92
Kierkegaard
Journals
62-15862
D DDD1
v .""iL-
The Journals of
KIERKEGAARD
A - I
iv- /*d*oyr~
Translated, selected,
and with an introduction by
ALEXANDER DRU
HAEPEE TOBCHBOOKS
Harper & Brothers Publishers New York
THE JOURNALS OF KIERKEGAARD
Copyright 1958, 1959 by Alexander Dru
Printed in the United States of America
This selection from the Journals was made by arrangement with
the Oxford University Press, which published the original edition
in 1939.
All rights in this book are reserved.
No part of the book may be used or reproduced
in any manner whatsoever without written per-
mission except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical articles and reviews. For
information address Harper & Brothers
49 East sard Street, New York 16, N. Y.
First HARPER TORCHBOOK edition published 1959
Library of Congress catalog card number: 59-6650
92,
CONTENTS
Introduction to the Torchbook Edition page J
Chronological Table 33
The Journals 39
PLAZA
INTRODUCTION
TO THE TORCHBOOK EDITION
Somewhere in the Journals Kierkegaard remarks that the
skipper of a fishing-smack knows his whole cruise before sailing,
but a man-of-war gets its orders only on the high seas. That is
what happened to him. It was not until he had completed his
work, in 1845, that its full significance dawned on him, and he
understood his mission. That mission was not a self -chosen, self-
imposed task, but was implicit in the work he had written. The
Revolutions of 1848 in Paris, Rome, Berlin and Vienna showed
him the situation in Copenhagen in a new light.
What he calls "the Journal proper" begins in January 1846
and is the record of that change and its consequences. The earlier
Journals had been haphazard by comparison. They allow us to
see the raw material of his life, so to say, before his destiny had
taken shape. The Journal proper enables the reader to assist at
the process of simplification and clarification hi which he under-
stood himself in existence.
The Introduction, I need hardly say, confines itself to giving
the reader an outline of Kierkegaard's life and work which I
hope will enable him to read the Journal in comfort. Those
who wish to follow up their reading may usefully consult The
Mind of Kierkegaard, by James Collins, and Johannes Kohlen-
berg's biography. Dr. Walter Lowrie's Short Life is a sound,
dual-purpose volume.
Childhood and Youth
Copenhagen, where Kierkegaard was born on 5th May, 1813,
was a small provincial town, the seat of Government and, at
that time, the intellectual centre of Scandinavia, with its Uni-
versity and its learned Academies a closely-knit society which
provided Kierkegaard with a clinical specimen of the social and
8 INTRODUCTION
political, intellectual and religious currents of the day, which
he could consult like a barometer. There was hardly anyone
from the King, Christian VIII, to the women in the fish-market,
whom he did not know, and there was certainly no one who
aroused more curiosity than the gnome-like figure, with his um-
brella under his arm, who could be seen on his daily walks about
the town.
In appearance he was certainly odd. He was slight, spindly
and with so pronounced a stoop that he was regarded as a
hunch-back. The curvature of his spine, which he thought had
been caused by a fall from a tree when he was a child, made
him lean back as he walked, and gave him a dislocated, mechani-
cal, crab-like gait, so that every movement appeared to be delib-
erate. His head was finely shaped and well-rounded, crowned
with a mop of uncontrollable fair hair. The eyes behind his
glasses were pale blue, his nose straight and strong, his mouth
large, his teeth protruding, his chin receding. Unprepossessing
and unimpressive though he was, he had only to begin talking,
and in spite of a rasping voice that easily cracked, he was
altogether transformed. His conversation could be captivating in
the highest degree, and he possessed an uncanny, but not always
reassuring, gift of penetrating the minds of others. When Hans
Br0chner, later Professor of Philosophy at the University, first
met him, he assumed he must be some little clerk from an office.
But it was not long before he was disillusioned on that score,
and delighted in his company. "His smile," he wrote, after
Kierkegaard's death, "and his look, were indescribably expres-
sive. He had a particular way of greeting one at a distance, with
a mere look. It was just a little movement of the eyes, and yet
it conveyed so much. He could put something infinitely gentle
and loving into his gaze, but he could equally goad and tease
people to frenzy. With a single look at a passer-by he could, as
he expressed it, e put himself in touch with him.' Whoever met
his gaze was either drawn to him or repelled, was either made to
feel uncomfortable, or attracted to him. I have walked down
whole streets with him while he explained how one could make
psychological studies by 'getting in touch' with people; and while
INTRODUCTION 9
he explained his theory he put it into practice with almost every-
one."
Seen from the inside, through the pages of the Journal, Kierke-
gaard is all melancholy and the microscopic analysis to which
he submitted his thoughts and feelings and experience is in
danger of concealing as much as it reveals. For from the outside
nothing of this appeared. No one, he triumphantly asserts, ever
pitied him. To his contemporaries he was a man of infinite wit
whose flashing intelligence dazzled and disturbed; but although
his superiority was never in question, he remained an enigma.
Far from appearing serious, he gave the impression of taking
a frivolous delight in making a mockery of everything they took
to heart. "There is nothing spontaneous or straightforward
about him," one man who knew him well wrote. "I am
surprised he can eat and sleep, etc. Otherwise I acknowledge
him to be the most cultured and talented author; but he seems
to me like a decrepit old man, or rather like an exceptionally
intellectual person with a sickly imagination."
Kierkegaard would not have disagreed. He had never known
what it meant to be young, and his genius, he thought, lay in
an exceptional compound of opposites, of reflection and imag-
ination and a diseased absence of spontaneity, so that the very
qualities which gave him his superiority over others, were at
the same time the source of his misery, cutting him off from
ordinary life at which he could only assist as an observer, or a
spy, he wrote later, in the service of an idea. It was as though
his infinitely reflective mind disintegrated experience as it came
to him, putting spontaneous reaction beyond his reach. And yet
at the same time a vivid imagination enabled him to feel and
grasp all that was denied him. "Lacking almost all the require-
ments for being a man," crippled by the disproportion between
body and spirit, he was nevertheless possessed by a vitality which
nothing could subdue. Even at the point where he felt that he
was on the borderline of madness, his vitality of mind held
everything together, piercing the web of explanation in which
his reflection tried to imprison him, and finally restoring order.
It was this agonising sense of the dislocation between thought
IO INTRODUCTION
and existence which drove him, as he grew up, to search for "the
idea for which I can live and die," for the truth which would be
the full-blooded union of thought and existence which fate, in
the first instance, had denied him.
"From my earliest youth," Kierkegaard writes, "I was in the
grip of a profound melancholy." The expression is misleading,
and on one occasion at least, he is more precise, and adds, "from
my twentieth year." What he meant was that "we are all of
us what we are to be by the time we are ten years old:" he was
predisposed by his physical weakness, by his malformation and
his whole cast of mind to fall into melancholy. But it was only
by stages that his singularity turned into isolation, and his isola-
tion was transformed by his imagination into an inescapable
fate. The events which determined the course of his life have
been discussed ad infinitum and the full truth will probably
never be known; but the main outline of the great moral and
intellectul crisis of his youth is clear enough, and it is possible
to follow the steps by which Kierkegaard came to understand
the forces of heredity and upbringing by which he was formed.
The story is briefly summarised in a group of quotations and
comments in which he describes the culminating point as "the
great earthquake," They were written on three pages of gilt-
edged paper and are given here (p. 39) in the order in which
they were written, and not as printed by the editors. Variously
interpreted, they give the phases of Kierkegaard's development
from childhood until the death of his father in August, 1838.
Kierkegaard was anything but a melancholy child. He was,
from all accounts, alert, independent and precociously intelli-
gent, "with a tendency to freedom and irresponsibility which
prevents him from taking anything seriously." He was perfectly
well able to look after himself at school, more than a match
for a master who showed any signs of weakness, and never with-
out the physical courage to deal with the boys of his own age,
who noticed nothing particularly odd about him except the curi-
ous suits he was dressed in and his sarcastic remarks. It was not
INTRODUCTION 1 1
until much later that he became conscious of being unlike others,
and by then he had discovered ample compensation in his home
life.
Everything there centred round his father. As the youngest of
seven children he was spoilt and allowed a degree of freedom
which his brothers and sisters had not known. And as he grew
older the natural affinity between him and his father came into
play. Everything, it seemed to him in after life, had been done
to favour his development and to establish his self-confidence.
The autobiographical sketch, "Johannes Glimacus" (p. 80) gives
a stylised impression of the "insane upbringing" which he cursed
and blessed in the same breath as wonderfully suited to his
genius, though by developing his natural gifts it encouraged his
singularity and made him old before his time. Then and after-
wards, his father was the only man with whom he lived on
equal terms, whose cast of mind was in many respects like his
own, and on whom he could count absolutely for understanding.
From him, he says, he learnt the meaning of fatherly love, and
so gained some analogy for the love of God. The motto chosen
for these years, "Half childish games, Half God in my heart,"
taken from Goethe, sums up the happy and solid foundations
on which his life was built, the sense of freedom and duty and
the belief that "one can do what one wills" which supported
him through all the trials and crises of his life.
But when the crisis came involving his father, his whole world
came crashing about his ears. It is a matter of conjecture when
Kierkegaard's suspicion first arose. But whenever it was, he grad-
ually began to notice that the facade of his father's life con-
cealed a different world, that the faith in God which he had
been taught, and the Christianity in which he had been reared,
were powerless to support the man he loved. He came to see
that his father was deeply vulnerable, and that his faith was
undermined by "silent despair." This suspicion was explored in
every direction, and kept alive by his father's unguarded re-
marks. When his mother and all but one of his brothers died
within a few years, and his father's melancholy could no longer
be hidden, Kierkegaard brooded over his suspicions until they
12 INTRODUCTION
acquired the compulsive force of "a frightful foreboding" that
in some unexplained way he himself was involved in the fate of
the whole family. In 1835 he seems finally to have stumbled on
the "secret" that explained everything, and its power over him
was doubly increased by the fact that his worst forebodings had
been fulfilled. He had discovered the "infallible law" that ex-
plained everything and it became an Me fixe, something objec-
tive, a point on which his sense of isolation could centre and
round which his melancholy coagulated.
Kierkegaard's father, Michael Pedersen Kierkegaard, was
born in Saeding, a hamlet in the poorest district on the moors
of Jutland, where the peasants scraped a bare existence from
the soil. As a child, he was often sent out on to the moor to
mind the sheep, and it was there, when he was twelve years old,
that in his misery and solitude, he climbed on a hill and cursed
God. The primitive intensity of thought and emotion which the
gesture reveals was never dulled or transformed by education,
and the act of rebellion which his grinding poverty had pro-
voked was firmly fixed in his memory when his luck suddenly
changed.
When he was about sixteen, Michael Pedersen was sent to
assist a cousin in a hosier's business in Copenhagen. He was
quick to learn the business and soon took over the management
entirely. By the time he was forty he had saved a very substan-
tial sum for a man of his position, and subsequently, in the year
of S0ren*s birth, his capital was unexpectedly increased by a
lucky investment. But his material prosperity had already been
payed for in spiritual tribulation.
Shortly after the death of his first wife, who died childless,
in April 1796, Michael Pedersen wound up his affairs and sold
his business. Within a year, in April 1797, he had married his
servant, and less than five months later their first child was born.
Behind that sequence of events, the death of his first wife, to
whom he was devoted, his retirement, and his hurried second
marriage, lies the secret on which he began to brood, and which
his son was to discover with such tremendous consequences. He
had loved his first wife, and to the end of his life continued to re-
INTRODUCTION 13
gard her as his real wife and himself as responsible in some sense
for her death perhaps she had learnt of his relations with their
servant. If Kierkegaard's expressions are any guide, he accused
himself of seducing, if not raping, the girl who lived under his
roof and under his protection, and who became the mother of
his children. Outwardly fortunate, eminently successful, a close
friend of Mynster, the future Primate of Denmark, and widely
respected for his uprightness and his intelligence, he was in-
wardly broken by remorse. His vigorous mind was imprisoned
in a narrow, disfiguring Protestantism, an arid predestinarian
theology and a meagre pietism that accentuated the personal de-
pendence of man on God at the price of confining it in an almost
mechanistic conception of Divine Providence. To him the chain
of cause and effect, of guilt and punishment reached from his
first rebellion against God, down through his sensuality to the
successive deaths of his children. It was a religion which neither
education nor vision had touched; it remained morose, intense,
and sterile. In a softened light it was the Christianity which
Kierkegaard himself was offered and against which he re-
acted healthily, though to the end his mind was coloured by
it
By his second wife, Michael Pedersen had seven children,
four boys and three girls, the eldest of whom died as the result
of an accident in 1819. Two years later his eldest daughter
died suddenly. It was ten years later, just as S0ren Kierke-
gaard left school and began going to the University, that
his mother and three of his remaining brothers and sisters died
within the space of three years. It was this succession of deaths
which made such an impression on Michael Pedersen and Ms
two surviving sons. S0ren*s brother Peter, then lecturing at the
University, was himself in the grip of religious melancholy which
a grim theology had fastened so firmly on him that at the end
of his life, when he had been Bishop of Aalborg for some years,
he begged to be relieved of his office, unable to bear the responsi-
bility any longer. The atmosphere in the large house in the
main square, where they all three lived, was such that a less
sensitive mind than Soren's might well have wondered what lay
14 INTRODUCTION
behind the inheritance of melancholy that had descended upon
him.
All three, as Kierkegaard now discovered, had arrived inde-
pendently at the same conclusion. His father and his brother
had come to believe that the father's sins were to be visited on
the sons, and that Michael Pedersen was destined, as the deaths
of his children had proved, to outlive them all, "a cross on the
tomb of all his hopes" and that the "outstanding intellectual
gifts of our family were only given to us in order that we should
rend one another to pieces." Kierkegaard had found the infalli-
ble law which explained all the facts; the "great earthquake 59
shattered his world and left him stranded. "Inwardly torn asun-
der as I was . . . what wonder then that in desperate despair
I grasped at nought but the intellectual side in man, and clung
fast to it, so that the thought of my own considerable powers of
mind was my consolation, ideas my one joy, and mankind indif-
ferent to me." (p. 40).
The "infallible law" was not merely an explanation of his
father's despair; it was a "terrifying, mysterious explanation of
religion, which a frightful foreboding had played into my hands,
which my imagination worked upon, and the scandal which reli-
gion became to me." His life which had begun in an idyllic,
patriarchal key was suddenly transformed into terror. Instead of
submitting like his father and brother and bowing under the
weight of the fate they had constructed for themselves, S0ren
reacted violently and broke with everything which had hitherto
protected and supported him, and found release in the new in-
tellectual life that opened out before him at the University. For
however firmly "the infallible law" had taken root in his mind,
there was the outside world to be explored and new levels of
experience to be tasted and tested.
It is at this time that Kierkegaard first appears on the scene
rejoicing in his talents and making his superiority felt. He is
seen addressing the University Club on a political motion, cut-
ting short a rowdy meeting with his sarcasms and making his
INTRODUCTION 15
debut in the press. His articles on the Liberal leader, Orla Leh-
mann, were at once attributed to J. L. Heiberg, the most distin-
guished litterateur of the day though what the author intended
was not quite clear, except to ridicule the Liberals. But neither
his father, nor his brother was impressed by his success. They
did not share his interest in politics, his enthusiasm for the
romantic school, his passion for Mozart or his boundless curiosity
in his contemporaries. They only saw him drifting away from
home, and speaking and thinking in a cold and critical way to
Christianity, while he found as little substance in the stodgy
orthodoxy of old-fashioned Protestantism as in the brittle new-
fangled rationalistic theology of the young Hegelians like Mar-
tensen, his coach. In the hope of bringing him to his senses his
father sent him for a holiday to Gilleleje, on the north coast of
Zealand, where the first entries in this selection were written in
August 1835. For a moment Kierkegaard pulled himself together
and the deeper note in his mind sounds through his despair.
But on his return to Copenhagen his new state was soon worse
than the first.
For the next two years he speaks of himself as "on the path
to perdition," but what looked like frivolity and irresponsibility
to his father and others and even to himself was a necessary
safety-valve. The Journal for these years is short and intermit-
tent, hardly more than an echo of his conversation and the
carefree mood he adopted in public where he was "never so
ungracious as to appear without a freshly picked bouquet of wit."
He spent much of his time with a group of seedy aesthetes, Hans
Andersen among others, who met regularly in one of the cafe's.
Among these was P. L. M011er, a gifted young man who supplied
the model for the Don Juan character who appears in Either-
Or, and a drunken, declasse intellectual Johannes J0rgensen. It
was probably in their company that he visited a brothel an inci-
dent which suddenly sprang to the forefront of his mind some
time afterwards like "lightning announcing a violent storm," at
the time when he first met Regine Olsen, the girl to whom he
became engaged.
The one man who penetrated his mask, and was not taken
1 6 INTRODUCTION
in by his nihilism, was the poet and philosopher Poul Martin
M011er (not to be confused with P. L. M011er) to whom Kierke-
gaard afterwards dedicated The Concept of Dread where he
defines the notion of Angst and analyses his own spiritual atti-
tude during these years with special reference to sin and sexual-
ity. In the long dedication M011er is addressed as "the mighty
trumpet of my awakening." M011er was almost the only man at
the University who sympathised with Kierkegaard's growing
irritation with the fashionable philosophy of Hegel, and he sus-
pected rightly enough that the young man whose sardonic com-
ments amused him would, if only he could concentrate his
energies, play David to Hegel's Goliath. They were often seen
about together, M011er large and easy-going, and Kierkegaard
walking him into the gutter as he threw out his ideas and ex-
plained his point of view. M011er's early death, in the spring of
1838, touched him deeply and a few days later, he took up his
interrupted Journal again.
The first sign of change is Kierkegaard's reconciliation with
his father. At about this time Michael Pedersen paid his son's
debts and made him an allowance which enabled him to leave
his father's house and live in rooms. It may have been part of
the bargain that Kierkegaard should begin working, and he
taught Latin for a time at the school he had attended as a boy.
To judge by the quotation from Lear (p. 40) headed "twenty-
five years old" it was on the occasion of his legal coming of age
that his father made full amends for the past and confessed his
sins. A week or so later, on nth May, 1838, Kierkegaard re-
corded an experience of "indescribable joy" unique in the Jour-
nals. On August gth his father died and Kierkegaard's period of
crisis was over. "The powerful religious impressions of childhood
acquired a renewed power, over me, but softened by reflection. 5 *
Now that his father was no longer alive to be put off with ex-
cuses, Kierkegaard felt in duty bound to set to work and take
his degree which during the last eight years he had not at-
tempted to do. He began working for the theological examina-
tion which would give him the right to preach.
INTRODUCTION *7
In the spring of 1837, Kierkegaard had visited his friends
the R0rdams, whose daughter Bolette had made an impression
on him. It was in their house that he met Regine Olsen. She
was barely fifteen at the time, and for the next year or two he
only saw her occasionally. In her old age Regine recalled their
first meeting clearly, and was in no doubt that Kierkegaard had
decided then and there that she should be his wife. Immediately
after his father's death he made a pilgrimage to Jutland, care-
fully noted in the Journal, and on his return began working for
his examination. He presented his thesis "On Socratic Irony" in
September, 1840. A few weeks later he asked for Regine's hand,
and they became officially engaged. His self-confidence had re-
turned. He was still under the impression of his religious experi-
ence, and he saw the past through the haze of his reconciliation
with his father. In his happiness he never doubted that he could
escape his father, overcome his isolation and "realise the uni-
versal"; marry and be like others. But no sooner had he spoken
than he felt he had overstepped the mark. And the more he
poured over his dark secret the more certainly he knew that he
could never reveal it and speak of his father's sin, his mother's
dishonour or involve the girl he loved in his exceptional life. It
never occurred to him to conceal anything. After a long struggle,
during which he hoped she would break with him, he had finally
to tell her he would not marry. The engagement was broken
oil in October 1841, and after remaining in Copenhagen for a
couple of weeks, in order to give the impression that he was
indifferent to the whole affair and so, if possible, make things
easier for Regine, he took the boat for Stralsund and went on to
Berlin. The possibility that he might still marry however was not
entirely ruled out and he remained in an agonised state of sus-
pense. "Had I had faith," he wrote afterwards, "I should have
remained with Regine" but on another level he had felt "a
divine protest" and believed that his destiny lay elsewhere. Even
before he had become engaged he had asked himself whether
he was to be able to marry Regine or whether perhaps "the
orders are: further": whether fate had other plans for him.
1 8 INTRODUCTION
Kierkegaard's Work: The Pseudonyms. 1841-1845
Kierkegaard returned to Copenhagen early in March, 1841.
For the next four and a half years, until the end of 1845, he
lived for his work and his whole life was planned accordingly.
He was comfortably installed in the house on Nytorv, cared for
by his servants, and spared the worst drudgery by his secre-
taries. Food and wine, coffee and cigars interested him, and he
fussed about the temperature of his room as he could not bear
the heat. His daily walks round the town continued, and he
was often seen at the theatre, and when the long summer days
came he hired a carriage and horses and made expeditions into
the surrounding country, where he dined and supped at an inn,
occasionally spending a night or two away. As long as he was
writing, his melancholy was in abeyance, and his whole attention
was given to the works in hand. A glance at the chronological
table will suggest the speed at which he worked.
Kierkegaard's work is so large, complex and detailed, that
the reader is often unable to see the wood for the trees. In fact
the main lines of the structure are large and simple, and it is
the ground-plan, if I may so call it, that needs to be made clear
if the Journals are to be read in comfort: for it is in the Jour-
nals that the significance of his work as a whole can be seen
developing in the same way that a photograph "develops,"
until what had been a literary and private work appears as his
mission.
Kierkegaard's work falls into two perfectly distinct parts.
The first, written consecutively and at full speed between 1841
and 1845, is a complete oeuvre, a self-contained ComSdie Hu-
maine, attributed to half a dozen pseudonyms, some of whom
reappear in subsequent volumes. Into this part Kierkegaard
poured everything which he had seen, read, thought and expe-
rienced during his youth; it is autobiographical, of course, but
equally a study of his times, full of portraits of his contempo-
raries, scenes he had witnessed, in which he looks back and ex-
plains his own life and the times in which he lived.
The second part (already latent in the first) is a "work in
INTRODUCTION 19
progress" where, working within narrower limits, he moves cir-
cumspectly towards the open "attack on Christendom" which
exploded in the last series of pamphlets which were cut short
by his death. A work of a different stamp altogether which he
perceived in the course of the metamorphosis or conversion
which occurred in 1847 and is described in the next* section. It
is no longer literary or assigned to pseudonyms, except inci-
dentally, but signed with his own name. The oblique approach
is abandoned, not without loss, in order to bring out the basic
themes of his apology for Christianity.
The first part of the work consists of the great pseudonyms,
Either-Or, Fear and Trembling, Repetition, The Concept of
Dread, Stages on the Road of Life and two philosophical essays,
Fragments of Philosophy and the Concluding Unscientific Post-
script. The latter, as the title indicates, was to have been the
end of his work. It proved in the event to be the beginning of
a new series. In addition there are the Eighteen Edifying Dis-
courses published under his own name.
With all the intensity at his command, Kierkegaard focussed
his work on the juncture of thought and existence, of philosophy
and Christianity. At first sight everything else seems to go by
the board and everything objective is sacrificed in the pursuit
of subjectivity or inwardness. Church and State, culture and
history, everything except religion in its inward and moral aspect
is brushed aside and appears as a distraction, like geometry to
Pascal. His purpose seems to be to isolate the individual man
in a deathly silence where he will be face to face with the one
thing necessary: the fusion of thought and existence. For it is
only then that the spirit of man is born, and he becomes "the
individual." That unswerving insistence on the essential repeated
in a variety of keys, is what makes Kierkegaard at once curiously
remote and yet intensely personal. In one respect he is what
he called "an author's author," yet without losing the capacity
to speak to "the individual" in accents which have not been
dulled by time.
The outstanding feature of this part of his work is the po-
lemic against Hegel, a criticism of the whole corpus of post-
20 INTRODUCTION
Christian philosophy from Spinoza to Hegel; an attack on
"philosophy" itself for its wordy metaphysics and its verbal
scepticism and for its original sin of divorcing thought from
existence or reality. It is also a criticism, on the moral and psy-
chological level of the humanism of that period, of the world
which emerged after the Reformation which he called for short
the "Goetheo-Hegelian" world. That world, with its rationalist
philosophies and its aesthetic humanism was, in his view, already
moribund, a mirage, but a potent illusion which prevented men
from seeing the real problems of both faith and doubt. It is
"the dregs of Christianity."
The critical, almost nihilistic aspect of Kierkegaard's work is
so sharp and prominent, his attack on rationalism and "human-
ism" so unrelenting, that the constructive element is in danger
of being overlooked. But parallel with it runs the analysis and
phenomenological description of "the individual" depicted in
a series of scenes and situations which define the stages or levels
of existence: the aesthetic, ethical and religious levels which are
presented both as alternatives and again as the material to be
co-ordinated. Much of the material, such as the archetypes,
Don Juan, Faust and the Wandering Jew, are derived from the
romantic school, and the inspiration of Hamann had borne
fruit This aspect of his work is the best known, but it is often
isolated, admired for its psychological penetration and not al-
ways read in the context of the wider argument. In these works,
however, Kierkegaard starts from various points of view, and
his thought moves always in the same direction, towards the
moment of decision, the "choice" in Either-Or 3 the "leap of
faith" in Fear and Trembling, and guided by the conception of
the individual which is being put forward, leads up to the mo-
ment in which decision and action fuse thought and existence,
the moment in which temporal and eternal meet and man can
fulfill his destiny.
Kierkegaard does not merely criticise the error of the basic
idea in Hegel's system, which is the identity of thought and
reality or existence the error of rationalism in fact. The core of
his work is an attempt to bridge the gulf an attempt which he
INTRODUCTION 21
regarded as a return to tradition, to the Greeks and to the Chris-
tian thought which sprang from them.
It is here that the two foundations of his work appear: the
role allotted to "feeling," "passion" or "pathos" (he uses the
words interchangeably); and secondly, though in his view this
was the more important point, the new form of communication
which the role of feeling demands. Briefly and crudely stated,
Kierkegaard's argument is that abstract thought is incapable
of grasping "what it means to exist" (because it abstracts from
the concrete) and is confined, by definition, to the world of
the possible, to a timeless and static world, seen sub specie
aeterni. But "passion" is the door to existence and under the
right conditions opens the way to a real and certain knowledge
of existence, although that knowledge cannot be communicated
in the ordinary, "direct" dialectical form (the formal logic of
abstract thought).
But this does not mean that our knowledge of existence
cannot be communicated at all. Where existence is concerned,
the form of communication must, self-evidently, correspond to
the faculty of mind through which it is ^grasped, and that
faculty is "feeling." Feeling or pathos cannot, however, be
communicated "directly" love cannot be "proved" syllogisti-
cally, nor beauty demonstrated by formal logic. But the
knowledge which "feeling" brings and this includes our knowl-
edge of quality as opposed to quantity can be communicated
indirectly. The poet, for example, is not necessarily talking
nonsense pure and simple, though his form of communication
differs essentially from that of the "philosopher" in the narrow
sense of the word. Hence the importance which Kierkegaard
gives to music and Mozart in particular, in Either-Or and to
the significance of the "poet" throughout his works. Fueling,
in fact> does not deny reason, but can only be expressed in-
directly, by the use of analogy, images, and last but not least,
form (as in poetry and the arts).
Kierkegaard would, however, be misunderstood if it were
not at once made clear that feeling is not sentiment or emotion
isolated from the other faculties of mind. Feeling and passion
22 INTRODUCTION
are only the gateway to reality when purified by reason and
will and integrated by that process with the other faculties.
Feeling is in one sense the faculty which leads to the quality
of intensity of our knowledge, as opposed to knowledge which
is significant by virtue of its extensity. It is only when both are
co-ordinated that "the individual" begins to exist and becomes
a complete mati. The error of rationalism is therefore twofold.
It limits man to being "a rational animal," and because it
excludes feeling, limits him to one form of communication
which, by definition, excludes reality. It is the world of a
man who "has forgotten what it means to exist," who does not
really live in the same categories as he thinks in :
"But as people have forgotten what to exist sensu eminenti
means, because they generally make the pathetic refer to
imagination and sentiment, allowing it to be annulled by the
dialectic (the direct form), the pathetic has fallen into dis-
repute in our igth century philosophy and dialectics have
become its passion."
From this it should be plain that "the choice" and "the leap
of faith" are not arbitrary acts of the will divorced from
reason and feeling, and intervening like a deus ex machina
to solve the problem of life, but acts of the whole man which
alone give him the right to speak of existence. It might almost
be said that Kierkegaard reverses the cogito. Instead of saying
"I think, therefore I am," he says, "Only if I exist sensu eminenti
can I begin to think" and that thought, moreover, requires a
dual form of communication, both direct and indirect. The real
difficulty consists in co-ordinating the two forms of communi-
cation, as Kierkegaard says quite clearly in the Postcript:
"Where existence is concerned, thought is not higher than
imagination and feeling, but is co-ordinated with them. In
existence, the supremacy of thought (abstract thought) pro-
duces confusion. . . . Where the thinker is concerned, this
distinction (between imagination or feeling and thought) is
abolished. To that one must reply: all right, for thought, ab-
stract thought, it is untenable, but abstract thought in its turn
is untenable where existence is concerned. . . . Thought may
INTRODUCTION 23
well despise imagination; but en revanche, imagination despises
thought, and the same is true of feeling. The task is not to
annul the one at the expense of the other, but to preserve, on the
contrary, their equilibrium, their simultaneity; and the plane
on which they are united is existence"
To complete the circle of Kierkegaard's thought, it could be
pointed out that "imagination" is defined as the faculty instar
omnium, which takes the place of all the others, for it is a re-
flection, or if one likes synthesis, of feeling, reason and will,
which is why it is an essential element in the communication
of the knowledge derived from the fusion of all three faculties
in "the individual."
That fusion takes place in the "choice." For the choice is
not the choice of something external (a view of life, a particular
corpus of knowledge) but of oneself, of a complete existence.
Prior to that constitutive act man is always consciously or
unconsciously in despair, for despair is the disintegration of
personality in the course of which one or the other of the
faculties assumes ^supremacy": either reason, resulting in
rationalism; or feeling, resulting in sentimentality; or will, re-
sulting in voluntarism. It is really only after the "choice," that
the "leap of faith" becomes possible, for only the complete
man can really become a Christian. And in fact Kierkegaard goes
so far as to say that "one can guarantee to make a Christian
of every man one can get to come under the category of the
individual" in so far, that is, as one man can do this for
another. Kierkegaard concludes in the Postscript, "Man only
begins to exist in faith." For Christianity, from this point of
view, is a new level of existence.
"Life" he says elsewhere, "must be lived forward, but
understood backwards" so that there never can be a complete,
all-embracing and systematic explanation of life, since man
cannot stand still outside its movement in order to grasp and
explain it. Existence can only be understood in that movement
which no static scheme can hold fast. Decision and faith are
in that movement, and then action qualifies and enriches
thought, and thought elucidates action simultaneously. That
does not mean that existence is irrational (except in terms of
rationalism). But looking forward, living forward, faith ap-
pears as the paradox, and from the point of view of reason
alone, it is "the absurd" which reason cannot digest, as long
as it is uninflected by feeling and undetermined by will, choice
and action. But in the concrete everything is reversed, and the
second or mature form of reflection, the reflection of the com-
plete man, makes things fast once again (p. 146). The task is
not to prove the truth of Christianity beforehand, which puts
the accent on abstract thought instead of upon life, but to
communicate it afterwards. But at that point, even the indirect
method ultimately becomes inadequate or rather it must be
enlarged and extended. The second part of Kierkegaard's
work therefore turns to the specifically Christian form of
communication, "the witness to the truth, 55 the confessor and
martyr, while he regarded his own task as on a lower level
altogether: "to make men aware." He therefore regarded the
problem of communication as "the distinctive characteristic"
of his work, and as embodying "the reality of his historical
importance," for Christianity is "the truth that is troubled,"
i,e., essentially concerned with communicating it to others (see
p. 169).
That, as far as I can see, is the core of Kierkegaard's work,
neither rationalistic, nor irrationalistic, nor inhuman. Its human-
ism lies in the conception of "the individual" which, unlike the
aesthetic humanism of the bourgeois period, is open to all
men equally, and in the fact that his conception of the complete
man was an indirect proof of Christianity: not a demonstration
which could be received second hand, but which "looking back-
wards" (and provided one lived forwards) gave the mind the
freedom to be itself and fulfil its destiny.
Seen in its broadest lines, Kierkegaard's work involves a
shift of emphasis from the objective world of Reason and
Culture, to the moral and inward sphere. That is why every-
thing, in the first instance, is obliterated by the intensity with
which he maneouvres to reach "the choice." That truth lies
in subjectivity does not mean that truth is subjective. On the
INTRODUCTION 25
contrary, inwardness, or subjectivity, is the starting point at
which "the individual" enters life by acting decisevly. Maturity
does not consist in some form of cultural humanism, with its
accents on the externals of personality, such as gifts and genius,
but in the depth and riches of the spiritual life which is the
spring of action. It is that inward action, as Kierkegaard says in
one of the earliest entries, which means everything, and then
the rest, the objective aspect, will follow. In the first part
of his work Kierkegaard does not go beyond the choice. It
was only after he himself had acted decisively, when he was
forced out of his work into life by his conflict with The Corsair,
a weekly newspaper, that he saw the future clearly.
The Metamorphosis
Kierkegaard completed his work in the autumn of 1845
and the Concluding Unscientific Postscript was sent sent to the
printers in December. With his vast, though unrecognised,
achievement behind him Kierkegaard once again began to think
that his melancholy and self-isolation might be overcome. His
ambition now was to write finis to his work and retire to a country
living. He discussed the plan with Bishop Mynster, his father's
friend, who thought well of any arrangement by which so restive
a mind could be kept at a distance. But the romantic gesture
was hardly practicable. He began to have doubts about his
worthiness for the ministry and before he had had time to
reach a decision fate intervened. He was not destined to languish
in a vicarage.
Just as Kierkegaard had sent off the manuscript of the Post-
script, P. L. M011er, whom he had hardly seen for the last five
or six years, published a violent attack on the author (the
pseudonym was "Frater Taciturnitus" ) of Guilty? Not Guilty?
which is a thinly disguised account of Kierkegaard's engage-
ment. M011er was perfectly aware that he had figured in The
Seducer's Diary and now that Kierkegaard had produced the
pendent to it (published at the end of 1844) he took his re-
venge and held up the writer to ridicule. M011er, who was not
26 INTRODUCTION
without ability as a critic, was trying to live down his repu-
tation in the hope of succeeding the poet Oelenschlager in the
Chair of Aesthetics at the University. To this end he used
flattery in his more serious articles, but could not resist the
pleasure and profit to be derived from writing anonymously in
The Corsair an amusing, gossipy weekly belonging to Meier
Goldschmidt, a liberal and enlightened Jew.
Kierkegaard had had his eye on Goldschmidt and The
Corsair for some time past. He regarded it as lowering the
tone and the standard and compromising the reputations of
reputable writers such as Heiberg. He had already prepared an
article expressing his views, which were shared by very many,
though no one had had the nerve to protest for fear of ap-
pearing in its pages. Kierkegaard had up to that time always
been singled out by Goldschmidt and M011er for praise; they
admired certain parts of his work immensely and felt with a
certain justice that Kierkegaard was on their side and against
the orthodox reputations it amused them to prick. This was
a mistake. Kierkegaard had no intention of allowing his criti-
cism of Heiberg to be used in the levelling down process. His
reply to M011er was meant to prevent The Corsair from dis-
tinguishing between him and men like Heiberg and Gj0dwad,
the editor of The Fatherland, and to force M011er into the
open. Heiberg and Gj0dwad both thanked Kierkegaard for his
article in private, but said nothing, to his irritation, in public,
and left him to bear the brunt of it.
Once M011er*s association with The Corsair had been made
public his prospects in Copenhagen were finished. He ultimately
went abroad and died in poverty. But not before exploring the
possibilities of revenge. Week in week out, for almost a year,
Kierkegaard was caricatured, parodied and ridiculed without
mercy. Nothing was omitted: his odd appearance, his rounded
back, his spindly legs, his ill-fitting clothes, his ridiculous love
affair, his incomprehensible jargon, his comfortable life, his
high-falutin' Christianity. He was depicted as a megalomaniac.
As usual, no one seems to have guessed how deeply Kierkegaard
felt these personal attacks, least of all Goldschmidt with whom
INTRODUCTION 27
he continued, when they met on the street, to discuss the rights
and wrongs of Frater Taciturnitus, as though Kierkegaard were
not involved. His air of treating the matter as a bagatelle con-
vinced everyone.
When finally Kierkegaard cut him in the street, Goldschmidt
realised the position and soon after the attacks ceased and
the paper was suppressed.
This incident, trifling though it appears, is the dividing
line in Kierkegaard's life and work. The Corsair affair turned
his attention back from his work to the world about him for the
first time he saw his work complete in its historical setting:
the historical context of his work revealed it to him in a new
light, and he understood his mission.
This change in perspective, first suggested to him by the
social and political conditions which The Corsair had revealed,
occupied him intensely for the next two years. Almost simul-
taneously with the article against M011er, published in The
Fatherland like all his newspaper articles, Kierkegaard reviewed
a novel by Fru Gyllembourg, Heiberg's mother-in-law, and in
the last part (translated under the title The Present Age] set
down his diagnosis of the times in which he lived, with
special reference to Christianity. He could now see the historical
situation clearly. His mind then swung back to his own life,
and he considered his future. For the first time he realised that
his financial independence was threatened and his way of
life endangered. He had always spent his money freely and
the end was in sight had he lived a month longer he would
have been penniless and it occurred to him for a moment to
apply for a pension. But he had also grasped how important
money had been to him by making it possible "to perform a salto
mortale into a purely spiritual existence.*' It was at this point
that the curious case of a certain Pastor Adler claimed his
interest. Adler provided an instructive example of "religious
enthusiasm," of a man with a mission without the faintest notion
of how enthusiasm would need to be qualified in "the present
age." Kierkegaard was fascinated by the spectacle of Adler's
2 g INTRODUCTION
naivete and the insoluble problems which it set to Mynster
and the Church authorities. Most of what he wrote was left
unpublished, but although The Great Book on Adler (re-written
three times) is a poor book, it shows the direction which his
mind was taking and the renewed importance which he gave to
social and political conditions an aspect of his work that is
often neglected.
During the first half of 1847 Kierkegaard finished his most
important religious work, Works of Love, and by August the
meditations of the last year and a half began to bear fruit.
"Something is stirring within me" he wrote, "which points to
a metamorphosis. For that very reason I dare not go to Berlin,
for that would be to procure an abortion. I shall remain quietly
at home . . . (and) really think out the idea of my melancholy
together with God here and now."
Six months later the metamorphosis which he had suspected
culminated in his second conversion. On Wednesday in Holy
Week, 1848, all the strands of his thought were drawn together,
and for the third time in his life he believed that he was to
escape his fate. "My reserve and self-isolation are broken" he
exclaims, "I must speak out Lord give thy grace. It is indeed
true as my father said of me, c y u WU< 1 never become anything
as long as you have money'." The spell was broken. At first he
assumed that his isolation was to be broken and that he could
now take Holy Orders which would also have solved the
financial problem. But almost at once he dismissed the thought
and finally understood that his task was not to become like
others but to fulfil his mission. In the place of a cruel fate he
saw Providence "which had done so much more for rne than
I ever expected." He could say that he had found the idea
for which he could live and die, and could see where his
melancholy had entered his soul. "In my melancholy I loved
the world. Now I am weaned." He had wanted to be like
others. His resignation hitherto had been a shield enabling him
to live a purely spiritual existence, more stoical than Christian.
Suffering voluntarily accepted and hk decision to remain "the
INTRODUCTION 29
exception" opened his eyes to a new world. The metamorphosis
had revolutionised his point of view and at one essential point
altered the character of his work.
"The communication of Christianity must ultimately end
in bearing witness, the maieutic (indirect) method can never
be final. For truth from the Christian point of view does not lie
in the subject, as Socrates understood it, but in a Revelation
which must be proclaimed."
The Second Group of Works
and the "Attack on Christendom' 9
The Journal entry quoted above marks the end of the
metamorphosis. Nothing is unsaid, but the form of communica-
tion undergoes a transformation. The perspective changes, and
"the individual" instead of being the centre and aim is now
seen against the concrete historical background of The Present
Age. This little essay, which opens the new phase of author-
ship, is a diagnosis of the world in which Christianity has to
be proclaimed. Much of it reads like Nietzsche avant la lettre,
and is a diagnosis of the moral and intellectual characteristics
of the "mass man" deracine, without a protective cultural
or religious tradition, clever, emancipated but at bottom wanting
in feeling and lacking in passion, only acting as one of the
herd and given to envy. The situation as he saw it meant that
all the former methods of apologetic were useless. The rational-
istic apologetics of the age of reason, and the cultural apologetics
of the romantic period (such as Chateaubriand's Genie du
Christianisme) were anachronisms. Two things were necessary.
First, as he had always said, to get men into the "category of
the individual," to save them from vanishing in the herd; and
secondly to dispel the illusion that Europe was still Christian.
The "attack on Christendom," -which is often regarded as the
chief, if not the only, aim of the last part of his life, is mis-
understood unless it is realised that the real aim of his polemic
is "the masses." These two aspects of his work belong to-
30 INTRODUCTION
gether. In the new circumstances, "Christendom" was an illusion
which prevented men from seeing Christianity in a light in
which it was relevant, and that light was "the individual."
These thoughts had been occupying him for some time when
the Revolutions of 1848 brought everything to a head.
"Even now, in 1848, it certainly looks as though politics were
everything; but it will be seen that the catastrophe (the Revo-
lution) corresponds to and is the obverse of the Reformation:
then everything pointed to a religious movement and proved
to be political; now everything points to a political movement, but
will become religious."
Kierkegaard was not so na'ive as to expect the triumph of
Christianity or even a great religious revival. What he means is
clear enough. "Now we are going to begin at another point,
namely the intensive development of the state itself," but just as
Marx foretold that the State (the political conception of life)
would wither away, so too Kierkegaard believed that the age
of politics in the old sense was over and that under the new
conditions religion would become relevant, provided it were
proclaimed in its original form and not as the culture which
it had helped to create in the past: Christendom.
This conception of the Revolution obliged him to modify his
form of communication. It could not longer remain "indirect"
in a purely intellectual sense, and he could no longer only be a
poet. In the present age only "the witness to the truth" could
proclaim Christianity effectively, proclaim it directly as a revela-
tion of man's destiny, but indirectly through his life. "I am,"
he now saw, "the ultimate phase of the poetic temper, on the
way to becoming a sort of reformer on a small scale." He never
confused himself with the witness, though he believed that his
work had become action.
In this light the "attack on Christendom" ceases to be an
attack on the Danish Church as such. He had, in fact, nothing
to say about its doctrine or organization. He only wished to
dissociate it from the antiquated apologetics to which it was
committed, and from the Erastianism which paralysed it. This
accounts for his view of Catholicism. His whole purpose was
INTRODUCTION 31
to make the teaching of Christianity more inward and to bring
it back to the individual.
It is a fact that as long as Bishop Mynster lived, he clung to
the hope that, although Mynster was the personification of the
status quo, he might be persuaded to mend his ways. But when
Martensen was appointed to succeed him, Kierkegaard con-
cluded that the Establishment was petrified and could not
reform itself. When Martensen publicly described Mynster as
a "witness to the truth" (possibly knowing Kierkegaard's in-
sistence on the term), he determined to speak out.
His first article appeared in January 1855 and was followed
by a series of scathing pamphlets on the Establishment. He
exaggerated without fear, and certainly forgot that what was
true of Luther was true of him: "a corrective made into a norm
is eo ipso confusion." He confused many and allowed himself
to be carried away by the force of his own logic. Everything
was strung a tone higher in order "to make men aware," in order
to shake the complacency of both the Established Church and
of the "masses." He was confident, not of victory against the
"masses" but of having fought for the truth, for the cause of
truth was not triumphant as Christendom and the Establish-
ment implied but militant. To be an author had at last become
action, and the conclusion of his life was expressed in the fact
that he had emerged from his melancholy without overstepping
the boundaries of or falsifying his personality. Professor Sibbem,
who had taught him and known him all his life, was amazed
that so circumspect a man should have landed himself in an
imbroglio. Everyone could understand him, Kierkegaard re-
marked, as long as he expressed his thought in words; as soon
as he acted, he caused a "scandal." Action, to use his favourite
metaphor, was the knot in the thread that made the end fast.
In the middle of October, shortly before the last of the
pamphlets was sent to the printer, Kierkegaard collapsed in
the street. He was taken to the Frederiks Hospital. He knew
he was dying, but refused to receive communion from "the
King's official." His brother Peter, who was of Grundtvig's
persuasion, was not admitted. Not even his oldest friend, Emil
32 INTRODUCTION
Boesen, could persuade him to retract a word of what he had
said. He was visited by his brother-in-law Hendrik Lund, by
his nephew and niece. One and all were struck by the radiance
of his spirits. "He preserved a loving sympathy for others," Hans
Br0chner wrote after his death, "even in the smallest matters,
preserved a gentleness and even humour, a sense of proportion
and a clarity of thought, and above all a calm and peaceful
faith, which did not desert him even during the severe suffering
of his death bed"
He died on nth November, 1855, at the age of forty-two.
November^ 1958 ALEXANDER DRU
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE
( Where the title of a work is given in italics and without comment, ih*
date is that of publication )
1756 S. K.*s lather, Michael Pedersen Kierkegaard,
bom.
1768 June 18 S. K.*s mother, Anne Sorensdattcr Lund, born,
1813 May 5 S. K. born in his father's house, 2 (now 27)
Nytorv, Copenhagen.
1821 S. K. sent to school, to the Borgerdydskole in
Copenhagen,
1823 Jan. 23 RegineOlsenborn.
1828 Apr. 20 S. K. confirmed by J. P. Mynster.
1830 Oct. 30 S. K. entered as student at the University of
Copenhagen.
1834 July 3 1 S.K.*s mother dies.
Dec. 17 S.K/s first article in KjebenhamsHyvendePost,
Dec, 29 Death of S, K/s sister Petrea.
1837 May S. K. meets Regine Olsen at the R0rdams (i 19).
1837-1838 S. K. teaches Latin in the Borgerdydskolc.
1838 Aug. 9 Michael Pedersen Kierkegaard dies at 2 a.m.
Sept 7 From the Papers of one still living, * published con-
trary to his will, by S. K/ A criticism of
Hans Andersen's novel.
1840 Julys S.K. finishes his theological examination.
July ig-Aug. 6 The Journey to Jutland.
Sept 10 S. K. engaged to Regine Olsen.
1841 Jan. 12 S. K. preaches his first sermon in Holmens
Kirke.
Sept 16 On the concept of Irony with particular reference to
Socrates (S. K.'s dissertation).
Oct. ii S. K. breaks off his engagement to Regine Olsen.
Oct. 25 S. K. leaves for Berlin.
1842 Mar. 6 S. K. arrives back in Copenhagen.
33
34 CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE
1843 Feb. 20 Either- Or edited by Victor Eremita.
May 8 S. K. leaves for Berlin.
May 1 6 Two Edifying Discourses,, by S. K.
1843 May i Berlin.
May 8 S. K. returns from Berlin.
Oct. 1 6 Fear and Trembling, by Johannes de Silentio;
Repetition, by Constantin Constantius; Three
Edifying Discourses, by S. K.
Dec. 6 F0wr Edifying Discourses, by S. K.
1844 Mar. 5 Tow by S. K.
June 8 Three byS.K.
June 13 Philosophical Fragments, or a Fragment of Philosophy,
by Johannes Climacus, published by S. K.
June 17 The Concept of Dread, by Vigilius Haufhiensis;
Prefaces by Nicolaus Notabene.
Aug. 3 1 Four Edifying Discourses, by S. K.
Oct. 16 S. K. moves from 230 (now 28) N0rregade to his
house on Nytorv.
1845 Apr. 29 Three Occasional Discourses, by S. K.
Apr. 30 Stages on the Road of Life, edited by Hilarius
Bookbinder.
May 13-24 Berlin.
Dec. 30 Manuscript of the Final Unscientific Postscript to
the Philosophical Fragments sent to the printer.
1846 Feb. 27 Final Unscientific Postscript, by Johannes Climacus,
published by S. K.
Mar. 30 A Literary Review, by S. K., containing The
Present Age.
May 2-16 Berlin.
Oct. 2 Goldschmidt gives up the editorship of The
Corsair.
1847 Mar. 13 Edifying Discourses of Varied Tenor 9 by S. K.
Sept. 29 The Works of Love, by S. K.
Nov. 3 Regine Olsen married to Fritz Schlegel.
Dec. i The Book on Adler completed in its third form,
Dec. 24 S. K. sells 2 Nytorv for RdL 22,000 paid to him
and his brother.
1848 Jan. 20 Death of Christian VIII.
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE 35
Mar. 23 Rising in Holstein.
Apr. 23 Battle of Schleswig*
Apr, 26 Christian Addresses, by S. K.
Nov. The Point of view for my Work as an Author * as
good as finished.* It was published by his
brother in 1 859.
1849 May 14 The Lilies of the Field and the Birds of the Airs
second edition ofEither-Or.
May 19 Two Minor Ethico-Religious Essays, by H. HL
July 30 Sickness unto Death, by Anti-Climacus, published
byS.K.
Nov. 13 The High Priest The Publican The Woman who
was a Sinner: Three Discourses before Communion
on Friday.
1850 Aug. 7 On my work as an author; Two Discourses at
Communion on Friday.
Sept. 10 For Self-examination.
Sept 27 Training in Christianity, by Anti-Climacus, pub-
lished by S.K.
Dec, 20 An Edifying Discourse.
1851-1852 Judge for Yourself, the second part of For Self-
examination, published by his brother in 1876.
1854 Jan* 30 Death of Bishop Mynster.
Feb. The article against Martensen, 'Was Bishop
Mynster a witness to the truth ? *, written.
Apr. 15 Hans Martensen, Bishop of Zealand in succession
to Mynster.
Dec. 18 The article against Martensen published.
1855 Jan.-May Articles arising out of the attack on Martensen*
May-Oct Nos. 1-9 of The Instant.
Oct 2 S. K, taken to the Frederiks Hospital
Nov. n DeathofS.K.
THE
JOURNALS OF KIERKEGAARD
THE GREAT EARTHQUAKE
CHILDHOOD
Halb Kinderspiel,
Halb Gott im Herzen.
Goethe
n [1835]
Then it was that the great earthquake occurred, the
terrible revolution which suddenly forced upon me a new
and infallible law of interpretation of all the facts. Then I
suspected that my father's great age was not a divine bless-
ing but rather a curse; that the outstanding intellectual
gifts of our family were only given to us in order that we
should rend each other to pieces : then I felt the stillness
of death grow around me when I saw my father, an un-
happy man who was to outlive us all, a cross on the tomb
of all his hopes. There must be a guilt upon the whole
family, the punishment of God must be on it; it was to dis-
appear, wiped out by the powerful hand of God, obliterated
like an unsuccessful attempt, and only at times did I find
a little alleviation in the thought that my father had been
allotted the heavy task of calming us with the consolation
of religion, of ministering to us so that a better world
should be open to us even though we lost everything in
this world, even though we were overtaken by the punish-
ment which the Jews always called down upon their
enemies : that all recollection of us should be utterly wiped
out, that we should no longer be found
39
40 THE GREAT EARTHQUAKE
III YOUTH
Begging that's not for us !
Youth on the road of life
Forcefully seizes the prize.
Christian Winter
iv [1836-7]
Inwardly torn asunder as I was, without any expectation
of leading a happy earthly life ("that I should prosper
and live long in the land "), without hope of a happy and
comfortable future as it naturally springs from and lies
in the historical continuity of family life what wonder
then that in desperate despair I grasped at nought but the
intellectual side in man and clung fast to it, so that the
thought of my own considerable powers of mind was my
only consolation, ideas my one joy, and mankind indifferent
to me.
25 YEARS OLD [1838]
So we'll live,
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues
Talk of court news : and we'll talk with them too
Who loses and who wins; who's in^ who's out;
And take upon's the mystery of things,
As if we were God's spies : and we'll wear out
In a walled prison, packs and sects of great ones,
That ebb and flow by the moon.
King Lear
THE GREAT EARTHQUAKE 41
vi [1838]
What I have often suffered from was that all the doubt,
trouble, and anguish which my real self wanted to forget
in order to achieve a view of life, my reflective self sought
equally to impress and preserve, partly as a necessary,
partly as an interesting stage, out of fear that I should
have falsely ascribed a result to myself.
Thus, for example when I have so arranged my life that
it seems to me as though it were my lot to read for the
examination in perpetuum, and that my life however long
it might otherwise be, is not to reach beyond the point
at which I myself once freely broke off, just as one sees
feeble-minded people who only remember their childhood
and forget all their life that lies in between, or forget every-
thing except one particular moment in their lives that
I should thus, at the thought of being a theological student,
be all at once reminded of that happy period of possibility
(what might be called one's pre-existence) and my pause
therein, more or less like a child who has been given alcohol
and so prevented from growing must be. When, now, my
active self tries to forget it in order to act, my reflective
self would like so much to ding to it because it seems
interesting, and would abstract itself from the control of
my personal consciousness by raising itself to the power
of a universal consciousness*
THE JOURNAL
July 29. As one goes from the inn through Sortebro
across the bare fields that run along the coast, about a
mile and a quarter to the north one comes to the highest
point in the district, to Gilbjerg. It has always been one
of my favourite places. And as I stood there one quiet
evening as the sea struck up its song with a deep and calm
solemnity, whilst my eye met not a single sail on the vast
expanse of water, and the sea set bounds to the heavens,
and the heavens to the sea; whilst on the other side the
busy noise of life subsided and the birds sang their evening
prayer the few that are dear to me came forth from their
graves, or rather it seemed to me as though they had not
died. I felt so content in their midst, I rested in theii em-
brace, and it was as though I were out of the body, wafted
with them into the ether above and the hoarse screech
of the gulls reminded me that I stood alone, and everything
vanished before my eyes, and I turned back with a heavy
heart to mix in the busy world, yet without forgetting such
blessed moments. I have often stood there and looked
out upon my past life and upon the different surroundings
which have exercised their power upon me; and the petti-
ness which is so often the cause of the numerous misunder-
standings separating minds which if they properly under-
stood one another would be bound together by indissoluble
ties, vanished before my gaze. Seen thus in perspective
only the broad and powerful outline showed, and I did not
as so frequently happens to me lose myself in the moment,
but saw everything as a whole and was strengthened to
42
l8 35 43
understand things differently, to admit how often I had
blundered, and to forgive others.
As I stood there, without that feeling of dejection and
despondency which makes me look upon myself as the
enclitic of the men who usually surround me, and without
that feeling of pride which makes me into the formative
principle of a small circle as I stood there alone and for-
saken, and the power of the sea and the battle of the
elements reminded me of my own nothingness, and on the
other hand the sure flight of the birds recalled the words
spoken by Christ : Not a sparrow shall fall to the ground
without your Father : then all at once I felt how great and
how small I was; then did those two mighty forces, pride
and humility, happily unite in friendship. Lucky is the
man to whom that is possible at every moment of his life;
in whose breast those two factors have not only come to
an agreement but have joined hands and been wedded a
marriage which is neither a mariage de convenance nor a
mesalliance but a tranquil marriage of love held in the
most secret chamber of man's heart, in the holy of holies,
where there are few witnesses but where everything pro-
ceeds before the eyes of Him who alone witnessed the mar*
riage in the Garden of Eden & marriage, which will not
remain unfruitful but bears blessed fruits, as may be seen
in the world by an experienced observer; for like crypto-
gams among plants, they withdraw from the notice
of the masses and only the solitary inquirer discovers them
and rejoices over his find. His life will flow on peacefully
and quietly and he will neither drain the intoxicating cup
of pride nor the bitter chalice of despair. He has found
what the great philosopher who by his calculations was
able to destroy the enemy's engines of war desired, but
did not find : that archimedean point from which he could
lift the whole world, the point which for that very reason
must lie outside the world, outside the limitations of time
and space.
44 1835
Gilleleie, August i, 1835
What I really lack is to be clear in my mind what I am
to do, not what I am to know, except in so far as a certain
understanding must precede every action. The thing is to
understand myself, to see what God really wishes me to
do; the thing is to find a truth which is true for me, to
find the idea for which I can live and die. What would
be the use of discovering so-called objective truth, of work-
ing through all the systems of philosophy and of being able,
if required, to review them all and show up the inconsis-
tencies within each system; what good would it do me to
be able to develop a theory of the state and combine all the
details into a single whole, and so construct a world in
which I did not live, but only held up to the view of
others; what good would it do me to be able to explain
the meaning of Christianity if it had no deeper significance
for me and for my life; what good would it do me if
truth stood before me, cold and naked, not caring whether
I recognised her or not, and producing in me a shudder
of fear rather than a trusting devotion? I certainly do
not deny that I still recognise an imperative of understand-
ing and that through it one can work upon men, but it
must be taken up into my life, and that is what I now
recognise as the most important thing. That is what my
soul longs after, as the African desert thirsts for water. That
is what I lack, and that is why I am left standing like
a man who has rented a house and gathered all the furni-
ture and household things together, but has not yet found
the beloved with whom to share the joys and sorrows of
his life. But in order to find that idea, or better still, in
order to find myself, it is no use throwing myself still
further into life. And that is just what I have done hither-
to. That is why I thought it would be a good thing to
throw myself into the study of the law so as to develop my
1835 45
sharpness of mind in the complications of life. Here was
a great mass of detail in which I could lose myself; here
perhaps I might be able to work out a complete whole
from given facts, an organum of theft, following up its
darker side (and here a certain spirit of association is also
extremely remarkable). I therefore wanted to be a barrister
so that by putting myself in another man's role I could,
as it were, find a substitute for my own life, and find dis-
traction in outward change. That was what I lacked in
order to be able to lead a complete human life and not
merely one of the understanding,* so that I should not,
in consequence, base the development of my thought upon
well, upon something that is called objective something
that is in any case not my own, but upon something which
grows together with the deepest roots of my life, through
which I am so to speak, grafted upon the divine, hold
fast to it, even though the whole world fell apart. That
is what I lack and that is what I am striving after.
It is the divine side of man, his inward action which
means everything, not a mass of information; for that will
certainly follow and then aU that knowledge will not be
a chance assemblage, or a succession of details, without
system and without a focusing point I too have certainly
looked for such a centre. I have looked in vain for an
anchorage in the boundless sea of pleasure and in the depth
of understanding; I have felt the almost irresistible power
with which one pleasure reaches out its hand to the next;
I have felt the sort of meretricious ecstasy that it is capable
of producing, but also the ennui and the distracted state
*For otherwise how near man is to madness, in spite
of all his knowledge. What is truth but to live for an idea?
Ultimately everything must rest upon a postulate; but the
moment it is no longer outside him, and he lives in it, then
and only then does it cease to be a postulate for him.
46 1835
of mind that succeeds it. I have tasted the fruit of the
tree of knowledge, and often delighted in its taste. But
the pleasure did not outlast the moment of understanding
and left no profound mark upon me. It seems as though
I had not drunk from the cup of wisdom, but had fallen
into it. I have searched with resignation for the principle
of my life, by trying to believe that since all things pro-
ceeded according to unalterable laws things could not be
otherwise and by dulling my ambition and the antennae of
my vanity. And because I could not adapt everything to
my own mind I withdrew, conscious of my own ability,
rather like a worn out parson resigning with a pension.
What did I find? Not my Self, which was what I was
looking for (thinking of my soul, if I may so express it,
as shut in a box with a spring-lock which external circum-
stances, by pressing upon the lock, were to open). And so
the first thing to be decided, was the seeking and finding
of the Kingdom of Heaven. But just as a heavenly body,
if we imagine it in the process of constituting itself, would
not first of all determine how great its surface was to be and
about which other body it was to move, but would first
of all allow the centripetal and centrifugal forces to har-
monise its existence, and then let the rest take its course
similarly, it is useless for a man to determine first of all
the outside and afterwards fundamentals. One must know
oneself before knowing anything else (yvo>0t aeavTov). It
is only after a man has thus understood himself inwardly,
and has thus seen his way, that life acquires peace and
significance; only then is he rid of that tiresome, ill-
omened fellow-traveller, the irony of life, which shows it-
self in the sphere of understanding, bidding true under-
standing begin with ignorance (Socrates) like God creating
the world out of nothing.
Although I am still far from having reached so com-
plete an understanding of myself, I have, with profound
respect for its significance, tried to preserve my individu-
47
ality worshipped the unknown God. Warned by a prema-
ture apprehension I have tried to avoid coming in too close
contact with those phenomena whose power of attraction
would perhaps exercise too great an influence upon me.
I have tried to master them, studied them individually and
examined their importance in men's lives, but at the same
time guarded against going, like the moth, too near the
flame. I have had but little to win or lose from the ordinary
run of men. Partly because everything which occupies
them so-called practical life only interests me slightly;
partly because the coldness and lack of interest with which
they treat the tnore profound and spiritual emotions in man
have estranged me still further. With few exceptions my
associates have not exerted any particular influence upon,
me. A life which is not clear about itself inevitably dis-
plays an uneven surface; they have stopped short at par-
ticular facts and their apparent disharmony; they were
not sufficiently interested in me to try to resolve them in
a higher agreement or to perceive the inner necessity of
it. Their opinion of me was therefore always one-sided,
and I have, as a result, alternately laid too much, or too
little weight upon their pronouncements. I have now with-
drawn from their influence and their possibly misleading
effect upon the compass of my life. And so I stand once
again at the point where I must begin my life in a different
way. I shall now try to fix a calm gaze upon myself and
begin to act in earnest; for only thus shall I be able, like
the child calling itself " I " with its first conscious action,
to call myself " I " in any deeper sense.
But for that patience is necessary, and one cannot reap
immediately where one has sown. I shall bear in mind the
method of the philosopher who bade bis disciples keep
silence for three years after which time all would come
right One does not begin feasting at dawn but at sunset
And so too in the spiritual world it is first of all necessary
to work for some time before the light bursts through and
48
the sun shines forth In all its glory. For although it is
said that God allows the sun to shine upon the good and
the wicked, and sends down rain upon the just and the
unjust, it is not so in the spiritual world. And so the die is
cast I cross the Rubicon ! This road certainly leads me to
strife i but I shall not give up. I will not grieve over the past
for why grieve? I will work on with energy and not
waste time grieving, like the man caught in the quicksands
who began by calculating how far down he had already
sunk, forgetting that all the while he was sinking still
deeper. I will hurry along the path I have discovered,
greeting those whom I meet on my way, not looking back
as did Lot's wife, but remembering that it is a hill up which
we have to struggle. 1
Sept. " What !" he said to himself, " the man who pene-
trates his brother's most secret thoughts, does not that
fatal gift bring him to the frightful condition which came
upon the Wandering Jew, who wandered through the gay
tumult of the world without joy, without hope, without
pain, in dull indifference, which is the caput mortuum of
despair, as though through a dreary and disconsolate
desert?" 2
Oct. g. The same thing happens to Christianity, or to be-
coming a Christian, as to all radical cures, one puts it off
as long as possible.
Oct. 13. There is a curious connection between Protes-
tantism and the modern political point of view: it is a
struggle for the same thing, the sovereignty of the people,
which is why it is also interesting to note that the real
royalists, in so far as they have not got one view on one
subject and an essentially different one on another subject,
a S.K* returned to Copenhagen sometime before August 14.
. A. Hoffinann: Master Fbh.
1835 49
which in an individual should both be based upon the
same principle lean towards Catholicism.
The real beauty of Lemming's playing (he is a Danish
musician; I heard him at the University Club) was that he
stroked the guitar. The vibrations became almost visible,
just as when the moon shines on the sea the waves become
almost audible.
i8 3 6
Jan. It is a very curious thing about superstition. One
would expect that the man who had once seen that his
morbid dreams were not fulfilled would abandon them for
the future; but on the contrary they grow even stronger
just as the love of gambling increases in a man who has
once lost in the lottery.
Feb. People understand me so little that they do not
even understand when I complain of being misunderstood.
March. The difference between a man who faces death
for the sake of an idea and an imitator who goes in search
of martyrdom is that whilst the former expresses his idea
most fully in death it is the strange feeling of bitterness
which comes from failure that the latter really enjoys; the
former rejoices in his victory, the latter in his suffering.
The three great ideas (Don Juan, Faust and the Wander-
ing Jew) represent, as it were, life outside religion in its
three-fold direction, and only when those ideas are merged
in the individual and become mediate, only then do morals
and religion appear; that is my view of those three ideas in
relation to my dogmatic standpoint.
A man walked along contemplating suicide; at that very
moment a slate fell and killed him a and he died with the
words : God be praised.
I have just returned from a party of which I was the
life and soul; wit poured from my lips, everyone laughed
and admired me but I went away and the dash should
50
1836 5 1
be as long as the earth's orbit
-and wanted to shoot myself.
'Sdeath, I can abstract from everything but not from
myself. I cannot even forget myself when I am asleep.
Is it true that I should not laugh at my own jokes?
The omnipresence of wit.
Exactly how can one explain the inclination, which mani-
fests itself in people who are in some sense or other fallen,
to throw themselves into life instead of shunning it. J.
J0rgensen for example, says that when he is drunk he
feels an almost irresistible urge to be with people, to go
wherever there are crowds.
Aug. 25. When Goethe had accomplished the transi-
tion involved by a return to classical antiquity, why did
the age not follow him, why did it not follow Hegel, why
does it have no effect? Because they both limited it to
an aesthetic and speculative development, but the political
development had also to go through its romantic move-
ment and that is why all the romantics of the newer school
are politicians.
Oct. 8. The extraordinary way in which something
long forgotten suddenly bursts into consciousness is really
remarkable; for example, the recollection of something
wrong of which one was hardly conscious at the moment
of acting Lightning announcing a violent storm. They
do not come forward, they literally burst forth with tremen-
dous power, demanding to be heard. And that, generally
speaking, is how we are to understand the passage in the
52 1836
Gospels : that on the day of judgment man will be held
responsible for every idle word he has spoken.
What Schleiermacher calls " Religion " and the Hegelians
" Faith " is at the bottom nothing but the first immediate
condition for everything the vital fluidum the spiritual
atmosphere we breathe in and which cannot therefore
with justice be designated by those words.
The old man whom I met in the theatre who had been
going to Don Juan for thirty years (Tradition).
i8 3 7
Jan. 17. There are many people who reach their con-
clusions about life like schoolboys; they cheat their master
by copying the answer out of a book without having worked
out the sum for themselves.
At every step philosophy sloughs a skin into which creep
its worthless hangers-on.
If something is really to become depressing the forebod-
ing that there is something wrong must first of all develop
in the midst of the most favourable circumstances, one
does not become conscious oneself of anything so wrong;
but it must lie in the family history, then the all-consum-
ing power of original sin shows itself, which can grow into
despair and have far more terrible effects than the fact
whereby the truth of the foreboding is confirmed. That is
why Hamlet is so tragic. That is why Robert le Diable,
driven by a terrifying foreboding, asks why it should be
that he does so much evil The blessing is changed into
a curse it is a highly poetic move to make the girl, who
alone is in a position to know what is behind Robert le
Diable's assumed madness (his penance) dumb.
Feb. A certain foreboding seems to precede everything
which is to happen, but just as it can act as a deterrent
so too it can act as a temptation, awakening in man the
thought that he is, as it were, predestined; he sees himself
led on to something as though by consequences which he
cannot influence at all. One must therefore be very care-
ful with children, never believe the worst, or, as the result
of an ill-timed suspicion, or a chance remark (the infernal-
machine which sets fire to the tinder which is in every soul)
53
54
induce that state of anxiety in which innocent but weak
souk are easily tempted to believe themselves guilty, to
despair, and so take the first step towards the goal fore-
shadowed by the alarming foreboding a remark which
gives the kingdom of evil, with its stupefying, snake-like
eye, an opportunity of reducing them to a state of spiritual
impotence. Woe to him by whom the scandal cometh
applies in this case too.
It made a terrible impression upon me the first time I
heard that the indulgences contained the statement that
they remit all sins : (< etiam si matrem virginem violasset"
I still remember the impression it made upon me when
some years ago, filled with a youthful and romantic en-
thusiasm for a master-thief, I went so far as to say that it
was only the misuse of powers, and that such a man might
still be converted, and father said very solemnly : " there
are offences which one can only fight against with God's
continual help." I hurried down to my room and looked
at myself in the glass (cf. F. Schlegel's Works, Vol. VII,
p. 15) or when father said, as he often did, that it would
be a good thing to have " a venerable confessor to whom
one could open one's heart."
When one first begins to reflect upon Christianity it must
certainly have been an occasion of scandal to one before
one enters upon it, one must even have wished that it had
never come into the world or at least that the question
had never arisen in one's consciousness. That is why one
is sickened by all the chatter of fussy go-betweens about
Christ being the greatest hero, etc. etc., the humorous inter-
pretation is far better.
May 8. Oh God, how easily one forgets such resolutions !
Once again I turned back to the world for some time, de-
posed in my inmost self, to dominate there. Oh, what does
i 837 55
it help a man to win the whole world and injure his soul.
To-day again (May 8) I tried to forget myself, not in the
noise and bustle of the world, that substitute is no help,
but by going to the Rordams 1 and talking with Bolette and
by trying (if possible) to get my demoniacal wit to remain
at home, the angel which, as I deserve, stands with a sword
of fire between me and every innocent girl I thank thee,
O Lord, that when thou overtookest me thou didst not let
me go mad at once, I have never been so afraid of it,
and I thank thee for having once more inclined thine ear
towards me.
Again the same scene to-day nevertheless I got out to
the Rordams merciful God, why should that inclination
awaken just now Oh, how I feel that I am alone 2 Oh,
cursed be that arrogant satisfaction in standing alone
all will despise me now but thou, O my God, take not
thy hand from me now let me live and better myself.
July 9. I stand like a lonely pine tree egoistically shut
off, pointing to the skies and casting no shadow, and only
the turtle-dove builds its nest in my branches.
Sunday, July 9, in the gardens of Frederiksberg after a
visit to the R0rdams.
I am a Janus bifrons; I laugh with -one face, I weep
with the other.
July 13. I have often wondered how it could be that I
lf The family-in which Kierkegaard first met Regine Olsen.
*Regine Olsen believed that this entry was the result of their first
meeting and the impression which they made upon one another. 6< He
immediately made a very strong impression upon her, which, however,
she concealed. She still remembered that he talked continuously, that
the words poured forth and that his conversation was captivating In the
highest degree, but after the passage of many years she could not
remember the content." Raphael Meyer: Kurkegaardske Papirer,
Forlovelstn, 1904.
5 6 1837
had such a strong disinclination to note down individual
remarks; but the more I get to know individual great men
in whose writings one does not sense the kaleidoscopic shak-
ing up of the same set of ideas (perhaps the example of
Jean Paul has made me unnecessarily anxious on that score)
and the more I recollect that a writer as spontaneous as
Hoffman kept notes and that Lichtenberg recommends it,
the more interested I am in discovering why something
in itself entirely blameless should become unpleasant and
almost revolting to me. The reason evidently was that in
each case I had before me the possibility of publication,
which would probably have necessitated a fuller treatment
and not wishing to be bothered with it, and weakened by
that abstract possibility (a sort of literary hiccoughs and
nausea) the aroma of the conceits and moods evaporated.
I believe on the contrary that it is a good thing, by making
frequent notes, to let my thoughts appear with the um-
bilical cord of their first mood, and to forget as far as
possible the use to which they might be put, since in any
case I shall never use them by looking up my note-books;
by thus expectorating myself as though in a letter to a close
friend, I gain a double advantage, the possibility of know-
ing myself later on, and a certain fluency in writing, the
same freedom of articulation in the written word which I
have to some extent in the spoken, the knowledge of a
number of lesser traits which up till now I have passed
by with a hasty glance, and finally one other advantage
if, as Hamann says, it is true that some ideas occur only
once in a lifetime. Practice of this kind, behind the scenes,
is essential to all those who are not so gifted that their
development is, in a sense, public.
Thanks, Lichtenberg, thanks ! for having said that there
is nothing so feeble as the conversation of learned literary;
men who have never thought for themselves but know a
57
thousand historical-literary facts.* " It is almost like a read-
ing from a cookery book when one is hungry." Oh thanks
for that voice in the wilderness, for that comfort, which
sets the imagination working like the cry of a wild bird in
the silence of the night; I imagine it was written after a
protracted session with one of those learned jades, which
perhaps robbed him of some happy moments. Unfortun-
ately in my copy I found a mark which has disturbed me;
for I already see some journalist or other going carefully
through the work in order to fill the papers with aphorisms,
with or without Lichtenberg's name; and that has, unfor-
tunately, robbed me of some of the surprise.
Oct 7. How dreadful it is when everything historical
vanishes before a diseased probing of one's own miserable
history ! Who is to show us the middle course between being
devoured by one's own reflections, as though one were the
only man who ever had existed or ever would exist, and
seeking a worthless consolation in the commune nau-
fragium of mankind? That is really what the doctrine of
an ecclesia should do.
*Like Leporello they keep a list, but the point is what
they lack; while Don Juan seduces girls and enjoys himself
Leporello notes down the tune, the place and a descrip-
tion of the girl.
1838
Nulla dies sine Unea
Jan. i. Irony is an abnormal growth; like the abnormally
enlarged liver of the Strassburg goose it ends by killing the
individual.
If I am a weed in literature well, then at least I am
what is called " Proud Henry/*
April Once again a long time has gone by in which I
have not been able to concentrate upon the slightest thing
I will now try to get started again.
Poul Moller is dead. 1
April i. This morning in the cool fresh air I saw half
a dozen wild geese fly away, first of all they rose directly
above me, then further and further away till at last they
divided into two flocks and formed two arches like eye-
brows over my eyes which now looked into the land of
poetry.
April 22. If Christ is to come and take up his abode in
me, it must happen according to the title of to-day's Gospel
in the Almanac : Christ came in through locked doors.
The politicians accuse me of always contradicting; but
therein they are my masters; for they always have one
person more whom they contradict namely, themselves.
The paradox is really the pathos of intellectual life, and
^oul Martin Moller died on March 13. With this entry the Journal
begins again.
58
1838 59
just as only great souls are exposed to passions it is only the
great thinker who is exposed to what I call paradoxes,
which are nothing else than grandiose thoughts in embryo.
May 19. Half -past ten in the morning. There is an in-
describable joy which enkindles us as inexplicably as the
apostle's outburst comes gratuitously : " Rejoice I say unto
you, and again I say unto you rejoice." Not a joy over
this or that but the soul's mighty song " with tongue and
mouth, from the bottom of the heart :" "I rejoice through
my joy, in, at, with, over, by, and with my joy" a
heavenly refrain, as it were, suddenly breaks off our other
song; a joy which cools and refreshes us like a breath of
wind, a wave of air, from the trade wind which blows from
the plains of Mamre to the everlasting habitations.
July 6. Idees fixes are like cramp in the foot the best
cure is to stamp on it.
July 7. God creates out of nothing, wonderful, you say :
yes, to be sure, but he does what is still more wonderful :
he makes saints out of sinners.
July 9. How I thank you, Father in Heaven, that you
have preserved my earthly father here upon earth for a
time such as this when I so greatly need him, a father who,
as I hope, will with your help have greater joy in being my
father a second time than he had the first time in being
so.
July 9. I mean to labour to achieve a far more inward
relation to Christianity; hitherto I have fought for its truth
while in a sense standing outside it. In a purely outward
sense I have carried Christ's cross, like Simon of Cyrene.
Aug. 11. My father died on Wednesday (the gth) at
6o 1838
2 a.m. I had so very much wished that he might live a few
years longer, and I look upon his death as the last sacrifice
which he made to his love for me; for he did not die from
me but died for me in order that if possible I might still
turn into something. Of all that I have inherited from him,
the recollection of him, his transfigured portrait, not trans-
figured by the poetry of my imagination (for it did not
require that) but explained by many an individual trait
which I can now take account of is dearest to me, and I
will be careful to preserve it safely hidden from the world;
for I feel clearly that at this moment there is only one (E.
Boesen) to whom I can in truth talk about him. He was a
"faithful friend."
Dec. 31. The Lord cometh, even though we have to wait
for him, he cometh even though we grow as old as Anne,
as grey as Simeon (that second Noah), but we must wait
for him in his house.
1839
ad se ipsum
Jan. i. The same miracle which astonished all those
present at the marriage feast in Gana repeats itself in the
life of every Christian: Thou hast served the bad wine
first and last of all the good, people will agree in saying,
particularly those who have felt how the world serves the
good first and afterwards the bad.
Jan. 3. In truth I feel at this moment the terrible truth
of the words Psalm 82, 6 : I have said, Ye are gods; and
all of you are children of the most High. But ye shall die
like men, and fall like one of the princes.
Jan. 6, Father in Heaven ! When the thought of thee
wakes in our hearts let it not awaken like a frightened bird
that flies about in dismay, but like a child waking from its
sleep with a heavenly smile.
Jan. 7. What is so confusing about us is that we are at
once the pharisee and the publican.
Feb. 2. Thou sovereign of my heart ("Regina") treas-
ured in the deepest fastness of my breast, in the fullness of
my thought, there, where it is equally far to heaven and to
hell, unknown divinity! Oh, can I really believe the
poet's tales, that when one first sees the object of one's
love, one imagines one has seen her long ago, that all love
like all knowledge is remembrance, that love too has its
prophecies in the individual, its types, its myths, its Old
Testament Everywhere, in the face of every girl I see
61
6a 1839
traces of your beauty, but it seems to me that I should
have to possess the beauty of all of them in order to draw
out a beauty equal to yours; that I should have to circum-
navigate the world in order to find the place I lack and
which the deepest mystery of my whole being points to-
wards and at the next moment you are so near to me,
so present, filling my spirit so powerfully that I am trans-
figured for myself, and feel that it is good to be here.
Thou blind god of love ! Wilt thou reveal to me what
thou seest in secret? Shall I find what I am seeking, here
in this world, shall I experience the conclusion of all my
life's eccentric premises, shall I fold you in my arms or :
are the orders "FURTHER"?
Hast thou gone before me, thou my yearning, dost thou
beckon to me, transformed, from another world? Oh, I
will cast everything from me in order to be light enough
to follow thee.
May 12, I can say of my sorrow what the Englishman
says of his house : my sorrow is my castle.
May 13. I can only presume that it is God's will that I
should read for my exam and that it is more pleasing to
him that I should do so than by burying myself in some
research or other, I should reach a clearer understanding
of something or other; for obedience is dearer to him than
the fat of rams.
May 14. God in heaven, let me really feel my nothing-
ness, not in order to despair over it, but in order to feel the
more powerfully the greatness of thy goodness.
(That wish is not, as the scoffer in me would say, an
epicureanism^ as when the gourmand starves so that the
food will taste all the better.)
1 8 39 %
May 21. At the present time my existence is like that
of a piece on the chess board, of which the opponent says :
that piece cannot move like a deserted spectator, for my
time is not yet come.
July 20. What in certain cases we call "spleen/ 3 the
mystics know under the name tristitia and the Middle Ages
under the name acedia (ofojSia, dullness). Gregor moralia
in Job xiii, p. 435 : virum solitarium ubique comitatur
acedia . . . est animi remissio, mentis enervatio, neglectus
religiosae exercitationis, odium professionis, laudatrix
rerum secularium. That Gregory should pick out the
virum solitarium shows a wide experience, for it is a sick-
ness to which the isolated man at his highest degree is
exposed to and the sickness is most correctly described
and the odium professionis is rightly emphasised, and if we
take that symptom in a slightly more general sense (not
about the confession of sins in church, which would also
oblige us to take solitarius to mean an indifferent member
of the church) as an unburdening of oneself, experience
would not leave us in the lurch were we to ask for examples.
And it shows a deep knowledge of human nature that the
old moralists should have included ff tristitia " among the
septem vitia principalis. That is what my father called ;
a silent despair.
And now for a year's time, for a mile's distance in time,
I will dive below ground like the Guadalquivir; but I
shall come up again !
July 21. Now that I have read his latest handiwork
with its political notions I understand why Herz was so
anxious to talk with me. 1 Only it is a pity that he has left
novd Moods and Conditions was published in Copenhagen in^
1839. The Translator, one of the principal characters, is a description
of S. K. as a young man.
64 1839
out The Translator's satirical ideas which he certainly
thinks he can do without spoiling the general lines; but I
think that they were the best things in it, and ought cer-
tainly not to be left out, if only on account of the dramatic
interest of The Translator's character, but there are pre-
sumably good reasons for doing so; Herz is not the man
for that.
Aug. 8. If only I could finish my examination soon so
that I could once again be a quodlibetarius.
I am always accused of using long parentheses. Read*
ing for my examination is the longest parenthesis I have
known.
1840
The Journey to Jutland
Kallundborg, July 19. On board the ferry. It is terrible
how boring conversations in general are when one has to
be with people for long; the same remark was repeated
again and again, just as toothless old folk turn their food
over and over in their mouths., till in the end one had to
spit it out. There were four parsons on board, and although
the crossing lasted for eight to nine hours (an eternity
to me), the experienced travellers found it unusually short,
which gave each of the parsons in turn an opportunity of
remarking, first of all that no skipper liked to have a
parson on board, because it brought contrary winds and
that the truth of the remark was now disproved, and then
at the end of the crossing in full chorus, to establish it as
a principle that the saying about contrary winds was un-
true. It was in vain that I spread every inch of hearing-
canvas to catch a breath of wind; there was a dead calm;
from the four quarters one only heard that no skipper
wanted parsons on board (which goes to show what a
doubtful blessing the freedom of the parish is, for although
there was absolute freedom of parishes on board the smack,
and I could have listened to whichever parson I liked,
I was no better off). Since each of the parsons seemed
equally interested and justified in appropriating that story,
naturally no one of them would grant another a privilegium
exclusivum. I had hoped to be sea-sick, or at least that
all the other passengers would be sea-sick.
I feel so dull and so completely without joy, my soul is
so empty and void that I cannot even conceive what could
satisfy it oh, not even the blessedness of heaven.
65
66 1840
To thee, O God, we turn for peace . . . but grant us too
the blessed assurance that nothing shall deprive us of that
peace, neither ourselves, nor our foolish, earthly desires, nor
my wild longings, nor the anxious cravings of my heart.
The terrible thing about the absolute spiritual incapacity
from which I am suffering at the present time is that it is
coupled with a consuming desire, with a spiritual passion,
and yet so formless that I do not even know what I long
for.
I sit here quite alone (I have often been just as much
alone but I have never felt so conscious of it) counting
the hours until I see Saeding. I can never remember any
change in my father and I shall now see the places where
as a poor child he watched the flocks and for which, as
a result of his descriptions, I have felt such home-sickness.
What if I were to fall ill and be buried in the churchyard
of Saeding! Extraordinary thought. His last wish is ful-
filled 1 is that to be the whole meaning of my earthly
life? Great heavens! The task cannot be so small when
compared to all that I owe him. I learnt from him the
meaning of fatherly love and so was given some idea of
divine fatherly love, the one unshakable thing in life, the
true archimedean point.
To stand outside the door of this little place 2 in the late
evening light, in the aroma which hay always gives out;
the sheep coming home make the foreground; dark skies
broken by a few violent patches of light, such as are always
seen before a wind in the background rises the moor
if only I could remember the impression of this evening
clearly.
1 S. K. had taken his degree.
i S.K.*3 aunt*s house in Saeding*
1840 6y
Just as people say : nulla dies sine linea, so I can say of
this journey : Nulla dies sine lacryma,
The heaths of Jutland must of all places be suited to
develop the spirit powerfully; here everything lies naked
and uncovered before God, and there is no room for the
many distractions, the many little crevices where conscious-
ness can hide and where seriousness has such difficulty in
running down one's scattered thoughts. Here consciousness
must firmly and scrupulously close itself around itself. And
on the heaths one may say with truth : " Whither shall I
flee from thy presence?"
It seems as though I were to experience contrasts good
and proper. After having stayed with my poor aunt for
three days, almost like Ulysses's stable-companion with
Circe, the very first place I come to is so stuffed with
Counts and Barons as to be frightening. I spent the night
in Them and the morning and afternoon with Count
Ahlefeldt, who invited me to Langeland. The only friend
I found to-day was Rosen0rn my old and distinguished
friend.
On the way to Aarhuus I saw a very funny sight : two
cows harnessed together cantered past us, the one jogging
gaily along and swinging its tail with a fine dash, the other
was more prosaic and depressed at having to take part in
such emotions. Are not most marriages like that?
End of Journey
It requires moral courage to grieve; it requires religious
courage to rejoice.
Nov. 15. There is a world of difference between the
proud courage which dares to fear the worst and the
humble courage which dares to hope for the best.
1841
My Lord God, give me once more the courage to hope;
merciful God let me hope once again, fructify my barren
and infertile mind.
My doubt is terrible. Nothing can withstand it it is
a cursed hunger and I can swallow up every argument,
every consolation and sedative I rush at 10,000 miles a
second through every obstacle.
It is a positive starting point for philosophy when Aris-
totle says that philosophy begins with wonder, not as in
our day with doubt. Moreover the world will learn that
the thing is not to begin with the negative, and the reason
why it has succeeded up to the present is that it has never
really given itself over to the negative, and so has never
seriously done what it said. Its doubt is mere child's play.
For the rights of understanding to be valid one must
venture out into life, out on the sea and lift up one's voice,
even though God hears it not, and not stand on the shore
and watch others fighting and struggling only then does
understanding acquire its official sanction^ for to stand on
one leg and prove God's existence is a very different thing
from going on one's knees and thanking him.
68
69
My relation to ff her* n
August 24, 1849. Infandum me jubes, Regina,
renovare dolorem
Regine Olsen I saw her first at the R0rdams. I really
saw her there before, at a time when I did not know her
family. (In a certain sense I feel a responsibility towards
Bollette R0rdam. Earlier on she made a certain impres-
sion upon me and I perhaps the same impression upon her;
but in all innocence, purely intellectual.)
Even before my father died I had decided upon her.
He died (Aug. 9, 1838). I read for my examination. During
the whole of that time I let her being penetrate mine.
In the summer of 1840 I took my theological examina-
tion.
Without further ceremony I thereupon called at their
house. I went to Jutland and even at that time I was per-
haps fishing for her, e.g. by lending them books in ray
absence and by suggesting that they should read certain
passages.
In August I returned. The period from August 9 till
the beginning of September I used in the strict sense to
approach her.
On September 8 I left my house with the firm purpose
of deciding the matter. We met each other in the street
outside their house. She said there was nobody at home.
I was foolhardy enough to look upon that as an invitation,
just the opportunity I wanted. I went in with her. We
stood alone in the living room. She was a little uneasy. I
asked her to play me something as she usually did. She
did so; but that did not help me. Then suddenly I took the
ir rhis account of his engagement was sent to Regine Olsen on S. K/s
death with all the papers relating to their engagement. They were
edited under her supervision, but not published until after her death, by
Raphael Meyer in 1904 under the title Kierkegaardske Papir&r: Forlovelsm*
70 1841
music away and closed it, not without a certain violence,
threw it down on the piano and said : " Oh, what do I care
about music now ! It is you I am searching for, it is you
whom I have sought after for two years." She was silent.
I did nothing else to make an impression upon her; I even
warned her against myself, against my melancholy. When,
however, she spoke about Schlegel I said : " Let that rela-
tionship be a parenthesis; after all the priority is mine."
(N.B. It was only on the loth that she spoke of Schlegel;
on the 8th she did not say a word.)
She remained quite silent. At last I left, for I was
anxious lest someone should come and find both of us, and
she so disturbed. I went immediately to Etatsraad Olsen,
I know that I was terribly concerned that I had made too
great an impression upon her. I also feared that my visit
might lead to a misunderstanding and even harm her repu-
tation.
Her father said neither yes nor no, but he was willing
enough as I could see. I asked for a meeting: it was
granted to me for the afternoon of the loth. I did not
say a single word to persuade her. She said, Yes.
I immediately assumed a relation to the whole family,
and turned all my virtuosity upon her father whom, more-
over, I have always loved.
But inwardly; the next day I saw that I had made a
false step. A penitent such as I was, my vita ante acta,
my melancholy, that was enough.
I suffered unspeakably at that time.
She seemed to notice nothing. On the contrary her
spirits were so high that once she said she had accepted
me out of pity. In short, I have never known such high
spirits.
In one sense that was the danger. If she does not take it
more to heart, I thought, than her own words betray : " if
she thought I only came from force of habit she would
1841 7*
break off the engagement at once"; if she does not take
it more to heart, then I am saved. I pulled myself to-
gether again. In another sense I must admit my weakness,
that for a moment she vexed me.
Then I set my whole strength to work she really gave
way and precisely the opposite happened, she gave herself
unreservedly to me, she worshipped me. To a certain ex-
tent I myself bear the guilt of that. While I perceived
the difficulty of the position only too clearly, and recognised
that I must use the maximum of strength in order if pos-
sible to burst through my melancholy, I had said to
her : " Surrender to me; your pride makes everything
easier for me." A perfectly true word; honest towards her,
melancholy and treacherous towards myself.*
And now of course my melancholy woke once more. Her
devotion once again put the whole "responsibility" upon
me on a tremendous scale, whereas her pride had almost
made me free from " responsibility*" My opinion is, and
my thought was, that it was God's punishment upon me.
I cannot decide clearly what purely emotional impres-
sion she made upon me. One thing is certain : that she
gave herself to me, almost worshipping me, asking me to
love her, which moved me to such an extent that I was
willing to risk all for her. How much I loved her is shown
by the fact that I always tried to hide from myself how
much she had moved me, which however really has no
relation to the passions. If I had not been a penitent, had
not had my vita ante acta> had not been melancholy, my
*To some extent she suspected my condition, for she
often answered : " You are never happy; and so it is all
one to you whether I remain with you or not" She also
once said to me : that she would never ask me about any-
thing if only she might remain with me.
72 1841
union with her would have made me happier than I had
ever dreamed of being. But in so far as I was what, alas,
I was, I had to say that I could be happier in my un-
happiness without her than with her; she had moved me
and I would have liked, more than liked, to have done
everything for her.
But there was a divine protest, that is how I understood
it. The wedding. I had to hide such a tremendous amount
from her, had to base the whole thing upon something
untrue.
I wrote to her and sent her back the ring. The letter
is to be found word for word in the " psychological experi-
ment." 1 With all my strength I allowed that to become
purely historical; for I spoke to no one of it, not to a single
man; I who am more silent than the grave. Should the
book come into her hands I wanted her to be reminded of
it.
What did she do? In her womanly despair she over-
stepped the boundary. She evidently knew that I was
melancholy; she intended that anxiety should drive me to
extremes. The reverse happened. She certainly brought me
to the point at which anxiety drove me to extremes; but
then with gigantic strength I constrained my whole nature
so as to repel her. There was only one thing to do and
that was to repel her with all my powers.
During those two months of deceit I observed a careful
caution in what I said directly to her from time to time :
Give in, let me go; you cannot bear it. Thereupon she
answered passionately that she would bear anything rather
than let me go.
I also suggested giving the appearance that it was she
who broke off the engagement, so that she might be spared
all offence. That she would not have. She answered : if
she could bear the other she could bear this too. And not
unsocratically she said : In her presence no one would let
*A part of The Stages by Frater Taciturnitus.
1841 73
anything be noticed and what people said in her absence
remained a matter of indifference.
It was a time of terrible suffering: to have to be so
cruel and at the same time to love as I did. She fought
like a tigress. If I had not believed that God had lodged
a veto she would have been victorious.
And so about two months later it broke. She grew des-
perate. For the first time in my life I scolded. It was the
only thing to do.
When I left her I went immediately to the Theatre be-
cause I wanted to meet Emil Boesen. (That gave rise to
what was then said in Copenhagen, that I had looked at
my watch and said to the family that if they had anything
more in their minds would they please hurry up as I had
to go to the theatre.) The act was over. As I left the
stalls Etatsraad Olsen came up to me and said " May I
speak to you?" We went together to his house. " It will
be her death, she is in absolute despair." I said <c I shall
calm her down; but everything is settled." He said, "I
am a proud man and I find it difficult to say, but I beg
you, do not break with her." He was indeed a noble-
hearted man; I was deeply moved. But I did not let my-
self be persuaded. I remained with the family to dinner.
I spoke to her as I left. The following morning I received
a letter from him saying she had not slept all night, and
asking me to go and see her. I went and tried to persuade
her. She asked me: "Are you never going to marry?" I
answered, "Yes, perhaps in ten years time when I have
sown my wild oats; then I shall need some young blood to
rejuvenate me." That was a necessary cruelty. Then she
said, "Forgive me for the pain I have caused you." I
answered : " It is for me to ask forgiveness." She said :
" Promise to think of me." I did so. " Kiss me," she said.
I did so but without passion. Merciful God !
And so we parted. I spent the whole night crying on my
bed. But the next day I behaved as usual^ wittier and in
74 1841
better spirits than ever. That was necessary. My brother
told me he wanted to go to the family and show them that
I was not a scoundrel. " If you do so I will put a bullet
through your head," which is the best proof of how deeply
concerned I was. 1 I went to Berlin. I suffered greatly. I
thought of her every day. Until now I have kept my
promise and have prayed for her at least once and often
twice a day, in addition to the other times I might think
about her.
When the bonds were broken my thoughts were these :
either you throw yourself into the wildest kind of life or
else become absolutely religious, but it will be different
from the parsons' mixture.
I only remained in Berlin sk months. Actually my
intention was to remain away a year and a half. The fact
that I came back so soon must have attracted her atten-
tion. And indeed it did, and she waited for me after
Mynster's sermon on the first Sunday after Easter. But I
rejected her advances. My intention was to repel her. I
did not want her to think that I had been thinking of
her whilst I was away. Moreover I knew from Sibbern
that she herself had said that she could not bear seeing
me. Now that was not the case as I truly saw; but I was
obliged to think that she could not bear speaking to me.
For the rest, it would seem she took the most decisive
step in her life under my auspices. Shortly before her
engagement to Schlegel she discovered me in a Church.
I did not avoid her look. She nodded to me twice. I shook
my head. That meant "You must give me up." She
nodded again and I nodded in as friendly a manner as
possible. That meant "You have retained my love."
Then, after she had become engaged to Schlegel (1843),
*In a letter to Emil Boesen S. K* forbade Boesen to contradict all the
stories about the engagement which were being told to his discredit, and
refers to the above episode. It was Professor Sibbern who had spoken
sharply to Peter Kierkegaard.
1841 75
she met me in the street and greeted me in as friendly
and confiding a way as possible, I did not understand her,
for I had not heard about the engagement I only looked
enquiringly at her and shook my head. She certainly
thought I knew about the engagement and was asking for
my approval.
When the banns of marriage were published (1847) I was
present in the church.
1841
Oct. 25* 1 . , . You say, "what I have lost or rather
what I have deprived myself of/' what I have lost, oh,
how should you know or understand it. When it is men-
tioned the best thing you can do is to remain silent and
how should anyone know it better than I who have made
the whole of my tremendously reflective soul into as agree-
able a frame as possible for her pure depths my dark
thoughts my melancholy dreams, my brilliant expecta-
tions and above all my inconstancy, in short all that
brilliance by the side of her depths and when I reeled
from looking down into her infinite devotion, for there is
indeed nothing so infinite as love or when her feelings
did not sink into the depths but danced above in the easy
play of love
What I have lost, the only thing I loved; what I have
lost, in the eyes of men my word of honour; what I have
lost, what I still and always shall, and without fearing
that shock, stake my honour, my happiness, my pride in
being faithful. . . , Yet at the present moment as I write
1 S.K. broke off his engagement on October n and on October 25,
1841, sailed for Berlin. He was seen on to the boat by his brother and
EmilBoesen*
y6 1841
this, in a cabin shaken by the double movement of a steam-
packet, my soul is as shaken as my body.
And in the one case in which I so much desired to act,
it is melancholy to see myself assigned as my only activity
what is usually left to women and children to pray.
You say : she was beautiful. Oh what do you know
about it; I know it, for her beauty cost me tears I my-
self bought flowers with which to adorn her, I would have
hung all the adornments of the world upon her, though
only as they served to bring out all the hidden beauty
within and as she stood there in all her array I had to
go as her joyful look, so full of life, met mine I had to
go and I went out and wept bitterly.
How great is womanly devotion.-*-But the curse which
rests upon me is never to be allowed to let anyone deeply
and inwardly join themselves to me. God in heaven knows
how often I have suffered when with childish glee I thought
out a plan which I thought would really please her, and
then had to make it a principle never to carry out any-
thing in the joy of the moment, but wait until understand-
ing and shrewdness had forbidden it, for fear of drawing
her nearer to me. My relation to her may, I truly believe,
be called unhappy love I love her I own her her only
wish is to remain with me her family implore me it is
my greatest wish and I have to say no. In order to make
it easier for her I will, if possible, make her believe that
I simply deceived her, that I am a frivolous man, so as if
possible to make her hate me; for I believe that it would
always be more difficult for her if she suspected that the
cause was melancholy how like are melancholy and
frivolity.
How my pride is humbled because I am not able to re-
turn to her. I had set all my pride on being faithful to
i8 4 i 77
her, and yet I dare not be so. I am not accustomed to be-
smirching my honour it has always been a point of honour
with me to remain faithful. And yet in her eyes I am a
deceiver, and that is the only way of setting right again
what I have done wrong. I have held my ground with a
terrible consistency, in spite of all my own inner desires, for
I do not heed the outward temptations of men who would
interfere with me. And yet there is still a fear which tor-
tures me. Supposing she really becomes convinced that I
deceived her, supposing she falls in love with someone else,
which I must naturally wish for in many ways supposing
she then suddenly discovers that I really loved her, that I
had done so out of love for her, inwardly convinced that
it must end badly or that with the greatest joy in the
world, and thanks to God, I would share my happiness
with her and not my sorrow then the last would be worse
than the first.
I saw a pretty girl to-day but it does not interest me
any more I do not wish it no husband can be more
faithful to his wife than I am to her. At the same time it
is good for me; those little romances distracted me a good
deal.
Passion is the real thing, the real measure of man's
power. And the age in which we live is wretched, because
it is without passion. If, as the good Jonas Olsen 1 wrote
in that memorable note, he really could hate as none has
hated before, then I should consider myself fortunate in
having been contemporary with him, fortunate in having
become the object of that hate, that is a real fight.
Here in Berlin a Demoiselle Hedevig Schulze, a Vien-
nese singer, plays the part of Elvira. She is quite pretty,
and acts her part vigorously, in her movements, stature,
^egine Olsen's brother.
78 1841
dress (black silk dress, bare neck, white gloves), she bears a
striking resemblance to a young lady I once knew*
. . . And when God wishes to bind a man to him he calls
his most faithful servant, his most trustworthy messenger,
and it is sorrow, and says to him : hasten after him, over-
take him, do not leave his side (. . . and no woman can
attach herself more closely to the man she loves than
sorrow).
1842
Letter to his brother. Berlin, Feb. 27, 1842.
Dear Peter,
Schelling drivels on quite intolerably.. If you want to
form some idea what it is like then I will ask you to submit
yourself to the following experiment as a sort of self-in-
flicted punishment. Imagine Parson R.'s meandering philo-
sophising, his entirely aimless, haphazard knowledge, and
Parson Hornsyld's untiring efforts to display his learning,
imagine the two combined and in addition an impudence
hitherto unequalled by any philosopher; and with that
picture vividly before your poor mind go to the workroom
of a prison and you will have some idea of Schelling's
philosophy and the temperature one has to hear it in.
Moreover, in order to intensify it he has conceived the
idea of lecturing for longer than usual, and so I have
decided not to attend his lectures for as long as I meant
to. The question is, which is the better idea. . . . Con-
sequently I have nothing more to do in Berlin. My time
is too precious to allow me to take in drop by drop what
I should hardly have to open my mouth to swallow all at
once. I am too old to attend lectures and Schelling is too
old to give them. His whole doctrine of potency betrays
the greatest impotence. . . .
Disjecta Membra*
The nature of original sin has often been considered,
and yet the principal category has been missing it is
dread, that is what really determines it; for dread is a
desire for what one fears, a sympathetic antipathy; dread
1 S. K* returned to Copenhagen on March 6, 1842*
79
8o 1842
is an alien power which takes hold of the individual, and
yet one cannot extricate oneself from it, does not wish to,
because one is afraid, but what one fears attracts one.
Dread renders the individual powerless, and the first sin
always happens in a moment of weakness; it therefore
lacks any apparent accountableness, but that want is the
real snare.
Woman has more dread than man; that is why the ser-
pent chose her for his attack and deceived her through
her dread.
Johannes Climacus
or
De omnibus dubitandum est
a story
His home did not offer many diversions, and as he almost
never went out, he early grew accustomed to occupying
himself with his own thoughts. His father was a very severe
man, apparently dry and prosaic, but under his frieze coat
he concealed a glowing imagination which even old age
could not dim. When occasionally Johannes asked his per-
mission to go out, he generally refused to give it, though
once in a while he proposed instead that Johannes should
take his hand and walk up and down the room. At first
glance this would seem a poor substitute, and yet, as with
the frieze coat, there was something totally different con-
cealed beneath it. The offer was accepted, and it was left
entirely to Johannes to determine where they should go.
So they went out of doors to a nearby castle in Spain, or
out to the seashore, or about the streets, wherever Johannes
wished to go, for his father was equal to anything. While
they went up and down the room his father described all
that they saw; they greeted passers by, carriages rattled
past them and drowned his father's voice; the cake-woman's
cakes were more enticing than ever. He described so
1842 8i
accurately, so vividly, so explicitly even to the least details,
everything that was known to Johannes and so fully and
perspicuously what was unknown to him, that after half
an hour of such a walk with his father he was as much
overwhelmed and fatigued as if he had been a whole day
out of doors. Johannes soon learned from his father how
to exercise his magical power. What first had been an epic
now became a drama; they talked while walking up and
down. If they went along familiar ways, they watched
one another sharply to make sure that nothing was over-
looked; if the way was strange to Johannes, he invented
something, whereas his father's almighty imagination was
capable of shaping everything, of using every childish whim
as an ingredient in the drama which was being enacted.
To Johannes it seemed as if the world were coming into
existence during the conversation, as if his father were our
Lord and he were his favourite, who was allowed to inter-
pose his foolish conceits as merrily as he would; for he
was never repulsed, his father was never put out, he agreed
to everything, and always to Johannes's satisfaction. . . .
While thus there was being developed in him an almost
vegetative tendency to drowse in imagination, which was
in part aesthetic, in part more intellectual, another side of
his soul was being strongly shaped, namely, his sense for
the sudden, the surprising. This was not accomplished by
the magic means which commonly serves to rivet the atten-
tion of children, but by something far higher. His father
combined an irresistible dialectic with an all-powerful
imagination. When for any reason his father engaged in
argument with anyone, Johannes was all ears, all the more
so because everything was conducted with an almost festive
orderliness. His father always allowed his opponent to state
his whole case, and then as a precaution asked him if he
had nothing more to say before he began his reply.
Johannes had followed the opponent's speech with strained
attention, and in his way shared an interest in the out-
82 1842
come. A pause intervened. The father's rejoinder followed,
and behold ! in a trice the tables were turned. How that
came about was a riddle to Johannes, but his soul delighted
in the show. The opponent spoke again. Johannes could
almost hear his heart beat, so impatiently did he await
what was to happen. It happened; in the twinkling of an
eye everything was inverted, the explicable became in-
explicable, the certain doubtful, the contrary evident
When the shark wishes to seize its prey it has to turn over
upon its back, for its mouth is on its underside; its back
is dark, its belly is silver-white. It must be a magnificent
sight to witness that alternation of colour; it must some-
times glitter so brightly as to hurt the eyes, and yet it is
a delight to look upon. Johannes witnessed a similar alter-
nation when he heard his father engage in argument. He
forgot again what was said, both what his father and what
the opponent said, but that shudder of soul he did not for-
get.
. . What other children get through the fascination
of poetry and the surprises of fairy-tales, he got through
the repose of intuition and the alternations of dialectic.
This was the child's joy, it became the boy's game, it be-
came the youth's delight. So his life had a rare continuity;
it did not know the various transitions which commonly
mark the different periods of growth. When Johannes grew
older he had no toys to lay aside, for he had learned to
play with that which was to be the serious business of his
life, and yet it lost thereby nothing of its allurement.
. . . Wherever he surmised a labyrinth, there he must
find a way. If once he began such an enterprise, nothing
could make him leave off. If he found it difficult, if he
grew tired before having finished, he used to adopt a very
simple method. He shut himself up in his room, made
everything as festive as possible and then said in a loud
and dear voice, / will it. He had learned from his father
that one can do what one wills; and his father's life had
1842 83
not discredited this theory. This experience had imparted
to Johannes' soul an indescribable sort of pride. It was
intolerable to him that there should be anything one could
not do if only one willed it. But his pride was not at all
indicative of a feeble will; for when he had said those
energetic words he was ready for anything, he then had
a still more lofty goal, namely, to penetrate by sheer will
the jungle growth of difficulty. This was again an adven-
ture which aroused his enthusiasm. So his life was at all
times romantically adventurous, although for his adventure
he did not need forests and distant travel, but only what
he possessed a little room with one window.
Although his soul was early attracted to the ideal, yet
his trust and confidence in reality was in no wise weakened.
The ideal which he was nourished upon lay so close to
him, all came about so naturally, that this became his
reality, and again in the reality around him he might ex-
pect to discover the ideal. His father's melancholy con-
tributed to this. That his father was an extraordinary man
was something Johannes got to know later. That he
astonished him, as no other man did to the same degree,
he knew; but he was acquainted with so few people that
he possessed no scale with which to measure him. That
his father, humanly speaking, was something out of the
ordinary was the last thing he would learn in the paternal
house. Once in a while, when an old friend visited the
family and entered into a confidential conversation with
his father, Johannes would hear him say, " I am good for
nothing, cannot accomplish anything, my one wish is to
find a place in a charitable institution." 1 That was not a
jest, there was no trace of irony in his father's words, on
the contrary there was a gloomy seriousness in them which
alarmed Johannes.
. . Johannes, whose whole view of life was, so to say,
hidden in his father, inasmuch as he himself saw only very
l The episode is historical and the friend Bishop Mynster*
84 1842
little, found himself involved in a contradiction, which
baffled him for a long time, the suspicion that his father con-
tradicted himself, if not in other ways, at least by the vir-
tuosity with which he could triumph over an opponent and
put him to silence. So Johannes's confidence in reality was
not weakened; he had not imbibed the ideal from writings
which taught him that the glory they describe is, Indeed,
not to be found in the world; he was not formed by a
man who knew how to make his knowledge precious, but
rather to make it as unimportant and worthless as possible.
My judgment on Either-Or
There was once a young man, as fortunately gifted as
an Alcibiades. He went astray in the world. In his need
he looked around him for a Socrates, but among his con-
temporaries he found none. Then he prayed the gods to
change him into one. And behold ! He who had been so
proud of being an Alcibiades was so shamed and humbled
by the grace of the gods that at the very moment of re-
ceiving that of which he might have felt proud, he felt him-
self to be less than all others.
If I have proved nothing else with Either-Or at least I
have proved that a work can be written in Danish literature
without the warm embraces of sympathy, without the in-
citement of expectation, that one can work against the
current, that one can be industrious without showing it,
that one can collect one's thoughts in silence while almost
every duffer of a student considers one an idler. Though
the book itself were meaningless its genesis would be the
neatest epigram I have composed on a garrulous philo-
sophic age.
Experience, it is said, makes a man wise. That is very
1842 85
silly talk. If there were nothing beyond experience it would
simply drive him mad.
If people insist on calling my crumbs of wisdom sophistry
I should just like to draw their attention to the fact that
it lacks at least one of the characteristics, according to the
definitions of both Plato and Aristotle : that one earns
money with it.
Esquisse
In his early youth a man once let himself be carried
away while in a state of intoxication, and visited a prosti-
tute. The whole thing is forgotten. Now he wants to
marry. Then comes dread. The possibility of his being
a father, that somewhere in the world there might be living
a creature owing its existence to him, tortures him day
and night. He cannot confide in anyone, he has not even
any absolute assurance of the fact. It must therefore
have occurred with a prostitute, in the wild recklessness of
youth; had it been a little love affair or a real seduction
one could not imagine his being ignorant, but it is precisely*
his ignorance which is the disturbing element in his tor-
ture. On the other hand his doubt could only really appear
when he falls in love, precisely because of the thoughtless-
ness of the whole affair.
After my death no one will find among my papers a
single explanation as to what really filled my life (that is
my consolation) ; no one will find the words which explain
everything and which often made what the world would
call a bagatelle into an event of tremendous importance
to me, and what I look upon as something insignificant
when I take away the secret gloss which explains alL
i8 4 3
Berlin, May 10, 1843.
The day after my arrival I was very bad, ready to sink
at the knees.
In Stralsund I almost went mad hearing a young girl
playing the pianoforte, among other things Weber's last
waltz over and over again. The last time I was in Berlin,
it was the first piece I heard in the Thiergarten, played by
a blind man on the harp. 1
It seems as though everything were intended to remind
me of the past; my apothecary, who was a confirmed
bachelor is married. On that point he explained several
things to me : one only lives once; one must have someone
to whom one can explain oneself. I was struck by how
much there was in what he said, particularly when it is
said without affectation.
In the Hotel Saxen I have a room giving on to the
water, where the baths are. Good Lord, how it reminds
of the past. In the background is the church and when
it strikes the sound penetrates to the very marrow of my
bones.
Berlin, May 17, 1843.
Had I had faith I should have remained with Regine.
Thanks and praise be to God, I now see that. I was near
to losing my mind in those days. Humanly speaking I
behaved rightly towards her, I ought perhaps never to have
got engaged, but from that moment I behaved honestly
lf This is the second journey to Berlin, described in Tht Repetition.
S*K. left for Berlin on May 8.
86
i8 4 3 8?
towards her. From an aesthetic and chivalrous point of
view I loved her in a far higher sense than she loved me;
for otherwise she would never have treated me proudly or
afterwards frightened me with her cries* I have just begun
a story called Guilty Not Guilty,, it could of course con-
tain things which would astonish the world; for I have
experienced more poetry in the last year and a half than all
the novels put together, but it is impossible for me, and I
do not wish my relation to her to be volatilised into poetry,
it has quite a different reality. She has not become a fairy
princess and if possible she shall be my wife. Oh God, that
was my one desire and I have had to relinquish it.
(A page torn from the Journal)
... it would certainly have happened. But where mar-
riage is concerned everything is not sold as it stands when
the hammer falls, and the point, here, is a little honesty
about the past Here again my chivalry is clear.
Had I not honoured her above myself, as my future wife,
had I not been prouder of her honour than of mine, then
I should have remained silent and have fulfilled her desire
and mine, and have been married to her there are so
many marriages that conceal their little tale. That I did
not want; in that way she would have become my concu-
bine; I would rather have murdered her. But if I had
had to explain myself then I would have had to initiate
her into terrible things my relation to my father, his melan-
choly, the eternal darkness that broods deep within, my
going astray, pleasures and excesses which in the eyes of
God are not perhaps so terrible, for it was dread that drove
me to excess, and where was I to look for something to
hold on to when I knew, or suspected that the one man
I revered for his power and strength had wavered.
I must take up my Antigone again. The problem will
88 1 843
be to develop and motivate the foreboding of guilt psycho-
logically. To that end I have been thinking of Solomon
and David, 1 Solomon's youthful relationship to David; for
it is quite certain that both Solomon's intelligence (that
which was paramount in it) and his sensuality are con-
sequences of David's greatness. Earlier he had suspected
David's tremendous agitation, not knowing what guilt there
could be upon him, and yet saw that profoundly God-
fearing man give his repentance so ethical an expression;
for it would have been another thing had David been a
mystic. These conceptions, these suspicions kill all energy
(except in the form of imagination), awaken the intelligence
and that combination of imagination and intelligence,
where the factor of die will is lacking, is really sensuality.
It is really curious about my little secretary Hr. Christen-
sen. I bet it is he who is scribbling in various forms in the
papers and in the supplements; for I often hear an echo
of my ideas, not as I am in the habit of writing them, but
as I throw them out in conversation. And I who treated
him so kindly, paid him well, talked to him hours together,
for which I paid him, simply in order that he should not
feel hurt and humiliated because his poverty made it neces-
sary for him to be a copyist; I initiated him into the whole
thing, cast a veil of mystification over everything, made
the time as agreeable for him as possible. The little article
in the supplement which appeared several days before
Either-Or is certainly by him. It was really not very nice
of him. He could have confided in me and told me he
wanted to write; but his authorship has a bad conscience.
He notices that I have changed a little, though I was just
as polite and kind to him. On the other hand I have put
a stop to his curiosity and his sniffing about my room; one
must keep him at a distance; how I loath plagiarists.
1 The third autobiographical insertion, Solomon's Dream describes * the
earthquake.' Solomon's Dream in Guilty Not Guilty.
1 843 8 9
I could perhaps reproduce the tragedy of my childhood,
the terrifying, mysterious explanation of religion which a
frightful foreboding played into my hands, which my
imagination worked upon, and the scandal which religion
became to me all in a novel called "the mysterious
family." It would begin on a completely idyllic, patriarchal
note so that no one suspected anything until suddenly .the
word sounded which translated everything into terror.
Nullum exstitit magnum ingenium sine aliqua dementia
is the worldly expression of the religious proposition : whom
God blesses in a religious sense he eo ipso curses in a
worldly sense. It has to be so, the reason being firstly, the
limitations of existence, and secondly the duplicity of exis-
tence.
It is perfectly true, as philosophers say, that life must be
understood backwards. But they forget the other proposi-
tion, that it must be lived forwards. And if one thinks over
that proposition it becomes more and more evident that
life can never really be understood in time simply because
at no particular moment can I find the necessary resting-
place from which to understand it backwards.
1844
I was born in 1813, in that mad year when so many
other mad bank-notes were put into circulation, 1 and I
can be best compared to one of them. There is something
about me which points to greatness, but because of the
mad state of affairs I am only worth little.
And sometimes bank-notes of that kind are the mis-
fortune of a whole family.
Let no one misunderstand all my talk about passion and
pathos to mean that I am proclaiming any and every un-
circumcised immediacy, all manner of unshaven passion.
The hardest trial of all is when a man does not know
whether the cause of his suffering is madness or guilt.
While in other cases freedom is what he fights with, in
this case it has become dialectical in its own most terrible
contrary.
Where feelings are concerned the same thing happens
to me that happened to the Englishman who got into
financial difficulties because no one could change his 100
note.
In Aus meinem Leben Goethe is nothing but a talented
defender of solecisms. At no single point has he realised
the idea; but (whether the subject is girls, love or Chris-
tianity) there is one thing he can do, talk himself out of
everything,
If Hegel had written the whole of his logic and then said,
1 Xhe inflation which enriched S. K.'s father.
90
1843 91
in the preface, that it was merely an experiment in thought
in which he had even begged the question in many places,
then he would certainly have been the greatest thinker
who had ever lived. As it is he is merely comic.
N.B. God can only show himself to man in miracles, Le.
as soon as he sees God he sees a miracle. But by himself
he is incapable of seeing miracles for the miracle is his own
annihilation. The Jews expressed that pictorially by say-
ing that to see God was death. It is truer to say that to
see God, or see miracles happens by virtue of the absurd,
for reason must stand aside.
It seems quite extraordinary to me to read Gap III of
Book III of Aristotle's de anima. It is a year and a half
since I began my little essay : de omnibus dubitandum est
in which I made my first attempt at a bit of philosophical
writing. The motivating concept which I used was : error.
Aristotle does so too. At that time I had not read any
Aristotle and only part of Plato.
It is however the Greeks who are my consolation, the
cursed mendacity which came into philosophy with Hegel,
that eternal hinting and deceiving, and blustering and
dilution of some point or other in the Greeks.
Trendelenburg be praised; one of the most honest think-
ing philologists I know.
May 14, 1845. Arrival in Berlin.
The only character on board whom one could make any
use of was a young lad wearing a velvet cap tied on with a
kerchief, and a striped smock over his coat, and a stick
hanging by a string to one of the buttons. Frank, honest,
travelling, interested in everything, naive, shy, and yet con-
fident. By combining him with a melancholy traveller
(like Herr Hagen) one could produce a fine melancholy
effect.
It is curious that The Corsair has never thought of
representing people in the classical style, naked, with a fig-
leaf.
A drawing of Hercules for example, or something in
that style, and underneath : Pastor Grundtvig.
A possible conclusion to all
the pseudonymous works
by
Nicolaus Notabene
I shall now tell an honoured public how it happened
that I became an author. The story is quite simple, for
there is no question of my having had a vision, a dream
or the inspiration of genius, or anything of the kind to
which to appeal. I had spent some years of my life as a
student in a sort of idleness, certainly reading and thinking
a bit, but my indolence always had the upper hand com-
pletely; then one Sunday afternoon, four years ago, I was
sitting out in a cafe in the Frederiksberg Gardens smoking
9*
1845 93
my cigar and looking at the servant-girls and suddenly the
idea struck me : you go on wasting your time without
profit; on every side one genius after another appears and
makes life and existence, and the historical means of con-
veyance and communication with eternal happiness, easier
and easier what do you do? Could you not discover some
way in which you too could help the age? Then I thought,
what if I sat down and made everything difficult? For
one must try to be useful in every possible way. Even if
the age does not need ballast I must be loved by all those
who make everything easy; for if no one is prepared to
make it difficult it becomes all too easy to make things
easy. From that moment I found my entertainment in that
work. I mean the work has been amusing, for in another
sense I did not find it entertaining, but had to sink money
in it. Nor can one really ask people to pay in order to
have things made difficult; that would be to make it still
more difficult. No, really those who make things easy
should support me out of their profits. They have more-
over made good use of me and straightway assumed that
I did it for their sakes, simply so that they should have
something further to make easy.
When a skipper sails with a smack he usually knows his
whole cruise beforehand; but a man-of-war only gets its
orders at sea that is what happens to genius, he is out on
the deep before he gets his orders, we others know more or
less what we have to do.
Monologue
When one reads Luther one gets the impression, rightly
enough, of a sure and certain mind, of one who speaks
with a decision that is " authoritative " (he preached with
authority eov<na Matt, vii 29). And yet it seems to me
94 i 845
there is something disturbing about his certainty, which is
in fact uncertainty. It is common knowledge that a par-
ticular state of mind often tries to conceal itself beneath
its opposite. One encourages oneself with strong words,
and the words become even stronger because one is hesi-
tant. That is not deception, but a pious wish. One does
not even wish to express the uncertainty of fear, one does
not wish (or dare) even to name it, and one forces out the
very opposite mood in the hope that it will help. Thus
Luther makes paramount use of that which is used with
such moderation in the New Testament : the sin against the
Holy Ghost. In order to encourage himself and the believer
he makes immediate and draconian use of it on every
occasion. With the result that ultimately there is not a
single man who has committed the sin against the Holy
Ghost, not only once but many times. And the New Testa-
ment says that it cannot be forgiven; so what then? I
know full well that most people will cross themselves when
I compare Luther's assurance with that of Socrates. But
is that not simply because the majority of men have a
greater understanding of and leaning towards disturbing?
Luther, as is well known, was shaken by the lightning
which killed his friend beside him; in the same way his
expressions always sound as though the lightning were
continuously striking down behind him.
Just as the top layer in a case of herrings is crushed and
spoilt, and the fruit next to the crate is bruised and worth-
less, so too in every generation there are certain men who
are on the outside and are made to suffer from the packing
case, who only protect those who are in the middle.
Happily I am neither marked out by fortune nor among
the admired, for much as I am willing to rejoice with
them and pay them my tribute, I am little desirous of
being one of them, because that kind of existence is at
* 845 95
variance with the universal and distressing in relation to the
unfortunate.
There is a bird called the stormy-petrel, and that is
what I am, when in a generation storms begin to gather,
individuals of my type appear.
1846
The " Final Postscript "
Jan. The whole manuscript was delivered to the printer,
lock, stock and barrel, circa media Dec., 1845. "A first
and last explanation " was written down hastily on a page
of the original manuscript but was put on one side to be
finished and was only sent to the printer at the last moment,
so as not to lie about the printer's office. I would not allow
a foot-note to a passage about the pseudonymous works to
be printed simply because it was written during the print-
ing. The falsehood, gossip and vulgarity that surround one
on all sides make one's position difficult enough at times,
make me perhaps all too nervously anxious to have the
truth on my side, down to the smallest details; what's the
good?
Feb. 7. My idea is now to prepare myself for Holy
Orders. I have prayed to God for several months to give
me further help, for it has been clear to me for a long
time past that I ought not to continue any longer as an
author, which I either wish to be entirely and absolutely,
or not at all. For that reason I have not begun anything
new while correcting the proofs, but only the little review
of The Two Ages., which is, moreover, finished. 1
How terrible about the man who once as a little boy,
while herding sheep on the heaths of Jutland, suffering
greatly, in hunger and in want, stood upon a hill and
cursed God and the man was unable to forget it even
when he was eighty-two years old.
^rom which The Present Age is translated.
96
1846 97
De occultis non judicat ecclesia.
Dare I conceal the guilt? And yet dare I reveal it my-
self? If God wishes it to be revealed, then to be sure he
can do so, and this idea of informing against myself may,
what is more, be playing the part of providence.
To-day an accusing memory passed by. Supposing, now,
the accusation came to light. I could go far away, live
in a foreign country, a new life far from the memory, far
from every possibility of its being revealed. I could live
hidden No, I must remain on the spot and continue to
do everything as usual, without a single prudential measure,
leaving everything to God. Terrible, how it can develop a
man to remain on the spot, formed only by possibility.
The new development in our age cannot be political,
for politics is a dialectical relation between the individual
and the community in the representative individual; but in
our times the individual is in the process of becoming far
too reflective to be able to be satisfied with merely being
represented.
The immediate person thinks and imagines that when
he prays, the important thing, the thing he must concen-
trate upon, is that God should hear what HE is praying -for.
And yet in the true, eternal sense it is just the reverse :
the true relation in prayer is not when God hears what
is prayed for, but when the person praying continues to
pray until he is the one who hears* who hears what God
wills. The immediate person, therefore, uses many words
and, therefore, makes demands in his prayer; the true man
of prayer only attends.
Why did Socrates compare himself to a gad-fly?
Because he only wished to have ethical significance. He
did not wish to be admired as a genius standing apart from
others, and fundamentally, therefore, make the lives of
g8 1846
others easy, because they could then say, " it is all very
fine for him, he is a genius." No, he only did what every
man can do, he only understood what every man can
understand. Therein lies the epigram. He bit hard into
the individual man, continually forcing him and irritating
him with this * universal.' He was a gad-fly who provoked
people by means of the individual's passion, not allowing
him to admire indolently and effeminately, but demanding
his self of him. If a man has ethical power people like to
make him into a genius, simply to be rid of him; because
his life expresses a demand.
The time will come when it will be considered just as
bad taste to give results (now so much in demand and so
popular) as it was at one time to point a moral. The man
who cannot discover the result for himself with the help
of the road never discovers it at all, he only imagines he
does.
In relation to their systems most systematisers are like a
man who builds an enormous castle and lives in a shack
close by; they do not live in their own enormous systematic
buildings. But spiritually that is a decisive objection.
Spiritually speaking a man's thought must be the building
in which he lives otherwise everything is topsy-turvy.
Everything depends upon making the difference between
quantitative and qualitative dialectic absolute. The whole
of logic is quantitative or modal dialectic, since everything
is and everything is one and the same. Qualitative dialec-
tic is concerned with existence.
The phrase "while this and that happened something
else happened," always implies that the first was something
which lasted longer, and it can therefore be used so that
the second thing only took a moment within the first
i8 4 6 99
"while," One says: While Cicero was Consul this and
that happened; while Pitt was minister, etc. And so it gave
the effect of being an excellent parody when one read in
the papers : while Grandtvig spoke the people from Fyera
arrived. They themselves are naturally of no importance;
the point lay in the idea one got of the fantastic length
of Pastor Grundtvig's speech, while he spoke (while Cicero
was Consul). For instance, one might say : while Grandt-
vig spoke the French fleet put to sea and conquered Algiers.
Report*
March, 1846
March 9. The Final Postscript is out; the pseudonyms
acknowledged; in a few days A Literary Review goes to the
press. Everything is in order; now I have only to keep
calm and remain silent, confident that The Corsair will
support my whole undertaking negatively, just as I should
like. At the present time I am situated as correctly as
possible in literature from the ideological point of view, and
am at the same time situated in such a way that to be an
author becomes an action. The idea of breaking with The
Corsair in order to prevent any direct approach, just when
I had finished with authorship and, by acknowledging all
the pseudonyms, ran the risk of becoming a sort of
authority, was a very happy thought, [Earlier on nothing
could be done, every minute of iny time was taken up
working for my idea. It is quite admirable that just when
someone might imagine, and perhaps even rejoice mali-
ciously, that I am acting precipitously I am more calculat-
ing, more circumspect than ever. The best help in all
1 With this memorandum begins the series of note-books numbered
NB 1 to NB 38 which continue down to within a year of S. K/s death.
The memorandum was written between March and May or June,
ioo 1846
action is to pray, that is true genius; then one never goes
wrong.] Furthermore, at the same moment that I come out
polemically against the age, I owe it to the idea and to
irony to prevent any possible confusion with the ironical
bad spirits with which The Corsair attends on the dance
floor of vulgarity. And here once again, as so often before,
something more results which, in spite of all my reflection,
is not due to me but to providence. The things which I
do after the greatest possible consideration, I so often
understand far better afterwards, not only their ideological
significance but the fact that that was exactly what I should
have done.
Nevertheless my life at the present time is exhausting;
I am convinced that not a single person understands me. At
the most even an admirer would grant that I bore all the
gossip with a certain dignity, but he would never dream
that I desired it. On the other hand if hasty, thoughtless
people were to understand why I must desire it, by virtue
of the idea of double reflection, they would conclude :
ergo he does not suffer at all, is not touched by all these
lies and expressions of vulgarity. As though one could not
decide freely to take upon oneself every kind of unpleasant-
ness, if the idea so commands.
The article against P. L*. M011er was written in fear and
trembling; I devoted the holidays 1 to it and did not fail to
go to Church, or to read my sermon in order to supply the
regulating counter-balance. So too the article against The
Corsair. On the other hand they were written in the right
spirit, for had I shown any passion then a few people
would have found a way of assuming a direct relation to
me. It was amusing and psychologically capital to see how
quickly P. L. M011er understood the signal and came out in
The Corsair. He came forward, bowed respectfully, and
then retired where he belonged.
The thing that has pained me is moreover not the vul-
^Ghxistmas, 1845*
1846 ioi
garity of It all, but the clandestine participation of the
better people. For I might also like to make myself intel-
ligible to a single man, to my reader. But I may not do
that; I should be betraying the idea. It is precisely when I
have won, when vulgarity is at its most impertinent, that
I may not say so. Finally I am responsible perhaps for
certain people being confused by my unshakable consis-
tency. I cannot alter things. My duty is to remain silent.
The last two months have been rich in things for me to
observe. How true, what I said in my dissertation, that
irony makes things manifest. My ironic leap into The Cor-
sair in the first place makes it quite clear that there is no
idea behind The Corsair. From that point of view it is
dead, even though it were to get two or three thousand
more subscribers. It tries to be ironical and does not even
understand irony. In fact it would have been an epigram
on my life if it had ever had to be said : at the time he lived
there was a blundering ironical paper, by which he was
praised; no, stop he was insulted and demanded that him-
self furthermore my ironical leap into The Corsair makes
the surroundings manifest in all their inconsistency. Every-
one went about saying that it counted for nothing, who
bothers about The Corsair, and so on. And what happens :
when somebody behaves in this way he is accused of
thoughtlessness, people say he deserves everything he gets
(aaad consequently it counts for that much), because he him-
self was the occasion of it; they hardly dare go down the
street with me for fear of appearing in The Corsair*
Moreover the self-contradiction has deeper roots; for out
of Christian envy they rather want the paper to continue,
each man hoping he will not be attacked. They say of the
paper that it is contemptible, that it counts for nothing,
while the individual attacked is awed into silence and into
not being angry; ergo the paper must continue.
In the first place the public can indulge its envy and
thus has the impertinent pleasure of watching the person
102 1846
attacked whether he is affected or not, and then has the
opportunity of lying, by saying that he is affected, that he
may conceal it but is nevertheless affected. The last form
of slander is the most agreeable of all. And this occurs in
a small country like Denmark, where it dominates every-
thing and is supposed to be a mere nothing ! How well
cowardice and contemptibleness suit one another if united
in wretchedness. And when the whole thing finally goes to
pieces Goldschmidt will get the blame; and the public is
exactly the same the world has indeed become a fine
place !
Two things in particular occupy me: (i) that, whatever
the cost, I should remain intellectually true, in the Greek
sense, to my life's idea; (2) that religiously it should be as
ennobling as possible. For the second I pray to God. I
have always been isolated, now I have a proper opportunity
of improving myself. Indeed, my solitary secret is not a
cause of grief to me, but is precisely why I have power to
change what is grief into that which serves my idea, with-
out its suspecting anything of the kind. This life is cer-
tainly satisfying, but it is also terribly exhausting. One gets
to know men from such a pitiful side, and it is so sad that
what looks well from a distance should always be misunder-
stood by contemporaries ! But religion, once again, is the
salvation; in religion there is sympathy with all, not a
prosy sympathy with party friends and adherents, but an
infinite sympathy with each one in silence.
But it is undeniably instructive to be placed in so small
a town as Copenhagen, as I am. To work with all one's
might, almost to despair, to endure all the tortures of the
soul and the suffering of my inner life, to pay out money
in order to publish books and then literally not to find
ten men who can read them properly, while undergraduates
and other authors find it easy to make it almost ridiculous
to write a large volume. And then to have a paper which
everyone reads, which is privileged, as a result of being con-
1846 103
temptible, to say everything, even the most distorted lies
which "counts for nothing," though everyone reads it;
and then all the crowds of envious people who, by saying
the very opposite, help to disparage. Ever and ever again
to be the one subject of conversation and interest. Even
the butcher's boy almost thinks himself justified in being
offensive to me at the behest of The Corsair. Under-
graduates grin and giggle and are delighted that someone
prominent should be trodden down; the dons are envious
and secretly sympathise with the attack, help to spread it
abroad, adding of course that it is a crying shame. The
slightest thing I do, even if I simply pay a visit, is lyingly
distorted and repeated everywhere; if The Corsair gets to
know of it then it is printed and read by the whole popu-
lation. In that way the person I visit is embarrassed, is
almost angry with me, and one cannot very well blame him.
In the end the only thing will be to withdraw and only go
about with those I dislike, for it is really a shame to go
about with the others*
So it continues, and when I am dead people's eyes will
be opened, they will marvel at what I have desired, at
the same time behaving in the same way to someone else,
who is probably the only man who understands me.
God in heaven, if there were not deep within a man a
place where all this can be completely forgotten in com-
munion with thee, who could endure it.
But the days of my authorship are past. God be praised.
I have been granted the satisfaction of bringing it to a
conclusion, of myself understanding when it is fitting that
I should make an end, and next after the publication of
Either-Or I thank God for that. That this, once again, is
not how people will see it; that I could actually prove in
two words that it is so : I know quite well and find quite in
order. But it has pained me; it seemed to me that I might
have asked for that admission; but let it be.
If only I can manage to become a priest However
104 1846
much my present life may have satisfied me I shall breathe
more freely in that quiet activity, allowing myself an
occasional literary work in my free time.
It is really curious how men, whom I otherwise look
upon as honest, and who in other respects are not my
enemies, lie monstrously, and are hardly conscious of it
themselves, when they really get into a passion. Passion
has an extraordinary power. How foolish, then, is the
modern seeking after system upon system, as though help
was to be found there; no, passion must be purified. At
the present time I am incidentally experiencing expressions
of it.
Twaddle, rubbish, and gossip is what people want, not
action; that is what they think interesting. In Aus meinem
Leben Goethe relates that The Sorrows of Wvrther created
a great sensation and after that time, he says, he never
again knew the peace and obscurity which he had known
before, because he was drawn into all kinds of relationships
and friendships. How interesting and exciting small talk
is ! Nothing would have been easier than to have prevented
that if Goethe had really had the courage, had he genuinely
loved ideas more than acquaintances. Anyone with
Goethe's powers could easily have kept people away. But
in fact, soft and sensitive as he was, he did not wish it
but he likes to relate it as a story. People like to hear
about it because it relieves them from action. If someone
were to get up and preach, saying : once, in my early youth
I had faith, but then I grew busy in the world, made many
acquaintances, was knighted, and since that time I have
never really had time to collect my thoughts people would
find the sermon very touching and would enjoy listening to
it. If one wishes to succeed, the secret of life is to chatter
freely about all one wishes to do and how one is always
being prevented and then do nothing.
1846 105
One day Professor Molbech was visiting me. He praised
my idiosyncrasy, my singular way of life, because it fav-
oured my work. " I shall do the same/ 5 he said. Thereupon
he told me that that very day he had to go to a dinner
party and " there I have to drink wine, and I cannot stand
it; but one cannot avoid doing so because people begin
at once saying : Oh, just a little glass, Herr Professor, It
is good for you." I answered, " Nothing is easier than to
prevent that. Do not say a word about not being able to
take any wine, for in that way you only egg on a prosy
sympathy. Sit down at the table and when the wine is
served smell it and then say or express by a look that the
wine is not good. Then your host will be angry and will
not fuss you." To that Molbech answered, " No, I cannot
do that, why should I quarrel with people.'* I answered :
" In order to get your own way; is that not reason
enough?" But that is how it goes on. First of all he
gossips away with me for an hour and makes a fool of me
with all his hot air; then to dinner where he gossips about
it and drinks; then he goes home and feels unwell and
gossips the whole night through about it all to his wife;
that is life and being interesting.
It is, after all, possible that in spite of my insignificance
before God, in personal humiliation at what I personally
have committed, I may be " the gift of God ni to my
people. God knows they have treated me scurvily enough,
like children misusing a beautiful present.
To be the greatest philosopher in Denmark is on the
very border line of satire rather like being the greatest
just think of it the greatest of the travelling actors in
Odense; or like P. L. Moller's praise of what I have writ-
ten against Heiberg : " that it was the wittiest thing written
against Heiberg."
Apology*
io6 1846
This is how I have understood myself in my entire literary
work.
I am in the profoundest sense an unhappy individuality
which from its earliest years has been nailed fast to some
suffering or other, bordering upon madness, and which
must have its deeper roots in a disproportion between soul
and body; for (and that is what is extraordinary) it has no
relation to my mind. On the contrary, perhaps because of
the strained relation between soul and body my mind has
received a tensile strength that is rare.
An old man, himself prodigiously -melancholy (where-
fore I shall not write down) had a son in his old age upon
whom the whole of that melancholy descended in inheri-
tance but at the same time he had such an elasticity of
mind that he was able to conceal it, and because his mind
was essentially, eminently sound his melancholy could
never obtain power over him, but neither was he able to
throw it off, at the most he was able to bear it.
A young girl (who with girlish pride set gigantic forces
in motion, and let me suspect a way out from what was
begun through a sad mistake, a way out, a way of breaking
off our engagement, for at first she only let the forces be
suspected as though she did not care in the least about it)
put a murder on my conscience; at the most solemn moment,
a troubled father solemnly repeats the assurance that it
would be the girl's death. Whether she was merely a
chatterbox or not does not concern me.
From that moment on I dedicated my life with every
ounce of my poor ability to the service of an idea.
Although no lover of confidants, although absolutely
averse from talking with others about my inmost self, I
nevertheless think and thought that it is the duty of man
not to skip such a factor as that of seeking the advice of
another man; only it must not become a foolish confidence,
but a serious and official communication. I have therefore
consulted my doctor as to whether he thought that the dis-
1846 107
cord between the psychical and the physical could be re-
solved so that I might realise the universal. He doubted
it. I asked him whether he thought that acting through
my will my mind was capable of reforming and transform-
ing that fundamental disproportion; he doubted it; he
would not even advise me to set my whole will power in
motion, of which he had some idea, lest I should burst
everything asunder.
From that moment I made my choice. That sad discord
with its attendant suffering (which without doubt would
have driven most of those with sense enough to under-
stand it to suicide) I have always looked upon as my thorn
in the flesh, my limit and my cross; I have looked upon it
as the high price at which Almighty God sold me an intel-
lectual power which has found no equal among my contem-
poraries. That does not puff me up for I am already
ground to dust; my desire has become to me a bitter pain
and a daily humiliation.
Without being able to appeal to revelations or anything
of the kind, I have understood myself in having to stress
the universal in a botched and demoralised age, in making
it lovable and accessible to all others who are capable of
realising it, but who are led astray by the age to chasing
after the unusual and extraordinary, I have understood my
duty like the man who, being himself unhappy, so long as
he loves man, desires only to help others who are capable
of being happy.
But since my task was, at the same time, a humble and
a pious attempt to do something good in reparation for
what I have done wrong, I have been particularly obser-
vant that my effort should not serve the cause of vanity,
that above all I should not serve the idea and the truth in
such a way as to obtain worldly advantage from it. I am
therefore certain that I have worked with true resignation.
During my work I have also constantly believed that I
learnt to understand better and better God's will in regard
io8 1846
to me : that I bear the agony with which God laid the
reins upon me and so perhaps achieve the exceptional.
My merit in literature is that I have set forth the decisive
qualifications of the whole compass of existence with such
dialectical clarity and so originally as* has not, so far as
I know, been done in any other literature; neither have
I had any books to help me nor upon which to draw for
advice. Secondly* the art with which I have communi-
cated it, its form, its logical accomplishment; but no one
has time to read and study seriously and to that extent
my production is for the moment wasted, like putting
exquisite dishes in front of peasants.
End of Report
Berlin, May 5-13, 1846.
A providence is no easier to understand (to grasp) than
the redemption : both can only be believed. The idea of a
providence is that God is concerned about the individual
and for what is most individual in him, which can at the
very most be grasped imaginatively (in the abstract) as an
eternal immanent congruence between the finite and the
infinite but not in becoming. The Redemption is the ron-
tinued providence that God will care for the individual
in him in spite of the fa'ct that he has lost everything.
Nevertheless the redemption is a transition ets aXXo yavos
and to that extent it is also dialectical because of the sign
by which it is known; for providence is not known from
a sign in the same way that the death of Christ is the sign
(the sign of the cross).
Providence and redemption are the categories of despair :
I should have to despair if I dared not, if indeed I ought
not, to believe. They are not what one despairs over, but
what keeps despair away.
1846 iog
The historicity of the redemption must be certain in the
same sense as any other historical thing, but not more so,
for otherwise the different spheres are confused. The so-
called historical factual certainty would have to be either
the autopsy of some contemporary person, or of some later
person who has it from a dependable man; but if that is
valued too highly the essence of faith becomes enervated.
In relation to providence there is nothing to which I can
ding physically, nor is there any man upon whom I may
depend, and moreover I have all the troubled view of
existence with all that it knows of the wretchedness of
existence, against me : so I believe in a providence. The
historical factual assumption necessary for the redemption
must only be as certain as all other historical facts, but
the passion of faith must decide the matter in the same
way as with providence.
The redemptive belief in the forgiveness of sins takes
away the intermediary state of dread from the troubled
and afflicted, so that his relation to God should be entirely
through the intermediary of punishment.
Father in Heaven! Well do we know that thou art
everywhere present; and that should anyone at this
moment call upon thee from his bed of sickness, or one in
great need upon the ocean cry out to thee, or one in still
greater need in sin, that thou art near to hear him. But
thou ait also near in thy house where thy community is
gathered together, some perhaps flying from heavy
thoughts, or followed by heavy thoughts, but some too
coming from a quiet daily life of contentment, and some
perhaps with a satisfied longing hidden in a thankful heart
enveloped in joyous thoughts and yet all drawn by the
desire to seek God, the friend of the thankful in blessed
trpst; consolation of the weak in strengthening communion;
refuge of the anxious in secret comfort; confident of the
afflicted as thou doest count their tears; last comfort of
no 1846
the dying as thou doest receive their souls. So let thy-
self be found also in this hour; thou who art the father
of all let thyself be found with a good gift for everyone
who needs It, that the happy may find courage to rejoice at
thy good gifts, that the sorrowful may find courage to
accept thy perfect gifts. For to men there is a difference in
these things, the difference of joy and of sorrow, but for
thee O Lord there is no difference in these things : every-
thing that comes from thee is a good and perfect gift,
Immanently (in the fantastic medium of abstraction)
God does not exist, he only is God only exists for an exist-
ing man i.e. he can only exist in faith. Providence, atone-
ment, etc. only exist for an existing man. When all things are
accomplished providence rests in consummation, when all
things are accomplished the atonement comes to rest in
equilibrium, but they do not exist. Faith is therefore the an-
ticipation of the eternal which holds the factors together,
die cleavages of existence. When an existing individual has
not got faith God is not, neither does God exist, although
understood from an eternal point of view God is eternally.
End of Berlin entries
Report Result
Sept. 7. Wherein lies the annoyance, the vexation? Not,
of course in what is said (for I have often enough said the
same things about myself jokingly) but to whom it is said,
and because it has produced a street riot, which has landed
me in a crowd with whom I can having nothing in com-
mon. In company with Jewish commercial-travellers, shop-
workers, prostitutes, school-boys, butcher-boys, etc. I really
cannot laugh at the things which I can very well laugh at
in company with Carl Weiss for example. When I laugh
with him at my thin legs I thereby presuppose a common
1846 III
intellectual basis. But to laugh over that with the plebs
would be to admit to having a basis in common with them.
And just because that is the case, it has come about in
a curious way that the only person here, who can really
handle such dialectical problems with irony and satiric
ability, cannot take the responsibility of doing so and
that person is myself. I am ready to bind myself to write
amusing articles about myself and my legs of a very dif-
ferent kind from Goldschmidt's; but in that case the plebs
would not understand them.
Pascal says : it is so difficult to believe because it is so
difficult to suffer.
Nov. 5. Perhaps I do not say more, for I know how
difficult it is to judge oneself in abstracto if one is to
judge truthfully perhaps I should have succeeded in
breaking off my literary work so as to concentrate upon
taking an official position, if everything had been as it
should have been and it had been clear that I was free
when I made my decision. Now that is no longer possible.
There is a great difficulty in the way of my becoming a
priest. If I undertook it I should certainly run the danger
of coming to grief as I did over my engagement. On the
other hand it has been made difficult for me to live entirely
and peacefully withdrawn in the country, for I am all the
same somewhat embittered and as a result I need the en-
chantment of literary composition in order to be able to
forget all the crude trivialities of life.
It becomes more and more clear to me that, constituted
as I am, I am never successful in fulfilling my ideals whilst
in another sense I become, humanly speaking, more than
those ideals. Most people's ideals are great and extra-
ordinary things which they never achieve. I am altogether
too melancholy to have such ideals. Other people would
laugh at my ideals. For example it is perfectly true to say
that my ideal was to marry and simply live for marriage.
Then, by despairing of being able to achieve so much, I
became an author, and perhaps an author of importance.
My other ideal is to be a country parson, to live quietly
in the country and devote my life to the little circle of
those around me and then, because I despair of success,
It is quite possible that I shall achieve something which
seems much greater.
When Bishop Mynster advises me to be a country parson
he evidently does not understand me. It is perfectly true
that that is what I desire, but our premisses are completely
at variance. He imagines that, in some way or other, I
want to go further along that road, that I want to be some-
thing, and that is the whole point, I want to be as little
as possible; that is precisely the idea of my melancholy.
For that very reason it has pleased me to be looked upon
as half mad, though that is only a negative way of being
something unusual. Yet it is still possible that that should
really be my form of existence, in which case I shall never
achieve the lovely quiet and calm existence of being some-
thing quite little,
What I have always known within myself, and the reason
why I have never spoken with any other man about my real
concerns, has proved true again in my conversation with
Mynster : it leads to nothing, for since I cannot and dare
not speak of what entirely and essentially constitutes my
inmost life, my conversations with others are almost a
deceit on my part. In relation to Mynster I feel the real
sadness of it all because I honour him so highly.
The whole question of God's goodness and omnipotence
and its relation to evil (instead of distinguishing and say-
ing that while he works good he only permits evil) can
perhaps be explained quite simply in this way. The greatest
good which can be done to any being, greater than any
end to wMch it can be created, is to make it free. In order
1846 H3
to be able to do that omnipotence is necessary. That will
sound curious, since of all things omnipotence, so at least
it would seem, should make things dependent. But if we
rightly consider omnipotence, then clearly it must have the
quality of so taking itself back in the very manifestation of
its all~powerfulness that the results of this act of the omni-
potent can be independent. That is why one man cannot
make another man quite free, because the one who has the
power is imprisoned in it and consequently always has a
false relation to him whom he wishes to free. That is why
there is a finite self Jove in all finite power (talent and so
forth). Omnipotence alone can take itself back while giv-
ing, and this relationship is nothing else but the indepen-
dence of the recipient. God's omnipotence is therefore his
goodness. For goodness means to give absolutely, yet in
such a way that by taking oneself back one makes the re-
cipient independent. From finite power comes only depen-
dence, and omnipotence alone can make something
independent, can create something out of nothing which
endures of itself, because omnipotence is always taking itself
back. Omnipotence is not involved in a relation to the
other; since there is nothing to which it has any relation,
it can give without giving away the very least of its powers :
it can make the other independent. And that is what is
inconceivable; omnipotence can not only bring forth the
most imposing of all things, the world in its visible totality,
but it can create the most delicate of all things, a creature
independent of it. Omnipotence which can lay its hand
so heavily upon the world can also make its touch so light
that the creature receives independence. It is only a miser-
able and worldly picture of the dialectic of power to say
that it becomes greater in proportion as it can compel and
make things dependent. Socrates knew better; the art of
using power is " to make free." But between men that can
never happen, though it may always be necessary to stress
that it is die greatest good; only omnipotence can do so in
1846
truth. If, therefore^ man had even the least independent
existence (In regard to materia) then God could not make
him free. Creation out of nothing is once again the ex-
pression of omnipotence for being able to make things
independent It is to him who made me independent, while
he nevertheless retained everything, that I owe all things.
If in order to create man God had lost any of his power,
then he could not have made man independent.
But let us never forget that not everyone who has not
lost his senses thereby proves conclusively that he is in
possession of them.
If I refuse to deify the established order a la Mynster
(and therein lies Mynster's heresy) and out of zeal for
morality end by confusing it with the bourgeois spirit,
if I do not wish to do away entirely with the category of
the extraordinarius and again a la Mynster, only under-
stand that they have existed, only understand them after
the event : I cannot myself scorn a task which has been
so clearly imposed upon me.
Although Mynster is to a certain degree well disposed
towards me, and at the bottom of his heart perhaps more
so than he would admit, it is evident that he looks upon
me as a suspicious and dangerous person.
He therefore wants to have me out in the country. He
thinks that up to now all has gone well, but that one must
expect anything from a person of character, particularly
when the whole system of strings in which he wishes to
imprison life is in question. His advice is therefore most
consistent from his point of view, and from his point of
view it is meant kindly in so far as he does not trouble too
much whether a man's deepest traits are harmed some-
what so long as he succeeds, as he considers, in the world*
Mynster has never been out on 70,000 fathoms in order
to learn out there, he has always clung to the established
order of things and has now quite grown into it. That is
what is so glorious about him. I shall never forget him,
always honour him, always think of my father when I
think of him, and anything further is unnecessary. But
Mynster does not understand me; when he was thirty-six
years old he would not have understood me; he would
have hardened in order not to understand me, so as not
to ruin his career; and now he cannot understand me.
115
1847
But to God all things are possible. From now on,
humanly speaking, I must not only be said to be running
into uncertainty but to be going to certain destruction
and, in confidence in God, that is victory. That is how I
understood life when I was ten years old, hence the terrible
polemic which filled my soul; that is how I understood it
when I was twenty-five, and now that I am thirty-four.
That is why Poul M011er called me the most completely
polemical of men.
The difference between a Christian Address and a
Sermon.
A Christian Address deals to a certain extent with doubt
A Sermon operates absolutely and entirely through
authority, that of Holy Writ and of Christ's apostles. It
is therefore neither more nor less than heresy to entertain
doubt in a sermon, however well one might be able to
handle it
The preface to my Christian Discourses^ therefore, con-
tains the phrase : If a sufferer who has also run wild in
many thoughts*
A Sermon presupposes a priest (ordination); 1 a Christian
Address can be by a layman.
I am accused of leading young men to rest satisfied in
their own subjectivity. Perhaps, for a moment. But how is
it possible to get rid of all the illusions of objectivity such
as the public etc. without drawing forth the category of
the individual? Under the guise of objectivity people have
wished to sacrifice individualities completely. That is the
whole question.
The whole development of the world tends to the impor-
tance of the individual; that, and nothing else, is the prin-
&v, vIL 232*
1847 "7
ciple of Christianity. Yet we have not got very far in
practice, although that is recognised in theory. That ex-
plains why people still consider it proud and haughty and
presumptuous to talk about the individual when it is of
course the really human attitude, namely, that everyone
is an individual.
Sometimes misunderstandings are expressed piously.
When the late Bishop M0Iler says (in the introduction to
his Instructions) that it would be sad if truth (in specie
Christianity) were only accessible to a few individuals
and not to everyone, he certainly said something true, but
at the same time false. For Christianity is certainly acces-
sible to all but be it carefully noted only provided every-
one becomes an individual, becomes " the individual." But
people have neither the moral nor the religious courage.
The majority is quite terrified of becoming each one of
them, an individual. This is how the question oscillates :
At one moment it is pride to preach that opinion of the
individual and then, when the individual tries it out, he
finds the thought is too great for him, in fact overwhelming.
There is only one mistake in Kant's theory of radical
eviL He does not make it clear that the inexplicable, the
paradox, is a category of its own. Everything depends upon
that. Until now, people have always expressed themselves
in the following way : the knowledge that one cannot
understand this or the other thing does not satisfy science,
the aim of which is to understand. Here is the mistake;
people ought to say the very opposite : if human science
refuses to understand that there is something which it can-
not understand, or better still, that there is something
about which it clearly understands that it cannot under-
stand it then all is confusion. For it is the duty of the
human understanding to understand that there are things
which it cannot understand, and what those things are.
Human understanding has vulgarly occupied itself with
is8 1847
nothing but understanding, but if it would only take the
trouble to understand itself at the same time it would
simply have to posit the paradox. The paradox is not a
concession but a category, an ontological definition which
expresses the relation between an existing cognitive spirit
and eternal truth.
Properly understood, every man who truthfully desires
a relation to God and to live in his sight has only one
task : always to be joyful. Even the best of men, in whom
one could place entire confidence, upon whom one could
rely entirely, may need advice, or need to be reminded
of this and that; I may really be cleverer than he is, really
be in the right etc. But none of this is necessary in relation
to God and to begin with such things is in fact to busy
oneself with ungodly things, or is rather childish.
"The masses" : that is really the aim of my polemic;
and I learnt that from Socrates. I wish to make people
aware, so that they do not squander and dissipate their
lives. The aristocrats assume that there is always a mass
of men lost. But they hide the fact, they live withdrawn
and behave as though these many, many men did not
exist. That is what is godless in the superiority of the aristo-
crats; in order to have things their own way they do not
even make people aware.
But I do not want that. I wish to make men aware of
their own ruin. And if they will not listen to good then
I will compel them through evil. Understand me, or at
least do not misunderstand me. I do not mean that I am
going to strike them (alas, one cannot strike the masses);
I mean to make them strike me. And in that way I all the
same compel them through evil. For if they once strike me
they will be made aware; and if they put me to death
then they will certainly become aware of their position,
and I shall have won an absolute victory. In that respect
1847
I am completely dialectical. There are already many who
say " why bother about Mag. Kierkegaard, I'll teach him."
Alas, but all that about showing me that they do not bother
about me, or bothering that I should know that they do
not bother about me, only proves their dependence.
That is perfectly true if one is indifferent enough. But
people show their respect for me by the very fact of show-
ing me that they do not respect me.
People are not so completely depraved as really to desire
evil, but they are blinded and do not really know what
they are doing. Everything depends upon luring a decision
from them. A child may be rebellious against his father in
small things for a long time, but if once its father can drive
it to a real revolt it is far nearer salvation. That is why
the rebellion of the masses is victorious if one goes out of
its path, so that it never notices what it is doing. The
masses have no real opinions and so if they happen to put
a man to death they are eo ipso brought to a standstill,
are called to their senses and are made to think.
The reformer who, as it is said, fights against a powerful
man (a pope, an emperor, any individual man) must aim
at bringing about the fall of the powerful; but the man
who, with more justice, takes arms against the masses,
from whom comes all corruption, must see to it that he
himself falls.
Andersen can tell the story of The Shoes of Fortune 1
but I can tell the story of the shoes that pinch, or rather I
could tell it, but just because I will not tell it but treasure
it in silence, I can tell a very different tale.
The most thankless life of all is to be an author who
writes for authors. One can divide authors into two classes,
those who write for readers, and the real authors, those
l The story referred to is the one in wMch S. K. appears caricatured
as the parrot.
120
who write for authors. These latter are unintelligible to
the reading public, are looked upon as mad and are almost
despised and in the meanwhile authors of the second
class plunder their works and have a tremendous success
with what they have stolen and spoilt. And thus the
authors of the second class become the worst enemies of
the others it is a matter of some importance to them that
no one should discover the real position.
What the age needs is pathos (in the same way that
scurvy needs greens); but not even the work of drilling an
artesian weU is more subtle than the calculated dialectics
of humour, emotion, and passion, with which I have tried
to produce a beneficial gust of feeling. The misfortune
of the age is understanding and reflection. No one, how-
ever immediately enthusiastic, can any longer help us, be-
cause they are consumed by the reflection of the age. That
is why it requires a man who could reflect the renuncia-
tion of all reflection; a man of thought who could conceal
an enthusiasm of the first water under the guise of intelli-
gence, heartlessness, mockery, and wit. In order to defend
marriage nowadays one must be able to enchant its licen-
tious inclinations with The Seducer's Diary, and the same
thing applies everywhere*
Objections to the living become the praise of the dead.
May, 1847. Nytorv 2, Copenhagen.
Dear Peter,
The birthday upon which you write to congratulate
me, and which you say "has, contrary to usual, been in
your thoughts several times during these days," has lately
also been in my thoughts frequently. I am now thirty-
four years old* In a certain sense that happened quite
1847
unexpectedly. It astonished me greatly at the time yes,
now I can say so without being afraid of upsetting my-
self that you reached the age of thirty-four. Both father
and I were of the opinion that no one in our family would
live beyond thirty-four. However little I may otherwise
have been at one with father we had, in certain particular
ideas, a real meeting point, and in conversations such as
those father was always quite enthusiastic about the way
I could describe the idea with a vivid imagination, and
follow it with rigid consequence. It was an altogether
peculiar thing about him that he had most markedly what
one least expected, imagination, a really melancholy
imagination. The thirty-fourth year was then to be the
limit and father was to outlive us all. And now it has not
happened I enter upon my thirty-fifth year. . . . (There
follows a detailed proposition for the sale of the house
and the mortgages). . . .
May 14. There is another respect in which conditions
are certain to change, and in the future every effort at
reformation, if the man concerned is a true reformer, will
be directed against the "masses," not against the govern-
ment. Government (royal power) is really representation,
and to that extent Christian (Monarchy), the dialectic of
monarchy is historically both tried and settled. Now we
are going to begin at another point, namely upon the
intensive development of the state itself. In that way there
arises the category : " the individual,** the category which
is so wedded to my name that I wish that on my grave
might be put ** the individual"
In this respect I attribute great importance to the
troubles which are making the round of Europe this year,
they show that the European constitution (just as a doctor
talks of a man's constitution) has changed entirely; in the
future we shall have internal troubles, secessio in montem
sacrum etc.
1847
It all fits perfectly into my theory, and one day It will
be seen how precisely 1 understood the times Oh, that is
the greatest fault a man can commit; for what the times
want is nonsense and half-truths and then that the truth
should be despised.
The difference between men is simply a question of how
they say stupid things, the universally human is to say
them.
. . . " Mary chose the better part/ 1
What is the better part? It is God, and consequently
everything. The better part is everything, but it is called
the better part because it must be chosen; one does not
receive everything as everything; that is not how one
begins, one begins by choosing the better part, which is,
nevertheless, everything.
The thing that grips me more and more is my original,
my first, my deepest, unaltered opinion that I have honestly
not chosen this life because it would be brilliant, but as
a penitential consolation in all my wretchedness. I have
often enough explained the dialectics of the paradox : it
is not higher than the universal but beneath it, and only
then again a little higher. But the first, the pressure is
so great that the joy which comes from the last cannot
be taken in vain. That is the thorn in the flesh.
I have lately begun preparing some lectures on the
dialectics of the communication of ethics and religion. In
the meanwhile I have convinced myself that I am not fit to
give lectures. I am spoilt by working things out in detail;
the vegetative luxuriance of my style and my method of
presentation and the habit of thinking out every line are
much too essential to me. If I were to give lectures I
1 847
should have to take care that they were thoroughly prepared
like everything else, and so read them out : which I cannot
be bothered to do. In no other way can I satisfy myself.
The thing that makes my position in public life most
difficult of all is that people simply cannot grasp what I
am fighting. To make a stand against the masses is, in
the opinion of the majority, complete nonsense; for the
masses, the numbers, the public, are themselves the powers
of salvation, that association of lovers of liberty of whom
salvation is to come from the Kings, Popes, and officials
who tyrannise over us. Ach, du lieber Augustin. That is
the result of having fought for centuries against Kings,
Popes, and the powerful, and of having looked upon the
people and the masses as something holy. It does not occur
to people that historical categories change, that now the
masses are the only tyrant and at the bottom of all corrup-
tion. To the masses of course that is absolutely incompre-
hensible. The masses are domineering and think them-
selves secure against retribution, for how is one to catch
hold of the masses. What we, at home, call the opposition
still lives on the old rubbish about fighting the tyranny
of the government. If a police inspector makes the slightest
mistake, for which he is punished by his superiors into
the bargain, there is a terrible outcry; but when year after
year the public, the masses, the plebs etc, are the occasion
of the most disgusting horrors and abuse of power, the
opposition dares not mention the fact. Either they are
incapable of perceiving that something is horrible because
it is done by the idol of the opposition, or they see it and
dare not discuss it, because they are cowards. Nowadays
when a man is censured for some trifling wrong but, be it
noted, by the King, by someone in authority, he has the
sympathy of everyone, he is a martyr. But when a man
is intellectually speaking persecuted, ill-treated, insulted
day in and day out by the stupidity, inquisitiveness and
124
impertinence of the plebs, then it is nothing at all and
everything is as it should be.
There can therefore be no doubt that a sacrifice is neces-
sary at this point We are so far behind that a lot of vic-
tims must be sacrificed in order to make people aware that
the situation is quite different from the revolt against the
Popes and Kings.
Moreover it shows an incredible narrow-mindedness on
the part of the reformers* judicium and does them no
honour to imagine that a reformation could turn upon over-
throwing a single man for then the world would be a fine
world indeed.
No, the ancients understood the problem better, under-
stood that the masses are a dangerous power. And it is
to the ancient conditions that history is turning back once
again. Europe will not have war; but continual internal
disorders (Plebeians Patricians).
If mankind had not embedded itself, with the momen-
tum of centuries and the passion of habit, in the idee fixe
that a tyrant is one man, they would easily understand
that to be persecuted by the masses is the most grievous
of all, because the masses are the sum of the individuals,
so that each individual makes his little contribution, while
he does not realise how great it becomes when all of them
do It.
The philosophers have surely been teaching us long
enough that the world has entered upon the period of
reflection. That is true and for that very reason no indi-
vidual (King or Pope) can ever be a tyrant. Tyranny must
necessarily become a reflective relationship. And so here
once again we come up against the category : the masses,
public opinion.
But as I have already said, it will be a long time before
the man who opposes the masses can win sympathy over
to his side, Le. before anyone will understand the reality of
the struggle.
1 847 125
Socrates, in my opinion, is and remains the only reformer
I know. The others I have read about may have been
enthusiastic and well-meaning but they were at the same
time decidedly narrow-minded.
When a man, particularly in adversity, proves himself to
have been beautifully constructed, like some fine old instru-
ment, so that with each new adversity not only are the
strings unharmed but a new string added, that is a sign
that the grace of God is upon him.
God looked upon me in my conscience, and now it is
impossible for me to forget that he sees me. And be-
cause God looked upon me I had and have to look towards
God.
From birth (or from one's earliest years) to be thus
marked out as a sacrifice, to be thus painfully placed out-
side the universal, so that absolutely everyone would have
compassion on one (for whilst other men are busy com-
plaining of men's lack of compassion, such a man is only
too certain of it) : is the beginning of the demoniacal in a
man. Now all depends upon whether such a man is bad
or good. If he is bad he becomes a Gloucester, 1 hating and
cursing life, raising himself above the universally human.
If he is good then he will do everything for other men,
his life as a sacrifice will bring him melancholy satisfaction,
yet his life, too, has a condition which he makes, or even
if he makes no conditions with God he nevertheless thanks
God if he is successful : to be able to hide Ms wretchedness,
to avoid becoming the object of compassion. Of aH suffer-
ings none is perhaps so great as to be marked out as the
object of compassion, none which tempts man so strongly
to rebel against God. It is commonly thought that such
a man is dull and of limited inteEect, but it would not
*MuardHI 9 cf. F&xr and Trembling, Problem IEL
1847
be difficult to show that this is the secret which lies be-
hind the lives of some of the greatest minds in history.
But it is kept hidden, and that can be done, for it is as
though God were to say to such a man, so long as he makes
use of his outstanding gifts in the service of the good : I
do not wish you to be thus humbled before men, to be aban-
doned in your unmerited misery, but where I am concerned
it will help you to be conscious of your nothingness.
The majority of men are subjective towards themselves
and objective towards all others, terribly objective some-
times but the real task is in fact to be objective towards
oneself and subjective towards all others.
If you wish to be and to remain enthusiastic, then draw
the silk curtains of facetiousness (irony's), and so hide your
enthusiasm.
June g* In a certain sense my whole misfortune lies in
this : had I not had means it would never have been pos-
sible for me to preserve the terrible secret of my melan-
choly. (Merciful God, my father too was terribly unjust
to me in his melancholy an old man who put the whole
weight of his melancholy upon a child, not to speak of
something even more frightful, and yet for all that he
was the best of fathers.) But then I should never have
become the man I have become. I should have been com-
pelled either to go mad or to break through. As it is I have
succeeded in making a salto mortale into a purely spiritual
existence. But then again in that way I have become com-
pletely heterogeneous from mankind in general. What I
really lack is the physical side and all the assumptions
that go with it
Had St. Paul an official position? No. Had he any means
of livelihood? No. Did he make a lot of money? No.
1 847 127
Did he many and have children? No. But in that case
St Paul cannot have been a serious man !
Aug. 14. Curiously enough the journey to Berlin is still
in my thoughts. But I cannot go. A man has applied to
me regarding the sale of my house. He came so oppor-
tunely, really so inexplicably opportunely that I cannot
appreciate it enough. In such circumstances I dare not go
away. If he were to come in my absence it would distress
me indescribably.
Aug. 1 6. And so the decision is taken; I remain at home.
To-morrow the manuscript 1 goes to the printer. In order
to reassure myself that it was not in any way a possible
dislike for all the pother connected with going on a journey
which prevented me I have, with my habitual suspiciousness
of myself, begun a course of baths which I knew to be
very distasteful to me. . . .
I now feel the need of approaching nearer to myself in
a deeper sense, by approaching nearer to God in the under-
standing of myself. I must remain on the spot and be
renewed inwardly. It is quite a different thing from the
possibility of setting forth upon a journey abroad of some
length, perhaps at the end of the autumn. But it must not
bear the impress of emotion or the concentrated excite-
ment of a little expedition to Berlin.
I must come to closer grips with my melancholy. It has
until now lain deep down and the tremendous intellectual
strain has helped to keep it down. That my work has
profited others, that God has approved it and helped me
in every way is sure enough. Again and again I thank
him for having done infinitely more for me than I ever
expected. My consolation is that although no man has
any merit before God yet he has nevertheless looked with
1847
approval upon my efforts, and that with his assistance I
have borne my terrible suffering to the very end. I know
within myself before God that my work as an author, my
willingness to obey his sign, to sacrifice every earthly and
worldly consideration, will soften for me the impression of
what I have personally done wrong. Just because I began
my literary activity with a heavy conscience I have taken
the greatest care to make it so pure that it might be a
small repayment of my debt. That purity, that integrity,
that industry is what seems to be madness in the eyes of
the world. I know that God looks upon it otherwise, and
that it does not follow that my work is so pure in his eyes
that I can praise myself for it before him.
But now God wishes things otherwise. Something is stir-
ring within me which points to a metamorphosis. For that
very reason I dare not go to Berlin, for that would be to
procure an abortion. I shall therefore remain quiet, in
no way working too strenuously, hardly even strenuously,
not begin on a new book, but try to understand myself, and
really think out the idea of my melancholy together with
God here and now. That is how I must get rid of my
melancholy and bring Christianity closer to me. Hitherto
I have defended myself against my melancholy with intel-
lectual work, which keeps it away now, in the faith that
God has forgotten in forgiveness what guilt there may be,
I must try to forget it myself, but not in distraction, not at
a distance from it but in God, I must see to it that in
thinking of God I learn to think that he has forgotten it,
and thus myself learn to dare to forget it in forgiveness.
Everyone would like to have lived at the same time as
great men and great events : God knows how many really
live at the same time as themselves. To do that (and so
neither in hope or fear of the future, nor in the past) is to
understand oneself and be at peace, and that is only
1847
possible through one's relation to God, or it is one's relation
to God-
Christianity is certainly not melancholy, it is, on the con-
trary, glad tidings for the melancholy; to the frivolous
it is certainly not glad tidings, for it wishes first of all to
make them serious.
A word about myself
I am the ultimate phase of the poetic temper on the way
to becoming a sort of reformer on a small scale. I have
much more imagination than such a man would have, but
then again less of a certain personal power which is neces-
sary in order to appear in that way. With the help of my
imagination, which be it noted comes after the dialectical,
I can catch all the Christian qualifications at their most
accurate and most living. Our times clearly require that*
There are certain things which must continually be called
to mind or otherwise the standard is lost. It is like the
flight of wild birds above the heads of tame ones when
those qualifications of the Christian life are recalled which
demand the utmost. But just because I am a poet in that
sense, one whose task is to raise the price and if possible
to whisper to every individual what the demands could be,
I must take particular care not to acquire any followers.
Deep within every man there lies the dread of being
alone in the world, forgotten by God, overlooked among
the tremendous household of millions upon millions. That
fear is kept away by looking upon all those about one who
are bound to one as friends or family; but the dread is
nevertheless there and one hardly dares think of what
would happen to one if all the rest were taken away.
If Christ had been merely a man then Peter would
130 2847
clearly not have denied him; Peter was too deep and
honest for that But whereas in general the parsons talk
nonsense in the opposite sense and say that it was doubly
irresponsible of Peter because Christ was God; one ought
to say : no, that is precisely what explains Peter. Had he
simply looked upon Christ as a man then he could well
have endured the thought that he should be treated thus,
and Peter would not have forgotten himself but would have
been true to him. But the seeming madness that Christ
was God, that he had it in his power to call legions of
angels at any moment he wished : that is what utterly over-
whelmed Peter. Just as one can lose the power of speech
from fright, in the same way all Peter's ideas left him and
in that, as it were, apoplectic condition he denied him.
I was brought up on Mynster's Sermons by my father.
There's the rub; for naturally it never occurred to my
father to take the sermons other than literally. Brought
up on Mynster's Sermons by Mynster; that's a problem.
Nov. There is no doubt that the present time, and Pro-
testantism always, needs the monastery again, or that it
should exist. " The Monastery " is an essential dialectical
fact in Christianity, and we need to have it there like a
light-house, in order to gauge where we are even though
I myself should not exactly go into one. But if there is
to be true Christianity in every generation there must be
individuals with that need. What would Luther say if he
were to look around him now and see that at the present
time there were not many whom religion had overwhelmed
that we had all grown so strong or so weak in religion !
That the few who resembled such men were nowadays
directed to a mad-house. What would Luther say to the
fact that the @lass which alone and decisively (si placet)
represents Christianity, the priests, have become so worldly-
minded in the service of the state (not to speak of their
J847
inner state) that they have more to do with counting sheep
and pigs or a la Augustus with counting men, with attend-
ing to the awakening of the apparently dead rather than
with tearing Christendom out of its seeming death, or
what is worse still out of its appearance of life. For a
seeming death is not so dangerous simply because it has
the seeming danger of death; but a seeming life is the most
dangerous of all and without apparent danger.
With the strange freemasonry of poets I can use these
words as the motto for part of my life's suffering. Infandum
me jubes Regina renovare dolorem.
The girl has given me trouble enough. And now she is
not dead but happily and comfortably married. I said
that on the same day (6 years ago) and was called the
lowest of lowest cads. Extraordinary I
Alas, yes, I admit it, I have been deeply and inwardly
concerned to recognise all of the poor men who knew
me, to greet every servant with \vhom I had even the
slightest acquaintance, to remember the last time I saw
him, whether he had been ill, and to enquire after him.
I have never in my life, not even when I was most pre-
occupied with an idea, been so busy that I did not find
time to stop for a moment if a poor man spoke to me, Is
that a crime? I should have been ashamed before God,
and my soul would have been troubled, if I had become
so self-important that I behaved as though " other men "
did not exist. Do these other men not exist for God, and
does he not demand that I should not become conceited
and self-important but rather that I should acknowledge
by my actions that obedience is dearer to God than the
fat of rams!
When in regard to communicating something it is self-
1847
evident what to communicate means, when it is simply a
matter of course and not a moment need be wasted dis-
cussing the question, when it is the kind of assumption
which does not even need to be mentioned : then, if one
has something to communicate, It is as easy as shelling
peas. But when an author has an Individual conception
of what communication Is, when perhaps the distinctive
characteristic, the reality of his historical importance is
concentrated In precisely that; well, then It will be a long
affair O school of patience. Before there can be any
mention of understanding anything which he has communi-
cated one must first of all understand him from the point of
view of his particular dialectic of communication, and
understand everything from that point of view. For that
particular dialectic of communication cannot be communi-
cated in the traditional dialectical form. The age will of
course require this of him. Oh, how long It will take to
be understood, O school of patience. And the more a man
understands himself through what he understands, the
more easily he will discover that he is not understood
only those who themselves understand nothing can delude
themselves into believing that everyone understands
them. Oh, the sadness of having understood something
true and then of only seeing oneself misunderstood. Oh,
sadness for what is irony in the mystery of the heart but
sadness. Sadness means to be alone in having understood
something true and as soon as one is in company with
others, with those who misunderstand, that sadness becomes
irony.
"The Individual"
A hint 1
" The Individual " is the category through which, from
a religious point of view, our age, our race and its history
must pass. And the man who stood and fell at Ther-
mopylae was not as convinced as I am, who stand at the
narrow pass " the individual" It was his duty to prevent
the hordes from forcing their way through that narrow
pass; if they got through he was lost. My duty is, at any
rate at first sight, much easier and seems to place me in
far less danger of being trodden down; as though I were
an unimportant servant who, if possible, was to help the
masses trying to go through the narrow pass, "the indi-
vidual," through which, be it noted, no one can ever go
without first becoming "the individual." Yet had I to
crave an inscription on my grave I would ask for none other
than " the individual " and even if it is not understood
now, then in truth it will be. It was with that category
that I worked at a time when everything in Denmark was
directed towards the system; now it is no longer so much
as mentioned.* My possible importance is undoubtedly
linked to that category. My writings may soon be forgotten,
like those of many another writer. But if that was the
right category, and everything in order with that category,
if in this I saw aright, if I understood aright that such was
my task, neither pleasurable nor thankful, whether vouch-
safed to me in inward suffering such as has certainly rarely
*And now, in 1848 !
ippo
*33
^Afterwards added as an appendix to The point of mew far my work
an author.
134 l8 47
been experienced, or whether in outward sacrifices such
as not every man is willing to make in that case I shall
endure and my writings with me.
"The individual'*; now that the world has gone so far
along the road of reflection Christianity stands and falls
with that category. But for that category Pantheism would
have triumphed. There will therefore certainly arise men
who will know how to distort its meaning in a very dif-
ferent sense (they will not have had to work to bring it
to light); but "the individual" is and remains the anchor
in the confusion of Pantheism, the hellebore which can
sober people and the weight upon which stress can be laid,
only that as the confusion grows greater and greater those
who are to work with it (at the capstan or where the
weights are put on) must have an increasingly dialectical
relation to it. I bind myself to make every man whom I
can include in the category " the individual " into a Chris-
tian or rather, since no man can do that for another, I
vouch for his becoming one. As " that individual " he is
alone, alone in the whole world, alone before God : then
it will be easy to obey. Ultimately all doubt has its strong-
hold in the illusions of temporal existence, such as that one
is several people or all mankind, who can in the end thus
overawe God (just as the " people " overawe the King or
the " public " overawe the alderman) and oneself become
Christ. Pantheism is an optical illusion, one of the various
notions formed at random by temporal existence, or one
of those atmospheric phenomena which it produces and
which are supposed to be eternity. The point is however,
that this category cannot be taught; the use of it is an art,
a moral task, and an art the exercise of which is always
dangerous and at times might even require the life of the
artist. For that which divinely understood is the highest
of all things will be looked-upon by a self-opinionated race
and the confused crowd as Use majeste against the " race,"
the "masses/ 1 the "public" etc.
1847
"The individual"; that category has only been used
once before and then by Socrates, in a dialectical and de-
cisive way, to disintegrate paganism. In Christianity it
will be used once again in order to make men (the Chris-
tians) into Christians. It is not the category which mission-
aries can use in dealing with heathens when they preach
the Gospel, but the category of a missionary in Christen-
dom itself, so as to make the change, which lies in being
and becoming a Christian, a more inward change. When
he comes the missionary will use that category. For if the
age is waiting for a hero it waits in vain. It is far more
probable that a man will come who will teach them
obedience in divine weakness by making them rebel
against God by putting to death the one who was obedient
to God.
Jan. 29. Christ cast out a devil and it was dumb. Have
you never been dumb, or known what it is to be dumb.
One can go about and be dumb, not wishing to speak : but
that is not what is meant. One can play at being mysterious
and be dumb : but that is not what is meant. But have
you never been so indescribably distressed, that the power
of sorrow over your whole being was almost like the powers
of nature : then you have experienced what it means to
be dumb, experienced the feeling of being unable, even
though your life were at stake, to express the agony that
rocked deep within you, and selfish of itself made you
dumb in order that you might not rid yourself of it. For
that is how infinite sorrow is egotistical; it makes a man
dumb in order to keep him in its power.
All this fear of Germany is a fancy, a game, a new
attempt to flatter national vanity. A million people who
honestly own up to being a small nation, and then if
everyone is resolved before God to be what they are : is a
tremendous strength; there is no danger there. No, the mis-
fortune is quite another; the misfortune is that this little
people is demoralised, divided against itself, disgustingly
envious one of another, insubordinate towards everyone in
power, petty towards everyone who is something, imper-
tinent and unbridled, incited to a sort of tyranny of the
plebs. That produces a bad conscience, and therefore
people fear Germany. But no one dares to say where the
misfortune lies and so people flatter aU these unhealthy
passions and become self-important by fighting against the
Germans.
Denmark is facing a loathsome period. Provincial-
136
1848
mindedness and ill-natured pettiness fighting among them*
selves; in the end one will be suspected of being German
unless one wears a particular kind of hat f etc,, etc. On
the other side the Communist rising; everyone who owns
a little will be marked out and persecuted through the
press.
That is Denmark's misfortune or the punishment which
has come upon Denmark, a people without a true fear of
God, a people whose national consciousness is small-town
gossip, a people who idolise being nothing, where school-
boys are the judges, a people where those who should
govern are afraid and those who ought to obey are imper-
tinent, a people among whom are to be found daily proofs
that there is no public morality in the land a people
who can only be saved by a tyrant or a few martyrs.
NB NB Wednesday, April 19, 1848,
My whole being is changed My reserve and self-isola-
tion is broken I must speak
Lord give thy grace.
It is indeed true, what iny father said of me: "you
will never be anything so long as you have money.** He
spoke prophetically, he thought that I would lead a riotous
and debauched life. But that is just where he was wrong.
But with an acuteness of mind and a melancholy such as
mine, and then to have had money : what an opportunity
for developing all the agonies of self-torture in my heart,
(Just as I had decided to speak, curiously opportunely,
my doctor arrived. But I did not speak to him, it was too
sudden for me. But my decision to speak stands fast.)
Alas, she could not break the silence of my melancholy^
138 1848
That I loved her nothing is more certain and thus my
melancholy received enough to feed upon, oh, it received
a terrible addition.* It is essentially owing to her, to my
melancholy and to my money that I became an author.
Now, with God's help, I shall be myself; I believe that
Christ will help me to be victorious over my melancholy,
and so I shall become a priest
And yet in that melancholy I loved the world, for I
loved my melancholy. Everything has helped to heighten
the tension of my position, her sufferings, all my exertions,
and finally the fact that I was derided has, with the help
of God, contributed to my breaking through now, finally,
when I am obliged to worry about my livelihood.
NB NB
April 24, 1 848, Easter Monday.
No, no, my self-isolation cannot be broken, at least not
now. The thought of breaking it occupies me so much,
and at all times, that it only becomes more and more firmly
embedded.
Yet it consoles me to have spoken to my doctor. I have
often felt anxious about myself for perhaps being too
proud to speak to anyone. But just as I did so earlier I
have done so again. And what had the doctor really to say?
Nothing. But for me it was of importance to have respected
the human relationship.
*and yet she could not have been mine. I was and am
a penitent and my punishment was merely terribly in-
creased by having begun that relationship.
1848
NB NB
May n. The majority of men (if they find that from
their earliest years it is their lot to bear one suffering or
another, one cross or another, one of those sad limitations
of the soul) begin by hoping, or as they say, believing that
things will go better, that God will make things all right
etc., and then at length, when no change occurs they come
little by little to rely upon the help of eternity, i.e. they
resign themselves and find strength in contenting them-
selves with the eternal. The deeper nature, or he whom
God has fashioned on a more eternal plan begins at once
by understanding that this is a thing he must bear as long
as he lives, he dares not require of God such an extra-
ordinary paradoxical help. But God is perfect love just
the same, nothing is more certain to him. So he is resigned
and inasmuch as the eternal lies close to him he thus finds
repose, blessedly assured all the while that God is love.
But he must put up with suffering. Then in the course of
time, when he becomes more concrete in the actuality of
life, comes more and more to himself as a temporal being,
when time and its succession exercises its power over him,
when in spite of all his effort it becomes so difficult to live
on with the assistance of only the eternal, when he becomes
a human being in a humbler sense or learns what it means
to be human (for in his resignation he is still too ideal or
too abstract, for which reason also there is something of
despair in such resignation) : then the possibility of faith
presents itself to him in this form : whether he will believe
by virtue of the absurd that God will help him temporally,
(Here lie all the paradoxes.) So the forgiveness of
sin also means to be helped temporarily, otherwise it
is mere resignation, which can endure to bear the
punishment, though still convinced that God is love. But
belief in the forgiveness of sins means to beHeve that
140 1848
here In time the sin is forgotten by God, that it is really
true that God forgets.
That means to say, that most people never attain to
faith. For a long time they live on in immediateness and
finally they attain to a certain amount of reflection, and
so they die. The exceptions begin the other way round,
from childhood up dialectical, i.e. without immediateness,
they begin with dialectics, with reflection and in that way
live on year after year (just about as long as others live
merely In the immediate) and then, at a ripe age, the
possibility of faith shows itself to them. For faith is immedi-
ateness after reflection.
The exceptions, naturally, have a very unhappy child-
hood and youth; for to be essentially reflective at an age
which is naturally immediate, is the depths of melancholy.
But they axe recompensed; for most people do not succeed
in becoming spirit, and all the fortunate years of their
iminediateness are, where spirit is concerned, a loss and
therefore they never attain to spirit But the unhappy
childhood and youth of the exception is transfigured into
spirit
It is wonderful how God's love overwhelms me alas, ul-
timately I know of no truer prayer than what I pray over
and over again, that God wiU allow me and not be angry
with me because I continuously thank him for having done
and for doing, yes, and for doing so indescribably much
more for me than I ever expected. Surrounded by scorn,
pestered day in and day out by the pettiness of men, even
of those nearest to me, I know of nothing either at home or
in my inmost self than to thank and thank God; for I under-
stand that what he has done for me is indescribable. A man
and what Is a man before God, nothing, less than nothing;
and what is more a poor man who from childhood up has
fallen into the most wretched melancholy, an object of
dread to himself ; and then God helps me and grants me
1848
what he has granted me ! A life which was a burden to me
however much I may at times have understood all its for-
tunate aspects, but which was all embittered for me by the
dark spot which ruined all; and as I understood, if other
men knew the secret of my life, I should from the very
beginning have been the object of their pity and sympathy,
a burden to myself : God takes charge of such lives. He
lets me weep before him in silent solitude, pour forth and
again pour forth my pain, with the blessed consolation of
knowing that he is concerned for me and in the mean*
while he gives that life of pain a significance which almost
overwhelms me, gives me good fortune and strength and
wisdom for my whole undertaking, in making my life the
pure expression of ideas, or he makes it into that,
For I now see so clearly (once again in renewed joy to
God, a new occasion of thanks) that my life is so arranged.
My life began without immediateness, with a terrible
melancholy, in its earliest youth deranged in its very deepest
foundations, a melancholy which threw me for a time into
sin and debauchery and yet (humanly speaking) almost
more insane than guilty. Thus my father's death really
pulled me up. I dared not believe that the fundamental
misfortune of my being could be resolved : and so I grasped
eternity with the blessed assurance that God is love, even
though I was to suffer thus all my life; yes, with that blessed
assurance. That is how I leaked upon my life. Then once
again and sympathetically, I was flung down into the
abyss of melancholy by having to break off my engage-
ment and why, simply because I dared not believe that
God would resolve the fundamental misfortune of my
being, take away my almost insane melancholy, which I
now desired, for her sake and then again for mine, with
all the passion of my soul. It was as difficult as possible
to have to reproduce my own misery. Once again I wa$
resigned. Thinking only of working to free hoc I went to
meet a life of this kind but, God be praised, always certain
142 1848
and with the blessed assurance that God Is love, nothing
has been more certain to me.
And now, now that In many ways I have been brought
to the last extremity, now (since last Easter, though with
intervals) a hope has awakened in my soul that God may
desire to resolve the fundamental misery of my being. That
is to say, now I am in faith In the profoundest sense. Faith
is immediacy after reflection. As poet and thinker I
have represented all things in the medium of the imagina-
tion, myself living in resignation. Now life comes closer
to me, or I am closer to myself, coming to myself. To God
ail things are possible, that thought is now, in the deepest
sense, my watch-word, has acquired a significance in my
eyes which I had never imagined it could have. That I
must never, at any moment, presume to say that there Is
no way out for God because I cannot see any. For it is
despair and presumption to confuse one's pittance of
imagination with the possibility over which God disposes.
Most people really believe that the Christian command-
ments (e.g. to love one's neighbour as oneself) are inten-
tionally a little too severe -like putting the clock on half
an hour to make sure of not being late in the morning.
NB
Here again is one of the most important points regarding
man's relation to God.
If it were possible to have a physical certainty that God
would use one as an instrument (like a king his minister)
how could it be possible not to submit willingly to every
sacrifice. But is it possible to have a real certainty, or even
a purely immediate certainty of one's relation to God, For
God is spirit. One can only have a spiritual relationship
to a spirit; and a spiritual relationship is eo ipso dialectical
1848
How an Apostle understands himself in having been
called by a revelation and In having an immediate cer-
tainty which cannot In any way be dialectical, I do not
understand but it can be believed. I understand an
ordinary man's relation to God and to Christ, Socratically.
Socrates did not know with certainty whether he was im-
mortal. (Oh, the rogue, for he knew that immortality was
a spiritual qualification and eo ipso dialectical, and beyond
all immediate certainty. So that even though he did not
know to what degree he was immortal which so many
dunces know exactly he knew what he was saying.) But
his life expresses the fact that there is an immortality and
that he himself was immortal. The question of immortality,
he says, concerns me so infinitely, that I stake everything
on that "if."
Mynster has always had a great partiality for "these
quiet hours in holy places," because then he can dispense
Christianity as one of life's Ingredients not as the absolute.
. . . For Mynster, however, It would be quite impossible,
indeed the most impossible thing of all, to preach in the
market-place. Yet this preaching in churches has become
an almost heathenish and theatrical thing, and Luther is
quite right in insisting that we should not preach in
churches. In paganism the theatre was the church in
Christendom the churches have practically become theatres.
How so? Why, In this way. It is agreeable, and not devoid
of a certain pleasure, to commune with the highest thoughts
through the imagination once a week. Nothing more than
that And this has actually become the norm for the
sermons In Denmark. Hence the artistic remoteness even
in the clumsiest- sermons*
My years of penitence are fast running out. I have
nothing to complain of; I understand with God why I
suffer and give thanks* I live* and with God's help I
144 1848
shall die In the belief that when death has carried me away
(and this cannot happen before, or else it would not be
penitence to the end) he will place the imprint of providence
upon my life so that it will help men to become aware of
God and to see how thoughtlessly they hinder themselves
from leading the highest life, a life in communion with
God.
I feel a longing to say nothing more accept: Amen.
I am overwhelmed by gratitude for all that providence has
done for me. How Is it possible for things to go so well?
Poetically speaking I can only say that there is nothing
which has happened in my life of which I cannot say,
that is the very thing which perfectly suits my nature
and disposition : I lack nothing. I was unhappy in my
love; but I simply cannot imagine myself happy unless I
were to become a different person altogether. But in my
mnhappiness I was happy. Humanly speaking, I am saved
by one already dead, my father; but I simply cannot
imagine myself having been saved by someone living. And
so I became an author in exactly the way which suited the
latent possibilities of my nature; and then I was persecuted
oh, had that been wanting my life would not have been
mine. There is melancholy in everything in my life, but
then again an indescribable happiness. But in that way I
became myself through God's indescribable grace and sup-
port and, as I am almost tempted to say, by his special
favour, if that did not mean less to me than the blessed
thought, which I believe and which brings me such per-
fect peace : that he loves all men equally. I have, quite
literally, lived with God as one lives with one's father.
Amen.
If I could be reconciled with her, that would be my one
wish, and a heartfelt joy. But her marriage rests upon
me. If I were to give her any certainty as to how die was
1848 i45
and Is loved : she would regret her marriage. She is held
together by the thought that however much she may have
seen in me, admired me and loved me, I behaved meanly
to her. She was not religious enough to stand by herself
with an unhappy love I have never dared to help her
directly, that has cost me suffering enough.
I owe everything, from the beginning, to my father.
When melancholy as he was, he saw me melancholy, his
prayer to me was ; Be sure that you really love Jesus
Christ.
The Archimedian point outside the world is an oratory
where a man really prays in all sincerity and he shall
move the earth. And it is unbelievable what a man of
prayer can achieve if he will close the doors behind him.
From now on the human race will no longer be led on
by prophets and judges but forced back by martyrs, who
will run headlong against that human discovery, progress.
Otherwise there can be no progress : in intensity. The prob-
lem is set, once and for all; there is nothing further to add.
The thing is to become more inward*
The result of human progress is that everything becomes
thinner and thinner die result of divine providence is to
make everything more inward.
I should have been able to bear everything else, would
have been able to bear indescribable suffering far more
easily, all the attacks upon me (for in that respect I am
sufficiently conscious of my superiority) if my financial
future had not tortured me.
The communication of Christianity must ultimately end
in "bearing witness/ 1 the maieutic form can never be
final. For truth, from the Christian point of view, does
146 1848
not He in the subject (as Socrates understood it) but in a
revelation which must be proclaimed.
In Christendom the xnaieutic form can certainly be used,
simply because the majority in fact live under the impres-
sion that they are Christians, But since Christianity is
Christianity the maieuticer must become the witness.
In the end the maieuticer will not be able to bear the
responsibility because the indirect method is ultimately
rooted in human intelligence, however much it may be
sanctified and consecrated by fear and trembling. God
becomes too powerful for the maieuticer and so he is the
witness, though different from the direct witness in that
he has been through the process of becoming one.
NB NB
It has constantly been maintained that reflection inevit-
ably destroys Christianity and is its natural enemy. I hope,
now, that with God's help it will be shown that a godfear-
ing reflection can once again tie the knot at which a
superficial reflection has been tugging for so long. The
divine authority of the Bible and all that belongs to it has
been done away with; it looks as though one had only to
wait for the last stage of reflection in order to have done
with the whole thing. But behold, reflection performs the
opposite service by once more bringing the springs of
Christianity into play, and in such a way that it can stand
up against reflection. Christianity naturally remains com-
pletely unaltered, not one iota is changed. But the struggle
is a different one; up to the present it has been between
reflection and simple, immediate Christianity; now it will
be between reflection and simplicity armed with reflection.
And that, in my opinion, is sense. The problem is not to
understand Christianity but to understand that it cannot
be understood. That is the holiness of faith, and reflection
is sanctified by being thus used. . . .
1848 147
Oh 5 the more I think upon all that has been vouchsafed
me the greater iny desire for an eternity in which to thank
God.
It now seems as though I were to be on good terms with
the leading people, and why, partly because they have
become polemical; now they themselves are a or think them-
selves, in the minority, and I, well, if my genius can be
said to be related to anything at all then it is to being in
the minority.
It is very dangerous to go into eternity with possibilities
which one has oneself prevented from becoming realities.
A possibility is a hint from God. One must follow it. In
every man there is latent the highest possibility, one must
follow it. If God does not wish it then let him prevent it,
but one must not hinder oneself. Trusting to God I have
dared, but I was not successful; in that is to be found
peace, calm, and confidence in God. I have not dared :
that is a woeful thought, a torment in eternity.
When I sold the house 1 I thought of giving up writing
and travelling abroad for two years, and then returning
home and becoming a priest. I had in fact made 2,200 Rd.
on the deal
But then the thought occurred to me : you want to
travel abroad, but why? In order to break off your work
and for the sake of recreation. But surely you know from
experience that you are never so productive as when
abroad, living as you do in complete isolation, so that
you would return from a two-years* journey abroad with
an enormous pile of MSS.
2, sold for 22,000 Rd, in December, 1847. S. K. had in-
herited half; bought the other half from Ms brother (making 1,000 !UL)
and lived there from 1844-1847*
148 1848
So I took rooms, a flat which had attracted me par-
ticularly for some time back, and which I had often said
was the only one I really wanted.
The idea of travelling for two years was all imagination.
Particularly since I had a whole work lying ready for
publication and, as I have already said, by going abroad I
should only have opened the sluice-gates of production.
But it was with the idea of travelling for two years that
I bought government bonds with the cash from the sale
of my house, which I had otherwise decided to leave lying
idle the stupidest thing I have ever done and which must
certainly be looked upon as a sort of lesson; for now I
have lost c. 700 Rd. on them. For the rest of the cash I
afterwards bought some shares on which I have not per-
haps lost
And so I rented the flat; printed Christian Discourses
and was in the midst of proof-correction when confusion
broke loose Anders 1 was taken from me: and it was a
good thing I had the rooms.
I moved in. In the flat I suffered indescribably because
of its inadequacy. But on the other hand providence helped
me as usual to achieve my desire, though I always grasp
at the wrong methods and use the wrong means; the same
thing happened again. If anything is to help me to be
less productive, to slacken the pace, and in general make
me worldly, then it is worldly troubles and inconveniences.
As for the rest, I have written some of the best things
I have ever written in this house; and in the meanwhile I
had the opportunity of getting used to the thought of
gradually stopping my production or in any case of being
somewhat more careful about my resources, That would
not have happened in an eternity abroad where, far from
all disturbances^ suffering too a little from melancholy,
I throw myself into my work on a tremendous scale.
Last summer I drew Rasmus Nielsen closer to me; that
J S, K,'s servant who was called up.
1848 149
meant decreasing my work and yet doing something to-
wards carrying it out
If I could travel without becoming productive, travel
and travel for some time, it might perhaps be a good thing.
But a prolonged stay in any one place only makes me
write more than ever. It has been much better for me to
learn a little by doing without Anders and other such com-
forts, which were perhaps too conducive to work.
But the financial question in these troubled times has
certainly weighed upon me. However, it was undoubtedly
a good thing that my attention was drawn to it in time.
It also helps to consume such selfishness as there is in me
and in my work; for my position as an author will certainly
become serious enough.
It is terrible when I think, even for a single moment,
over the dark background which, from the very earliest
time, was part of my life. The dread with which my father
filled my soul, his own frightful melancholy, and all the
things in this connection which I do not even note down,
I felt a dread of Christianity and yet felt myself so strongly
drawn towards it.
And later on what I suffered through Peter, when he
became morbidly religious*
As I have said, it is terrible to think, at moments, of
the life I led in the hidden centre of my heart, of course
literally never a word breathed to anyone, not even daring
to note down the least thing about it and that I was able
to dothe that life with an outwardly lively and cheerful
existence.
How true are the words I have so often said of myself,
that as Scheherazade saved her life by telling fairy stories
I save my life, or keep myself alive by writing.
Severity first, that is to say the severity of the ideal, and
then gentleness, I myself have as much need as anybody
150 1848
of being spoken to gently, my soul is much disposed to speak
gently but in a time of confused thinking the first must
be put first, lest gentleness be an occasion for slothful
indulgence.
Fundamentally a reformation which did away with the
Bible would now be just as valid as Luther's doing away
with the Pope. All that about the Bible has developed a
religion of learning and law, a mere distraction. A little
of that knowledge has gradually percolated to the simplest
classes so that no one any longer reads the Bible humanly.
As a result it does immeasurable harm; where life is con-
cerned its existence is a fortification of excuses and escapes;
for there is always something one has to look into first of
all, and it always seems as though one had first of all to
have the doctrine in perfect form before one could begin
to live that is to say, one never begins.
The Bible Societies, those vapid caricatures of missions,
societies which like all companies only work with money
and are just as mundanely interested in spreading the Bible
as other companies in their enterprises : the Bible Societies
have done immeasurable harm. Christendom has long
been in need of a hero who, in fear and trembling before
God, had the courage to forbid people to read the Bible*
That is something quite as necessary as preaching against
Christianity.
The only person of whom I can say that I am envious
is the person, when he comes, whom I call my reader,
who in peace and quiet will be able to sit down and purely
intellectually enjoy the drama of infinite comedy which I,
by living here, have allowed Copenhagen to play. To be
sure, I perceive the value of the drama better than he;
but I have felt the misery and bitterness of every day, as
well as the new misunderstanding of people not even dar-
ing to laugh with me, because they were suspicious and
1848 251
unable to conceive that In the midst of all that nonsense I
still had an eye for the comic. Poetically it is of no interest
that the drama was played every day year after year,
poetically It is too absurd; poetically it must be shortened.
And so it will be, for my reader. But in and through the
daily repetition begins religion and that is how I under-
stand my life : to me that infinitely comic drama was a
martyrdom. And yet if I were not conscious of being
absolutely religiously bound, I should feel lite going to
some lonely place to laugh and laugh though I should
still suffer at the thought that this Gotham, the beloved
country of my birth, is the prostituted residence of the
bourgeoisie, my beloved Copenhagen.
. . . The first form of rulers in the world were the
** tyrants," the last will be the " martyrs "; in the history of
the world this development is an ever-increasing worldli-
ness; for worldliness is at its greatest, must have the upper
hand in the most frightful way, when only martyrs can
be rulers. When one man is the tyrant " the masses " are
not entirely worldly; but when " the masses" want to be
the tyrant, then worldliness has become quite universal,
and then only the martyr can be the ruler. Between a
tyrant and a martyr there is of course an enormous dif-
ference, although they both have one thing in common :
the power to compel. The tyrant, himself ambitious to
dominate, compels people through his power; the martyr,
himself unconditionally obedient to God, compels others
through his suffering. The tyrant dies and his rule is over;
the martyr dies and his rule begins. The tvrant was egois-
tically the individual who inhumanly made the others into
" the masses," and ruled over the masses; the martyr is
the suffering individual who educates others through his
Christian love of mankind, translating the masses into
individuals and there is joy in heaven over every indi-
vidual whom lie thus saves out of the masses. And on
152 1848
this whole books could be written, even by me a sort of
poet and thinker, not to speak of him when he comes : the
thinker-poet or the poet-thinker who, moreover, will have
seen at close quarters what I dimly suspect, who will
have seen what I only dimly imagine will be done one day
In the distant future.
There really only exist two parties; to choose between
them is an Either-Or ! It goes without saying that in the
activity of the world there are many parties but it is not
really so, it is only figuratively that one can speak in this
case of making a choice, because it does not matter and
is equally wrong whatever one chooses. In the profoundest
sense, really, there are only two parties between which to
choose, and there lies the category " the individual " : either
obedient to God, fearing and loving him, to cling to God
against men, so that one loves men in God; or to cling to
men against God, so that one distorts and humanises God
and " savours not the things of God but those that be of
men." For between God and man there is a struggle, a
struggle for life and death; was the God-Man not put to
death ! And so on this alone, which is solemn; and about
"the individual"; what demonia is: whether the
demoniacal is good or evil; about silence in regard to evil
and in regard to good; on "deceiving into truth 5 *; on
indirect communication, how far it is a betrayal of the
human, an importunity towards God; what one learns
about the demoniacal through consideration of the God-
Man on that alone whole books could be written even
by me, a sort of thinker, not to say by him, when he comes :
"the thinker" who will have seen "the missionary of
Christendom," and will know at first hand about all that
I have only little by little learnt to understand a little.
1849
It is high time that Christianity was taken away again
from men in order to teach them to appreciate it a little.
What does being a poet mean? It means having one's
own personal life, one's reality in quite different categories
from those of one's poetic work, it means beiifg related
to the ideal in imagination only, so that one's own personal
life is more or less a satire on poetry and on oneself. In
that sense all modern thinkers, even those of standing (I
mean the Germans, there are no Danish ones at all), are
poets. And altogether that is the maximum wliich life
shows. The majority of people live entirely without ideas;
then there are the few who have a poetic relation to the
ideal, but deny it in their personal lives. And so the par-
sons too are poets, and because they are parsons they are
" deceivers " in a far deeper sense than the sense in which
Socrates long ago called the poets.
The second time I talked to Christian VIII was at
Sorgenfrie many months later. Moreover his conversations
were in a certain sense not very important to me, for he
wished me to talk. But it was stimulating to talk with him
and I have never seen an oldish man so animated, in a
fever of excitement, almost like a woman. He was a sort
of spiritual and intellectual voluptuary. I saw at once
that here was danger, and I was therefore very careful to
keep as far from him as possible. In the presence of a
king I found it unsuitable to make my eccentricity Into a
pretest for not visiting him and so used different tactics,
saying I was unwell.
Christian VIII was brilliantly gifted but ran to seed,
154
lacking a moral background of corresponding proportions,
If he had lived in a southern country, I can imagine that
Christian VIII would have been the certain prey of a
cunning priest. No woman would ever really have got
power over him, not even the most gif ted, partly because he
was too intelligent and partly because he shared a little
the manly superstition that man is more intelligent than
woman.
But a Jesuit he could have turned and twisted Christian
VIII any way he liked, but the Jesuit would have had to
have complete command of the interesting* for that was
what he was really panting for. But without a doubt he was
captivating, extraordinarily subtle, and had an unusual eye
for whatever could please or satisfy the individual,, just
that particular individual.
And so I went in. He said : " It is a long time since I
have seen you here." To that I answered, still at the door ;
"Your majesty will perhaps first of all let me explain
myself. I must ask your majesty to rest assured how much
I appreciate the graces and favours which you show me;
but I am poor in health and that is why I come so seldom,
I cannot endure waiting in an antechamber, it exhausts
me.** He answered that I need not wait, but that in any
case I could write to him. I thanked him for that. There-
upon we began talking, walking about part of the time.
He always preferred to talk about the government's affairs,
or general remarks about some political theme or other.
That day he led the conversation to communism of which
he was plainly enough anxious and afraid. I explained to
him that as I understood it the whole movement which
was impending was a movement which did not come in
contact with kings. It would be a fight between classes,
but the fighting parties would always find it in their interest
to be on good terms with the King. It was a return to
the problems of antiquity and it was therefore easy to see
that in a sense the king would stand outside them. It
1 8 49 *55
would be like the fights in a house between the cellar and
the ground-floor, and between these and the first floor,
but the landlord would not be attacked. I talked next of
how to fight with " the masses ** : simply remain quite quiet;
that "the masses" were like a woman with whom one
never fought directly but indirectly, and helped them to
put their foot in it, and since they were wanting in intelli-
gence they would always lose in the end but simply stand
fast. Here he said : " yes, of all people a king should do
that." To that I answered nothing. And so I said that
what the whole age needed was education, and that what
became violence in a large country, in Denmark became
rudeness. Then he said some complimentary things to me
about my mind etc. I made use of the situation and said :
Your Majesty sees best of all from me that what I say is
true, for where I am concerned everything really turns
upon the fact that I am well brought up, and therefore
really upon my father. And so we talked about Guizot,
an attack which had just been made upon him. I ex-
plained how ambiguous the position was in modern states,
where scandal has really been given an official position,
and the right tactics were, consequently, to ignore it, but
that they suddenly took it into their heads one day to take
such an attack seriously, " I imagine Guizot reading the
attack, and then at the most, perhaps, looking in the glass
to see that his smile and appearance were the same as
usual and then, then people hit upon the idea of taking
it seriously; and if on the other hand he had taken such
an attack seriously he would have been laughed out of
court as a country bumpkin who was not used to life in a
big city."
Then he talked a little about Sor0, gave a sort of lecture
on it, and questioned me : I answered that I had never
thought about Sor0* He asked me whether I would not
like to have a position there. Now I knew that he had
been out fishing that very morning and so my answer con-
1849
tained an allusion to It That in addition to the real line
fishermen had a special little line on which they some-
times caught the best fish and I was a little line of that
kind.
Then he thanked me for the book I had lately brought
him, he had read in it, " it was very profound but above
him/' I answered : *' Your majesty naturally has not got time
to read books and what I write is not intended for you. On
the other hand you have recently had the natural scientists
with you, that is something for you, something which satis-
fies your sense of beauty at the same time." At that he was
obviously a little vexed and said : yes, yes, the other can
also be good.
I had several times made as though to depart and said
I would not keep him longer. Each time he answered :
yes, yes, I have plenty of time. When it happened the
third time I said : yes, your majesty will understand that
I have enough time, I was afraid your majesty might not
have time. Afterwards I learnt from a more experienced
man, to whom I related it, that I had behaved like a
bungler, that by trying to be polite in that way to a king
one is being impolite, since one has only to wait till he
bows.
In the end I got away. He said that it would be a great
pleasure for him to see me. Thereupon he made a move-
ment with his hand meaning, as I knew from the last
time, that he wished to give me his hand; but as the same
man told me it was the custom, when the king offered one
his hand, to kiss his hand, and as I could not bring myself
to do it, I behaved as though I did not understand and
bowed*
In the meanwhile I resolved to visit him as rarely as
possible.
The third time I visited him was at Sorgenfrie, I gave
him a copy of Works of Love. Parson Ibsen had told me
1 849 i57
that he had once and for all got It into his head that he
could not understand me, and I was unable to get that
idea out again. That was what I had in mind. I came
in, handed him the book, he looked at it a little, noticed
the arrangement of the first part (Thou shall love, thou
shalt love thy neighbour, thou shalt love thy neighbour)
and understood it immediately; he was really very gifted.
Thereupon I took the book back from him and asked him
whether I might read him a passage, choosing part one
(p. 150)* It moved him, moreover he was always easily
moved.
Then he walked over to the window and so I followed
him. He began to talk about his government. I said that
I could naturally tell him one or two things which
perhaps he would not otherwise get to know, for I could
tell him what he looked like from the street "But am I
to speak, or am I not to speak; for if I am to speak I
shall speak quite straight out" He answered: <c Go on
then." And so I told him that he allowed himself to be
seduced by his personal gifts and that a king should in
this respect be like a woman, who ought to hide her per-
sonal talents and simply be die woman of the house and
he simply a king. " I have often pondered over what a
king should be. In the first place he can perfectly well be
ugly; then he ought to be deaf and blind, or at least pre-
tend to be so, for that gets over many difficulties, a tact-
less or stupid remark which being addressed to a king
has a certain importance is best put off by a: C< I beg
your pardon n ie. that the king has not heard it Finally
the king ought not to say much but have some expression
or other which he can use on every occasion, and which
is consequently meaningless. He laughed and said : a
charming portrait of a king. So I said ; ** yes, it is true,
one thing more : the king must take care to be ill every
now and then, so as to arouse sympathy." Then he broke
1849
In, with a peculiar expression which was almost one of
joy and delight : " Oh, that Is why you go talking about
being 111, you want to make yourself Interesting."
It was really like talking to a woman, he could get so
animated. Then I showed him that he had done harm to
himself by his audiences, that he was too familiar with
Tom, Dick, and Harry, that by doing so he alienates the
upper official class in particular, who are impatient at the
fortuitous kind of influence of unauthorised people, that
he would have to admit that it was impossible to rule by
talking with all his subjects in that way. He did not per-
haps realise that everyone he spoke to went away and
gossiped. That the mistake must be apparent at this very
moment as I stood here talking with him, though I was
certainly an exception because I considered myself religi-
ously bound not to divulge a single word. (That is more-
over true, as long as he lived I never said a word about
it to anyone, and afterwards only to one and then only
partially.) He answered : that I must not think that it was
only due to his possible gifts, but that when he came to
the throne he was of the opinion that to be a king no
longer meant prestige, but little by little he had changed
his mind.
I had said that I had had occasion to make some of
these observations the very first day he came to the throne.
To which he said: yes, wasn't that the time when there
was a general meeting 1 of which you were president.
He certainly had a good memory. At that moment a side
door opened, but was immediately closed again. I stepped
back a yard. He went to the door, but as he went he
said it was sure to be the Queen : she very much wishes to
see you, now I will fetch her. So he came leading the
Queen by the hand and I bowed. That was really not
polite to the Queen, who did not get a chance of making
*O the university students.
159
a proper entry, she even looked rather insignificant but
what else can happen if a queen suddenly has to appear
like that
The King showed the Queen the copy of my new book,
to which I answered : Your majesty makes me feel embar-
rassed at not having brought a copy for the Queen. He
answered : Oh, we can share one*
The Queen said she already knew me, she had seen me
once on the ramparts (where I ran away and left Tryde
in the lurch), that she had read part of " your Either and
Or, but could not understand it." To which I answered :
your majesty will easily understand that that is all the
worse for me. But there was something even more notable
about the situation. Christian VIII immediately heard
the mistake "Either and Or" and I certainly did; I was
surprised to hear the Queen saying exactly what servant
girls say. I caught the King's eye; I looked away. After
we had spoken a few words the King said to the Queen :
is Juliana alone in your room? She answered "yes"
and went away.
I went on talking with the King. He asked me whether
I was going away this year. I answered that if I did it
would only be for a very short time, to Berlin. "You
are sure to know a lot of interesting people there." " No,
your majesty, in Berlin I live completely isolated and work
harder than ever." " But then you might just as well go
to Sm0rum-Ovre " (and then he laughed at his own joke).
u No, your majesty, whether I go to Sm0rum-Ovre or to
Sm0rum-Nedre I do not find an incognito, a hiding-place
of 400,000 people." Now that was a little pointed, he
answered : yes, that is perfectly true.
Then he asked me about Schelling. I tried to give Mm
a rough impression. He asked me about Schellingfs per-
sonal attitude towards the court and his reputation at the
university. I said that Schelling was like the Rhine at its
i6o 1849
mouth where It became stagnant water Schelllng was de-
generating Into a Prussian " Excellency." I talked a little
more to him about Hegelian philosophy having been the
government philosophy, and that now It was supposed to
be Schelling.
This last visit was an example of Christian VIIFs
delicacy in showing exactly the right attentions to people,
It was as flattering as could be to have made it into a
sort of family visit.
I did not speak to him again. I had resolved to visit him
as little as possible, preferably when I had a book to give
him. But I did not regret having been to see him; it is
a very pleasant memory. If he had lived longer it would
have been awkward for me, for he could not bear anyone
being a private individual, he thought it was part of the
king's right to show everyone exactly what they had to
do. And so it was when I first began to think of taking
an official position that I went to see him.
The whole episode is a charming memory, he never had
occasion to receive anything but an impression of anima-
tion, and I only saw him as charm and liveliness itself.
Moreover in one sense I owe much to Christian VIII,
namely the pleasant and comfortable impression of life
which he taught me. I have always had far too great a
tendency not to bother about worldly things; and if my
expeditions to see the King had taken an unpleasant turn
it would certainly have made me even more indolent. The
very reverse happened. And then the relationship was
useful to me in another connection. Surrounded by vul-
garity and petty envy and without the assistance of even
the smallest illusion, since I was nothing but a private
individual, and having become an eccentric in the eyes of
the masses through that which is best in me, as a result
of the wretched conditions in Denmark and because they
1849
could not understand me. It was to that extent a good
thing that the envious superior classes, who always made
underhand use of all that vulgarity against me, should have
something to bite on to, and so my life had to be thrown
into relief. That is where my relations with the King
come in. In a sense it was just the thing for me : only one
man, an absolute King and what is more Christian VIII.
I quickly perceived that the situation might become danger-
ous, that Christian VIII might appreciate me too much;
I therefore took the greatest care, as everyone would admit
who knew how much he made up to me. But on the other
hand the relationship was so clearly marked that I could at
any moment, had it become necessary, have emphasised it
Christian VIII was only intelligent up to a point and,
having an almost superstitious belief in his own sagacity,
he became almost fantastic if he was impressed by a
superior intelligence, and was easily alarmed. His nerves
were not strong, his life had left its mark on his intellectual
constitution, he had no moral attitude, religion only
touched him aesthetically and so he was clever. It is
obvious that such a constitution was lacking in proportion
and would inevitably be the prey to fraud, though, be it
noted, in the most comfortable and pleasant way possible.
He was afraid of real character. Fundamentally he was
very domineering. The fact that he preferred to use other
than official roads was an artifice of his sagacity. He was
afraid of real character, If such a person were so power-
fully built that the muscular development was, so to speak,
visible, he kept him at a distance. But his limit was an
unshakable character, concealed by the flexibility of intelli-
gence and imagination. He could not solve that X, and as
though by a law of nature he would have been in the
power of such a man.
Altogether Christian VIII enriched me with a number
of psychological observations. Perhaps psychologists ought
1849
to take notice of kings and particularly absolute kings, for
the more free a man is, the less he is bound by the cares
of every day, the better one can know him.
Feb. 9. The end of Luther's sermon on i Cor. xiii, where
he concludes that faith is more than love, is sophistry.
Luther always wants to explain love as love of one's neigh-
bour, as though it were not also a duty to love God.
Luther really put faith in the place of love of God, and
then called love, love of one's neighbour.
This is what happens. I set the problem, the problem
which faces the whole age: equality between man and
man. I put it into practice in Copenhagen, That is some-
thing more than writing a few words on the subject : I
expressed it approximately with my life. I have levelled
in a Christian sense, not in rebellion against power and
worth which I have upheld with all my strength.
But people do not know what they are talking about
and I am sacrificed, guilty of pride; I, who with every
sacrifice, have fought for equality.
And the result. WeU, the result is quite simply that had
I not been so thoroughly influenced by religion I would
have been forced to withdraw and associate with the
upper classes : ie. I should have become proud*
Oh, you fools !
I drew Rasmus Nielsen into my intimacy because 1
looked upon it as my religious duty; so that there should be
at least one man, so that it could not be said that I had
overlooked the human factor.
He cannot of course be very much use to me; he is too
heavy, too thick-skinned, too corrupted by the age of
Christian VIII. If I wore to become worldly he would
of course be useful.
I have had to make him keep his distance, otherwise he
1 849 163
gossips about my matter in a friendly sort of way, and
it must either be strung to a high pitch or hidden in
complete silence.
It is as though a man possessed a great treasure and kept
it so safely hidden that he threw away the key. The thought
that troubles me is whether I have a right to do that,
whether this silence is permissible in relation to God,
whether it is permissible, with respect to a work which is
so infinitely indebted to Him for its acuteness, to let it
remain an enigma and for many a mere curiosity. And
why? Partly because the author thinks it is self-denial,
partly because he thinks he is unable to take over all the
misunderstandings in reality consequent upon giving the
explanation.
(The fact that I exposed myself of my own free will to
becoming a laughing-stock.)
. . . There is one thing, in this connection, which fills
me with sadness; for no one in Copenhagen has loved or
does love what are called the simple classes, the ordinary
man, with so unselfish and Christian a love as I do. But
here as everywhere there are plenty of those who in the
capacity of journalists wish to take his hard-earned money
by teaching him false ideas which only make him un-
happy and help to embitter the relations between the
classes; plenty of those who, in the capacity of agitators
and what not use his number in order to help him to be
shot down by taking a false view from above and saying :
the simple classes are demoralised, they must be shot down.
No, no, no, the misfortune is the bourgeoisie and if there
is any suggestion of shooting people down, then let it be
the journalists for the way in which they have used and
profited by the simple classes. God knows that I am not
bloodthirsty and I think I have in a terrible degree a
sense of my responsibility to God; but nevertheless, I
164 1849
should be ready to take the responsibility upon me, In God's
name, of giving the order to fire if I could first of all make
absolutely and conscientiously sure that there was not a
single man standing in front of the rifles, not a single
creature, who was not a journalist. That is said of the
class as a whole.
The Middle Ages went further and further astray in
stressing the aspect that Christ was the model then came
Luther and stressed the other aspect, that Christ is a gift
which must be received through faith.
As for the rest, the closer I examine Luther the more
convinced do I become that he was muddle-headed. It
is a comfortable kind of reforming which consists in throw-
ing off burdens and making life easier that is an easy
way of getting one's friends to help. True reforming
always means to make life more difficult, to lay on burdens;
and the true reformer is therefore always put to death as
though he were the enemy of mankind.
Luthefs "Hear me, thou Pope" not to mention any-
thing else, sounds to me almost disgustingly worldly. Is
that the sacred earnestness of a reformer concerned only
with his own responsibility, who knows that true reforma-
tion consists in becoming more inward. Such an expression
is just like a journalist's slogan. That unholy political
attitude, that desire to overthrow the Pope is what is so
confusing about Luther.
But in our times it is obvious that the aspect of Christ
which must be stressed is that he is the model. Hie only
point being to avoid the confusion of the Middle Ages. But
that is the side that must be stressed, for in Lutheranism
faith has simply become a fig-leaf behind which people
skulk in the most unchristian way.
1 849 165
NB NB
On each of the later works there Is, on the title page :
Poetic, in order to show that I do not proclaim myself
to be an exceptional Christian, or to be what I describe.
Without authority., in order to denote that I do not lay
others under an obligation, or judge them.
A spiritual revival, in order to show that I have nothing
to do with outward changes, or that kind of reformation.
One man alone cannot help or save the age in which he
lives, he can only express the fact that it will perish.
NB NB
Oh, what are the dangers to which one could possibly
expose oneself ! Danger is my very element.
But there is one danger, or rather there is something
which is in such complete contradiction with the whole
structure of my personality that it is really a revolution :
and that is to have to speak of my inwardness, of my rela-
tion to God. In that connection I would pray that it
might be taken from me, it seems as though it would make
my spirit heavy. I have been willing to expose myself to
everything and I still am so, but that is something quite
different, that is not polemic but resignation.
And that is why the publication of my last books costs me
so much suffering.
In the meanwhile it may be my duty to God, To have
to say how I spend my time in prayer, how it is that I
really live with God like father and son : that baring of
myself, if I may so describe it, I find so difficult, so difficult;
my inwardness is too true for me to be able to talk about it.
And yet perhaps it is my duty to God, and my hidden in-*
i66 1849
wardness something which God countenanced my having
until I had grown strong enough to talk about it. My
unhappy childhood, my boundless melancholy, my miser-
able personal life until I became an author, all that helped
to develop in me a hidden inwardness. . * .
Job endured everything until his friends came to com-
fort Mm, then he grew impatient
As far as I know no one has ever thought of writing a
comedy :
A play in 5^ or almost 6 Acts.
Just try to imagine quite clearly to yourself that the
model is called a "Lamb/* that alone is a scandal to
natural man, no one has any desire to be a lamb.
The misfortune of Christianity is clearly that the dialec-
tical factor has been taken from Luther's doctrine of faith
so that it has become a hiding-place for sheer paganism
and epicureanism; people forget entirely that Luther was
urging the claims of faith against a fantastically exaggerated
asceticism.
Should my journals be published after my death it
might be done under the title :
The Book of the Judge.
NB NB NB NB
How wonderfully melancholy and religion can blend
together, and how dangerous it is to have such tremendous
1 849 167
powers as have been granted me and then to have to live
In such restricted circumstances.
I have considered the possibility of taking another step
forward and steering systematically on, with the possi-
bility of being put to death always before my eyes. The aim
and everything was right oh, and in this I recognise
myself again : in being able to review all the circumstances
just as easily as though it were a love affair the conflict
was right succumbing before the rabble urged on by
the envy of the upper classes. It would certainly have
happened the moment I came forward decisively, in
character, with the proper incentive for aE the clique, and
gave the signal : that there was no Christianity in the
land, and that it was necessary to introduce it The clergy
would have raved, and would have been pleased that I
was already in such a scuffle with the rabble and would
have used it
I do not doubt for a second that Christendom needs to
be made aware in that sense, or rather I am absolutely
certain. I am also convinced that I should have succeeded.
I know that, humanly speaking, more could not have been
expected of my Hfe.
But now we come to what is melancholy and untrue.
That it was important for me to succumb. I had reckoned
upon having enough fortune to last for a few years longer,
and the catastrophe of 1848 helped me quite extraordin-
arily : otherwise I should have avoided the question of
my livelihood. Furthermore I fought with men and per-
haps it pleased iny pride to let them imagine that they
had fought with me; for I have studied the passive way
of fighting as much as any general has studied the active,
and the passive way is the religious and profound way.
It must be said in my defence that what makes my posi-
tion in a little hole like Copenhagen so difficult, so long
as I am to be a public personality, is that I must always
i68 1849
have the Idea with me. The nonsense men talk can, when
It Is brought up against the ideal, become something very
serious; and that was really my thought. That my life
should take the turning it has taken, not to say end in a
martyrdom, is something which has never occurred to a
single one of my contemporaries. It is I who secretly direct
the intrigue and according to my tactics my contem-
poraries were not to have their eyes opened before it
happened and by themselves : look, here I come again.
But in this there is also an injustice towards men. Men
are really only children and so it is unjust towards them,
just as it is wrong towards oneself, to allow them to be
guilty on that scale.
That is how I take the final view of my life. I now
tarn away, faithful to my original self : I am essentially a
poet and shall be obliged to give up being an author in any
real sense as soon as I have no more money.
And so I draw away. The problem is then quite a
different one; I am no longer in the role of being that
which is depicted.
But I shall never be able to thank providence enough
for all it has done for me and the way in which it helps
me. And as regards my really having thought of taking
that step seriously, of being put to death : I must certainly
regret it. But for one thing it never got further than my
thoughts, and for another as soon as I was aware (or God
helped me to become aware) of where it was leading me,
and as soon as I felt my genius rebel against it I also
opposed It. And providence, which is infinite love, has
also bequeathed me this marvellous fund of profundities
which I have understood, a present which I can dispose
of poetically, and can also put to good use by communicat-
ing it in the proper way : poetically.
How shall I ever be able to thank God sufficiently.
And so now I am enriched by a loving providence with
1849 169
an eminent understanding of truth, such as has seldom
been given to a man, and moreover armed by the same
loving providence with outstanding gifts with which to
set forth what I have understood. In that respect I only
have to humble myself beneath one thing : the fact that
I have not the strength myself to be that which is under-
stood. Had I not been in financial difficulties and yet
understood what I have understood, that would not
perhaps have been clear to me. But providence knew how
to humble me. Nevertheless it has at the same time done
so indescribably much more than ever I expected.
. . Sometimes I am almost afraid for the man when
I think of Bishop Mynster. He is now 72 and soon he will
go to his judgment. And what has he not done to harm
Christianity by conjuring up a lying picture so that he
could sit back and rule. His sermons are quite good but
in eternity he will not have to preach but be judged*
The truth that is troubled
is the truth which while itself eternally certain of being
the truth, is essentially concerned with communicating it to
others, concerned that they should accept it for their own
good in spite of the fact that the truth does not force itself
upon them.
This is the dialectical point Mare dabblers^ half-men,
desire to communicate simply in order to reassure them-
selves. The purely intellectual effort is only concerned
with discovering the truth. The " troubled ** truth is cer-
tain enough of being the truth but is concerned, or
" troubled," to communicate it* That is Christianity. * * *
The idea of attaining the peak of one's development
and then of breaking off absolutely, and abiding by my
i yo 1849
achievement, of attaining to my peak as an author and then
stopping completely and never again setting pen to paper
(an idea which came to me very early and pursued me),
that thought (even if I could realise it) is not religious but
proud and worldly*
. . Like the Guadalquivir which somewhere rushes
below ground and later on appears again, I must now sink
myself behind pseudonyms, but now I understand where
I shall reappear again with my name,
The thoughtlessness, carelessness, and cocksureness with
which children are brought up is frightful to see : and yet
everyone Is essentially what they are to be when they are
ten years old; and yet one would find that almost every-
one bears with them a defect from their childhood, which
they do not overcome even in their seventieth year; to-
gether with the fact that all unhappy individualities are
related to a false impression received in childhood.
Oh, piteous satire upon mankind; that providence should
have endowed almost every child so richly because it knew
in advance what was to befall it: to be brought up by
" parents/ 1 i.e. to be made a mess of in every possible way*
My misfortune, or the thing that made my life so diffi-
cult, is that I am strung a whole tone higher than other
men, and where I am and what I am about does not have
to do with the particular, but always also with a principle
and an idea. At the best, most people think which girl
they ought to marry; I had to think about marriage. And
so in everything.
Now the same thing is happening to me. At the best,
most people consider what occupation they are to take up,
now I am in the midst of the stream, of the struggle with
ideas and questions of principle whether, from a Christian
point of view s there should be official Christian offices.
1 849 171
What makes me unpopular Is not so much the difficulty
of my works as my own personal life, the fact that in spite
of all my endeavours I do not achieve anything (the finite
teleology), do not make money, do not get a position, am
not decorated, but achieve nothing all along the line and
am despised into the bargain. Now in my opinion that is
what is great about me, if indeed there is greatness. But
it costs me many a struggle and great efforts, for I too
am flesh and blood and yet that is exactly why I am mis-
understood and ill-treated.
. . . Frederica Bremer has been pleased to favour Den-
mark with a criticism. It is naturally an echo of what
the people in question have told her. That can best be
seen from Martensen who has been in close touch with
her. [In the margin : She has lived here for a long time
and has had sexual intercourse with the notables; she also
wanted to have sexual intercourse with me; but I was
virtuous.] She was sweet enough to invite me, in a most
obliging billet, to a conversazione. I almost regret now that
I did not answer, as I first intended: no, many thanks,
I don't dance. But in any case I refused her invitation and
did not go. And then one discovers in print that one is
" unapproachable.'* It is presumably owing to Martensen's
influence that Frederica has made me into a psychologist
and nothing else, and has given me a wide public among
women readers. That is really funny, how in all the world
can I be looked upon as a ladies* author? But that is
Martensen*s fault He sees right enough that his star is
declining in the university. It would be quite amusing to
read to Rasmus Nielsen and the younger generation : that
I am a ladies* author.
Sept. Nowadays one does not become an author as a
result of originality and inspiration but by reading.
One becomes a man by imitating others. One does not
172 1 849
know Instinctively that one Is a man, but as a result of a
deduction : one is like others ergo one is a man. God
knows whether any of us really are men !
The majority of men in every generation, even those
who, as it is described, devote themselves to thinking (dons
and the like), live and die under the impression that life
is simply a matter of understanding more and more, and
that if it were granted to them to live longer, that life
would continue to be one long continuous growth in under-
standing. How many of them ever experience the maturity
of discovering that there comes a critical moment where
everything is reversed, after which the point becomes to
understand more and more that there is something which
cannot be understood.
That is Socratic ignorance, and that is what the philo-
sophy of our times requires as a corrective.
As Johannes Glimacus truly observes, the majority of
men turn aside precisely where the higher life should be-
gin for them, turn aside and become practical, "Man,
father and champion bowler "; and, as Anti-Climacus truly
remarks, the majority of men never experience the spiritual
life; they never experience that qualitative encounter with
the divine. To them the divine is simply a rhetorically
meaningless hiatic superlative of the human : which ex-
plains their satisfaction with the idea of being able to
form ever clearer conceptions of it, so that if they only
had time, did not have to go to the office or their dub or
talk to their wives, if they only had time enough they
would manage to understand the divine perfectly.
Socratic ignorance, but nota bene modified by the Chris-
tian spirit, is maturity, is intellectually speaking what con-
version is morally and religiously, is what it means to be-
come a child again.
It is quite literally true that the law is : increasing pn>
fundity in understanding more and more that one cannot
1 849 *73
understand. And there once again comes in "being like
a child/* but raised to the second power. The man who
is mature in that sense is naive, simple, and he marvels,
but he is all that essentially humorously, and yet not in
such a way that it is humour.
And that this life is happy, is blessed as it is blessed to
adore, more blessed even than for a woman to be in love,
well, as to that, those who are made happy by their con-
ceits have no conception what it means. They never feel
the pressure of quality but deceive themselves more and
more.
It is the tolerance of the orthodox which best shows how
completely Christianity is lost. Their solution is: if only
we may keep our faith to ourselves, the world can take
care of itself. Merciful God, and that is supposed to be
Christianity. That is the power which once broke upon
the world and through readiness to suffer forced Chris-
tianity on the world, compelled it more forcefully than any
tyrant.
The orthodox do not even suspect that this, their
tolerance, is the effect of sheer worldlings, because they
have not really either understanding, respect or courage
for martyrdom or a true belief in eternity, but really desire
to have a good time in this world.
And now, what makes the position more terrible is that
this " tolerance " is willing to allow the tremendous fake-
hood to continue, namely for the whole world to call itself
Christian when the private belief of the orthodox is,
nevertheless, that the world is pagan.
How low has Christianity sunk, how powerless and
miserable it has become ! It is reason that has conquered ;
reason that has tyrannised enthusiasm and the like, making
it ridiculous. That is why people dare not be enthusiastic*
do not acknowledge that martyrdom is a glory beyond aH
comparison, they are afraid of being laughed at instead of
174
put to death and so people come to an agreement; they
wrap themselves up in their donkey-skin only asking to be
allowed to be Gliristians themselves, call that tolerance and
flatter themselves that they are true Christians.
Christianity's position in possibility and in reality
The moment I take Christianity as a doctrine and so
indulge my cleverness or profundity or my eloquence or my
imaginative powers in depicting it : people are very
pleased; I am looked upon as a serious Christian.
The moment I begin to express existentially what I say,
and consequently to bring Christianity into reality : it is
just as though I had exploded existence the scandal is
there at once.
On "the voluntary"
I now understand perfectly why Christianity clings to the
idea " voluntary." The existential authority to teach corres-
ponds to " the voluntary." Who is to teach poverty? The
person who is himself struggling for money or has it can
talk about it, but without authority; only the " voluntary "
poor, the person who has freely given up riches and is
poor, has authority.
It may truly be said that there is something socratic
about me.
Indirect communication was my natural qualification.
As a result of all I experienced, all I went through and
thought out last summer on the subject of direct communi-
cation, I have made a direct communication (the thing
about my literary work with its category : the whole thing
is my education) and at the same time acquired a deeper
understanding of indirect communication^ the new pseu-
donymity*
1 849 *75
To me there Is something so inexplicably happy In the
antithesis Climacus Antl-Climacus, I recognise myself,
and my nature so entirely in It that If someone eke had
discovered it I should have thought he had spied upon me.
The merit is not mine, for I did not originally think
of it.
The category of my work is : to make men aware of
Christianity, and consequently I always say : I am not an
example, for otherwise all would be confusion. My task
is to deceive people, In a true sense, Into entering the
sphere of religious obligation which they have done away
with; but I am without authority. Instead of authority I
make use of the very reverse, I say : the whole thing is
my own education. That, once again, is a truly sooratic
discovery. Just as he was ignorant. In my case It is : in-
stead of being the teacher, being the one who Is educated.
People must have lived ever so much more simply in
the days when they believed that God made his will known
in dreams. Even from the point of view of diet they must
have lived more simply. The idyllic life of a shepherd
and living partly on vegetables then it is possible. Think
of life in big cities and the manner of Hfe : no wonder
people attribute their dreams to devils and demons,
Moreover the poor opinion In which dreams are held now-
adays is also connected with the intellectuaBsni which
really only values the conscious, while in simpler ages
people piously believed that the unconscious life IB man
was the more important as weM as the profounder.
About Peter
I have been an author all this time, and Peter found
no occasion to speak his mind. But hardly does it begin to
seem as though I were to be singled out on an important
176 1 849
scale before he is busy unburdening himself, presumably
In order to bid for rne on behalf of the party, and assuredly
led on by the excellent opportunity of attacking R.N. 1 (a
very profitable task at the moment) and making an example
of him for being a disciple he who has been the imitator
and follower of Grundtvig to the point of ridiculous affec-
tation.
The whole thing has hurt me very much. Peter was so
entirely unsympathetic all the time I endured the persecu-
tion of the mob, literally never a word either written or
spoken on the subject; we were never very close to one
another, but from that time on he withdrew. He knows
that I am worried about my financial position never a
word about it. He knows that I suffer from {>eing out of
proportion to this little country never a word about it.
In the end he sees his opportunity. He takes up an
attitude superior to the two directions : Martensen and
S.K. He hits out in the popular and careless jargon of
the day, which is quite capable of dismissing in half an
hour the work of seven years; he movingly proclaims the
supremacy of the country parson and the sovereignty of
mediocrity, carefully shielding himself behind the excuse
that it was only a hurried piece of work; he profits by the
deceit : I, as the author's elder brother, must know about
the whole thing (which is the most frightful untruth, so
much so that he ought, for that very reason, to have em-
phasised it); he has tied my hands, for I cannot make a
single move without everyone shouting " Shame;" and
remain affectionate, for it is after all a favourable dis-
cussion of me, which once again I shall have to put up
with, for people will say that it is prejudice; he complicates
my relations with R.N. who may think that I am behind
the attack upon him, and then if R.N. attacks Peter he
will certainly believe that I am behind R.N. I do not mean
that all this was dear to Peter, but part of it should have
1 Professor Rasmus Nidson an opponent of Martenson.
1 849 177
been clear to him, and moreover would have been
clear to him if he had not grown self-complacent
among the parsons and Conventions, so complacent that he
perhaps even thought in some kind of stupid gemutlich
way that he was doing me a kindness, in spite of the fact
that he should understand that in order to do so he would
have to show up the real proportions of my work, and least
of all connive at the numerical evaluation of men and the
whole deceit.
About Peter
Peter came down here in the month of December. He
told me that he had given a lecture at the last Assembly
in which he spoke about Martensen and me, and was
surprised I had not heard of it. He went on to say that
in the same lecture he had spoken against R. Nielsen and
a certain HJEL Thereupon I said to him: HJL is me,
He was rather put out by that; for he had presumably not
read the little book carefully, quite convinced that it was
not by me. So we spoke about it a little. Then Peter
said : yes, now there is no point in our talking about it any
further; for I have still to write the lecture. So he wrote
the lecture. He was very brief in what he said about H.H.
and remarked at the same time : that it bore a striking
resemblance to S.K. God knows what he really said at
the Assembly. * . .
In all that is usually said about Johannes Glimacus being
purely subjective and so on, people have forgotten, in
addition to everything else concrete about him, that in
one of the last sections he shows that the curious thing is :
that there is a "how" which has this quality, that if it
is truly given, then the "what " is also given; and that it
is the "how" of "faith." Here, quite certainly, w have
178 1 849
inwardness at its maximum proving to be objectivity once
again. And this is an aspect of the principle of subjectivity
which, so far as I know, has never before been presented
or worked out.
There is yet another reason, too, why Christianity should
be delineated by an unmarried man. In the end the whole
of Christendom's little crumb of Christianity ends in :
Christmas and Christmas pudding. The little child Jesus,
that is the sort of Christianity which is furthest from em-
phasising the idea of : imitation. The point is not even to
become a child no, the Saviour himself is neither more nor
less than a child, and it stops short at that; and father and
mother both look upon little Sophie as a little God-child.
What twaddle! Altogether that absolute emphasis upon
Christmas, to the exclusion of all else, turns Christianity
all topsy-turvy. Moreover Christmas only appeared in the
IVth century; but in that respect orthodoxy does not cling
zealously to the first three centuries.
Luther
Here one sees the result of not being dialectical. In a
sermon Luther inveighs most violently against the faith
which clings to the person instead of to the word; true
faith clings to the word no matter who the person is.
Well, that is all very well among men. But as for the
rest this theory does away with Christianity. We thus re-
ceive a doctrine in the ordinary sense, where the doctrine
is more than the teacher, instead of which Christianity is
this paradox, that the person is all important. Why does
St. Paul inculcate so clearly that he is an apostle owe mr
<KF$PWTOF ouSe 8t ovdp^TTov 1 except to show the difference
in kind, which again is authority. In another connection
*GaL L i, not of men, neither by man.
1 849 179
St Paul can a quite consistently, do away with that his
difference, when it is a matter of bringing in Christ in
person, as for example when he inveighs against some for
saying " I am of Paul," others of Apollos, others of Cephas
instead of all being of Christ 1
And once again Christianity's paradoxical difference
from every other doctrine, from a scientific point of view,
is that it posits : authority. A philosopher with authority
makes nonsense. For a philosopher goes no further than
his doctrine; if I can show that his doctrine is self-con-
tradictory, incorrect etc. he has nothing to reply. The para-
dox is that the personality is above the doctrine. It is there-
fore also nonsensical of a philosopher to demand faith*
1850
A true sentence of Hugo de St. Victor (Helfferich :
Mystik, Vol. I, 368).
"In things which are above reason faith is not really
supported by reason, because reason cannot grasp what
faith believes; but there is also a something here as a result
of which reason is determined, or which determines reason
to honour faith which it cannot perfectly understand/'
That Is what I explained (e.g. in the Final Postscript};
not every absurdity is " the absurd " or the paradox. The
effect of reason is in fact to know the paradox negatively
but not more.
Victor Hugo indeed ! Accustomed of course for years past
to the kind of debauchery indulged in by novel writers who
are always "carrying on" poetically with feelings which
are the very reverse of what their lives express; and now
he attacks the clerical party in a " brilliant speech/'
One can imagine the voluptuous pleasure he got from
the situation, thinking of himself as a "witness to the
truth " and being praised, honoured, and admired.
I am beholden to the clerical party its cause is in the
minority; and the natural sciences much admired. And
now he turns up. Nobody denies that natural science had
its martyrs; but Victor Hugo seems to have forgotten en-
tirely that latterly that is as far as possible from being
the case since, on the contrary, it is science which is every-
where triumphant.
And which tyrant, which idol is it that he serves with
that speech of his? It is " the masses/' " votes for all " and
the rest of it. And has it called for no martyrs? It called
for Christ and Socrates and the " host of martyrs.* 3
As for the examples of what true religiousness is? "The
180
1850
fool, for wanting to talk about things he knows nothing
about. The examples he gives are ordinary great and good
actions, in no sense specifically religious, not to say speci-
fically Christian; paganism has just the same examples.
Those great and good actions are honoured in the world
but Christ and his followers were, if it comes to that, just
as practised in noble actions, but they were persecuted and
put to death for them.
If I had my way, Victor Hugo would be put to read
about Christianity for six months !
But what a chance for a " poet " ! One can imagine the
other poets being quite envious of him, not being members
of the Chamber. Just think of Eugene Sue, who has written
himself into a millionaire by describing poverty and
misery : Yes, he was capable of giving Rd. 50 to the poor
for having been the fortunate man to whom the envious
opportunity was given of playing the hero, the witness
to the truth, with applause and laurel-leaves.
Real self-reduplication without a third factor, which is
eternal and compels one, is an impossibility and makes any
such existence into an illusion or an experiment.
Kant held that man was his own law (autonomy), i#.
bound himself under the law which he gave himself. In
a deeper sense that means to say : lawlessness or experimen-
tation. It is no harder than the thwacks which Sancho
Panza applied to his own bottom. I can no more be really
stricter in A than I am, or than I wish myself to be in B.
There must be some compulsion, if it is to be a serious
matter. If I am not bound by anything higher than my-
self, and if I am to bind myself, where am I to acquire
the severity as A by which, as B, I am to be bound, so
long as A and B are the same.
This can be seen best of all in religious matters. The
transformation which reaHy lies in changing from
immediacy to spirituality, that mortification is not serious,
1850
becomes in fact an illusion, a form of experimentation if
there is not some third and compelling factor, which is
not the Individual himself.
That too is why all outstanding individualities, the real
** instruments, 5 * are compelled.
Not only is the law which I give myself as maximum not
a law; but there is a law which is given to me by one
higher than L And not only that; but that lawgiver takes
the liberty of joining in at the same time in the character
of educator, and applies the compulsion.
Now if during the whole course of his life a man never
acts in so decisive a way that the educator can get a hold
on him : well, then the man is certainly allowed to live
on complacently in a state of illusion, imagination, experi-
mentation but that also connotes : the greatest lack of
grace.
A man may be so severe with himself that he under-
stands : all my severity is nothing, I must have another to
help me, who can be severity itself, even though he is
gentleness itself.
But to enter into relations with this other does not mean
to make assurances, and assurances and more assurances;
it means : to act.
Once a man acts in a decisive sense and comes out into
reality, existence can get a grip on him and providence
educate him.
It is perfectly true that however much a man may
protect himself it may all the same occur to providence
to put him to school. But it does not like that, that is almost
anger. It wishes a man to believe, and believe in it. Provi-
dence is no friend of that effeminate attitude whereby a
man wishes to play at being autodidact, when there lives
at the same time a teacher so outstanding as Our Lord,
to whom he can turn.
But as a rule in human affairs to be put to school and
to try to go to school means that I go wherever the teacher
1850 183
lives. Spiritually it means that I act decisively : there, at
once, is the teacher. For what is it that I desire, I desire
to be educated spiritually and yet I do not desire to act
decisively? Nonsense*
In this respect, too, I have not been understood at alL
All the profounder thinkers (Hegel, Daub and to name
one less famous but most worthy of respect ; Julius Miiller)
are agreed in placing evil in isolated subjectivity objec-
tivity being the saving factor.
Now that is already a platitude; and every student knows
that I am an isolated individuality ergo I am all but
evil, <c pure negativity, not serious, etc."
Oh, depths of confusion. No, the whole concept of objec-
tivity, which has been made into our salvation, is merely the
food of sickness, and the fact that it is admired as the cure
simply proves how fundamentally irreligious our age is,
for that saving factor is really a return to paganism.
No, in order to put an end to subjectivity, in so far as
it is untruth we must, on the contrary, go right through
to "the individual" before God.
But people do not know what religion is. They do not
even suspect that Christ and all the heroes of the faith
were in a sense isolated individualities and they belonged
absolutely to God.
Take Socrates for instance ! In those days one sophist
after another came forward and showed that the misfor-
tune was the lack of sufficient knowledge, more and more
research was necessary, the evil was ignorance and then
along came old father Socrates saying : no, it is precisely
ignorance which is our salvation.
Now exactly the same thing happened to Socrates in Ms
day as has happened to me. He was looked upon as rep-
resenting evil; for, in the eyes of that age, ignorance was
ev il and yet Socrates was indeed the doctor.
It requires a fortunate genius {or an infinite prof uodity;
184 l8 5
and a perfect ear, in order that all the demoniacal pheno-
mena should, always understood a rebours, themselves pro-
claim what they need) in order not to make a mistake in
those spheres. I do not praise myself for anything.
It is perfectly true, isolated subjectivity is, in the opinion
of the age, evil; but "objectivity" as a cure is not one
whit better.
The only salvation is subjectivity, i.e. God, as infinite
compelling subjectivity.
The dialectic of becoming a Christian
Socrates did not first of all get together some proofs of the
immortality of the soul in order then to live in that belief,
on the strength of the proofs. The very reverse is the case;
he said: the possibility of there being an immortality
occupies me to such a degree that I unquestionably stake
my whole life upon it as though it were the most certain
of all things. And so he lived and his life is a proof of
the immortality of the soul. He did not believe merely
on the strength of the proofs and then live: no, his life
is the proof, and only with his martyr's death is the proof
complete. That, you see, is spirit; it is a little awkward
for those who repeat him and for all those who live second-
hand, or tenth-hand lives, and those who chase after results,
and for cowardly, effeminate natures.
Carefully used that may be adapted to the problem of
becoming a Christian.
First of all there is, quite rightly, the doubt (Lessingfs)
whether one can base eternal happiness upon something
historical.
And consequently here is something historical, the story
of Jesus Christ.
But now is the historical fact quite certain? To this one
must answer : even though it were the most certain of all
historical facts it would be of no help, there cannot be
1850 185
any direct transition from an historical fact to the foun-
dation upon it of an eternal happiness. That Is something
qualitatively new.
How then do we proceed? Thus. A man says to himself,
a la Socrates : here is an historical fact which teaches me
that in regard to my eternal happiness I must have re-
course to Jesus Christ. Now I must certainly preserve my-
self from taking the wrong turning into scientific enquiry
and research, as to whether it is quite certainly historical;
for it is historical right enough : and if it were ten times
as certain in all its details it would still be no help : for
directly I cannot be helped.
And so I say to myself: I choose; that historical fact
means so much to me that I decide to stake my whole
life upon that if.* Then he lives; lives entirely full of the
idea, risking his life for it : and his life k the proof that he
believes. He did not have a few proofs, and so believed
and then began to live. No, the very reverse.
That is called risking; and without risk faith is an impos-
sibility. To be related to spirit means to undergo a test;f
in the margin* That occurs, too, in Christ's words 1 : if
anyone will follow my teaching, i.e. live according to it, i.e.
act according to it, he shall see etc. That means to say,
there are no proofs beforehand nor is he satisfied that
the acceptance of his teaching should mean : I assure you.
in the margin^ That is because man is a synthesis of
body-soul and spirit But " spirit " sows dissension where-
as eff eminate men always want to include what is lower in
every relationship, and to have its consent. Hence the dread
of " risking.' 5 The unspiritual man always desires " proba-
bility." But " spirit " will never grant it, for " spirit " is the
test : do you wish to avoid probability, do you wish to deny
yourself, give up the world etc,
1 Mat 7. 24, Lufec 6, 47, Jofen 8. 31
i86 1850
to believe, to wish to believe, is to change one's life into
a trial; daily test is the trial of faith. Yet one can preach
on that score till doomsday to cowardly, effeminate un-
spiritual natures, they do not understand it, they do not
really want to understand it. It seems to them that it is
good enough if someone else takes the risk, and then they
follow him giving their assurance. But take the risk them-
selves no thank you.
But where becoming a Christian is concerned there is,
as compared with Socrates, a dialectical difference which
must be remembered. Namely, where immortality is con-
cerned man is only related to himself and to the idea, no
further. But when a man chooses all at once to believe in
Christ, i.e. chooses to stake his life upon him, he is allowed
to have immediate (direct) recourse to Christ in prayer.
Thus the historical is the cause, yet the object of faith.
But all unspiritual natures turn the question round.
They say : to stake everything upon an if, that is a sort of
scepticism, it is quite fantastic, not positive. That is be-
cause they will not take the " risk." And that is the crumb
of unspirituality which Christianity has carried along with
it and which has, in the end, done away with Christianity.
About myself
Nevertheless it is fortunate, indeed it is an inestimable
blessing to have been melancholy as I was. Had I been a
happy nature and had then experienced what I did ex-
perience as an author; I believe it would have sent a man
mad. But within me, where I really suffered I knew more
frightful tortures still.
And so what happened? Oh, the marvel, even though it
has not yet quite happened, nevertheless it has happened
to a certain degree and, as I believe, will continue to
happen more and more : this marvel : that those outward
1850 187
spectacles have lured my melancholy from its hiding place,
and to a certain extent have already saved me from it;
which will continue to happen still more completely !
O depths of the riches of God, O, how unsearchable
are Thy ways O God, 1 but in all things fatherly and grace-
giving.
How often have I shown that fundamentally Hegel
makes men into heathens, into a race of animals gifted with
reason. For in the animal world "the individual" is
always less important than the race. But it is the peculiarity
of the human race that just because the individual is
created in the image of God "the individual M is above
the race.
This can be wrongly understood and terribly misused :
concedo. But that is Christianity. And that is where tike
battle must be fought
What a curious, yet profound turn of phrase which makes
it possible to say : in this case there is no question of a
choice I choose this and this. To continue : Christianity
says to a man : you shall choose the one essential thing
but in such a way that there is no question of a choice if
you drivel on any longer then you do not in fact choose
the one essential thing; like the Kingdom of God it must
be chosen first.
So there is consequently something in regard to which
there may not be, and in thought cannot be a choice, and
nevertheless it is a choice. Consequently, the very fact
that in this case there is no choice expresses the tremendous
passion or intensity with which it must be chosen. Could
there be a clearer expression of the fact that the liberty
of choice is only a qualified form of freedom? * . . How-
ever astonishing it may seem, one is therefore obliged to
say that only " fear and trembling, 31 only constraint, can
i88 1850
help a man to freedom. Because "fear and trembling 55
and compulsion can master him in such a way that there
Is no longer any question of choice and then one chooses
the right thing. At the hour of death most people choose
the right thing.
Now how are the sciences to help? Simply not at all,
in no way whatsoever. They reduce everything to calm
and objective observation with the result that freedom is
an inexplicable something. Scientifically Spinoza is the only
one who is consistent.
The problem is the same as with belief and speculation,
and as Johannes Glimacus has said, it is like sawing : in
one case it means making oneself objectively light, in the
other case making oneself subjectively heavy and people
want to saw in and out at the same time. Freedom really
only exists because the same instant it (freedom of choice)
exists it rushes with infinite speed to bind itself uncondi-
tionally by choosing resignation, the choice of which it is
true that in it there is no question of a choice.
The inconceivable marvel of the omnipotence of love is
that God can really grant so much to man, that almost
like a lover 1 he can say of himself : " will you have me or
not," and so wait one second for the answer.
But alas, man is not so purely spirit It seems to him that
since the choice is left to him he can take time and first of
all think the matter over seriously. What a miserable anti-
climax. " Seriousness " simply means to choose God at
once and " first" In that way man is left juggling with
a phantom : freedom of choice with the question whether
he does or does not possess it etc. And it even becomes
scientific. He does not notice that he has thus suffered the
loss of his freedom. For a time perhaps he delights in the
thought of freedom until it changes again, and he becomes
*S. K. is playing o the two words "at fri '* and " at Me," to woo and
to make free.
1850 I%
doubtful whether he is free or not. Then he loses his free-
dom of choice. He confuses everything by his faulty tac-
tics (militarily speaking). By directing his mind towards
"freedom of choice 9 * instead of choosing he loses both
freedom and freedom of choice. Nor can he ever recover
it by the use of thought alone. If he is to recover his free-
dom it can only be through an intensified " fear and
trembling " brought forth by the thought of having lost
it
The most tremendous thing which has been granted to
man is : the choice, freedom. And if you desire to save it
and preserve it there is only one way : in the very same
second unconditionally and in complete resignation to give
it back to God, and yourself with it. If the sight of what
is granted to you tempts you, and if you give way to the
temptation and look with egoistic desire upon the freedom
of choice, then you lose your freedom. And your punish-
ment is : to go on in a kind of confusion priding yourself
on having freedom of choice, but woe upon you, that is
your judgment: You have freedom of choice, you say,
and still you have not chosen God. Then you will grow
ill, freedom of choice will become your idee fixe* till at last
you will be like the rich man who imagines that he is poor s
and will die of want: you sigh that you have lost your
freedom of choice and your fault is only that you do not
grieve deeply enough or you would find it again.
Christianity begins more or less where Hegel leaves off :
the misunderstanding is simply that that is the point at
which Hegel thought he had finished with Christianity,
and even thought he had gone beyond it
I simply cannot help laughing when I think of HegeFs
conception of Christianity, it is so utterly Inconceivable.
And what I have always maintained is true ; Hegel was a
don, a professor of philosophy, not a thinker; and more-
100 1850
over he must have been very insignificant as a person,
making no real impression but as a professor quite excep-
tional, that I do not deny.
The day will certainly come when the idea "Don"
will stand for a comic person. Only think of Christianity !
How altered since the times when it had inflexible con-
fessors and now that it has only got professors who are
willing to agree in all casibus.
Which is harder : to be executed, or to suffer that pro-
longed agony which consists in being trampled to death
by geese,
The greatest danger for a child, where religion is con-
cerned.
The greatest danger is not that his father or tutor should
be a free-thinker, not even his being a hypocrite. No, the
danger lies in his being a pious, God-fearing man, and in
the child being convinced thereof, but that he should never-
theless notice that deep in his soul there lies hidden an
unrest which, consequently, not even the fear of God and
piety could calm. The danger is that the child in that
situation is almost provoked to draw a conclusion about
God, that God is not infinite love*
What and How
What makes the difference in life is not what is said,
but how it is said. As for the "what," the same thing
has already been said perhaps many times before and so
the old saying is true : there is nothing new under the
sun, the old saying which is always new. . . .
In contradistinction to the Middle Ages and those periods
2850
with all their discussion of possession, of particular men
giving themselves to evil, I should like to write a book ;
On diabolic possession in modern times
and show how mankind en masse gives itself up to evil,
how nowadays it happens en masse. That is why people
flock together, in order that natural and animal hysteria
should get hold of them, in order to feel themselves stimu-
lated, inflamed and ausser sich. The scenes on the Blocks-
berg are the absolute pendants to this demoniacal pleasure,
where the pleasure consists in losing oneself in order to be
volatilised into a higher potency, where being outside one-
self one hardly knows what one is doing or saying, or who
or what is speaking through one, while the blood courses
faster, the eyes are bright and staring, the passions and
lust seething.
O, depths of confusion and depravity, when it is at the
same time valued as the seriousness of life, warm-hearted-
ness, love, yes even Christianity.
The railway mania is in every sense a second BabeL It
belongs to the end of a period of culture, It is the final
spurt. Unfortunately the new one began more or less at
the same time* 1848* The railways are related as a
heightened potency to the idea of centralisation. And the
new period is related to dispersion into disjecta membra.
Centralisation will probably also be the financial ruin of
Europe.
The difference between " popular ** and Cl philosophical n
is the amount of time a thing takes. Ask a man : do you
know this, or do you not know it if he answers immedi-
ately then the answer is popular, he is an undergraduate.
If it takes ten years for the answer to come, and if it comes
in the form of a system, if it is not quite dear whether he
knows it or not : then it is a philosophical answer and the
192 1850
man a professor of philosophy at least that is what he
ought to be.
During the first period of a man's life the greatest danger
is : not to take the risk. When once the risk has been really
taken then the greatest danger is to risk too much. By not
risking at first one turns aside and serves trivialities; in the
second case, by risking too much, one turns aside to the
fantastic, and perhaps to presumption.
May 19. To-day, Whitsunday, Mynster preached against
monks and hermits Good God, to want to play that tune
in the igth century, in order to be rewarded with applause.
He did not attack a single one of the forms of evil preva-
lent in our day ugh, God forbid, that might easily have
become all too serious, no, he preached against the
monasteries.
Perfect Love
Perfect love means to love the one through whom one
became unhappy. But no man has the right to demand to
be thus loved.
God can demand it; that is infinite majesty. And it is
true of the man of religion, in the strictest sense of the
word, that in loving God he is loving him through whom
he became unhappy, humanly speaking, for this life
although blessed.
I have not got the strength to understand it in that way;
at the same time I am very afraid of being caught in the
most dangerous of all snares : of becoming meritorious in
my own eyes. In the meanwhile that danger is one which
a truly religious man has already overcome.
1850
"The Fatherland"
Everyone who knew anything about the state of affairs,
knew how The Fatherland suffered from the vulgar press,
which quite took the wind out of its sails.
I acted : Gj0dwad stood impatiently at my side waiting
for the article in which I demanded to be abused. 1
One of two things : either they had to maintain that
the paper should be ignored and so not have accepted
my article, even though I begged them to; or (and this
would have been right) have recognised that their position
was so desperate and the state of affairs so topsy-turvy that
something had to be done in which case they ought to
have supported my action, which only required a few words
of acknowledgment
They did nothing, they betrayed me. At last they gave
up taking The Corsair, as though that were something.
In the course of conversation, whore they seemed to be
asking me whether they ought to do anything (without
the question ever coming out directly) I always said : do
nothing at ali Indeed, if people do not feel more than
that for a just cause, I am not the one to beg them.
The Fatherland is perhaps more guilty, where I am
concerned, than Goldschmidt. And in any case they are
guilty of never having tried to point the way, even in a
few words. To tell me privately that my actions are so
exceptional that no one can take upon himself to write
them up is merely a joke. They could of course, have
said that publicly and not kept silence wliile the zndb
alone spoke,
I note all this down for the following reason in par-
a Gj0dwad was Ac editor of The FcA^rland in wWcii Sw 1C
his articles against P. L. Molier and subsequently against Martensen.
1850
ticular. My time will come. Then it will suit The Father-
land to throw some guilt on Heiberg,* and particularly
upon Mynster for not having borne witness in my favour
and The Fatherland will in that way make itself appear
quite innocent. But I will not tolerate that.
Personally I call Gj0dwad my friend, and in the last
three or four years have spoken with him every mortal
afternoon and found him to be, what I knew, a lovable
man. If he had not been a journalist I should have found
in him the person whom I could most nearly have made a
real friend. But The Fatherland is another question. I
readily admit that at the time it was a difficult situation in
which to act; but then that is the real test.
There was some truth in what Goldschmidt said to me
(which I recognised at the time, but I had other reasons
which determined me) when, immediately after the first
article had appeared, and so even before he had begun
the attack, when he said : that he could not understand
why I insisted on doing so much for The Fatherland, for
Plough, after all, was no better than he was. He said the
same thing about Gjodwad; but I dismissed that with the
words : Gjodwad is my friend. . .
. . . Thus it is really terrible to have anything to do
with God who neither can nor will give one direct cer-
tainty or a legal relationship and yet it is blessed; blessed
to be, as it were, nothing in his hand, who is and ever will
be love, however things may go. This is all I have known
for certain, that God is love. Even if I have been mistaken
on this or that point: God is nevertheless love, that I
*He too thanked me in the strongest terms privately
for the articles against P, L. Moller and added : I ought
to have done that long ago. And consequently he spoke
like that in private, but publicly he was silent.
1850
believe, and whoever believes that is not mistaken. If I
have made a mistake it will be plain enough; so I repent
and God is love. He is love, not he was love, nor : he
will be love, oh no, even that future was too slow for me,
he is love. Oh, how wonderful. Sometimes, perhaps, my
repentance does not come at once, and so there is a future
But God keeps no man waiting, he is love. Like spring-
water which keeps the same temperature summer and
winter so is God's love. But sometimes a spring runs dry
no, no, how shall I praise him, there is no other praise
than the expression which perfectly fits him whom we speak
of, "God be praised!' 1 and so, God be praised, God*s
love is not of such a kind. His love is a spring which never
runs dry.
My hom&
If one lives alone as I do one is thrown back much more
on one's home and all one's little comforts.
And what is it like now! I suffered unspeakably from
the smells last summer in the tanner's house. I dared not
risk remaining there another summer, and then it was too
expensive. Where I am living now I suffer so much from
the reflection of the sun in the afternoon that at first I
was afraid of going blind.
On top of everything there is trouble with Strube. That
the man whom I depend upon more than any one, whom
I inherited from father, have known for twenty years,
whom I looked upon as one of those strong, healthy, tireless
workers that he should become eccentric, have to go to
the hospital, want to reform the whole world, that all this
should happen just when he is with me* If one does intellec-
tual work on the scale I work on one wants someone about
of the sort I had imagined Strube to be. And now all the
worry with him, the feeling that he is suffering, although
ig6
they have succeeded in calming him somewhat; the thought
that it may return again, and then, because it all happens
in my house, become an important event which will be
discussed in the papers, while on the other hand I fear
that if I were to try to get rid of him now it would react
too violently upon him, and God knows he is still the best
natured fellow I have ever known, or one of the best, and
where I am concerned, care itself; but I saw, at the time,
how vehement he could be and how obstinate.
And then from another point of view. Not long ago
(while I was still living at the tanner's), once on return-
ing home I found that somebody must have been at my
desk, and at my only chest, the mahogany one. Possibly
I forgot to lock up when I went out, although that is
almost unthinkable, but all the same most uncomfortable.
Things like that can make one's home most uncomfortable,
even if one has, as I have, the most faithful household.
It made me feel very uncomfortable for Anders' sake.
And when one comes home so tired to it all, often made
so uncomfortable by the rudeness to which I am exposed
every day; oh, to proclaim Christianity in that way is
very different from being a parson.
And then not to be able to produce any new books; for
when I am working I forget everything.
R. Nielsen and I
I am certainly no Socrates and Nielsen no Plato but
the relation has nevertheless some analogy.
Now take Plato! There is undoubtedly a quite para-
mount number of thoughts which belong to Plato himself;
but he never minded attributing them to Socrates in order
to preserve the purity of the source, he was never afraid
of people growing tired of it always being Socrates^
Socrates.
1850
Oh, but Nielsen took the thoughts, and concealed the
source; finally he gave his source, but concealed the scale
on which he had used it, item that I had privately done
an unusual amount to initiate him into my matter.
I have done nothing, but left everything in the hands of
providence.
About myself
Christianity is as good as done away with. But first a
poet's heart must break, or a poet must be torn in two in
such a way as to close the way to all deceptions.
That is the check; and in our limited sphere that is my
task.
June 9. What infinite confidence there is in Hartensen !
He always speaks on such a vast scale, about the whole
church, the Apostolic age, the doctrine of the first three
centuries, mediaeval doctrine, the doctrine of the Reforma-
tion period, the whole chain of doctors of the Church
and Christ says : will there be faith on earth at my second
coming.
Such things do not bother Martensen; he is objective.
Humour
If it were not in one sense madness it would be a good
example of humour if a man were to say to God ; although
I was strictly brought up as a Christian I was, as you
know, born in the igth century and so have my share of
the universal superstitious belief in reason etc. The humour
lies in the " as you know.**
ig8 1850
An excellent saying of Stittpo's
A man asked Stilipo whether the gods were pleased with
our adoration and our offerings. Stilipo answered : " You
a^e very hasty about it : let us go to one side if you want
to talk about it"
I remember having given the situation a similar turn
myself. It was up at Gj0dwad's. There were several people
there and among others Martin Hammerich who spoke in
that free and easy way about Christianity. I answered :
" What you are saying sounds all very well here where we
are all together; if there were a few more people it would
sound even better but if, on the contrary, you will go
into the room next door, where we should be alone, you
wiE find that it will sound pretty poor."
As for the rest Stilipo's intention was rather different.
, . Mynster bears a certain resemblance to Louis
Philippe : he is without inspiration or pathos, but makes
a clever use of little means and understands that what
really rules the world is the question of a living, and that
the person who has livings in his gift rules quite securely*
NuUum unquam exstitit magnum ingenium sine aliqua
dementia
The explanation is perfectly simple. In order really to
be a great genius a man must be the exception. But in order
that his being exceptional should be a serious matter he him-
self must be unfree, forced into the position. There lies
the importance of his dementia. There is a definite point
at which he suffers; it is impossible for him to run with
the herd. That is his torture. Perhaps his dementia has
nothing whatsoever to do with Ms real genius, but it is the
1850 199
pain by which he is nailed out in isolation and he must
be isolated if he is to be great; and no man can freely
isolate himself; he must be compelled if it is to be a
serious matter*
Concerning bashfulness in relation to sex
Montaigne says somewhere that it is extraordinary that
what we all owe our existence to should be something
despised. He means that bashfulness, in this case, is really
prudery. And indeed many great minds have held the
same view.
But to this it should be replied. It is only true in one
respect that man owes his existence to the act of pro-
creation; there is also an act of creation to be included
which must be attributed to God. It is not true of the
human race, as of animals, that every individual is only
an example. The man who really becomes spirit, for
which he was intended, takes over his whole being (by
choosing himself, as it is put in Either-Or) and reduces?
propagation to nothing but the lowest side of human.
nature.
What wonder then that there is bashfulness in relation to
sex! Procreation only represents the lower side, just as
in the act of procreation man is qualified by the lower part
of his nature, or at the extreme end of the synthesis in the
direction away from spirit. It is the vary fact of the direc-
tion being away from spirit which is bashfulness, spirit is
bashfulness, or the fact that a man is defined as spirit is
bashfulness. Animals have no bashfulness^ neither lias
bestiality, and the less spirit the less bashfulness*
200 1850
A disingenuous turn which may perhaps be given to my
matter
People will make it appear that I wanted to introduce
pietism, little, pusillanimous self-abnegations in matters of
no consequence.
No thank you, I never wanted that in the very slightest
degree. What I want is to spur people on to becoming
moral characters, witnesses to the truth, to be willing to
suffer for the truth, and ready to give up worldly wisdom.
Mynstefs importance for my whole work as an author
My task has been to bring a corrective where the estab-
lishment is concerned, not to bring anything new which
might subvert or supersede it.
Now, had I overlooked that from the beginning and had
Mynster not existed, then I should have had to create some-
one or other to represent the establishment and then butt-
ress him up.
But I did not understand my task so clearly from the
beginning; that would certainly have escaped my notice
and everything would have been difficult and perhaps un-
successful.
But Mynster stood there as the representative of the
establishment. It followed quite naturally that I venerated
Mynster and did everything to express the fact
In that way I was given my correct position* Here is
another example of my good fortune ! From a purely per-
sonal point of view my veneration for Mynster was essen-
tial to meMbut it is only long after that I see how very
important it was for my task, and so that I should be
quite correctly situated*
1850 201
Faith
It is dear that In my writings I have given a further
definition of the concept faith, which did not exist until
now.
A remark of Abelard's
. . . Abelard . . . considered it a proof of the decline of
faith and the secularisation of Christianity that no more
miracles occurred. " And," he adds, " at the present time
miracles are really even more necessary than at the doc-
trine's first appearance, now that a dead faith dominates
everywhere/*
To this Neander cannot forbear saying that it is easy
to see that Abelard is merely looking for arguments against
his opponents, since it is quite a different thing to require
miracles at the first appearance of the doctrine, and that
moreover a dead faith holds most of all to mirades.
Oh no, oh no, Abelard is right. Of course it requires
even more mirades to drag a people out of the deception
that they have the faith; for the terms of the fight and
the task are far more difficult than when Christianity has
to deal with paganism. And further, as to a dead faith
dinging most of all to mirades, that is only true of mirades
at an historical distance. A dead faith dares not have
anything to do with contemporary mkades.
Nov. 13. . . - No, instead of wishing, like the young
man, to tear away the veil from divinity, I wish to tear the
veil from human twaddle and from the conceited self*
complacency with which men try to convince themselves
and others that man really wants to know the truth.
1850
every man is more or less afraid of the truth; and that is
what is human, for truth is related to being "spirit"
and that is very hard for flesh and blood and the physical
lust for knowledge to bear. Between man and truth lies
mortification you see why we are all more or less afraid.
Epictetus
The thing I hold most against him is that one sees at
once that he was a slave. The frightful thought of know-
ing oneself to be a slave, and the question thus decided for
ever, put such a weight of despair upon him that he dis-
covered the pride of Stoicism.
But we were not brought up like that, we did not begin
with such terrors.
It is perfectly true that only terror to the point of
despair develops a man to his utmost though of course
many succumb during the cure; but it is also useful for a
man to be handled as roughly as all that
Even in the very first words of Epictetus : some things
are in our power, others are not in our power even there
I can already hear the slave; and thus understood those
cold words conceal a frightful passion; one hears the slave
sighing in chains, or one hears the sigh from the time when,
as a slave, he learnt that, learnt to make that distinction.
The distinction is correct, but the passion with which it
is made quite another matter.
There is no doubt that nowadays we are a lot of old
women compared with antiquity, and the misfortune no
doubt lies, to a great extent, in our not being effectually
unhappy the pressure from outside is so gentle and we
have not got character enough to make ourselves unhappy
but nevertheless character too can be bought too dear;
character can, in one sense, be bought at the cost of
character.
1850 203
. . . Lc Moine's book : La devotion aisee, comfortable
piety, Paris, 1652, a Jesuit Here sophistry and indulgence
are reduced to a system, and mediocrity is legitimised.
The whole book deserves to be quoted, for it is exactly
like the sermons now in use. And if one were to do so
without giving the title or saying that its author was a
Jesuit, the average run of parson would find it was true
Christianity.
... I too have a heart and I have tried to preserve it,
and therefore made every effort to keep it in the proper
place, so as not to have it on my lips at one moment, and
on my sleeve at the next, and never in the proper place,
and not to confuse having a heart with sentimental twaddle,
Has a man the right to talk to any other
man on the highest matters?
That one may talk to him about the weather I know
quite well.
But the other thought has occupied me my whole life
long, and to such an extent that I do not know whether
I ought to say : has a man the right etc. for at the same
moment I should really have broken that relation to God
which is silence.
There is a God; his will is made known to me in Holy
Scripture and in my conscience. This God wishes to inter-
vene in the world. But how is he to do so except with the
help of, i.e. per man? Now one can say, we can all say:
yes, that is of course what he does, but not per me : no
one of us wishes to be that individual; for if God is to inter-
vene in the world it must be through the individual.
And how does a man become that individual? Well,
unless he has to do with God alone, where the highest
matters are concerned, and says ; now I weigh the matter
204 1850
as best I can, act upon it that you, O God, may be able
to seize hold of me, and I therefore speak to nobody at
all, I dare not do so unless he does that he cannot be-
come the individual. The moment I talk to another man
about my highest concerns, of what God wills for me, in
that very moment God has less power over me. How many
are there who are able to grasp God's priority of claim on
a man, so that the permission to talk to another man
about one's highest concerns is an indulgence, a concession
which one must pray for, because no mere man can endure
being the individual absolutely.
Religion Politics
Everything depends upon "how" a thing is put into
practice, on the reduplication of the proposition in working
form in relation to the proposition : of that I am ever more
certain.
In fact one may say, in two words, that the difference
between politics and religion is that no politics wishes to
have anything to do with reduplication, for that it is too
busy, too earthly, too worldly.
For reduplication is the longest operation of all, is
really that of eternity.
When Luther introduced the idea of the Reformation,
what happened? Even he, the great reformer, became
impatient, he did not reduplicate strongly enough he
accepted the help of the princes, Le* he really became a
politician, to whom victory is more important than u how "
one is victorious; for religiously the one important thing
is the " how/* just because the religious person is infinitely
certain that he or Ms matter will be victorious, indeed that
it has already won he has therefore only to watch out for
the "how/ 3 i.e. to reduplicate.
1850 205
The Abolition of Confession
the joint action of priest and congregation. The con-
gregation were afraid of going to confession., the confes-
sional-box made it all too real. The priests were afraid
of hearing confession, it became much too serious a matter.
A change in the preaching of Christianity
answering to the position of the clergy
As long as the clergy were exalted, sacrosanct in the
eyes of men, Christianity continued to be preached in all
its severity. For even if the clergy did not take it too
strictly, people dared not argue with the clergy, and they
could quite well lay on the burden and dare to be severe.
But gradually, as the nimbus faded away, the clergy got
into the position of themselves being controlled. So there
was nothing to do but to water down Christianity, And so
they continued to water it down till in the end they
achieved perfect conformity with an ordinary worldly run
of ideas which were proclaimed as Christianity. That is
more or less Protestantism as it is now.
The good thing is that it is no longer possible to be
severe to others if one is not so towards oneself. Only
someone who is really strict with himself can dare now-
adays to proclaim CSbristianity in its severity, and even
then tilings may go badly for him.
i8 5 i
. . , Christianity, then, did not so much come in order
to develop heroic virtues in the individual as to take away
egoism, and put love in its place, " let us love one another."
Time and energy are used not in perfecting oneself up to
a certain maximum which can too easily become egoism
but in working for others.
... I have therefore always urged that Christianity is
really for the poor, who perhaps toil and moil the whole
day long and hardly get a living. The more advantages
the more difficult it is to become a Christian, for reflection
can so easily take a wrong turn.
It was always my wish to preach to the common man.
But when the vulgar press did everything in order to make
me seem mad in the eyes of the common man I was obliged
for a time to give up that wish, but I shall come back
to it again.
The meaning of my existence in the present time
Neither church, nor doctrine is to be reformed. If any-
thing is to be done then it is the reformation of us all.
That is what my existence expresses.
I am, humanly speaking, the most advanced existence
we have. And what have I learnt? That I hardly dare
call myself a Christian so how should I dare to wish to
reform the Church or concern myself with such things.
In the same way that other young men travel abroad
and then bring home news of the habits and customs of
foreign countries I too have lived abroad for many years,
in the company of ideals where it is such happiness to
be, where everything is gentle and mild, if only one is
unassuming and humble.
206
185* 207
. . . The doctrine of the established Church, its organisa-
tion, are both very good. Oh, but our lives believe me,
they are indeed wretched, . . ,
Just as one talks of being elf-shot so I should like to
say : wounded by ideas.
Grundtvig and I
Grundtvig came before the world with his probational
sermon : Why is the word of God gone from the House
of God?
I could never say a thing like that I should have to
say : why has the power gone from the preaching of the
word of God?
For in my opinion it is the word of God which is heard
about the country the misfortune simply is that we do
not follow it. Very little satisfies me, a few words from
the Bible is enough and I immediately ask myself : have
you done that?
That is why I can listen to any parson or lay preacher.
Almost from the beginning Grundtvig was reduced to
listening to nobody but himself. And that continual dwell-
ing upon Christianity as a doctrine, dogmas and then
that "universal history."
The proper tactics against tribulation
James iv, 7 : Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.
These are therefore the tactics. Not the reverse, not to
fly the devil; that can only be the tactics in temptation,
From which it may also be learnt that tribulation is a
whole quality above temptation. Humanly speaking it is
always a relief to know that there is the possibility of
1851
salvation in flying from danger. But where tribulation is
concerned that is not so. That is precisely what, for a
time, gives birth to new tribulation, because it will seem to
the one who is thus spiritually tried as though he had been
too sure of himself, as though he ought to have looked
about for a way of escape. This again is tribulation.
Spiritual tribulation can only be fought with the foolhardi-
ness of faith, which attacks directly. But in his weak
moments the believer grows afraid of the foolhardiness of
faith itself, as though perhaps it were to tempt God, which
once again is tribulation.
Rousseau
The fourth volume of his Confessions (Les promenades)
fa admirable, the fifth promenade aesthetically unequalled.
As for the rest, here is an example of what it means not
to be well read in Christianity.
There are analogies in Rousseau's life with the truly
Christian conflicts (to do good and suffer for it, to do good
and thereby make oneself and others unhappy). That is
what he cannot endure; he complains that it paralyses him
so terribly. How it would have strengthened him had it
been really dear to him that such is the properly Christian
conflict.
But as he is completely ignorant of Christianity he is
paralysed on the one hand, and on the other falls into the
conceit that he is the only man who has ever suffered in
this way.
The establishment and me
If I come into conflict with the establishment it will be
entirely Mynster*s fault* My whole endeavour is a defence
1851
of the established order, the only one that can honestly
be made. Everything has been done to make things as
gentle as possible for Mynster. But if he ends by obstinately
maintaining that all his questionable preaching of Chris-
tianity, which has made Christianity into a theatrical
amusement, is wisdom and Christianity, then it is he who
made my attitude into something different.
Religion Doubt
Official preaching has falsely represented religion,
Christianity, as nothing but consolation, happiness etc.
And consequently doubt has the advantage of being able
to say in a superior way : I do not wish to be made happy
by an illusion.
If Christianity were truthfully presented as suffering,
ever greater as one advances further in it ; doubt would
have been disarmed, and in any case there would have
been no opportunity for being superior where it was a
matter of avoiding pain.
Humanism
It is incredible how impertinently many people nowadays
urge the purely human as opposed to Christianity.
And what is it we now call u Humanism "? It is a
vaporised Christianity, a culture-consciousness, the dregs
of Christianity. . . . One ought to say to the humanists;
produce c< undiluted humanism " for the humanism we
now have is really Christianity^ though it wiU not own it;
but you cannot, with justice* call it yours in opposition 10
Christianity,
aio 1851
Mynster and I
Imagine for a moment a knot Some people wish to
untie it. That is what Mynster desires least of all Then
along I come and say : just let me pull the knot a little
tighter. But no, he is also afraid of that, nobody must
touch it, and that in spite of the fact that it is so loose
that it cannot hold together unless it is tightened*
Socrates's way of life
. . . Now if Socrates had had to live the life of an ascetic,
alone in the country, it is doubtful whether he could have
endured it.
Precisely because he stopped at the infinite negative
he had to be among crowds, needed men, for ever new
men, like a fisherman fish, in order to make his experiments
on them.
That filled his life, perfectly true, but one might also
ask whether he did not use it in order to fill his life.
I began with the socratic method; but I nevertheless
recognised my inferiority profoundly, for I had means and,
to that extent, a great help towards independence from
others. In so far as I now strive to attract people more
directly towards me or towards the Idea, I look upon it
as an abatement, in a sense an accommodation, but also
as a movement in the direction of Christianity. In the
meantime I do not talk nonsense and say that my method
is superior to the socratic. No, no; besides, it does not
tend towards the socratic method but towards proclaiming
grace, though of course infinitely lower than the apostolic.
1852
"The Don**
Jan. In the early days of antiquity the philosopher was
a power, moral power, character the empire safeguarded
itself by recompensing them, by making them into " dons. 11
The same thing is true of Christianity.
The don is the eunuch; but he has not emasculated him-
self for the sake of the Kingdom of Heaven, but on the
contrary, in order to fit better into this characterless world
The Annunciation
Theme: That the Angel chose the right person be-
cause Mary chose rightly.
Certainly, she was the chosen one, and so decidedly so
that she was chosen. But there is also another factor, free-
ddm and the moment of choice, where we see that such a
one is the right one. Had the angel not found her as he
did find her, she would not have been the right one.
She said : Behold, the handmaid of the Lord, be it done
to me according to thy word*
We are so accustomed to hear this that we easily over-
look its meaning, and even imagine that we should have
made the same answer under similar circumstance.
Let us consider what she might oh, much more
naturally have replied. It is profitable for us to consider
this matter in other terms than those of a pious fear of
God, which not unbeautifuUy decorates the situation with
its emotions, and for example dwells on the fact that when
the angel had spoken to Mary the whole creation (ailed
out to Mary : say yes* only hasten to say yes etc. . .
212
She could then yes, she could have smiled, Hke Sarah
there was just as good cause. And If she could not have
smiled then she might have felt ashamed at the words
addressed to her, and rejected therp.
Or she might have said : this is too much above me, it
is beyond me, spare me, it is beyond my strength. And
it is clear that the angel thought it beyond her strength :
therefore the strength of the Holy Ghost shall overshadow
her. All that is very well, but it is precisely this believing
and being nothing, a mere instrument which is more
difficult than anything a man can possibly attempt
Cupid and Psyche
Only to-day I was reading the story in Apuleius. The
fourth test which Venus sets Psyche is to fetch the casket
from Proserpine and the dangers besetting the road con-
sist in a large measure of meeting such sights and objects
as will move her to compassion and so hold her up, and
back.
This is something I have also noticed in other myths,
that in relation to the Exceptional, what one would have
to call in Greek, the divine risk, that which holds one back,
or tempts one to remain behind is compassion.
That is perfectly right. For dangers and everything
belonging thereto frighten the ordinary man back. But
then there are the courageous ones. They are not frightened
by dangers and the like. And so the trial is in the sense
of compassion. And it is precisely the courageous who axe
normally inclined to show most compassion towards others.
The ordinary man would not perhaps let himself be held
back by compassion, if he himself only had the courage to
go to meet the dangers; but it is the courageous who are
weakest where showing compassion is concerned.
213
Pascal
Who in modern times has been used so much by parsons
and professors as Pascal? His ideas are appropriated but
Pascal's asceticism and his hair-shirt are omitted; or else
they are explained away as the hallmark of his day which
no longer concerns us. Brilliant! Pascal was original in
every other respect only not in this.
But was asceticism really so general in his day, or had it
not been done away with long ago, so that it was for
Pascal to reassert its rights in face of the whole age ?
Everywhere it is the same; everywhere that infamous
and disgusting cannibalism whereby (just as Heliogabalus
ate ostrich brains) men eat the ideas, opinions, expressions,
and moods of the dead but as for their lives and charac-
ters; no thank you, they will have none of that.
My Uftfs course
In frightful inner suffering I became an author.
And so I was an author year after year, I suffered too
for the idea, in addition to what I suffered within me.
Then came 1848. That helped. There came a moment
when overcome with blessedness I dared say to my-
self : I have understood the highest* In truth, that is not
given to many in every generation.
But almost at the same time something new rushed upon
me : the highest of all is not to understand the highest but
to act upon it.
I had certainly been aware of that from the vary be-
ginning, and I am therefore something other than an author
in the ordinary sense. But what I was not so dearly aware
of was that, by having means and being independent, it
214
was easier for me to give existential expression to what I
had understood.
When I understood this I was ready to declare myself
a poet, namely because I have had means, which has made
action easier for me than for others.
But it all comes to this, that the highest is not to under-
stand the highest, but to act upon it, and be it noted, with
all stress upon it. Then I understood properly for the
first time that " Grace " must be introduced or else men are
stifled just as they are about to begin. But " Grace " must
not be introduced in order to hinder endeavour, no, it
comes again in the form : the highest is not to understand
the highest but to act upon it
The difficulty with our age
June 4. The fact that enthusiasm lies beyond ** reason,"
that is the goal of the struggle.
But oh, for the man who has to awaken that enthusiasm
there can be no question of being understood in his own
age. Everywhere nothing but these half-experienced, blase,
individualities, who when quite young had a dash of
enthusiasm, but who when still almost as young became
reasonable. They are so far from allowing themselves to
be carried away that on the contrary they immediately
supply an envious opposition, and instead of taking part
think they ought simply to "observe" the enthusiastic
person, hoping that it will culminate in his either becom-
ing reasonable or ending badly.
Have you seen a boat aground in the mud, it is almost
impossible to float it again because it is impossible to punt,
no punt-pole can touch bottom so that one can push against
it. And so the whole generation is stuck in the mud banks
of reason; and no one grieves over it, there is only self-
satisfaction and conceit, which always follow on reason and
1852 215
the sins of reason. Oh, the sins of passion and of the hearty
how much nearer to salvation than the sins of reason*
About myself
June 19. Understanding myself to be fundamentally
different from others, also with a thorn in the flesh, I be-
came an author in great inner suffering.
Thus I had held out year after year in spite of suffering,
and in spite of the new sufferings : a rabble's persecution :
I can never thank God enough for what has been done for
me.
Then came 1848. I was lifted up to a height which I
had never before known, and perfectly understood myself in
what had gone before, and the past. So I understood my
task to be, or I thought of it in this way : to give myself
entirely in a pure intellectual enthusiasm to die task of
making it dear what Christianity is yet without defining
unconditionally my relation to Christianity, on the other
hand to endure everything for the idea in intellectual
enthusiasm.
That is how I understand it and myself in my difference.
I wished to go into the country in order to- stress it even
more clearly.
However, that did not happen at once, a suspicion awoke
in me, and my worries began. Whether, the first time the
cares of life grew really serious, whether I should not regret
having so decisively missed the possibility, which always
remained to me, of getting a position in the Church.
Whether it was warrantable both in regard to the Churdh
and mankind^ whether I could not whip things up so that
I became the stumbling-block for Christianity. Thai the
thought of her awoke again strongly in me. . . *
"From the moment I gave up the idea of going into the
country I suffered greatly and in ways which I have never
185*
otherwise known : cares and misfortunes in all the small
things of life, all of which has been increased by financial
anxieties. I have certainly prayed for some time past for
education, and those particular cares grew greater after
that time. But I have certainly developed.
And now I have returned to the point I was at in
but with a higher understanding. Once again I have been
strongly reminded of my difference, and reminded of what
I had almost forgotten, that I cannot take ecclesiastical
office* Ordination is an obstacle to me. Moreover my
idea was rather to get a position at a seminary. And so
I understand myself in being different On the other hand
I have a direct relation to Christianity so that what I
may suffer in the future does not belong under the rubric
of intellectual enthusiasm for the question " what is Chris-
tianity" (that was how I understood my task in 1848),
but under that of suffering for the doctrine, so that in
bearing it I have the direct support of Christianity. . . .
It is the * 4 imitation of Christ " that must now be intro-
duced and I must be what I am, in being different from
others. O my God, it was thou who didst hold thy hand
over me so that in the long hours of anguish I should not
go and take a step in the direction of becoming like others
and thereby becoming guilty of procuring an abortion (to
use the strong expression employed in one of the Journals
of that date, to describe what I then feared), and further-
more embroiling myself in something which in time I
should have discovered to hold nothing but worry, be-
cause I am not at home in it, and finally should incur a
protest when I come into eternity.
The * c imitation ** must be introduced. But without
authority* that is and remains my category.
That has moreover happened^ for in On my work as an
1852 217
author and In the preface to Two Discourses at communion
service and later In For Self -examination I declare myself
to be a poet.
For " Grace " Is the decisive point, but the " Imitation *'
must be introduced; but I am not anxious about my ability
or about others, therefore I am only " a poet **; yet my life
has already expressed for more than being a poet, and
expresses more if I remain different
The polemical craft which is my natural characteristic
and is inseparable from my very being Is here again in
place. For how Ironical there are 1000 parsons, Le.
teachers (which is something far higher than being merely
a poet) and I am only a poet
O my God, how clearly It now all stands out before me,
how endlessly much has already been done for me. It Is
not difference that I must pray myself out of, that is not
the task, but alas, I shall never know security, which con-
sists In being like others. No, I remain different There I
remain with thee and verily I know Its happiness; the
only thing that has made me anxious was the thought that
possibly the task was another, namely that I should escape
from that unlikeness, a thought which may very well have
been prompted by the wish to make my life secure.
So I also feel courage and happiness not indeed with
an ebullient joy as in 1848; but then anxiety for my liveli-
hood was more remote if I were free from that at the
present moment I should once again rejoice, for otherwise
everything is welL However, I have suffered so very much
in the past year and had to consider everything so seriously
that doubtless I am a good deal changed,
But even with the financial anxieties 1 have, and some
idea of what I, with my knowledge of the world, can
foresee of the rumpus which will ensue* I feet peaceful and
happy, perhaps more definitely so and with a more tranquil
confidence than in 1848.
2i8 1852
Conservatism
What may be explained as a result of something ethical
in a man may also find its explanation in a paramount love
of pleasure : the desire to retain the old, the established.
It is the very man whose one intention is to enjoy life,
and make a brilliant worldly career, to whom it may be of
the greatest importance that there should be no disturbances
where religion is concerned. Once the " spirit " begins to
move, life becomes unsettled, and one cannot concentrate
properly on making a career. That is why it is so impor-
tant that it should be kept as it is, that religion should
be taken over exactly as it was transmitted by the last
generation, with at the most a few little modifications. For
epicureanism always retains something of the old epicurean
saying ; nil beatum nisi quietum*
Marcus Auretius Epictetus
How insignificant Marcus Aurelius's works are compared
with those of Epictetus ! There is nothing real about him,
he is almost affected, like a don. But a slave his works
have style and the nobility of stoicism, where truth is the
only way out. Marcus Aurelius helped himself along in a
lot of little ways by being Emperor.
The **in~and-for-itself" and my task
With the N.T. before Dae I ask myself the following
question : how do we men, nowadays, stand in relation to
tie whole view of life expressed in the N.T*; has there
not, by comparison with it, been a whole qualitative change
in die race, and what it means to be a man?
1852
Yes there has, and nothing is easier to see.
Where does die change He? It is that the a m-and~for-
itself," the absolute, has gone out of life, and reason has
been put in its place so that the * c in-and-for-itself," the
absolute, has not only gone out of life, but has become
something ridiculous in the eyes of men, a comic exaggera-
tion, something quixotic which one would laugh at were one
to come across it, though one never does see it because it
has gone out of life.
The " in-and-for-itself " and reason are related to one
another inversely; where the one is the other is not. When
reason has completely penetrated all relationships and
everything the " in-and-for-itself " will have disappeared
entirely from life.
That is more or less where we stand now. Reason is
everywhere : instead of love a manage de conwnance>
instead of unconditional obedience obedience as a result
of reasoning, instead of faith reasonable knowledge, in-
stead of confidence guarantees, instead of daring pro-
bability, clever calculation, instead of action events,
instead of "the individual" several people, instead of
personality impersonal objectivity etc.
But the N.T* presents the " in-and-for-itself," simply and
solely, and nothing else; and so I ask : what does it mean
when we continue to behave as though all were as it
should be, calling ourselves Christians according to the
N.T., when the nerve of the N.T. the IC in-and-f or-itself "
has gone out of life?
The tremendous disproportion which this state of affairs
represents has, moreover, been perceived by many. They
like to give it this turn : the race has outgrown Christianity,
I think the very reverse : the race has gone backwards
(or is a mariqge de conveyance even though there wore
170,000 of the choicest reasons for it; not a step bade as
compared to a love match), the kind of men Christianity
has in mind no longer exist; on the average the human
220 1852
race has progressed, but there are no more individuals
who could bear Christianity. That in my opinion is where
we stand. And again it is my belief that the race must
go through reason to the absolute.
Goethe as the representative of modern characterlessness
the sins of reason more frightful than other sins.
. . . Now take a richly gifted, egoistical nature with a
strong desire to enjoy life. He is at the same time too gifted
and too highly developed intellectually not to see that
without ideas and ideals, and some relation to them, life
becomes all too insignificant
But at the same time he is a complete egoist and sensibly
egoistic. So what does he do? He distinguishes. With the
help of his imagination he is related to all that is noble,
good, unselfish, elevated and it gives him exquisite
pleasure; as he knows well enough. . . . Poetically, then,
he seizes hold of the ethical ideal, poetically he exhausts
himself but he is clever where his worldly profit is con-
cerned, and is not such a fool as to step forward in the
role of goodness. How charming ! There is a double profit :
first of all the direct worldly profit which one gains by being
an egoist; and then the appearance of nobility which the
poetic works cast over him.
Preaching of the Gospel
Parson : Thou shalt die unto the world. The fee is one
guinea.
Neophyte : Well, if I must die unto the world I quite
understand that I shall have to fork out more than one
guinea; but just one question : Who gets tHe guinea?
Parson : Naturally I get it, it is my living, for I and my
family have to live by preaching that one must die unto
the world. It is really very cheap > and soon we shall have
to ask for considerably more. If you are reasonable you
will easily understand that to preach that one must die
unto the world, if it is done seriously and with zeal, takes
a lot out of a man. And so I really have to spend the
summer in the country with my family to get some
recreation.
Goff s guidance
Originally I was in possession of the outward require-
ments for the enjoyment of life; and within me, that is
all too certain, there was desire enough to enjoy life but
there was given to me a thorn in the flesh, a cross : and I
could not really succeed in enjoying life.
Then, as the conditions for enjoying life began to dis-
appear, and financial worries came upon me:, it occurred
to me that it might be possible for the thorn in the flesh
to be taken from me. I would then have been able to
put the abilities and gifts granted me to my own use, and
humanly speaking I should certainly have secured, by
acquisition, the conditions for enjoying life, and so all the
same have succeeded in enjoying life. , . .
And now things begin to happen as I expected. That
thorn in the flesh will perhaps be taken from ma; but by
then I shall no longer be in possession of the requirements
necessary for enjoying life, and I will be so tried in suffering
and so far out, that I shall have cut myself off from all possi-
bility of acquiring the conditions.
So perhaps there will be still one more course left for m
to go through. Hie thorn in the flesh will be taken from
me and then suddenly all the requirements for enjoying
life will be offered to me, almost forced upon me. And
222 1852
then the task will perhaps be for me to be so dead to the
world, so mature a spirit, as to have the strength to say
freely : no, I will not accept them.
And so in the end I shall never enjoy life. Oh, my God,
that was certainly my qualification; you had something far
better for me than that I should waste my life in enjoyment
and repent through all eternity.
But at first I could not understand that and could not
do it, and so force had to be used, just as one puts splints
on a broken leg. The education consisted in leading me
to being able to do freely what at first I had to be com-
pelled to do.
... I cannot possibly make it clear enough that the
Exceptional has nothing whatsoever to do with ethics;
ethically there is nothing exceptional, for the highest is
quite simply what is demanded. . , . The " Exceptional "
has nothing to do with ethically fulfilling what is demanded,
but is a particular relation to God
Renunciation as it is commonly understood appeared to
me to be an attempt to make God out a foolish pedant,
and the rektion of God to man always petty and
mean. And that did not appeal to me. But the real
situation is entirely different; for renunciation, yes, the
delight of renunciation, is simply a lover's understanding
with God. So far as I am concerned, truth obliges me to
admit that it was God who gave me the hint. I had not
dreamed of it, neither had I believed myself capable of it.
But it was as though God had whispered the secret to me :
Renunciation is a higher relation to God, it is really a
love-relationship : and for me at least an enchantment was
spread over renunciation I have never been so enchanted.
That thought I have loved like my very life I was on
the point of reconciling myself to the notion that I must
give it up, that it was my duty to submit to the humiliation
1852 223
of giving it up because I could no longer afford to live for
it
Now O, blessed fortune ! I am again restored to this
thought of mine, but in a far higher sense. It seems as if
God said to me : My little friend, I who am love would
find the greatest joy in using an expedient to make you
independent again; but then your cause will not go forward,
then you will not learn to love me in a higher sense. You
are now so far developed that, were I to bestow riches upon
you, I should almost have to be angry with you if you
did not instantly give them back, saying: No, under the
circumstances, I dare not Surely you are too developed
not to recognise how unseemly it is to preach the blessed-
ness of doing without while living in opulence, too de-
veloped to help yourself out by saying, what it will always
be a good thing that you had the honesty to say, that you
are only a poet. And so it is; even though humanly speak-
ing I can be said to have been something more than a poet
September 10
And so it is 12 years ago to-day that I got engaged
" She," naturally, did not fail to meet me, . . . She looked
at me to-day : but she did not bow to me, nor did she talk
to me. Oh, perhaps she expected me to do so. My God,
how I should like to do so, and do everything for her.
But I dare not take the responsibility : she must ask for
it herself.
Yet I should have liked it this year; and moreover It
is painful to keep something at breaking point like this,
year after year.
However, it was well that nothing happened. For there
is always the possibility that the effect upon me might
have been such that in order to bedeck her with celebrity I
might have been tempted to strive for success from a
224
worldly point of view, and make a sort of success in the
world.
For that very reason I was profoundly impressed by the
fact that to-day everything went, or passed off quietly.
I was profoundly and vividly reminded that she has not,
after all, the first place in my life. No, no, humanly speak-
ing certainly and how willingly would I not prove it, she
has and shall have the first place in my life but God
has the first place. My engagement to her and the break
are really my relation to God, they are, if I may say so,
divinely speaking, my engagement with God
And so September 10 is the anniversary of my engage-
ment; so understood that I remembered it in solitude
oh, and perhaps I was urged on to be reminded of this,
to be reminded not to go and become a Sophist, making a
success in the world by preaching that it is blessed to suffer,
a Sophist who though he does not really enjoy life himself
might yet be delighted by enjoying a woman's pleasure at
celebrity shining upon her.
Perhaps she will meet me to-morrow and will ask for it
herself, perhaps the day after to-morrow, perhaps in a
year's time I shall be willing enough. But oh, the fact
that nothing happened to-day of all days was such a
valuable lesson.
I might perhaps have misunderstood it as a hint from
God in the sense of wishing to enjoy life, a temporal vic-
tory and so I should have disturbed the spirit, but per-
liaps only at the hour of death would I have become aware
that I had taken a wrong turning.
My Prayer
There was a time it came so naturally, It was child-
like when I believed that God's love also expressed itself
by sending earthly "good gifts/ 9 happiness, prosperity.
How foolhardy my soul was in desiring, and daring for
this is how I thought of it : one must not make the all-
powerful petty; I prayed for everything, even the most
foolhardy things, yet one thing excepted, exemption from
the deep suffering beneath which I have suffered from my
earliest days, but which I understood as belonging to my
relation to God. But as for the rest, I should have dared
anything. And when (for the suffering was simply the
Exceptional), everything succeeded, how rich my soul was
in thankfulness, so happy in giving thanks, for I was
convinced that God's love could express itself by sending
the good gifts of the earth.
Now it is otherwise. How did that happen? Quite
simply, but little by little Little by little I noticed in-
creasingly that all those whom God really loved, the
examples etc. had all had to suffer in this world. FurthoD-
more, that that is the teaching of Christianity : to be loved
by God and to love God is to suffer.
But if that were so then I dared not pray for good for-
tune and success because it was as though I were to beg at
the same time : will you not, O God, cease loving me and
allow me to stop loving you. When a desire awoke in me
and I wished to pray, all my former burning inwardness
was blown away; for it was as though God looked upon me
and said : little child, think carefully what you are dmn^
do you wish me not to love you, and do you wish to be
excused from loving me?
226 1 853
On the other hand, to pray directly for suffering
appeared to me too exalted, and it also seemed to me that
it might easily be presumptuous, and that God might grow
angry at my perhaps wishing to defy him.
For a long time my prayer has therefore been different,
it is really a silent surrendering of everything to God, be-
cause it is not quite plain to me how I should pray.
I am brought to a stop by that difficulty. And yet the
question presents still another difficulty. For even if I
were really frank enough to grasp that to be loved by
God, and to love God, is to suffer, for which after all I
was disposed by nature, I who from my earliest days
believed I was marked out for suffering what of other
men? That is how I had understood my life from this point
of view. Now, for better or for worse, I live in the isolated
cabin of melancholy though I may rejoice at the sight of
other people's joy and may sanction it from a Christian
point of view. To be loved by a woman, to live happily
married, to enjoy life well, that has been denied me; but
when I step forth from my isolated cabin I may rejoice to
see the good fortunes of others, may strengthen them in
the conviction that God is pleased at their joy in life. To
be strong and healthy, a complete man with the expecta-
tion of a long life well, that was never granted me. But
when I step forth from my lonely suffering I come out
among happy people; I thought I might have the melan-
choly joy of confirming them in their enjoyment of life.
Oh, but if I have to preach mortification, and that to be
loved by God and to love God is to suffer, then I have
to disturb others in their happiness. I cannot have the
melancholy joy of rejoicing in their joy, the melancholy
love of thus being loved by them.
And consequently I am brought to a stop by that diffi-
culty. If anyone can prove to me from Holy Scripture
that to be loved by God and to love God is compatible
with enjoying this life: I shall accept this interpretation
1853
from God's Hand with unspeakable thankfulness, happy on
my own account but also on account of others, for I under-
stand only too well what comes so naturally to man. If
anyone can make that plain to me from the New Testa-
ment : then the position of my cause, if I may so express
it, would be so brilliant at that moment that with a little
worldly wisdom and confidence in God it would be sure
to be victorious in this world. Aber, aber, my soul is sus-
picious of earthly enjoyment and worldly victories. That
is why I dare not use worldly wisdom I am almost afraid
of winning a temporal victory; for, from a Christian point
of view, to be loved by God and to love God is to suffer,
In any case, in order to have confidence in God for I
cannot combine confidence in God and worldly wisdom in
such a way as to use wordly wisdom with confidence in
God I must have the frankness not to use worldly wisdom,
and if I am victorious temporally, I must be able to say
honestly : it was God's will, I attribute it to him by re-
nouncing the use of worldly wisdom. . . ,
However, as I have said, I am held up by this difficulty;
as yet I dare not decide absolutely whether God might
not wish me to be victorious in the world, whether it is not
only true of the chosen ones that to be loved by God is
to suffer, whereas like men in general I am excepted there-
from, but then too have not so dose a relation to God;
I am not yet strong enough to pray for suffering.
But I am brought to a standstill, and resigning myself
silently to God I await a nearer understanding. It is so
infinitely high, this : to be loved by God and to love God
is to suffer oh, and nothing, nothing makes me so afraid
as the thought of approaching too near to God uncalled.
. . . And so with the models, the glorious ones, the chosen
of God; but this is precisely the difficulty with ** Christen-
dom,** that there, on a frightful scale, people have made
it only too easy for themselves to rid themselves of the
chosen ones, to manoeuvre them out of the way, to pre-
228 1853
some that everything strict in the New Testament is said
to the Apostles in particular. The question is whether the
New Testament recognises any kind of Christian other
than the ** disciple." For the humility which does not desire
to be an apostle or a disciple oh, it can be such a swindle :
to wish to be freed from the apostles 5 suffering and then,
as usual in this human thieves' slang, lyingly call it humility
and gain two advantages : to be freed from suffering and to
be honoured as suffering. Not to desire the gifts of an
apostle yes, that may be all right, that is humility; but
that it should be <c humility not to desire bis sufferings/' no,
that ends in hypocrisy.
My task. About myself
Feb. 13, 1853. One phase of asceticism, however, may
well be considered as over, though not, be it noted, in such
a way that subsequent ages do not require to have it
inculcated again and again, and in any case how they
stand in need of M grace." But in the history of the human
race, or of Christianity one phase may be looked upon as
finished. First of all Christianity had to fight against
violent and wild passions and in that respect educate man-
Mnd with what in the strictest sense of the word must be
called asceticism.
The fruit of this education is to have produced a Chris-
tian culture and civilisation.
To reintroduce asceticism, and consequently in a
heightened form, upon the basis of this Christian culture
and civilisation is a very nice point* In any case I do not
look upon that as my task.
On the other hand this culture and civilisation has at
the same time produced a development of rational under-
standing which is in the process of identifying being a
Christian with culture, and with intelligence, desirous of
a conceptual understanding of Christianity.
* 853
This is where the struggle must come, and will be fought
in the future. It will be a question of establishing the
validity of Christianity's incommensurability in this res-
pect, of keeping open the possibility of scandal, in short it
will be a question of scandal and asceticism in this con-
nection while asceticism in the earlier sense will also have
to be introduced in order to maintain the balance and in-
culcate the need of grace.
Grace in the first place
This is true even where the objective, the sacraments,
the word is concerned.
Communion for instance. Now if I think of wishing to
go to communion : well, I admit that up to the present I
have never succeeded in going worthily to communion.
This I repent, grace is offered me, this is grace in the
second place, grace from behind, in relation to what is
already past
But now I am to go to communion again am I now
worthy? dare I now say that I am worthy? And this
might after all be demanded of me in thanksgiving for the
grace I have received in the past.
There we have it! The sacrament promises and
strengthens me in grace, but I must have grace in order to
dare to use the sacrament* It cannot be otherwise, unless I
have an immediate relation to God and he says to zne:
to-day at four o'clock you shall receive coznmunkm for
then I have no responsibility. . * .
What I have desired
March 25* As I can now see it. Goad Friday*
There is one thought which has been in my soul and
occupied it from my earliest years, inexplicably deeply
230 1 853
rooted, a thought which has to do with Socrates as a model,
the man to whom I have been inexplicably related from
my earliest years, long before I really began to read Plato
the thought : how is it that all those who have in truth
served the truth have always come out of it badly in this
life, as long as they lived, and as soon as they are dead,
then they are deified?
The explanation is quite simple : the mass of mankind
can only relate itself to ideas, the good, the true, through
the imagination. But a dead man is at a distance, in the
imagination. But on the other hand they cannot endure
the living who give them reality, they are scandalised by
them, put them to death, tread them down, . . *
About myself
Oct. 13. In all that I have noted about myself in the
Journals of 1848 and 1849 something of the literary side
often slipped in. It is not so easy to keep all that kind of
thing apart when one is poetically productive to the degree
that I am. It happens the moment I take pen in hand. For
strangely enough, deep within me I am quite otherwise
clear cut about myself. But as soon as I want to note it
down I immediately become productive. In the same way,
and that too is extraordinary enough, I have no desire to
note down the religious impressions, thoughts, expressions as
I use them myself, they are, as it were, too important for
that Of those I only have a few but I have produced
masses. And only when a word like that is, so to say, used
up can it occur to me to note it down or let it become
part of the productivity.
1854
Bishop
March i, 1854* So now he is dead.
If only it had been possible to persuade him to end his
life with the admission that what he represented was Dot
really Christianity, but a mitigation of it: that would
have been most desirable, for he carried a whole age along
with him.
The possibility of this admission had therefore to be kept
open to the last, to the very last, lest he should perhaps
make it dying. Therefore he had never to be attacked;
and I had to submit to everything, even when he did such
desperate things as In the case of Goidschmidt, for no one
could tell whether it would not have an effect upon him
and so move him to make the admission.
Dead without having made that admission, everything
is altered; now it merely remains that his preaching har-
dened Christianity into a deception.
The situation is also changed as regards my melancholy
devotion to my father's priest; for it would be too much of
a good thing if I could not talk about him more freely
even after his death, however well I know that my old
devotion to him and my aesthetic admiration wil always
continue to be attractive to me.
Originally I wanted to transform my whole thing into
a triumph for Mynster. Later, as I understood it more
clearly, my wish remained unchanged, but I had to re-
quire this one little admission, though not for my sake and
J Dicd January 30, 1854* Tt*e Journal (NIP*) brta&s off cm Nov. 0,
1853. Mter a silence of four months, which not even Mynwer'i death
caused Mm toiatcmipt, it begins again with tlweatry,
231
232 1 854
therefore, so I thought, it could perfectly well be done
in such a way as to become a triumph for Bishop
Mynster. . . .
And yet it almost came to a point where I thought I
should have to attack him. I only missed one of his ser-
mons, that was the last; I was not prevented by illness,
on the contrary, I went to hear Kolthorf. To me that
meant: it must happen now, you must break with your
father's tradition : that was the last time Mynster preached.
God be praised, surely that is very like providence.
If Bishop Mynster could have given in (which could have
been concealed from everyone, and to them it would thus
have become his triumph) then my outward position would
have been made easier; for Bishop Mynster, who at the
bottom of his heart certainly made me certain spiritual
concessions, reckoned cleverly from a worldly point of view
that in the end I should have to give way to him in one
way or another, because I could not compete with him
financially. An expression which he often used in conversa-
tion with me was very instructive : it is not a question of
who has most strength, but who can last longest
God's Majesty the only thing which interests him
is obedience
It is so easy to see that one to whom everything is equally
important and equally insignificant can only be interested
in one thing : obedience.
Lutheranism
Lutheranism is a corrective but a corrective made into
the norm, the whole, is eo ipso confusing in the next genera-
tion (when that which it was meant to correct no longer
l8 54
exists). And as long as this continues things get worse
with every generation, until in the end the corrective pro-
duces the exact opposite of what was originally intended
And such, moreover, is the case. Taken by itself, as
the whole of Christianity, the Lutheran corrective pro-
duces the most subtle type of worldliness and paganism.
( Yea, a sword shall pierce through thy omit soul aha **
Luke 2. 34, 35. Coming as an interpolation, in con-
junction with the words about Christ being a sign which
shall reveal the thoughts of many hearts, these words must
not only be understood to refer to the pain at the sight of
the Son's death, they must be understood to mean that the
moment, the moment of pain and agony will come for her
when she will at the sight of the Son's suffering doubt
whether the whole thing was not imagination, a deceit,
the whole story of Gabriel being sent by God t announce
to her that she was the chosen one*
Just as Christ cried out : my God, my God, why hast
thou forsaken me in the same way the Virgin Mary had
to suffer something which humanly corresponded to it.
A sword shall pierce through thy own soul and reveal
the thoughts of the heart, yours also, whether you dare
still believe, are still humble enough to believe, that you
are in truth the chosen among women, she who found grace
in the sight of God.
Oh, Luther
Luther; your responsibility is great indeed, for the closer
I look the more clearly do I see that you overthrew tbe
Pope and set the public on the throne.
234
About myself
Among those who have been ordered out extraordinarily
by providence not a few have had greater abilities, and
greater learning, all perhaps greater zeal and ardour
but none, none has had a more difficult task, in all Chris-
tendom none.
To battle against princes and popes and the nearer we
come to our own times the truer this is is easy compared
with struggling against the masses, the tyranny of equality,
against the grin of shallowness, nonsense, baseness and
bestiality.
Outside Christianity Socrates stands alone noble, simple
and wise, you were indeed a true reformer.
On Arthur Schopenhauer
A.S.* is unquestionably an important writer, he has inter-
ested me very much and I am astonished to find an author
who, in spite of complete disagreement, touches me at so
many points.
I have two objections in particular to his ethic.
His ethical point of view is : the individual succeeds in
seeing through the wretchedness of this existence either
through the intellect, and consequently intellectually, or
through suffering (SevTspos TrAous), and then decides to
deaden or mortify the joy of life; this is where asceticism
comes in; and so, as a result of complete asceticism we
reach contemplation, quietism. And this the individual
does out of sympathy (here we find AJS.'s moral principle),
*Curiously enough I am called SA. and we probably
stand in an inverse relation to one another.
1854
out of sympathy, because he sympathises with aU the
misery, which is existence, and consequently sympathises
with the misery of others, which is to exist
Against this I would urge : that I am almost tempted to
reverse everything, also be it noted out of sympathy. Now
whether a man reaches asceticism as a result of a pro-
foundly personal intellectuality, because he sees through
the misery of everything, or better still the misery of exist-
ing, or whether he is brought by suffering to the point
where it is relief to let the whole thing come to a rupture*
to a break with everything, with life itself, Le. with the
joy of life (asceticism, mortification), and where all the
small and ever new miseries are concerned this may bring
much relief, like breaking into a sweat compared with the
painful heat one endures when one cannot begin sweating :
in each case I should reverse the question; might it not be
that it is this very sympathy which should hold him back,
prevent his going so far, sympathy with all the thousands
and thousands who cannot possibly follow him, thousands
upon thousands who live in the happy illusion that life is
pleasure and whom he would therefore merely disturb and
make unhappy without being able to help than up to his
level. Cannot sympathy also put the question in that way,
though I readily admit it easily conceals a swindle, by not
daring to go to the bitter end itself, and so merely gives
the appearance of sympathy?
Secondly, and this is the main objection, After reading
through A.S/S Ethic one learns naturally he is to that
extent honest that he himself is not an ascetic. And con-
sequently he himself has not reached contemplation through
asceticism, but only a contemplation which contemplates
asceticism.
This is extremely suspicious, and may even conceal the
most terrible and corrupting voluptuous melancholy, item :
a profound misanthropy. In this too it is suspicious, for it
is always suspicious to propound an ethic which does not
236 1854
exert so much power over the teacher that he himself
expresses it.
A.S. makes ethics into genius but that is of course an
unethical conception of ethics. He makes ethics into genius,
and although he prides himself quite enough on being a
genius it has not pleased him, or nature has not allowed
him, to become a genius where asceticism and mortification
are concerned.
Here I come to a point which S. scornfully dismisses,
namely this : Thou shalt, item : eternal punishment etc.
The question is whether that kind of asceticism and mortifi-
cation is really possible for a man if he does not respect
the " Thou shalt," and is not determined by the motive of
eternity, not by genius however, but ethically. S. who
really gives up Christianity always praises Indian Brah-
minism. But those ascetics, this he must himself admit,
are determined by considerations of eternity, religiously,
not by genius; it is put to them as a religious duty.
As I have said, A.S. interests me very much. And so
of course does his fate in Germany.
S. has quite rightly learnt and felt that (like the parsons
in religion) there is a class of men in philosophy who under
the guise of teaching philosophy live by it ... S. sees quite
rightly that these respected gentlemen are the dons: On
this point his rudeness is unsurpassed.
But here we have it again; S. is not a character, not a
moral character, not a Greek philosopher in character, still
less a Christian police-officiaL
If I could talk with him I am sure he would shudder or
laugh if I were to show him the standard.
S. has seen quite rightly that this donnish meanness
consists mainly in using one method ; ignoring whatever is
* 8 54
not of the faculty. S. Is reaUy charming, admirable and
unequalled in effective rudeness.
But then look how S. lives ! He lives a retired life and
once in a while sends forth a thunderbolt of rudeness
which is ignored. There we have it
No, tackle the problem differently. Go to Berlin, force all
those swindlers down into the street, endure being famous,
known to everyone. Endure personally a sort of intercourse
and understanding with the rascals so that people see one
together in the street, and so that if possible everyone knows
that they know each other. That is how to undermine
their mean way of fl ignoring." That is what I have done,
on a smaller terrain certainly, here in Copenhagen ; they
have been made fools of for aH their " ignoring ** . . .
But A.S, is quite different; in that respect he is not a bit
like S.A. He is, after all, a German thinker, hipped on
recognition. To me it is inconceivable that a brain like
S., a capital writer into the bargain, can be so unironical
where character is concerned (for stylistically he has a lot of
it), so wanting in lightness of touch and superiority.
There can be no doubt that the position in Germany is
this, that it is easy to see because all the literary gossips,
journalists and authorlings have begun to busy themselves
with S. that he is now to be dragged forward on the scene
and proclaimed. And I bet 100 to i he will be awfully
glad; it does not even occur to him to keep the scum down,
no, he will be delighted.
That is surely inexplicable. Representing, and with so
much talent, such a imsanthrapic point of view as he does,
he is then extremely happy, really seriously happy that the
Gesettschaft der Wissenschaften in Trondhjem (Good GCM!,
in Trondhjem) crowns his Prize Essay It never occurs to
foirn that perhaps the Society values it as a rare honour to
have an essay sent them by a German. Pro dii immortedei!
And then because Copenhagen did not crown another erf
238 1 854
his prize essays S. makes an awful fuss, quite seriously, in
the preface that accompanies it.
To me that is inexplicable. I could understand S. having
to do with these societies in order to play a joke on them
and having laughed at being crowned in Tronhjem, no
less than at not being crowned in Copenhagen. Oh, but not
the way S. takes the whole thing.
... He was scurvily treated, but that did not break
him, it developed him into an important writer. . . ,
It may therefore be said of S, that in a scurvy way he
was the victim of the whole mean donnish racket, but
ethically, religiously S. is not a victim for above every-
thing he wished to be proclaimed.
. . . The important thing is that it should be made per-
fectly plain that suffering is chosen freely.
That is true, noble tragedy. ... In pure comedy,
elevated comedy, or purified comedy one never laughs at
something which in another sense is fundamentally misery.
Oh, but in the common run of things, the majority of
writers help themselves along by laughing at misery. And
they speculate successfully, because what they are after
is bigger sales. . . .
Greek
July. There were philosophers even before Hegel who
took it upon themselves to explain existence, history. And
it is true of all such attempts that providence can only
smile at them. Though perhaps it has not exactly roared
with laughter at them; for there was always something
honest, human and serious in them.
But Hegel oh let me think in Greek! how the gods
must have laughed! A miserable don like that who had
seen through the necessity of everything and got the whole
thing off by heart : ye Gods I
1854
It amused me more than I can say to read Schopenhauer*
What he says is perfectly true and then, what I allow the
Germans, he is rude as only a German can be.
"Windbag*
An excellent word; I envy the Germans for having It;
particularly because it can be used both as an adjective
and a noun. A. Schopenhauer makes excellent use of it,
I might almost say, what a quandary he would be in if
he did not have that word, for he has to talk about Hegelian
philosophy and the whole of donnish philosophy*
That is why the Germans have the word, because there
is constant use for it in Germany.
We Danes have not got it; but then neither is what it
describes characteristic of us Danes. It is not really part of
the Danish character to be a windbag.
On the other hand we Danes have another failing, alas,
a corresponding fault; and for this the Danish language
has a word, a word which perhaps the German language
has not got : windsucker. It is commonly used of horses
but can be put to ordinary use.
That too is roughly the relation between them : a Ger-
man to produce wind and a Dane to swallow it ; for a long
time past that has been the relation of the two countries.
Luther
* . . The longer I study Luther die more dear dbes it
become that Luther also makes this confusion: he con-
fuses what it means to be the patient with what it means
to be the doctor. He is an extremely important patient
for Christianity, but he is not the doctor; he has the
patient's passion for expressing and describing his suffering^
240 1854
and what lie feels the need of as an alleviation. But he has
not got the doctor's breadth of view. And in order to
reform Christianity the very first requirement is surely a
view of the whole of Christianity.
Denmark
Christianity's first and foremost duty is to return to the
monastery from which Luther broke away.
Providence really makes use of only one power, time;
it gives time, gives the mistakes time on a scale which a
mere man cannot grasp at all to unfold themselves in all
their consequences.
In order to make the absurdity, the dishonesty, and the
corruption of protestantism manifest when instead of
being a necessary corrective at a given moment it sets
up as a religion, as Christianity : in order to get that made
manifest it required a country which was not even assisted
as in Germany and other countries by having Catholi-
cism dose at hand.
No, Protestantism had to go its own way, left entirely to
itself in a country which even has a language all of its own.
So it required in order to make everything perfectly
plain & worldly wise, pleasure-seeking, artistically gifted
epicurean, a master in the art of conjuring up and main-
taining a show a man of that kind is required at the head
of the Church. Then, if he is granted a long life, then
practically the whole depths of nonsense and confusion will
have been revealed.
This has happened under Bishop Mynster but naturally
the country, the people do not see it, they are very well
pleased with that kind of Christianity and with the condi-
tion of Christianity in the country.
From a Christian point of view it is just about as pitiful
as it could be indeed, to use the predicate Christian of
1854 241
conditions in Denmark, even though it is in order to add
that conditions are extremely poor, is really saying too
much. The predicate cc Christian " is ridiculous when it is
applied to Denmark. Take an illustration. If a man comes
dragging along with the most miserable nag of a horse
there is nothing ridiculous in his saying it is a horse, If
on the contrary he comes along with a cow and says it is a
horse, then it is ridiculous. It is no good his being willing
to admit that it is a poor kind of horse it is a cow.
Denmark has fallen so low religiously that it is not only
lower than anything hitherto seen of Christianity but lower
than Jewry, in fact it can only be compared to the lowest
forms of paganism to such a degree have people forgotten
the point in Christianity : self-denial, while worldly well-
being and soft-hearted mediocrity are idolised.
Christianity as a regulating weight
. . . And because Christianity has been abolished it has
also been possible to muddle up the whole of temporal
existence, and consequently it is no longer a question of
there being a revolution once in a while but beneath
everything is a revolution which may break out at any
moment.
This is dosely related to the fact that Christianity has
been abolished as the regulating weight, consequently as a
weight, but a regulating weight. . . .
There must be a weight a dock or the works of a dock
need a heavy weight to make them go properly, a ship
needs ballast. This weight, this regulating weight is sup-
plied by Christianity, which makes the fact that his eternal
happiness is dedded in this life the important thing in the
life of every individuaL * . , And this weight was calculated
to regulate temporal existence,, both Its good and its evil
days.
242 1854
And because the weight was lost the clock cannot go,
the ship turns turtle and human life is a vortex.
The Sexual relationship
The lower man is in the degree of consciousness, the
more natural the relationship.
But the more intellectually developed a man is, the more
the conscious life penetrates it the closer one gets to
the point where lies Christianity and whatever resembles
it in religious and philosophic outlook : where continence
becomes the expression for spirit.
Between these two extremes lies incompleteness (half
measures) where the sexual relationship has lost its
immediacy, and where one does not wish to attain to
spirit
There one feels this may be considered partly as a kind
of bashfulness, partly perhaps it is a little hypocrisy or
sometimes a hypocritical refinement the need to decide to
marry for reasons. The fact that one has reasons is, in
a way, going to spiritualise marriage, make it something
more than the satisfaction of an instinct.
Rubbish ! Either simply and solely the satisfaction of an
instinct, or spirit
The Vicar of Wakefield begins like this : " I was always
of the opinion that the honest man who married and
brought up a large family did more service to the state
than he who continued single and only talked of popula-
tion. 1 '
There we have one of the reasons for marrying : to
produce children to serve the state risum teneatis amid!
No, the thing is this, with the increase of culture and the
increase of conscious life man in a sense grows out of
the instinct, in any case of the immediacy of the instinct A
certain intellectual embarrassment enters in (which must
1854
not be confused with the immediate bashfulnes% pudor)
in specie in man. That is the reason why he must have
reasons behind which to hide, however poorly one may be
hidden, as, for instance, behind the very transparent screen
of producing children to serve the state. To serve the state !
Yet perhaps there is something in that, perhaps the state
is best conceived as a stud and the King ought not to
be compared to a shepherd but to the master of the stud.
About myself
Slight, delicate, and weak, denied in almost every respect
the physical requirements in order to be able to pass for
a complete man as compared with others; melancholy,
soul-sick, profoundly and absolutely a failure in many ways,
one thing was given to me: a pre-eminent intelligence,
presumably so that I should not be quite defenceless.
Even as a child I was conscious of my intelligence and
that such was my strength in face of those much stronger
boys.
It was intelligence and nothing else that had to be
opposed. Presumably that is why I, who have had the
job, was armed with an immense iBteMigence, . * *
The imagination
is what providence uses in order to get men into reality,
into existence, to get diem far enough out, or in, or down
in existence. And when Imagination has helped them as
far out as they are meant to gp that is where reality,
properly speaking, begins.
l8 54
Johannes v. Miiller says that there are two great powers,
around which everything revolves : ideas and women. That
is quite true, and is intimately connected with what I have
just said about the importance of the imagination : women,
or ideas are what tempt a man out into existence. Naturally
there is this great difference, that among thousands who
run after a skirt there is not always one who is moved by
ideas.
As for me, it was so difficult to get me out that a girl
was used against me in a quite unusual way, as an inter-
mediary, in order to get me out, and in the interest of
ideas*
The system
Aug. Personality is aristocratic the system a plebeian
invention; with the help of the system (that omnibus) every-
body can get about
The New Testament
. . And all this tom-f oolery with Bible societies distribut-
ing New Testaments by the million, is supposed to be
Christianity.
No, I am tempted to make a different proposal to Chris-
tendom* Let us collect all the New Testaments there are in
existence, let us carry them out to an open place or up
upon a mountain, and then, while we all kneel down, let
someone address God in this fashion : Take this book back
again; we men, such as we are now, are no good at dealing
with a thing like this, it only makes us unhappy. My pro-
posal is that like the inhabitants of Gadara we beseech
Christ to " depart out of our coasts/* That is an honest and
human way of talking, quite different from that disgusting^
245
hypocritical, mealy-mouthed trash about life being of no
value to us apart from the inestimable blessing of Chris-
tianity.
. . . Protestantism is the crudest and most brutal
plebeianism. People will not hear of there being any dif-
ference of quality between an apostle, a witness to the
truth and oneself, in spite of the fact that one's existence is
completely different from theirs, as different as eating from
being eaten*
About myself
One gift has been given me and in such a degree that
I can call it genius it is the gift of conversation, of being
able to talk with everyone.
This happy gift was given to me in order to conceal the
undoubted fact that I am the most silent man of my day.
Silence hid in silence is suspicious, arouses mistrust, it
is just as though one were to betray something; at least
betrayed that one was keeping silence. But silence con-
cealed by a decided talent for conversation as true as ever
I live that is silence.
Att Nothing
God creates everything out of nothing and everything
which God is to use he first reduces to nothing,
The sign by which it may be known whether a given
condition is ripe for decline :
. , . If the conditions at a certain time are that
almost everyone knows privately that the whole thing is
246 1 854
wrong, is untrue, while no one will say so officially; when
the tactics used by the leading people is : let us simply
hold on, behave as though nothing had happened, answer
every attack with silence, because we ourselves know only
too well that the whole thing is rotten, that we are playing
false : then in that case the conditions are eo ipso con-
demned, they will crash. Just as one says that death has
marked a man, so those conditions are the symptom which
unquestionably calls for attack. There can be no question
of something truer standing side by side with something
which honourably believes itself to be true. It is a battle
against lies.
But fundamentally that is the condition in Christendom,
particularly in Protestantism, particularly in Denmark
Tribulations
The tactics are perfectly simple : remain quite indifferent
towards them, absolute indifference towards them is vic-
tory* Such thoughts aim at making you anxious, they
want to make you so anxious that in your cowardice you
imagine that you are responsible for them, they want to
enter into you by way of anxiety, father upon you the idea
that you listened to them and rested in them and so on, and
all this in the agony of your responsibility. If once you
begin to think that, there is the devil to pay. Therefore
absolute indifference ! more indifferent than you would be
to a slight rumbling in your stomach. Or else get angry,
as angry as you get when a man stands knocking at your
door at an impossible hour and you rush out and say :
what sort of behaviour is this, etc. Le. get angry so that
you are not afraid; for the thing that must be avoided more
than anything is fear.
You are right to fight temptation by flying, running
away. It does not help against tribulation because the
247
thoughts follow you. Here the proper tactics are : do not
be afraid, keep perfectly calm, absolutely indifferent.
But tribulation is unknown nowadays among Christians,
particularly the Protestants, particularly in Denmark . . *
a progress of the same kind as the doctor's cure in Banel-
stuen : the patient died, but the fever left him entirely*
One must take the world as it fa
or : life is what one makes it, though of course under-
stood to mean : one must take the world as it is, that is
the content of the life of all these millions of sample-men
and of life.
Existence does not really notice the existence of all these
millions, where existence is concerned the same thing hap-
pens to the sample-man as to the stickleback in relation
to the net which is set to catch bigger fish, the net is
certainly there (and existence is also a net) in order to catch
fish but the sticklebacks have free passage. The fact that
sample-men become masses does not help, they do not
in consequence weigh any more: one sample-man and a
million touch existence, which produces them lavishly out
of a horn of plenty, just as little.
But as soon as a man with originality comes along, and
consequently does not say : one must take the world as it
is (the sign for a free passage, like a stickleback), but say-
ing : whatever the world may be, I remain true to my own
originality, which I do not intend to change according to
the good pleasure of the world; the moment that word is
heard, there is as it were a transformation in the whole of
existence, as in the fairy story when the word is said the
magic castle, which has been under a speU for a hundred
years, opens again and everything comes to life: in the
same way existence becomes al eyes. The Angels grow
busy, look about with curiosity to see what is going to
248
happen, for that is what interests them. On the other
side : dark and sinister demons who have sat idle for a
long while gnawing their fingers jump up, stretch their
limbs : " this is something for us " they say, for they have
waited long for something of the kind, for the sample-
men give them nothing to do, they no more than the
angels.
This is what the apostle means when he says that the
Christian's fight is not merely against flesh and blood but
with principalities and powers. . . .
The existence of a Christian touches existence. It is
no doubt true that he cannot be said to bring with him
originality in the sense of genius, but he personally assumes
the demands of Christianity with originality, in regard to
being a Christian,* and therefore pays no attention to the
miserable saying : that one must take the world as it is.
On having an objective relation to one's own subjectivity
The majority of men are curtailed "IV*; what was
planned by nature as a possibility capable of being
sharpened into an I is soon dulled into a third person.
It is a very different thing to have an objective relation
to one's own subjectivity.
Take Socrates! He is not a third person in the sense
that he avoids going into danger, avoids staking his life,
which one avoids doing if one is a third person not an
** L" In no sense is that true. But actually in danger he
has an objective attitude to his own personality, and when
he is about to be condemned to death speaks of his con-
demnation like a third person. He is subjectivity raised
*And ethically, as is shown elsewhere, originality means
to stake everything, to risk everything, First the kingdom
of GodL
249
to the second power, his attitude is as objective as that of
a true poet to his poetic works; he is just as objective to
his own subjectivity. That is an achievement. Otherwise
one invariably gets one of two things, either an objective
something, an objective bit of furniture which is supposed
to be a man, or else a miscellaneous hodge-podge of
accidents and spontaneity. But the task is to have an objec-
tive attitude to one's own subjectivity.
The maximum which anyone achieves in this respect
may serve as an infinitely weak analogy of how God is
infinite subjectivity.
The sense of majesty
I am therefore suspicious of the way people use the
expression " to serve God**; for one cannot serve God as
one serves another monarch, who has objects to attain. No,
the only adequate way to express a sense of God's majesty
is to worship him. Generally one makes a distinction and
says that what is involved in worshipping God is feelings,
moods, and their expression in words, whereas serving God
suggests actions. No, your action is true worship, and k is
that most clearly when it is free from all bustle and the
notion that God has a cause, To renounce everything as an
act of worship offered to God, and so not because he needs to
use you as an instrument; but to renounce everything your-
self as the most insignificant superfluity and article of
luxury that means to worship.
"Man**
All those who have been exceptional, who have lived
sparsely scattered through time, have each erf them delivered
their judgment oa " mam," According to the report of one s
250 1854
man is an animal; according to another : he is a hypocrite;
according to another : he is a liar etc.
Perhaps I shall not hit it off least happily when I say :
man is a twaddler and that with the help of speech.
With the help of speech every man participates in the
highest but to participate in the highest with the help of
speech, by talking nonsense about it, is just as ironical as
to participate in a royal banquet, as a spectator from the
gallery.
Were I a pagan I would say : an ironical deity gave man-
kind the gift of speech in order to have the amusement of
watching that self-deception.
From a Christian point of view of course it is out of
love that God gave man the gift of speech, and thereby
made it possible for every one really to grasp the highest
oh, with what sorrow must God look upon the result.
A personal God
. . God is certainly personal, but whether he wishes to
be so in relation to the individual depends upon whether
it so pleases God. It is the grace of God that he wishes to
be personal in relation to you; if you throw away his grace
he punishes you by behaving objectively towards you. And
in that sense one may say that the world has not got a
personal God (in spite of all the proofs !) . . .
But while dons and parsons drivel on about the millions
of proofs of God's personality, the truth is that there are
no longer the men living who could bear the pressure and
weight of having a personal God. There is something mov-
ing about the way in which a patriarch or an apostle talks
of dying tired of life; that can well tire a man. Figura-
tively : a cart-horse, even though it has worked hard before
the plough has no suspicion of the exhaustion of a highly-
trained horse after it has been ridden. Alas, even if my
1 854 251
life were without pain and suffering, this alone would be
enough, the disgust which comes over me every time I
think of the nonsense in which men waste their time and
lives. It would after all disgust one to think of mankind
not eating food but living off filth, eating vermin and the
like but it is just as disgusting when one thinks that men
consider themselves fortunate in being able to live off and
pay parsons and dons exorbitant prices for rubbish.
Human Education
Providence has given every man certain characteristics.
The important thing in life should therefore be to
develop that characteristic, strengthened and confirmed by
the conflicts which it must produce with its surroundings,
Human education, on the other hand, is demoralising, is
calculated to teach a man how not to have an air, not to
use a word, not to undertake the least thing without hav-
ing a guarantee that numbers of others have done the same
thing before him. . .
The human
. . . Christianity is God's thought To be a man was,
for God, an ideal which we can hardly even imagine; the
fall was a guilt which involved a degradation, and in order
to feel the painfulness of it one must have an Impression
of the ideal which went before. . . *
THE DOMESTIC GOOSE
a moral tal*
Try to imagine for a moment that geese could talk that
they had so arranged things that they too had their divine
worship and their church-going.
Every Sunday they would meet together and a gander
would preach.
The sermon was essentially the same each time it told
of the glorious destiny of geese, of the noble end for which
their maker had created them and every time his name
was mentioned all the geese curtsied and all the ganders
bowed their heads. They were to use their wings to fly
away to the distant pastures to which they really belonged;
for they were only pilgrims on this earth.
The same thing happened each Sunday. Thereupon the
meeting broke up and they all waddled home, only to meet
again next Sunday for divine worship and waddle off home
again but that was as far as they ever got. They throve
and grew fat, plump and delicious and at Michaelmas
they were eaten and that was as far as they ever got. It
never came to anything. For while their conversation on
Sundays was all high-sounding, on Mondays they would
tell each other what had happened to the goose who had
taken the end set before them quite seriously, and in spite
of many tribulations had tried to use the wings its creator
had bestowed upon it
All that was indeed common knowledge among the
geese, but of course no one mentioned the subject on Sun-
days, for as they observed, it would then have been obvious
that to attend divine service would have been to fool both
God and themselves.
Among the geese were several who looked ill and wan,
and all the other geese said there, you see what comes of
taking flying seriously. It is all because they go about
meditating on flying that they get thin and wan and are
not blessed by the grace of God as we are; for that is
why we grow fat, plump, and delicious.
And so next Sunday off they went to divine service, and
the old gander preached of the glorious end for which
their Maker (and at that point all the geese curtsied and
the ganders bowed their heads) had created them, and of
why they were given wings.
And the same is true of divine worship in Christianity.
How I understand the future
Certainly things will be reformed; and it will be a fright-
ful reformation compared with which thfe Lutheran refor-
mation will be almost a joke, a frightful reformation that
will have as its battle-cry "Whether faith wiH be found
upon earth?" and it will be recognisable by the fact that
millions will fall away from Christianity, a frightful refor-
mation; for the thing is that Christianity really no longer
exists, and it is terrible when a generation which has been
molly-coddled by a childish Christianity* fooled into think-
ing it is Christianity when it has to receive the death blow
of learning once again what it means to be a Christian. . .
Mediocrity
Among the mediocre, individuals are certainly not un-
reasonable towards each other, they do not provoke impu-
dence, they respect each others mediocrity.
But contemporary mediocrity, the whole mass of medio-
crity, or mediocrity en masse is an impertinence to God,
because it tries to raise itself up to the highest position, that
of the ideai Just as people insure one another against
254 I8 54
fire, mediocrity as a whole insures the individuals who go
to make up that mediocrity, that mediocrity is the truth.
How came it that Christ was crucified
I can answer that in such a way as to show at the same
time what Christianity is.
What is " spirit " ? (for Christ is spirit, his religion that
of the spirit). Spirit is : to live as though dead (dead to
the world).
This way of life is so entirely foreign to man that to him
it is quite literally worse than death.
Very carefully introduced for an hour or so in the dis-
tance of the imagination, natural man can bear it, it even
pleases him. But if it is brought nearer him, so near that
it becomes, in all seriousness, something required of him :
the natural instinct of self-protection rises up so powerfully
in him that a regular uproar follows, as with drink or as
one talks of a furor uterinus. And in that condition, in
which he is beside himself, he demands the death of the
man of spirit, or rushes upon him to put him to death. * .
End of the Journal
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