives to be loved and respected and rewarded for immediately placing his li�le fragment of talent in the momentary service of the moment―that generation will have a deficit in history: journalists, braggarts at conventions and national assemblies, etc.―their names will definitely not contribute to glorifying the nation.―And yet this is where things are tending. There do not seem to be any high points looming among the younger generation.

Christ as Exemplar expresses absolutely that of which no hum. being is, of course, capable: absolutely holding to God in everything. As a consequence of this, it is an unconditional necessity that his life collide absolutely with the world, with hum. beings, and that he become the most forsaken and hated one, and the most wretched. Then the words of mockery resound: “He trusted in God―let us now see if God will have him.” And the malicious glee in this mockery is nothing specific to those Jews; it is in every hum. being. For there is strife between God and hum. beings, and one must choose whom to support. To a lesser degree, something similar can be experienced by a hum. being. Merely to make an approximation of earnestly holding to God is the sure way to miss everything that is temporal and worldly; for the more one holds to God, the more one strives solely to keep one’s cause unsullied and unselfish and one’s efforts sacrificial―all of which becomes one’s misfortune, for the person who holds with hum. beings knows that the trick is to secure for oneself earthly advantages that one can share with others. But all the same, peop. certainly do notice that such a hum. being’s life is powerful, and they are not fond of him―they

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almost hate him. And then, when a sort of analogue to Xt’s sufferings finally arrives―being forsaken by God―then the mockery is jubilant and it worships Nemesis in what happens to the man. Then they say: He should have remained with us. Earlier they had said: Join up with us, for love of God consists precisely in loving us, holding together with us in profiting from life. Everyone who merely makes an approximation of earnestly holding to God is in one sense eo ipso squandered, even though for faith this is most blessed thing of all; he misses everything in this life and then is hated for doing so; if this la�er happens, in addition to being squandered, he is also sacrificed. That is how it is: but this must not even be heard. If someone merely says this, his fate will be like that of the person squandered and sacrificed. It must not be heard because it disturbs peop.’s self-infatuated doctrine that holding together is loving God.

Ascending Forms of Religiousness. A.) The individual relates to God in order that things go well for him here on earth―that is, to benefit straightforwardly in an earthly sense from the God-relationship. B.) The individual relates to God in order to be saved from sin, in order to triumph over his inclinations, in order to find in him a merciful judge―thus in such a way that the situation becomes completely undialectical, and the individual has the sole benefit of this relationship. C.) It is required that the individual confess in word and deed (self-denial, the forsaking of finite goals) his faith in which his salvation lies; but the confession will have the consequence that the individual will come to suffer, making himself unhappy, hmnly speaking. Here is the dialectical element in benefiting from the God-relationship: at every moment of weakness it must seem to him as if what he gets from the God-relationship is trouble and adversity, because hmnly speaking, of course, he would be rid of a great deal of suffering if he gave up the confession, both the words of the confession and the deeds of the confession. But if at any instant things were to become so confused for the individual that he formed the overwhelming impression that it

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was almost as if he were doing God a favor (as if it were not the case both that God can require the infinite, and that what he does for the individual is infinitely beyond comparison, compared to which this [individual’s] suffering is nothing), then at every such instant the individual is ungrateful and is in danger of becoming blasphemous. In such a state of confusion I would advise that it was preferable to retreat from the danger for a moment and confess one’s ingratitude, rather than this frightful thing happen: to become blasphemous in venturing, in venturing to have the delusion of being able to do God a favor. Note It is not said that the dangers in confessing were present only in early days of Xnty; alas, the same thing will still happen to every honest confession; for the fact is that we are cra�y and use every illusion to evade a decisive confession in word and deed.

When Xt is compared to the bridegroom and the believer to the bride, it must be remembered that the initial term of this metaphor does not fit, for surely it is not the bride who chooses the bridegroom, but the bridegroom who chooses the bride by proposing to her. But he courts her; for just that moment he is inferior: this is not the way it is with Xt. But nevertheless a weak analogy can also be developed here, for just as it is the man’s conscious superiority that causes him to behave so courteously toward the weaker sex by going down on bended knee (and this is exactly why it would be improper if the girl, who is truly the weaker, did the courting, for in that case it would simply be begging, precisely because she is not strengthened with the knowledge, deep down, that she is truly the stronger), thus the distinguishing characteristic of infinite superiority is to begin by presenting oneself almost as someone who asks for the other person’s devotion. This is the considerateness of superiority, and infinite superiority is capable of doing this precisely because it is infinite superiority.

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The Sunday between Christmas and New Year, Epistle: Gal 4:1–7 Theme: God’s Upbringing, or Our Upbringing by God.

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1) at first we are slaves under the Law[;] 2) then we become children[;] 3) then children who cry, Abba, Father, and co-heirs with Christ. There is thus increasing openheartedness in relation to God. But it is not like the relationship between parents and children, where openheartedness comes gradually as the child becomes an adult; here it is the reverse: one starts out not as a child, but as a slave, and openheartedness increases proportionately as one becomes more and more a child. It is as I have remarked in another journal: the increase of inwardness in the God-relationship is characterized by things going backward for a person: one does not straightforwardly come closer to God; on the contrary, one discovers the infinite distance more and more profoundly. Therefore one does not begin by being a child, progressively becoming more intimate as one becomes older; no, one becomes more and more a child.

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It is one of those foolish remarks by which one immediately recognizes that someone is not a psychologist: “That there are certain things that one can indeed understand would drive a man mad―but not other things.” This is a foolish a�empt to explain in casu madness as if it were not madness, because one is so capable of “understanding” that he went mad. No, when it concerns especially important, unusual, [“]interesting,[”] etc., ma�ers―becoming preoccupied and taking an interest in the fact that a man went mad is a sort of novelistic interest, and one’s sympathy is in fact egotism. It is different with respect to going mad over what is termed a trifle, and yet here people forget something a psychologist would immediately think of: that precisely this [trifle] has surely been a reflective element in constituting the madness, so that the man lost his mind and became furious over the fact “that such a trifle could have such power

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over him, that other people would believe that such a trifle had such power over him,” etc. But in relation to this entire aspect of psychiatry, it is so profoundly true that to be a physician is to be willing to suffer oneself. Someone who does not have this humble dedication, patience, love to be willing to endure the suffering, serving (as a servant, as the lesser, in the form of a servant), pu�ing himself in the other person’s situation: he heals no one; and if the physician is willing in this way to suffer more than the sick, he will heal many.

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Mood. (Poetical). Oh, once upon a happier time, when “Jesus’ Name” had its full pathos, when it had not yet been abused by sanctimony and thoughtlessness, and even less had become shopworn and slovenly through continued abuse, so that it became nothing at all. In those days it was blessed to confess that one belonged entirely to this name. But now, now it would almost be the true pathos of inwardness to suppress it, to form one’s life as closely as possible to Xnty’s prescriptions, if possible to suffer what a Xn suffered, and yet never mention Xt’s name, preserving it as a secret in one’s heart. Thus here it is as if everything were reversed, so that the true Xn might feel himself obligated not to speak this name that had been so horribly abused, this name, for him the most valuable thing in the world, in order then to be able to live in an inward fellowship with Him. Oh, once upon a happier time, when enemies at least did not insist on being Xns, whereas now the true Xn would insanely be put to death―by Xns―because he is not a Xn. Ah, it was a consolation for those martyrs that at the very hour of death they had the blessed consolation and reassurance of having their crime announced to them: that theya were Xns―what more blessed words could they wish to hear. But the insanity and the insane fear and trembling for the verdict on the Xn martyr to be the only accusation that could cause him anguish: You are being put to death because you are not a Xn!

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People misunderstand the divergence in the newest philosophy (where Trendelenburg rightly points out that we ought to begin with ϰινησις), as if it were merely a question about whether one ought to begin with being or with becoming. No, the question about becoming, about movement, recurs at every point. If we do not begin by presupposing ϰινησις, we never get away from that point with Seyn, and even if one mendaciously gets to movement, it can be stopped at any point, because ϰινησις had been required in order to get away from the initial location.

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“The Prodigal Son” ― “The Father” ― “The Brother” 1

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there comes a moment when

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(for the girl must be satisfied with receiving permission to look out the window once in a while; she is not permi�ed to go out as the boy is)

and from this, of course, comes an essential constituent of a young girl, “the sigh”―amid all her happiness: the sigh

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3 Discourses Or perhaps an entirely new form could be chosen: godly diversion (light reading) for edification. 1. The Prodigal Son Let us begin at the beginning. The beginning is: He wants to go out into the world―he is bored with staying at home, seeing the same things and hearing the same things.―It is an old story. This is how it looks to youth:b “his father’s house has become too cramped for him.” Thus it is for a girl, as well; when she peers out the window of her father’s house,c it seems to her that she discovers that what she is seeking lies in the distance;d but usually that is as far as ma�ers get; she remains quietly in her father’s house and her longing simply becomes a quiet inwardness, a treasure for the whole of her life. But the son must get out, go away.

3 ϰινησις] Greek, movement, change (see also explanatory note). 8 Seyn] German, being (See also explanatory note).

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NB14:147, with marginal notes, including note NB14:147.c at the bo�om of the page.

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A�er having received―yes, it would certainly be possible to dispute his right to this, but we can talk about that somewhere else, and since the father, who of course was the person it concerned most closely, makes no objection, we will not do so, either―thus, a�er having received “his” share of the father’s estate, he travels abroad. If he has misfortune in the world, he will in any case not be able to say that it was because his father was niggardly and strict and had blocked the path of his development by denying him money for his foreign travels. So he travels. This is not a novel, one notices this immediately―the tale rushes all too quickly to the catastrophe. Surely, I use this foreign word correctly here: for there actually is an overturning in this tale. He travels―and at that very instant not only do he and the tale arrive at that foreign land, no, at that very instant we have reached the end of the story, of its first part, at any rate. It could easily be shown that there may be a deeper significance in this almost striking brevity, for the shorter the time in which a wastrel uses up everything he owns, the greater a wastrel he is, and thus it would be a self-contradiction to expand to many volumes a tale of the greatest wastrel’s squandering. Therefore, keeping such remarks in mind, we, too, will a�empt to be brief.

1849

here the story is told. Had he remained in his father’s presence, he would surely not have done so badly. Thus his misfortune was that he traveled far away―but perhaps it was also his salvation, for his father was not so nearby as to interfere with the serious schooling he had to undergo. Genrlly speaking, fathers do not understand this, and they lack the magnanimity to send their sons away or to understand that they must go away: then things never come to any sort of resolution. From beginning to end, the prodigal son kept bad company―he spent his money on whores, and he ended up herding swine: the company he kept was thus more or less the same. It is a misunderstanding to regard him as the prodigal son only a�er he had lost his money; he was equally the prodigal son when he was squandering his money on whores. “He came to himself”―you see, now the foreign travels are over, and they do not really end with his return home, but with his coming to himself. And from here on we will begin to speak of the prodigal son in a different way. e

2 The Father In genrl people tend to fasten all their a�ention on the prodigal son and almost forget the father. But this is unreasonable, for this father was truly a most remarkable man. If you want to know exactly what is remarkable about him, I shall tell you, and pay careful a�ention to it. What is remarkable is that it was precisely when he got a prodigal son that he really became a father in earnest. Other fathers are certainly willing to be fathers when there is a well-behaved child―but when there is a prodigal son, the father says: I do not want to be his father any longer, let him paddle his own canoe. People do not want to be the father of that prodigal son―but this father, this remarkable man, wanted to be the father of )

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precisely this prodigal son; it is almost as if he did not care very much about being the father of the prodigal son’s brother, the well-behaved child. Was that not strange? Oh, if only a storyteller were permi�ed to end his story in this way: [“]Was that not strange?[”]―then I would be permi�ed to end it like this. Prodigal sons are o�en found in actual life, but God knows how many times there has actually been such a father, and whether he does not actually belong in a fairy tale―and in the gospel? And why in the gospel? Because the father spoken of is actlly God in Heaven. But let us begin over again in order to pay a�ention to this loving father and get to know him. The son wants to go out into the world, finds his father’s house too cramped. In a certain sense, this was indeed perhaps ingratitude toward the father, but not a word is heard about this. On the contrary, the father has surely concerned himself so lovingly with his son that he has not thought of himself at all. Then the son demands that the father divide the estate with him. How unjust, the son of course does not have the least right to demand anything! How ungrateful, it is almost like saying to the father: Fundamentally, I wish you were dead. And if it would have made the son happy and would truly have been to his benefit, the loving father also would gladly have wished himself dead. So he divides the estate with him. It is certainly rare enough that a father is willing to do something like this, but if that were the case, then the parting would surely be of a sort to be expected under such circumstances. But this father, he can put up with everything and yet continue to be the father. Fatherhood does not hang upon him loosely, like a title. The son wants to go away―he is the father. The son wants him to divide the estate with him―he is the father. The son travels away―he is the father. Everything is lost, the son is prodigal―he is the father. Well, if you require some sort of change in order to hold your a�ention―then we might just as well stop right here, for this father of ours is the most boring

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pers. on the earth, and the only thing I can tell you in consolation is that in actuality such a father is an extremely rare occurrence. Here everything is worked through bit by bit. )

3 “The Brother.” People generally present him as hard-hearted and shrink back from his hard-heartedness, feeling themselves superior. But you see, if you want to benefit from the gospel story, that is something you should be careful about doing, and you should be especially careful about doing it too hastily. Hmnly speaking, he is right, not a word can be said in opposition to that. His annoyance is not exaggerated, it remains within reasonable bounds, and hmnly speaking, he is right. So let us not make use of this gospel on Sunday just so we can imagine that we are quite different from this brother. Well, there is one reason for his annoyance that is not immediately seen; for, a�er all, he was of course a good son; surely, he also loved his father and believed that he deserved to be loved more by his father; therefore it is not even because he was angry with his brother, but rather because his brother―and such a brother―should be preferred at his expense, inasmuch as the father’s joy was indeed so great that it was almost as if he had only one son, the prodigal, as if the other son were disinherited, as if the father―unlike the other fathers, who did not want to be fathers of a prodigal son―had said, I do not want to be the father of the righteous son. And there is one thing that I want to point out here: one often sees both lesser and greater instances in which the ill-behaved child is favored; instances when people are immediately grateful because the ill-behaved child behaves a bit be�er―so that the most advantageous position, both in the life of the family and in the greater life of the state is almost that of being the ill-behaved child.f My objection to this brother is actlly this: when he sees how indescribably this delights his father, out of love for his father he ought to have shared his father’s view. In addition, one sees here an example of the difference betw. fatherly love and brotherly love. Next, go through everything that has been preserved concerning this brother. This is added. Then the parable of the two brothers is perhaps to be used, where the one said, Yes―and did not do it―and the other said, No―and did his father’s will.

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One must see that the prodigal son has had an actual conversion.

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The Asceticism of Christianity. So, when they have shown what was foolish about flagellation in monasteries, etc., people happily and truly believe they have explained away all the asceticism of Xnty and shown how far Xnty is from such things. But wait just a minute! This indeed always remains, it is the paradigm―when one is the King of Kings: to clothe oneself in the form of a poor servant, to have no place to lay one’s head. The self-denial Xnty requires is illustrated by this example, but this of course is really asceticism and is something other than remaining in the world (as opposed to monastic flight from the world) in order to be honored and esteemed and to enjoy life. In brief, where indeed have people found the doctrine, which has now become Xn orthodoxy (for it is supported both by Mynster and by Grundtvig, each in his way), that Xnty is enjoyment of life[?] As I have shown in another journal: Certainly, the person who remains in the world in order to suffer for the truth is right in comparison to the hermit’s flight from the world, but the person who remains in the world, clinking glasses and bearing decorations, in order (to use ordinary hum. language) to enjoy himself in life, is hardly justified in comparison to the hermit. And let us not deceive one another: everyone knows very well what is meant by wanting to enjoy life. The fact that such a person can nevertheless be exposed to ordinary hum. sufferings, illness, etc. (just as any pagan can) is of course simply part of being a hum. being, and the impudence with which such sufferings are classified under the heading [“]Christian Suffering[”] is surely yet another lie.

The words I have so o�en said to R. Nielsen are in fact true and appropriate: “It makes an infinite difference whether a person goes to an auction with the intention of bidding 100 rd, starts by bidding 5 rd, and ends up by actually giving 100 rd―or whether a person immediately bids 100 rd upon walking into the

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auction hall―there is an especially infinite difference in the realm of the spirit, where the price is always the transaction, or the price is the ware itself, is what is purchased.” 5

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concept existentia there. The Leibnitzian principle: If God is possible, he is necessary, is quite correct. Nothing is added to a concept whether it has or does not have existence; it is a ma�er of complete indifference; it indeed has existence, i.e., concept-existence, ideal existence. But, of course, as was taught as early as Aristotle, existence corresponds to the individual, to the single individual, which lies outside or is not subsumed into the concept. For an individual animal, an individual plant, an individual hum. being, existence (to be―or not to be) is of very decisive importance; an individual hum. being of course does not have concept-existence. The very way in which recent philosophy speaks of existence shows that it does not believe in the immortality of the individual; it does not believe at all, it only conceives the eternity of “the concepts.”

That which confuses the entire doctrine of “essence” in logic is that people do not notice that they are always operating with “the concept” existence. But the concept existence is an ideality, and the difficulty is precisely whether existence is subsumed into its concept. Thus Spinoza can be right: essentia involvit existentiam, namely concept-existence, i.e., the ideality’s existence. But in another sense Kant is right to say that through “existence, no new definition of content is added to a concept.” K. is obviously thinking honestly of an existence―empirical existence―that is not subsumed into its concept. In relationships of ideality, it is everywhere the case that essentia is existentia―if it is possible in other respects to use thea

11 essentia involvit existentiam] Latin, essence includes existence (see also explanatory note). 19 existentia] Latin, existence.

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The last entry, NB14:150, continues into the margin and beneath the main entry.

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Notes for JOURNAL NB11 Critical Account of the Text of Journal NB11 445

Explanatory Notes for Journal NB11 453

NOTES FOR JOURNAL NB11

Critical Account of the Text by Finn Gredal Jensen and Kim Ravn Translated by K. Brian Söderquist Edited by Bruce H. Kirmmse

Explanatory Notes by Peter Tudvad Translated by George Pa�ison and K. Brian Söderquist Edited by K. Brian Söderquist

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Critical Account of the Text I. Description of the Manuscript Journal NB11 is a bound journal in quarto format. Kierkegaard placed a label “NB11” on the outside of the book (see illustration 1). The manuscript of Journal NB11 is preserved in the Kierkegaard Archive (KA) at the Royal Library in Copenhagen. The journal is wri�en in a gothic hand with some portions in a latin hand. Sixteen entries are wri�en in a decidedly latin hand.1 Kierkegaard also employs a latin hand when writing Latin, French, and Italian words, and occasionally for calligraphic purposes in connection with titles and headings. Kierkegaard wrote across the full width of the inside cover of the journal (NB11:2). The last two lines of entry NB11:106 were wri�en in the marginal column, as were the last three lines of NB11:224. Eighteen entries are wri�en lengthwise.2 One page in the journal contains the last three lines of entry NB11:26, wri�en horizontally across the page, as well as NB11:27, wri�en lengthwise. Entry NB11:174 is recorded diagonally in the main column (see illustration on p. 100). Two entries, NB11:8 and NB11:27, were recorded in red ink.

II. Dating and Chronology According to the label affixed to its front cover, Journal NB11 was begun on May 2, 1849, and must have been concluded no later

) See entries NB11:6, 8, 20–21, 27, 105, 122, 132, 150, 192, 194, 202– 205, and 211. With the exception of NB11:205, all the passages are recorded lengthwise in the journal.

1

) See NB11:6, 8, 14, 20–21, 27, 105, 122–123, 132, 150, 192, 194–195, 202–204, and 211. Entries that were wri�en lengthwise along the margin are reproduced horizontally in KJN by using the full width of the page, that is, across the columns reserved for both the main and the marginal entries.

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J O U R N A L NB 11 than July 19, 1849, which is the beginning date of the next journal, NB12.1 Three of the journal’s entries bear dates: NB11:8 (May 4 and 5), NB11:123 (June 4), and NB11:192 (June 25). In the first case, the two dates have been added later, which is clear because the entry itself is wri�en in red ink whereas the dates have added in black ink. The first date, “May 4,” is added at the top of the entry, and the second date has been inserted into the entry: “Today, May 5th, they [Two Ethical-Religious Essays] were sent to Gjødvad.” Along with NB11:192, which is dated “Monday, June 25,” the next entry, NB11:193, titled “Historical Note,” refers to events of the previous days, when Kierkegaard a�empted to visit Bishop Mynster “on Friday,” that is, June 22, and then J. N. Madvig “the day before yesterday (Saturday),” that is, June 23. He also reports a short visit to Mynster “today, Monday” in which Mynster explains that he does not have time for a longer conversation. NB11:193 was thus recorded on June 25 as well. Entry NB11:61 indicates that it was wri�en the same day that Mynster preached, “Today, e.g., (the Sunday a�er Ascension Day),” which was May 20, 1849. Likewise, in entry NB11:87, Kierkegaard mentions Mynster’s sermon, “today, at Pentecost vespers,” which was May 27, 1849. Several entries contain references to current events or circumstances that make dating possible indirectly. This is the case with entry NB11:14, which reads: “It looks dark out, and yet I’m very much at peace. / This day, my birthday, [i.e., May 5], will be an unforge�able day for me!” In entry NB11:46, Kierkegaard notes that Rasmus Nielsen’s new book has been published, which means the entry could have been wri�en on May 19, 1849, the publication date of Nielsen’s Evangelietroen og den moderne Bevidsthed. Forelæsninger over Jesu Liv [The Faith of the Gospels and Modern

) The marginal addition NB12:143.a may have been added at a later date than the main entry if by “a li�le book” Kierkegaard is referring to Rasmus Nielsen, Mag. S. Kierkegaards “Johannes Climacus” og Dr. H. Martensens “Christelige Dogmatik.” En Undersøgende Anmeldelse [Magister S. Kierkegaard’s “Johannes Climacus” and Dr. H. Martensen’s Christian Dogmatics: An Investigative Review]. The book was advertised as having been published in Adresseavisen, no. 242, October 15, 1849, and was 132 pages long. The main entry, NB12:143, was presumably wri�en shortly a�er September 7, 1849, which is the date of a preceding entry, NB12:138. See the explanatory note to entry NB12:143.a in the present volume.

1

Critical Account of the Text

1. Cover of Journal NB11.

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J O U R N A L NB 11 Consciousness: Lectures on the Life of Jesus]. Entry NB11:189 quotes from Thomasine Gyllembourg’s Skri�er [Writings], vol. 1, which was published June 23, 1849. Given that entry NB11:192 is dated June 25, it must have been wri�en very close to June 23. In entry NB11:203, Kierkegaard indicates that “The Sickness unto Death has now been given to the printer.” According to printer Bianco Luno’s records, the manuscript was received on June 29, 1849, and thus the entry cannot have been recorded earlier than this. Entry NB11:207 refers to Wilhelm Rothe’s Det danske Kirkeaar og dets Pericoper, en Haandbog for Prædikanter og Kirkegjængere [The Danish Church Year and Its Pericopes: A Handbook for Preachers and Parishioners], which Kierkegaard purchased on July 4, 1949 according to the records of Reitzel Bookstore.1 The table of contents in entry NB11:2 seems to have been continuously updated, and the last of these, “pp. 251 and ff.” refer to NB11:211. Aside from this, the chronological order seems only to have been broken when Kierkegaard added marginal notes and when he added the words “See the a�ached” to entry NB11:123, indicating that the text on a loose sheet of paper (NB11:125; see illustration on pp. 70–71) belongs there. It is uncertain when NB11:125 was authored. It is likewise unclear when a smaller loose piece of paper (NB11:124; see illustration on p. 68) was written, though it is also mentioned in entry NB11:123, and thus must have been composed before NB11:123.

III. Contents On the inside of the front cover, Kierkegaard created a table of contents (NB11:2) that refers to entries that he regarded as especially important for the development of his authorship.2 “The decisive place in this journal” is initially said to be “p. 126” of the journal, that is, NB11:122.3 The next line of NB11:2, however, refers to “pp. 217 and ff.,” that is, NB11:192. A “No” has been added to this line, and the next line then indicates that

) See KA, sec. D, fascicule 8, folder 1.

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) In the journals that follow, Kierkegaard adds more extensive tables of contents of this sort.

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) This same passage is referred to in the preceding journal, NB10:2 in KJN 5, 268.

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Critical Account of the Text “p. 235,” that is, NB11:202, is the decisive entry. The same revision continues in the rest of the table of contents. In other words, Kierkegaard seems to have changed his mind about the most decisive entry in this journal, which culminates with a reference to “pp. 240 and ff.,” that is, NB11:204, which is “continued” on “pp. 251 and ff.,” that is, NB11:211. Each of the references here are to entries that Kierkegaard wrote lengthwise in the journal in latin hand. Entry NB11:122 begins with these words: “No, no, I can’t and it is indeed almost an impossibility that I should now move up even higher and more boldly than when I had the benefit of having a fortune.” In this entry, as in earlier journals, his concerns about an income give rise to a dilemma: on the one hand, he considers the possibility of applying for a position as a priest in the state Church and, on the other hand, he considers continuing as an author. The next entry, NB11:123, includes thoughts about the publication of manuscripts he has already finished: “So. Just as the river Guadalquibir plunges underground at one point and then emerges later, I must now plunge into pseudonymity; but I have now also understood where I will emerge again in my own name.” He continues with reflections on what works should be published pseudonymously (e.g., The Sickness unto Death and Practice in Christianity) and what works cannot be published at all (e.g., The Point of View for My Work as an Author). In NB11:192, Kierkegaard writes that it would probably be wise for him to apply for a position before publishing the manuscripts he has already finished but he worries that this might not be consistent with the will of Governance. He reflects as well on the fact that his authorship has become something quite different from what he had imagined earlier in his career: And has not my way of thinking been altered successively[?] Have I not become, through the intervention of Governance, a different sort of auth. from what I had originally imagined[?] And what had I originally imagined? Let me conscientiously return to the appropriate point in time. When I le� her, what were my thoughts? This: I am a penitent; a marriage is impossible in this case; it will always retain a shadow of misfortune and it also protests against the wedding. On the other hand―and God knows I considered this as well even if I wanted to forget it or let it seem as if I had forgo�en it―on the other hand, a decisively religious existence, which I have always desired and which must remain a possibility for me as

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J O U R N A L NB 11 a penitent if I am to be honest with God, cannot be reconciled with marriage. If God intends to bring my sins down upon me, then I shall not, by a falsehood, put myself in a situation where I must beg God to spare me for the sake of someone else, someone else to whom I will thus be bound by a falsehood. That is, my life either had to become one of despairing pleasure―or else an existence carried through as unconditionally as possible. And should I then NB stop and become a heretic, deceiving God, he who in such a fatherly and accommodating way has led me ever further toward decisions that I could not have endured if I had understood everything right away[?] Oh, fie on me. And because I have hesitated so long, everything has become more difficult. In entry NB11:202, Kierkegaard is explicit about the fact that The Point of View for My Work as an Author (composed in the summer and fall of 1848) cannot be published.1 We read in the next entry, NB11:203, conversely, that The Sickness unto Death has already been given to the printer. Kierkegaard decided to publish the book under a pseudonym, with his own name included as editor. In NB11:204, he writes: “The pseudonym is named Johannes Anticlimacus, in contrast to Climacus, who claimed not to be Christian; Anticlimacus stands at the opposite extreme: a Christian to an extraordinary degree―I myself push it only to the point of being a perfectly simple Christian.” At the same time, he decides that Practice in Christianity can be published under the same pseudonym, but that “there’s no rush.”2 He also decides that nothing he has wri�en about his authorial person can be used, because it is wrong, he says, to anticipate the outcome of his authorial activity while he is still alive. As in other journals, NB11 includes a number of entries about the leading figures in Christendom, including Bishop Mynster, whom Kierkegaard both respects and detests. In NB11:87, he notes how Mynster is “allied with worldliness as much as anyone,” which leads him to reflect on Mynster’s sermonizing: “he’s

) Kierkegaard had earlier made the decision that The Point of View for My Work as an Author could not be published (see NB9:78 in KJN 5, 258–259). A shorter version, On My Work as an Author, was published in August 1851.

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) Practice in Christianity was published in September 1850.

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Critical Account of the Text coddled, and he’s coddled because he’s an orator.” He continues with reflections on Plato’s condemnation of the poets: Perhaps nothing else coddles or corrupts a pers. more. To stand at the pulpit and speak passionately―instead of taking action in the real world―and then to have it seem to the individual himself and the audience as if the man had taken action! Yes, Plato and Socrates were right: banish the poets from the state―and the orators as well. The Greek concept of philosopher (i.e., a thinker in ethical character) is on the whole far more suited to the communication of Christianity than this pitiful concept: the orator, the bombastic rhetorician rather than responsible agent. In the next entry, NB11:88, Kierkegaard continues with personal comparisons between himself and Mynster. Because Kierkegaard has been able to produce something exceptional as a “layman,” he says, a professional like Mynster finds him intolerable. In contrast, Bishop Mynster expends his energy on underwriting the establishment and thus guaranteeing the “serious” nature of joining the establishment and becoming “a full-time employee.” There are also a handful of entries dealing with Luther. Kierkegaard’s comments are o�en about individual lines from his sermons or his translation of the Bible. In entries NB11:120 and 121, for example, Kierkegaard moves from an observation about a single word in Luther’s sermon on Jn 3:16–21 to an assessment of Luther’s translation of 2 Thess 3:2. In NB11:104, he underscores Luther’s radicality by suggesting the following experiment: It might be quite expedient to memorize one of Luther’s sermons sometime―then deliver it without any hint―and see how furious the clergy would get―and then say: That was a sermon by Luther, word for word. As a precaution, one could get two sworn witnesses who could testify that this was the original intention―so the whole thing wouldn’t turn out to be a case of plagiarism. The entry is yet another example of Kierkegaard’s o�-repeated complaints that his contemporaries have failed to understand what it means to be Christian. Because so many believe that “where the masses are, there also is the truth,” one never hears “that Xnty is a militant teaching, a polemic, that posits eternal enmity betw. God and the world” (NB11:100).

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J O U R N A L NB 11 In three entries, NB11:46, 51, and 115, Kierkegaard turns his a�ention to Rasmus Nielsen. In the first, he writes that his most recent book, Evangelietroen og den moderne Bevidsthed. Forelæsninger over Jesu Liv, plunders from him “in a myriad of ways, mostly from the pseudonyms, whom he never cites, perhaps with deliberate cunning because they are the least read.” In entry NB11:51, under the heading “R. Nielsen’s Book,” Nielsen is criticized for not having enough “dialectical skill, insight, or sound judgment” to carry out his philosophical defense of Christianity. In his investigation of the relationship between faith and reason, Nielsen is accused of not consistently separating faith from knowledge: “Ah, he’s confused like all the others; [it is] a kind of vanity to believe that one should be able to give highly rational grounds, etc.― instead of admi�ing that the self-denying ethical project is to say: it is incomprehensible―and not a word more.” Kierkegaard is also critical of Goldschmidt, P. L. Møller, and Corsaren [The Corsair]. In NB11:16, for example, Goldschmidt is characterized as cowardly and obscene, and as far as Kierkegaard is concerned, the path back to respectability is not easy: In truth, for G. to look like a respectable pers. again, a public apology would have to be demanded, [and it would have to be] of such a kind that it could be republished in the newspaper every eighth day for an entire year. And one could also rightfully demand that he make an a�empt to repay the blood money he’s earned and donate it to charity―even Judas was that honest: he gave the money back. In entry NB11:199, Kierkegaard compares the relationship between himself and Goldschmidt to that of a father to “a boy, or more exactly a li�le kid,” who has been given permission to strike a blow, which he did with his wi�icisms aimed at Kierkegaard in Corsaren. Finally, a number of entries concern his own books that were published on May 14, 1849, namely, the second edition of Either/ Or (see, e.g., NB11:22, 103) and The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air: Three Godly Discourses (see, e.g., NB11:22, 53, 133, 168).

Explanatory Notes 4

1 2 3 4 5 6

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p. 126] See NB11:122. pp. 217 and ff.] See NB11:192. p. 235] See NB11:202. p. 236] See NB11:203. pp. 240 and ff.] See NB11:204. pp. 251 and ff.] See NB11:211. Luther’s sermon on the gospel for Epiphany … the first part] See, e.g., Luther’s explanation of the gospel for Epiphany, Mt 2:1–12, 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. 132–141. In the first part of his sermon, Luther explains how the three wise men from the east set out for Jerusalem in search of the newborn king but found him instead in the small village of Bethlehem. Although they expected to find him surrounded by wealth and glory, they nevertheless worship him faithfully in his modest surroundings (see pp. 132–135). Wer ist, der sich ... Fenelon 2nd vol. p. 66] A word-for-word citation from Fenelons Werke religiösen Inhalts [Fenelon’s Religious Works], trans. M. Claudius, new ed., 3 vols. (Hamburg, 1823; ASKB 1914), vol. 2, p. 66. In the NRSV, the translation reads: “Who has resisted the Lord, and succeeded?” ― Fenelon: François de Salignac de la Mothe-Fénelon (1651–1715), archbishop of Cambrai, spiritual director, and much read also by Protestants, such as John Wesley. yet to be seriously reviewed in Danish literature] A handful of Kierkegaard’s works were never reviewed, e.g., The Concept of Anxiety, A Literary Review, and Christian Discourses, but most of the others were reviewed, some at great length,

e.g., Either/Or, Fear and Trembling, Repetition, and Works of Love. prey to the mob] → 12,18. authors … plagiarize me] It has not been possible to ascertain to whom Kierkegaard is alluding here. I can never thank God … more than I could have expected] See “A First and Final Explanation,” the unpaginated appendix to the Concluding Unscientific Postscript (Copenhagen, 1846), where Kierkegaard acknowledges his authorship of the pseudonymous works and thanks “Governance” for having “granted me much more than I ever have expected” (CUP, 628; SKS 7, 572).

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If anything is to be said about my activity as an author] In the summer and autumn of 1848, Kierkegaard completed the manuscript of The Point of View for My Work as an Author, A Direct Communication: Report to History, which was published posthumously by P. C. Kierkegaard in 1859. In 1851, Kierkegaard himself published a shorter version, On My Work as an Author, dated “Cph., March 1849” (PV, 5; SKS 13, 11).

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the words of Solomon … abandoned by God] Cf. Ps 37:25. The Israelite king David is traditionally viewed as the author of Psalms, whereas his son, Solomon (ca. 965–926 �.�.) is said to be author of other O.T. books such as the Song of Solomon. Xt, who says: My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me] See Mt 27:46.

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I wanted to secure a comfortable future … and write] → 14,21. seek God’s kingdom first] See Mt 6:33. Kierkegaard’s phrasing here seems to echo Luther’s German translation rather than the 1819 Danish version of the New Testament that was the standard translation used in the Danish Church in his time. Kierkegaard owned Die Bibel,

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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 All the Sacred Writings of the Old and New Testaments, According to the German Translation of Dr. Martin Luther: With a Preface by the Prelate Dr. Hüffel] (Karlsruhe, 1836; ASKB 3). a living, a post] as a priest (→ 17,12). hypochondriac nonsense … positioned myself too highly] See, e.g., NB9:74 and NB10:69 in KJN 5, 254–255, 304–305. where should I go] Concerning Kierkegaard’s plans to travel, see, e.g., NB4:77 and NB4:158 in KJN 4, 325, 361–362 and NB7:114 in KJN 5, 144– 145. Now the two essays are being published … anonymously] “Does a Human Being Have the Right to Let Himself Be Put to Death for the Truth? The Posthumous Work of a Solitary Human Being. Poetic Essay,” which according to its preface had been wri�en at the end of 1847, and ”On the Difference between a Genius and an Apostle,” which according to its title page had been wri�en in 1847, which together constituted Two EthicalReligious Essays (WA, 47–108; SKS 11, 49–111). The book was published under the pseudonym H. H. and was advertised as having “appeared” on May 19, 1849; see Adresseavisen (abbreviated form of Kjøbenhavns kongelig alene privilegerede Adressecomptoirs E�erretninger [Information from Copenhagen’s Only Royally Licensed Advertising Office]), no. 116. The essays were originally placed as the third and sixth essays in A Cycle of EthicalReligious Essays (→ 16,10). Today, May 5th, they were sent to Gjødvad] Jens Finsteen Giødwad (1811–1891), Danish jurist and journalist, from 1841 joint editor and publisher of Fædrelandet [The Fatherland], a close friend of Kierkegaard, helping him in a variety of ways, including proofreading and arranging for contracts with printers. Kierkegaard sent the manuscript of Two Ethical-Religious Essays to Giødvad and then delivered it to the printer, Louis Klein. my economic situation is especially distressful] → 64,5.

1849

second edition of Either/Or] The manuscript of the second edition of Either/Or was delivered to the printer on January 19, 1849; see Erindringsbog for Bianco Luno. 1849 [Memorandum Book for Bianco Luno, 1849] (Archives of Bianco Luno Printing, Aller Press, Copenhagen). The publication of Either/Or: A Fragment of Life, Published by Victor Eremita. Second Edition, which consisted of both part 1 and part 2 in the same volume, was announced in Adresseavisen, no. 111, May 14, 1849. The publication of The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air: Three Devotional Discourses (→ 16,4), was announced in the same issue.

29

hate one’s father and mother for Xt’s sake] See Lk 14:26. Luther’s sermon on the gospel about the marriage in Cana] See, e.g., Luther’s sermon on the gospel for the second Sunday a�er Epiphany in En christelig Postille (→ 5,2), pt. 1, pp. 151–159, p. 156.

5

Faith made us masters … third Sunday a�er Epiphany] Kierkegaard cites word for word from Luther’s sermon for the third Sunday a�er Epiphany, Mt. 8:1–13, in En christelig Postille (→ 5,2) pt. 1, pp. 159–167; p. 161, col. 2. In the same gospel … a witness to them] See Mt 8:4. In the last phrase … believe in Xt] Summary of En christelig Postille pt. 1, p. 164, col. 2.

9

Does a Hum. Being … for the Truth?] → 8,21. the essay indicates that he does have the right to do so] See Two Ethical-Religious Essays (→ 8,21), (WA, 88–89; SKS 11, 93).

18

H.H.’s last words] An allusion to the postscript by pseudonym H. H. in “Does a Human Being Have the Right to Let Himself Be Put to Death for the Truth?” in Two Ethical-Religious Essays (→ 8,21): “This is, as stated, ‘this man’s many thoughts in a brief summary.’ Since the whole thing is fiction, ‘a poetical venture,’ but, note well, by a thinker, the thoughtful reader will surely find it appropriate that I say nothing about it this man’s character; just because it is fiction I can, indeed, just as well

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J O U R N A L NB 11: 12–15 say one thing as another, can’t say exactly what I wish. In another respect also, I can, inasmuch as the while thing is fiction, say exactly what I wish with regard to his life, how he fared, what he became in the world, etc., etc. But just because I qua poet have a poet’s absolute power to say what I wish, I will in these respects say nothing, in order not to contribute, by speaking about the whole novelistic aspects, to draw the reader’s a�ention away from what is essential, the thought content” (WA, 88–89; SKS 11, 93). 10m

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this pseudonym] H. H. (→ 8,21). the older ones] i.e., the various pseudonymous authors and editors of Kierkegaard’s writings from Either/Or (1843) to The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (1848). He is perhaps referring to Johannes Climacus, who in his concluding “Appendix” to Concluding Unscientific Postscript (1846) humorously declares that his book is superfluous and that “everything is to be understood as retracted, that not only does the book have a conclusion, but in addition to this, it is a revocation” (CUP 1, 619; SKS 7, 562). the abundance he has granted me during the past year] Since the publication of Christian Discourses (→ 69,15) on April 25, 1848, Kierkegaard had wri�en most of the manuscripts of The Sickness unto Death (→ 123,16), Practice in Christianity (→ 65,7), The Point of View for My Work as an Author (→ 6,1), On My Work as an Author (→ 6,1), and The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air (→ 16,4). In the same period, he also published the series “Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress” in Fædrelandet, and Two Ethical-Religious Essays (→ 8,21), both of which has been composed earlier. the entire religious production] i.e., the six collections of Edifying Discourses (1843–1844), Three Discourses in Various Spirits (1847), Works of Love (1847), Christian Discourses (1848), and Two EthicalReligious Essays (1849), together with the manuscripts of The Sickness unto Death (1849), The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air (1849), and Practice in Christianity (1850).

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the entire production that followed Either/Or] In addition to the works named in the two preceding explanatory notes, he is thinking of Repetition (1843), Fear and Trembling (1843), Philosophical Fragments (1844), The Concept of Anxiety (1844), Prefaces (1844), Stages on Life’s Way (1845), Concluding Unscientific Postscript (1846), and The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress (1848), along with several journal and newspaper articles, namely, “Who Is the Author of Either/Or” (1843), “A Li�le Explanation” (1843), “An Explanation and a Li�le More” (1845), “A Cursory Observation Concerning a Detail in Don Giovanni” (1845), “The Activity of a Traveling Aesthetician and How He Still Happened to Pay for the Dinner” (1845), “The Dialectical Result of a Literary Police Investigation” (1846), and “The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress” (1848). out of fear about my income] → 64,5. This day, my birthday] i.e., Kierkegaard’s birthday on May 5, 1849, when he turned thirty-six years old.

12

In a li�le article ... namely the Moravian Brethren] See Danish theologian Jens Møller’s (1779–1833) article, “Om Menneskenes Tilbøielighed til at agte paa Varsler af Forsynet og især om den religiøse Brug af Lodkastning hos Jordens berømteste Folkeslag” [On the Human Tendency to Respect Portents of the Future, Especially the Religious Use of the Drawing Lots among the Most Renowned People on Earth] in Nyt theologisk Bibliothek [New Theological Library], 20 vols. (Copenhagen, 1821–1832; ASKB 336–345); vol. 6, pp. 118–171. See p. 121: “One of the strangest customs, namely consulting God through the drawing of lots, has even been sanctioned in a Protestant congregation that claims association with our Lutheran church, namely the Moravian Brethren.” ― Moravian Brethren: Rooted in a Protestant movement in Moravia in what is now the Czech Republic, the Moravians were reorganized by Count Zinzendorf in Herrnhut in Saxony in 1722. A Moravian colony was founded in Christiansfeld in southern Jutland in Denmark in 1773, and a society was founded in Copenhagen in 1783. Kierkegaard’s father was a member of

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the Copenhagen society from 1815 (or earlier) until his death in 1838. Marriage is thus decided by lot] Jens Møller writes: “When Count Zinzendorf gave the Brethren a new constitution, he retained the casting of lots, and it is still used, as known, on several occasions, namely when filling ecclesiastical posts and missionary assignments as well as when arranging marriage between members, though each member is free to decide if he (or she) will be married according to lots” (Nyt theologisk Bibliothek, vol. 6, p. 158). Goldschmidt] Meïr Aron Goldschmidt (1819– 1887), Danish Jewish journalist and publicist, author of En Jøde. Novelle [A Jew: Novella] (by the pseudonym Adolph Meyer, edited and published by M. Goldschmidt) (Copenhagen, 1845; ASKB 1547). Goldschmidt founded Corsaren (see following explanatory note) in October 1840 and was the journal’s actual editor until October 1846, at which time 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]. If there had been even the hint of an idea … He asked for it himself] An allusion to Corsaren [The Corsair], a satirical weekly founded in October 1840 by Goldschmidt, who was the paper’s real editor until October 1846. On October 22, 1841, Kierkegaard master’s thesis, On the Concept of Irony, received an appreciative review by one of Corsaren’s part-time staff writers, who focused exclusively on Kierkegaard’s playful language. Goldschmidt seemed to think the reviewer had not given sufficient a�ention to the content of the dissertation and therefore added this semi-flattering postscript himself: “If we now acknowledge that, despite this surprising language, Mr. Kierkegaard’s dissertation is of interest to those who have the patience to read it, this admission― of course, when it is put in the context of what has been said above―presumably grants Mr. Kierkegaard the justice that is his due” (Corsaren, no. 51, col. 8). Similarly, in the March 10, 1843, issue, Goldschmidt writes the following in a review of Either/Or: “This author is a powerful intellect.

1849

He is an intellectual aristocrat. He scoffs at the entire human race, demonstrating its wretchedness. But he is entitled to do so―he is an extraordinary intellect” (Corsaren, no. 129, col. 1). Kierkegaard was also named on November 14, 1845, when his pseudonym Victor Eremita was praised, perhaps ironically, at the expense of the liberal politician Orla Lehmann: “for Lehmann will die and be forgo�en, but Victor Eremita will never die” (Corsaren, no. 269, col. 14). On December 22, 1845, a confidential contributor to Corsaren, P. L. Møller, published a generally positive review of Stages on Life’s Way in his aesthetic annual Gæa. Under the pseudonym “Frater Taciturnus,” Kierkegaard replied in Fædrelandet on December 27, 1845 (no. 2078, cols. 16653–16658), with the article “The Activity of a Traveling Aesthetician and How He Still Happened to Pay for the Dinner” (COR, 38–46; SV2 13, 459–467). Kierkegaard’s sarcastic reply included a request that he become the object of satire in the pages of Corsaren, as he found it unacceptable that he should be the only Danish writer that had been praised by it rather than abused. Corsaren obliged by publishing a series of satirical articles about, allusions to, and drawings of Kierkegaard, first on January 2, 1846 (no. 276), and regularly therea�er until July 17, 1846 (no. 304) (see, e.g., KJN 4, 453–456). A�er Goldschmidt’s departure as editor, the teasing continued, as on October 23, 1846 (no. 318), and December 24, 1846 (no. 327), as well as January 1, 1847 (no. 328), and June 18, 1847 (no. 352). one could also rightfully demand … donate it to charity] An allusion to the fines that guilty parties were forced to pay to charities, especially to the welfare of the poor in Copenhagen. According to Goldschmidt’s own records, Corsaren made 4,000 rix-dollars (→ 23,17) during his final year as editor, whereas it made only 1,500 rix-dollars the year he took over. See M. A. Goldschmidt Livs Erindringer og Resultater [Memoirs and Results of My Life], 2 vols. (Copenhagen, 1877); vol. 1, pp. 429–430. ― blood money: See Mt 27:6. Judas was that honest: he gave the money back] See Mt 27:3–5.

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Heiberg] Johan Ludvig Heiberg (1791–1860), author, editor, and critic; 1828–1839, playwright and translator at the Royal Theater, therea�er its dramatic adviser until he became director of the theater in 1849; 1829, titular professor; 1830–1836, taught logic, aesthetics, and Danish literature at the Royal Military High School. J. L. Heiberg was the age’s leading tastemaker. Kierkegaard alludes here to Heiberg’s patronizing discussion of “the public” (→ 47,26). a couple of peop. I really liked] It has not been possible to identify who Kierkegaard is speaking of. Luther’s sermon on the gospel] Refers to Luther’s sermon on Mt 8:23–27 for the fourth Sunday a�er Epiphany in En christelig Postille (→ 5,2), vol. 1, pp. 168–175. Here Luther emphasizes that Jesus himself says that he has not come to bring peace, but the sword (Mt 10:34): “All this invites you to seriously consider whether you would like to be Christian or not. For if you would like to be Christian, then prepare: there will be nothing but storms and strife (p. 169). Bishop Mynster’s leadership] Jakob Peter Mynster (1775–1854), Danish pastor, writer, and politician, from 1811 permanent curate at Vor Frue Kirke [The Church of Our Lady] in Copenhagen. From 1826, he was court chaplain, and from 1828 royal confessor as well as court chaplain and chaplain at Christiansborg Palace Chapel. In 1834, he was appointed bishop of the diocese of Zealand. As bishop of Zealand, Mynster was the primate of the Danish Church and the king’s personal counselor; during the period 1835–1846, he was a member of the Advisory Assembly of Estates in Roskilde, where he was very influential; and in 1848–1849, he was a member of the Constitutional Assembly. Mynster had a seat in a great many governing organs and was the prime mover behind various key ecclesiastical publications, including the authorized Danish translation of the New Testament that appeared in 1819, the Udkast til en Alterbog og et Kirke-Ritual for Danmark [Dra� for a Service Book and Church Ritual for Denmark] (Copenhagen, 1839), and the authorized Tillæg til den evangelisk-christelige Psalmebog

1849

457

[Supplement to the Evangelical Christian Hymnal] (Copenhagen, 1845). All those thoughts about running the risk of being put to death] See NB4:118 in KJN 4, 346 and the accompanying explanatory notes. daily insults from the mob] An allusion to his appearance in Corsaren (→ 12,18) and Kierkegaard’s perception that he was persecuted as a result it. I’m again about to publish] → 8,21 and → 8,23. I shouldered the weight of vulgar insults] → 12,18. worry about my income] → 64,5. the material about to be published] Presumably Two Ethical-Religious Essays or perhaps one or two of the soon to be published works, The Sickness unto Death (1849), The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air (1849), and Practice in Christianity (1850). the thought of stopping] Refers to the circumstance that even as early as the period following publication of Either/Or (1843), and again following the publication of Concluding Unscientific Postscript (1846), and repeatedly therea�er, Kierkegaard had considered stopping his writing and seeking a position as a priest in the country. See, e.g., journal entries JJ:415 (KJN 2, 257), NB:7, NB:57, and NB2:136 (KJN 4, 12–18, 50–51, and 193– 194). See also chap. 3, “The Role of Governance in My Writings,” in The Point of View for My Work as an Author (PV, 86; SV2 13, 611). I had wanted so much a quiet life] i.e., as a rural priest. Cf. entry NB:7, wri�en on March 9, 1846: “If only I could make myself become a priest. A�er all, however much my present life has gratified me, out there, in quiet activity, granting myself a bit of literary productivity in my free moments, I would breathe more easily” (KJN 4, 16–17).

1

distressed spirit] Or “grieving” spirit. Cf. Eph 4:30. take a post out in the countryside, in tranquil security] → 14,21 and → 14,22. Neither in this case will God be mocked] See Gal 6:7.

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1849

the “Preface” that is now in “Three Godly Discourses”] See the preface to The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air: Three Godly Discourses, which appeared on May 14, 1849, the same day as the second edition of Either/Or (→ 8,29). The preface, dated May 5, 1849, reads: “This li�le book (which, with regard to the circumstances of its appearance reminds me of my first, the preface of the two upbuilding discourses of 1843, which came out immediately a�er Either/Or) will, I hope, bring the same recollection to ‘that single individual whom I with joy and gratitude call my reader’: ‘It desires to remain in hiding, just as it came into existence in concealment―a li�le flower under the cover of the great forest.’ My reader will be reminded of that by the circumstances and in turn, I hope, will be reminded, as I am reminded, of the preface to the two upbuilding discourses of 1844: ‘It is offered with the right hand’―in contrast to the pseudonyms, which were held out and are held out with the le� hand” (WA, 3; SKS 11, 9). Only a few lines would have been added … a second time of edification] The original preface seems not to have been preserved.

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, 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) “Does a Human Being Have the Right to Let Himself 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). insignificant … equally insignificant] Kierkegaard here plays with the Danish word ligegyldig, which means “unimportant” or “insignificant,” but if it is broken into its root words, lige gyldig, it means “equally valid,” or “of equal significance.” that remarkable year, 48] Even among contemporary writers, 1848 was referred to as “the remarkable year” because of the many revolutions and wars around Europe, including civil war in Denmark in the southern provinces of Schleswig and Holstein. See, e.g., C. Hostrup, Familietvist eller Det mærkelige Aar, Sangspil [A Family Dispute or the Remarkable Year: A Musical Comedy] (Copenhagen, 1856), p. 4: “Time: 1848, the beginning of Autumn.”

A Cycle of Ethical-Religious Essays … divided into smaller parts] A Cycle of Ethical-Religious

The World Wants to Be Deceived] A. E. Scribe’s play, Verden vil bedrages, Lystspil i 5 Acter [The

the position I’m taking with this step, as auth.] Presumably an allusion to the publication of Two Ethical-Religious Essays that recently had been sent to the printer (→ 8,21 and → 8,23). I, who fight to give “the apostle” his due] See “On the Difference between a Genius and an Apostle,” in A Cycle of Ethical-Religious Essays → 8,21). I had once considered … second edition of Either/Or] The manuscript of “Come unto Me, All You Who Labor and Are Heavy Laden, and I Will Give You Rest: For Awakening and Inward Deepening,” was composed in 1848 and later published in 1851 as a part of Training in Christianity. The second edition of Either/Or was published on May 14, 1849, as was The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air (→ 8,29). –– Come unto Me … Heavy Laden: See Mt 11:28.

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World Wants to Be Deceived. Comedy in 5 Acts], trans. by N.C.L. Abrahams from the French, Le Puff ou mensonge et vérité [Puffery, or Lies and Truth] (1848); see Det kongelige Theaters Repertoire [Repertoire of the Royal Theater], no. 167 (Copenhagen, 1849; ASKB U 101), which Kierkegaard had purchased at J. H. Schubothe’s bookshop on April 7, 1849. In the play, deception prevails over truth. Only officer Albert d’Angremont is offended by the deception, but in the end, he himself ends up telling lies in order to win his beloved and to procure a just pension for a widow. The play premiered at the Royal Theater on March 27, 1849, and was performed seven times in all, with the last performance on September 15, 1849. Like the rest of it, it’s a lie (as Scribe says)] Kierkegaard alludes to the last line of the play Verden vil bedrages (→ 16,29), p. 38, col. 2. A�er hearing Antonie assert that his lie is “the honest truth,” Desgaudets, who has discovered that the times demand deception rather than truth, responds, “Like everything else.” ― Scribe: (→ 18,3). priests make a living] In provincial towns citizens had the duty of paying the priest an assessed sum called “priest money,” while peasants in rural parishes were to pay the priest a certain percentage of their agricultural yield, especially grain, known as a tithe. The size of these payments was established by the Ministry for Church and Educational Affairs. On holy days members of the congregation could also pay their priest a voluntary sum of money called an “offering.” Priests had a certain amount of additional income called “perquisites,” i.e., fees for performing such clerical acts as weddings, baptisms, and funerals. In provincial towns, there was also an additional sum for a housing allowance, while rural priests had income from the fields and farms a�ached to their call. In general, priests in Copenhagen were be�er off than those in the provinces; see an anonymous article, “Bemærkning om de kjøbenhavnske Præsters Forhold til Menigheden” [Observation on the Relation of Copenhagen Priests to the Congregation], in Politivennen [The Friend of the Police], no. 1313, February

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27, 1841, p. 130: “Compared with the rest of the country’s priests, a large portion of the priests of Copenhagen have generous incomes and live extremely well.” I can handle the mistreatment, even more mistreatment] → 12,18. nastiness was my first caretaker] An allusion to the nastiness he perceived in his treatment by Corsaren (→ 12,18). In Corsaren, Kierkegaard’s pseudonym Frater Taciturnus was occasionally associated with “Crazy Nathanson,” a horse dealer who was commi�ed to the care of the public asylum Bidstrupgård. See Corsaren, no. 278, January 16, 1846, col. 14; cf. also Corsaren, no. 280, January 30, cols. 9–11, and no. 285, March 6, col. 8. Bishop Mynster] → 13,28. He’s 72 years old now] Mynster was seventythree years old at the time. His sermons] In journal entry NB28:56, Kierkegaard mentions that in keeping with a tradition inherited from his father, he always went to hear Mynster’s sermons (KJN 9; SKS 25, 262–264). Kierkegaard also owned Mynster’s Prædikener [Sermons] (Copenhagen, 1826 [1810]; ASKB 228); Prædikener paa alle Søn- og Hellig-Dage i Aaret Prædikener paa alle Søn- og Hellig-Dage i Aaret [Sermons for Every Sunday and Holy Day of the Year], 3rd ed., 2 vols. (Copenhagen, 1837 [1823]; ASKB 229–230, 2191); and his Prædikener holdte i Kirkeaaret 1846–47 [Sermons Given in the 1846–1847 Church Year] (Copenhagen, 1847; ASKB 231).

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Scribe’s] Augustin Eugène Scribe (1791–1861), French dramatist, dominated Parisian theater life for forty years with close to 350 opera libre�i, vaudevilles, and comedies in which love is often shown to be a fleeting illusion. In the halfcentury from 1824 to 1874, Scribe’s dramas were those most o�en performed at the Royal Theater in Copenhagen, where, with the assistance of J. L. Heiberg (→ 13,13), about one hundred of his pieces were performed.

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the interesting] A catchword from ca. the 1830s, taken over from German idealist aesthetics. It was a general term for the means by which a

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sense of fascination and excitement could be evoked. In the Danish context, the “interesting” was made topical by J. L. Heiberg, who, in his review of Oehlenschläger’s play Dina [Dina], in Intelligensblade [Intelligencer], vol. 2, nos. 16–17, November 15, 1842, wrote that ancient tragedy did not recognize “the interesting, which is a modern concept for which ancient languages did not even have a corresponding expression. This circumstance signifies both the greatness and monumentality of ancient tragedy, but also its limitation; for it follows from this that as much as that genre demands character portrayals, as li�le, basically, has it room for character developments; here there is, so to speak, nothing to develop, as li�le as in a marble statue. The boundaries of everything are plastically determined from the start, indeed even predetermined” (p. 80). See the preface to Either/Or (EO 1, 9; SKS 2, 17) and “Problema III” in Fear and Trembling (FT, 83; SKS 4, 173). thorn in the flesh] See 2 Cor 12:7–9. a book titled: The Life of 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-critical method, i.e., that it seek historical causes and trustworthy sources in order to prove the authenticity of the various scriptural writings, including those about the historical Jesus. See, e.g., Karl Hase, Das Leben Jesu. Lehrbuch zunächst für akademische Vorlesungen [The Life of Jesus: A Manual for Academic Study], 2nd ed. (Leipzig, 1838 [1829]; ASKB 51); D. F. Strauss, Das Leben Jesu, kritisch bearbeitet [The Life of Jesus, Treated Critically], 2 vols., 4th ed. (Tübingen, 1840 [1835–1836]); 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). In addition to these works, Kierkegaard was probably also thinking of Rasmus Nielsen’s Evangelietroen og den moderne Bevidsthed. Forelæsninger over Jesu Liv (→ 28,18), which he had just received from Nielsen.

1849

Johan. de cruce] Johannes de Cruce (John of the Cross) or Johannes of Yepes (1542–1591), Spanish mystic, theologian, and poet. What Luther says about prayer … it really pleases him] Refers to Luther’s sermon on Lk 18:31–43 in En christelig Postille (→ 5,2) vol. 1, pp. 194–201; see esp. pp. 199–200. Drivel … the only reply to doubt] A source could not be identified. one prefers to say with Hamann: Bah] Johann Georg Hamann (1730–1788), German author and antirationalist philosopher, writes in a le�er dated January 22, 1785, to F. H. Jacobi of the doubt that has arisen in his heart: “There are doubts, which cannot be answered with reason, but only with a Bah! that must be rejected―just as there are concerns that best can be eased with laughter.” See Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi’s Werke [The Works of Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi], ed. F. Roth, 6 vols. (in 8 tomes) (Leipzig, 1812–1825; ASKB 1722–1728), vol. 4.3 (1819), p. 34. fear and trembling] See Phil 2:12.

6

Somewhere I must have wri�en an aphorism] See journal entry CC:16 from ca. 1836–1837: “It is really fortunate that language has a number of expressions for nonsense and cha�er. If it didn’t I would go mad, because what else would it prove other than that everything people say is nonsense? It is fortunate that language is so cultivated in this respect, so that one can still hope to hear some reasonable talk once in a while” (KJN 1, 197).

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But these things … the temptations of Xt] Kierkegaard quotes from Luther’s sermon on Mt 4:1–11 for the first Sunday of Lent in En christelig Postille (→ 5,2), vol. 1, pp. 201–207; p. 207.

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The didactic treatment of the life of Xt] Perhaps an allusion to Rasmus Nielsen’s Evangelietroen og den moderne Bevidsthed. Forelæsninger over Jesu Liv (→ 28,18). dividing the life of Christ into paragraphs] As do, e.g., Karl Hase in Das Leben Jesu. Lehrbuch zunächst für akademische Vorlesungen and D. F.

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Strauss in Das Leben Jesu, kritisch bearbeitet (→ 20,2). the li�le essay] → 22m,1. The li�le essay … the sympathetic collision] i.e., Two Ethical-Religious Essays (→ 8,21). 10 rd] i.e., ten rix-dollars. The rix-dollar, properly rigsbank dollar (rigsbanksdaler), was divided into six marks, each of which was further divided into sixteen shillings; thus there were ninetysix shillings in a rix-dollar. A judge earned ca. 1,200–1,800 rix-dollars a year; a middle-level civil servant earned ca. 400–500 rix-dollars a year; a qualified artisan would receive 200 rix-dollars a year, plus free board and lodging from his master; a maidservant received at most 30 rix-dollars plus board and lodging. Four hundred rix-dollars were considered sufficient to maintain a family for a year. A pair of shoes cost three rix-dollars, and a one-pound loaf of rye bread (the staple of the day) cost between two and four shillings. in the preface … interest to theologians] See pseudonym H. H.’s preface to Two EthicalReligious Essays (→ 8,21) (WA, 55–57; SKS 11, 61–63). a passage in the second essay] Refers to a footnote in “On the Difference between a Genius and an Apostle,” in Two Ethical-Religious Essays: “Perhaps it happens here with some reader as it happens with me, that in connection with this discussion of “authority” I come to think of Magister Kierkegaard’s Upbuiliding Discourses, where it is so strongly accentuated and emphasized, by being repeated in every preface every time and word for word: ‘they are not sermons, because the author does not have the authority to preach.’ Authority is a specific quality either of an apostolic calling or of ordination. To preach is precisely to use authority, and that this is what it is to preach has simply been altogether forgo�en in our day” (WA, 99; SKS 11, 103). 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 (1845), Edifying Discourses in

1849

461

Various Spirits (1847), and Works of Love (1847); see especially this la�er 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; SKS 9, 54). humoristic twist at the end] → 10,4. the first essay in “Two Ethical-Religious Essays”] i.e., “Does a Human Being Have the Right to Let Himself Be Put to Death for the Truth?” (→ 8,21). give some ground, make some concessions] Refers to “Does a Human Being Have the Right to Let Himself Be Put to Death for the Truth?” (→ 8,21) (WA, 63, 68, 70, 83; SKS 11, 69, 73, 75, 87–88). It wasn’t in the original manuscript … removed again in the end] A reference to the postscript to “Does a Human Being Have the Right to Let Himself Be Put to Death for the Truth?” (→ 8,21). The “original manuscript” has not been located, but early proofs versions exist (Pap. VIII 2 B 139.5, Pap. X 5 B 10, 14–18). straightforward religious pieces a�er the Concl. Postscript] A reference to the religious works that Kierkegaard published a�er the Concluding Unscientific Postscript (1846), namely, Edifying Discourses in Various Spirits (1847), Works of Love (1847), Christian Discourses (1848), The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air: Three Devotional Discourses (→ 8,29), and Two Ethical-Religious Essays (→ 8,21).

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Christ says to Paul … you’ll suffer for my sake] See Acts 9:16.

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Essay no. 1 in Two Ethical-Religious Essays] i.e., “Does a Human Being Have the Right to Let Himself Be Put to Death for the Truth?” (→ 8,21). all the straightforward pronouncements … that are now finished] i.e., the manuscript of The Point of View for My Work as an Author (→ 6,1); Report to History, On My Work as an

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Author (→ 6,1); “Three ‘Notes’ Concerning My Activity as an Author” (→ 32,19); “A Note Concerning My Work as an Author” (→ 32,18); and “Everything in One Word” (see Pap. X 5 B 144). 25

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Two Essays by H. H.] → 8,21. in the second essay … qualitative difference] A loose quote from “On the Difference between a Genius and an Apostle,” in Two Ethical-Religious Essays (→ 8,21) (WA, 100; SKS 11, 104). The Conclusion of the First of the Two Essays] i.e., the postscript to “Does a Human Being Have the Right to Let Himself Be Put to Death for the Truth?” (→ 8,21). the humoristic part … removed] → 24m,7.

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a typographical error … “the nuisance of working miracles.”] A reference to “On the Difference between a Genius and an Apostle,” in Two EthicalReligious Essays: “Even the miracle, if the apostle has this gi�, provides no physical certainty, because the miracle is the object of faith” (WA, 97–98; SKS 11, 101). In the proofs, Kierkegaard corrected the Danish word Gene (“nuisance,” “inconvenience”) to Gave (“gi�”) (Pap. X 5 B 10.20).

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entire postscript to essay no. 1] → 8,21. if I say right a�erward that I’m essentially a thinker] → 8,21.

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The first essay] i.e., “Does a Human Being Have the Right to Let Himself Be Put to Death for the Truth?” (→ 8,21). The novelistic in him] → 8,21.

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instruments of vulgarity] An allusion to the journalists who wrote for Corsaren (→ 12,18), especially Goldschmidt (→ 12,18) and Møller (→ 97,13).

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and the “newspapers” … ethical authorities] Perhaps an allusion to the Reformation, which made use of the relatively newly invented printing press.

1849

the most degraded part of the daily press] Corsaren (→ 12,18).

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I’ve had money] → 64,5. R. Nielsen’s book is out] 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 specialty was speculative philosophy, but starting in the mid-1840s he came under Kierkegaard’s influence; the two men became friends in 1848. Kierkegaard here refers to Nielsen’s Evangelietroen og den moderne Bevidsthed. Forelæsninger over Jesu Liv [The Faith of the Gospels and Modern Consciousness: Lectures on the Life of Jesus], part 1 (Copenhagen, 1849; ASKB 700; abbreviated herea�er Evangelietroen og den moderne Bevidsthed). The book was advertised as “published” in Adresseavisen, no. 116, May 19, 1849. According to the book’s preface, the lectures that form the basis of the book “were delivered in the university building during the winter of 1848 before a respectable number of listeners of both sexes” (pp. vi–vii). Kierkegaard may have been familiar with the lectures before they were published, because he appears to refer to them in journal entry NB10:13; see KJN 5, 271–272. Nielsen gave Kierkegaard a copy of the book with a giltdecorated full morocco binding and a dedication dated “Sunday, May 13th 1849” (the book is privately owned). if he just used me as a crutch] Perhaps a reference to Kierkegaard’s conviction that Nielsen “obviously makes use in his works of what he takes from me” (NB10:13 in KJN 5, 271–272). His writings plunder … never cites] In Evangelietroen og den moderne Bevidsthed, Nielsen writes of the paradoxical character of Christianity and seems to be influenced by some of Kierkegaard’s pseudonymous works such as Fear and Trembling and Concluding Unscientific Postscript, which he does not specifically mention. Nielsen does, however, cite works published in Kierkegaard’s own name, namely, Two Edifying Discourses (on p. 189) and Works of Love (on p. 384). Nielsen also adds on p. 411: “Without being able to cite any par-

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J O U R N A L NB 11: 46–53 ticular passage, the author would like to remind the reader in general of the numerous dialectical categories used here that are found in the works of Mag. Kierkegaard.” Moreover, on p. 441 he writes: “For the unique dialectic of the relationship to God, see the Kierkegaardian writings.” 28

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miracle of the 5 loaves and the 2 small fish] See Jn 6:1–15.

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Christ … forbade the more they did it] See Mk 7:36. 9 of the lepers] See Lk 17:11–19.

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R. Nielsen’s Book] Rasmus Nielsen’s Evangelietroen og den moderne Bevidsthed (→ 28,18). doubt and faith … starts the debate] A reference to Rasmus Nielsen’s foreword (paginated separately) to Evangelietroen og den moderne Bevidsthed, where he contrasts “faith in the gospel” with “modern consciousness” in the form of “the believer” and “the free thinker, the freethinker” (as well as “the doctrine of the happy medium,” represented by “academic theologians,” i.e., speculative theologians) in order “to allow the spokesmen for the respective positions to meet and go through the four gospels together, and to allow each to express himself in character” (p. vi). No more essentially than Mag. Adler had given up Hegel] A reference to Adolph Peter Adler (1812–1869), Danish theologian, who in 1840 received the magister degree with the dissertation Den isolerede Subjectivitet i dens vigtigste Skikkelser [Isolated Subjectivity in Its Most Important Forms], and from 1841 was parish pastor in 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, ASKB 383); in 1844, he was suspended from his post; and in 1845, he was honorably discharged with an interim allowance, because his claim, in the preface to Nogle Prædikener [Some