unfortunate, for much is already unrolled before their vision and more appears every day; but under all this knowledge of many things dozes the feeling of how infinitely small this knowledge is, and it is this feeling that paralyzes their activity, and now the Faustian appears as despair over not being able to comprehend the whole development in an all-embracing to- tality-view in which every single nuance is also recognized for its full value, that is, its absolute worth. —But wherein lies the difference? The original Faust’s despair was more practical. He had studied, but his studies had not yielded him any return (whereas the other [Faust] at least gained something from what he had seen, even though infinitely little compared with what he wished; Faust’s profit from knowledge was a nothing, because in the last resort it was not this question he wanted an- swered, but rather the question: what he himself should do). On the basis of the far more elementary state of the sciences at that time, by means of a survey he could more easily have thought himself convinced of their emptiness, and on account of the special character of the age—enthusiastic action in order to re- alize its ideal—the question had to be moved over into this area; he had to reconcile life with [that] knowledge. For our time, this question must recede much further since, naturally, as the world becomes older, the intuitive tendency must take precedence, and the question consequently becomes: how can true intuition enter in despite man’s limited position. But that which drives men on to this demand for a perfect and true in- tuition is a despair over the relativity of everything. While he himself uses a rather high criterion (his conviction about this corroborated by having to listen daily to complaints over how fantastical it is), by associating with people who use all possi- ble infinite gradations of a criterion all the way from decimals to the diameter of the heavenly orbit, all the way from those who are inspired by the greatest world-historical personages to those for whom the pastor and the deacon are hitherto un- surpassed and unrivalled ideals, all the way from those who have intensely felt and have intensely experienced all the tem- pestuous emotions of the heart to those who, because once upon a time they were impressed by a juggler, now let us know with a self-assured smile that “they have outgrown Either/Or, I 477 those childish tricks” etc.—by associating with such people he gets the idea that he himself in turn is using a much too relative criterion and begins to fear that he is sinking down and losing himself in a bourgeois, philistine mentality. He hears of a dis- covery that opens vistas over a vast unknown world, that will probably force him to graduate his criterion in quite another way and make vanishing magnitudes of his heroes and his suf- ferings. He discerns how the most gifted of his contemporaries squeeze out a little yield (speculative abstracting or historical sketching), and he has a secret fear that this possibly may not be what they assume it to be—the most important—but merely what they succeed in comprehending and fathoming. He longs for a view that abolishes all relativities and shows him the absolute worth of even the most insignificant thing, because for the true (i.e., divine) view everything has the same magnitude. That such a Faust does not lack Wagners is cer- tainly obvious. Herein now lies the despair. The way all of life alters for him now also shows him to be quite different from the first Faust, for while that one with his activist tendency sank into sensuality, this one will back out of everything, for- get, if possible, that he ever knew anything, and watch the cows—or perhaps, out of curiosity, transport himself into an- other world.—JP II 1182 (Pap. If A 29) March 19, 1837 Christianity has a certain settling power by affirming the highest degree of relativity, by presenting an idea, an ideal, that is so great that all others disappear alongside it (the ro- mantic and humorous aspect of Christianity). Therefore, it is always far more enjoyable to converse with a Christian, be- cause he has a criterion that is definite; he has a fullness in com- parison with which the infinite differences in capacities, occu- pations, etc. are nothing. From this comes the stance which, if it does not degenerate into arrogance, is very worthy of re- spect.—JP I 422 (Pap. II A 30) n.d., 1837 A Preface Most people usually go about reading a book with a notion of how they themselves would have written it, how someone Il A29 29 478 Supplement else has written or would have written, just as a similar preju- dice occurs when they are to see someone for the first time, and as a result very few people really know how the other per- son looks. Here begins the first possibility of not being able to read a book, which thereupon goes through innumerable nu- ances until on the highest level—misinterpretation—the two most opposite kinds of readers meet, the most stupid and the most brilliant, who share in common the inability to read a book—the first because of vacuity and the second because of a wealth of ideas. Therefore I have given this work a very ordi- nary title (it should be called ‘“‘Letters’’) in order to do my part in preventing what is frequently* a loss for the author and sometimes for the readers—misinterpretation.
In margin: *I say frequently, for it sometimes happens that through misinterpretation one finds good things in a wretched book.—JP 1131 (Pap. II A 46) n.d., 1837 Insofar as Hegel was fructified by Christianity, he sought to eliminate the humorous element that is in Christianity (some- thing about this is found elsewhere in my papers [Pap. I A 207]), and consequently reconciled himself completely with the world, with quietism as a result. The same thing happened with Goethe in his Faust, and it is curious that the second part came so late. He could easily produce the first part, but the problem was how to calm the storm once it was aroused. The second part, therefore, has a far more subjective character (in- deed, on the whole Goethe has sufficiently expressed how his experience occasioned one or another work of art); it seems as if he makes this confession of faith in order to calm himself down.—JP II 1568 (Pap. Il A 48) n.d., 1837 Hegel’s subsequent position swallows up the previous one, not as one stage of life swallows another, with each still retain- ing its validity, but as a higher title or rank swallows up a lower title.—JP II 1569 (Pap. I A 49) n.d., 1837 In connection with a little essay by Johannes M...(Martensen) on Lenau’s Faust,”? in which it is told that the Either/Or, I 479 piece ends with Faust’s killing himself and Mephistopheles’ giving an epilog, I began to ponder to what extent, after all, it is appropriate to let a work of this kind end in such a way. And here I believe that Goethe was right in ending Part One with Mephistopheles’ “‘Heinrich! Heinrich!” A suicide would make too much of a character out of the idea; it should be the coun- terweight of the whole world that crushes him, as with D. Juan. —Or end in despair (the Wandering Jew). Despair is romantic—not punishment, as it was in the case of Prome- theus.—JP II 1183 (Pap. I] A 50) n.d., 1837 Faust may be paralleled with Socrates. Just as the latter ex- presses the individual’s emancipation from the state, Faust ex- presses the individual after the abrogation of the Church, sev- ered from its guidance and abandoned to himself; this is an indication of his relationship to the Reformation and is a par- ody of the Reformation insofar as it one-sidedly emphasizes the negative aspect.—JP II 1968 (Pap. II A 53) n.d., 1837 It is touching to go past the most ordinary of bookstores and see Den AGrke Troldkarl Faust’ etc., see the most profound [books] offered for sale to the most ordinary people.—JP V 5216 (Pap. 11 A 54) n.d., 1837 Don Juan has never become as popular as Faust—why? —JP 1769 (Pap. 11 A 55) n.d., 1837 Faust cannot commit suicide. As the idea hovering over all its actual forms, he must complete himself in a new idea (the Wandering Jew).—JP II 1184 (Pap. II A 56) n.d., 1837 Reflection can wind itself around a person in the most curi- ous way. I can imagine someone’s wanting to make a theatri- cal presentation of the fallaciousness of the age; but when he himself sits among the spectators he sees that no one, after all, takes it to heart except to detect the fallacy in his neighbor; he makes one more attempt and stages this very scene in the thea- 480 Supplement ter, and people laugh at it saying: Isn’t it terrible how most people can see the faults of others and not their own, etc. etc.
In margin: With them it is just as with King David, who did not understand the prophet’s parable before he said: You are the man, O King!*—JP HI 3698 (Pap. Il A 57) n.d., 1837 Philosophy is life’s dry-nurse, who can take care of us—but not suckle us.—JP III 3252 (Pap. I] A 59) n.d., 1837 The bourgeois always skip over one part of life, and from this comes their parodying relationship to those who outrank them.[...]’° To them morality is supreme, far more im- portant than intelligence, but they have never felt enthusiasm for the great, for the talented, even in its extraordinary form. Their morality is a brief summary of the various police posters; the most important thing for them is to be a useful member of the state and to make after-dinner talk at a club—they have never felt homesickness for an unknown, remote something or for the profundity that is rooted in being nothing at all, in walking through Nerreport with four pennies in one’s pocket i and a slender cane in one’s hand; they have no idea of the view ax. ~~ of life (which a gnostic sect”? made its own): learn to know the world through sin—and yet they too say one must sow one’s wild oats (“Wer niemals hat ein Rausch gehabt, er ist kein braver Mann [He who has never been drunk is not a real man]),’’8 they have never caught a glimpse of the idea that lies under- neath when we are pushed through the hidden, mysterious door, open in all its terror only to presentiment, into this dark realm of sighs—when we see the crushed sacrifices of seduc- tion and deception and the coldness of the tempter.—JP | 219 The Don Juanian life is really musical,”? and thus it is very proper for Lenau in his Faust, at the moment Faust begins to portray Don Juan, to have Mephistopheles start the music.°° — Martensen has not seen the deeper significance of the circum- stance.®!1—JP 1 5226 (Pap. Il A 598) n.d., 1837 Either/Or, I 481 The idea, the philosophy of life, of knowing all evil, which a sect of gnosticism®* embraced, is profound; only one must have a predisposition for it, which is suggested in legends by the ability of the unbaptized to see things that others do not see.—JP V 5227 (Pap. II A 599) n.d., 1837 Why is there so much talk about—or, more correctly, what after all is the source of the idea of talking about the devil’s great-grandmother.—JP V 5229 (Pap. II A 601) n.d., 1837 Someone dies just as he has proved that there is eternal dam- nation, trapped in his own theory. Remarkable transition from theory to practice. —JP V 5230 (Pap. II A 602) n.d., 1837 Yes, I believe I would surrender to Satan so that he could show me every abomination, every sin, in its most dreadful form—it is this penchant, this taste, for the secret of sin.°—JP V 5231 (Pap. I A 603) n.d., 1837 Although I* rail against the others for studying compen- diums instead of the sources, I myself live a compendium—al- though I am able to win every argument, I am saddled with a ghost from my own imagination that I cannot argue away.— JP V 5232 (Pap. Il A 607) n.d., 1837 Now and then I see myself hemmed in by an appalling, phrase-laden figure—I would call ita compendium of a human being—a brief resume of emotions and ideas—a belieblich [agreeable] long, thin man whom nature, however, has ar- rested, so to speak, in every development—he should have long arms, but the upper arm is extremely long and the lower arm very short, the same with his fingers, face, etc.; every communication begins with a very promising introductory phrase so that one hopefully applies a prodigious criterion, but then it comes to nothing. —JP V 5233 (Pap. II A 609) n.d., 1837 The Hottentots always cut off the head of a snake they have killed, fearing that someone may accidentally step on it and be 482 Supplement bitten, since they believe that even after its death the snake can do injury with its poison.—JP V 5235 (Pap. II A 613) n.d., 1837 Situation A person wants to write a novel in which one of the char- acters goes insane; during the process of composition he him- self gradually goes insane and ends it in the first person.—JP V 5249 (Pap. II A 634) n.d., 1837 Every flower of my heart turns into a frost flower.—JP V 5253 (Pap. Il A 641) #.d., 1837 My® ideas suffer the same fate as parents who do indeed bear healthy children but forget to have them baptized in time; along come the subterranean spirits and put a changeling in their place (native gifts are not lacking, but solicitous care and nurture).—JP V 5254 (Pap. II A 642) n.d., 1837 It seems as if I8° were the hero in a story, a wild shoot who should be displayed in a novel.—JP V 5255 (Pap. II A 644) n.d., 1837 It seems as if I®’ were a galley slave chained together with death; every time life stirs, the chain rattles and death makes everything decay—and that takes place every moment.—JP V 5256 (Pap. II A 647) n.d., 1837 Everything human lies, hope as well as despair—I read this as a quotation in an old devotional book.—JP V 5257 (Pap. II A 648) n.d., 1837 The fate of my ideas and their fulfillment is much like fish- ing during certain months of the year—the fish nibble—there are plenty of nibbles, but no fish.—JP V 5259 (Pap. II A 653) n.d., 1837 Iam a two-faced Janus: with one face I laugh, with the other I cry.8®—JP V 5260 (Pap. II A 662) n.d., 1837 Either/Or, I 483 Unfortunately my real spirit frequently is present in me only xata xevyev [in the form of concealment].—JP V 5261 (Pap. If A 164) September 20, 1837 I would like to write a novella that begins with an unquali- fied still life, until through the medium of the Don Giovanni music a new light is suddenly ushered in, and then the whole thing is drawn into an utterly fantastic world.—JP V 5314 (Pap. Il A 732) n.d., 1838 Most of what is written is nothing more than asserta [asser- tions] on plain paper—I, however, write on a stamped pa- per.—JP V 5379 (Pap. If A 413) n.d., 1839 When I® open my eyes these days, they lift a great load of weights (visualize a mass of crazy ideas), which promptly set- tle down again; so too it is with my hope, for the door through which it is granted me at times to look into brighter regions (my daily environment and atmosphere are like the view and climate in a Greenland cave, and for that reason I receive very few visits in this my winter residence, since only missionaries have the courage to creep on all fours into such a cave—hope, the missionary of heaven—rarely sends out a gleam) is not a door that stays open once it is opened, nor is it a door that shuts again slowly so that one still might have the hope of stealthily peeking through it a few times before it shuts; no, it shuts promptly again, and the dreadful thing about it is that one almost forgets what one saw.—JP V 5382 (Pap. II A 416) May 11, 1839 The trouble with me is that I? immediately use up in one single desperate step the tiny bit of happiness and reassurance I slowly distill in the dyspeptic process of my toilsome intel- lectual life.—JP V 5400 (Pap. II A 509) July 22, 1839 The reason I*! find so little joy in life is that when a thought of something awakens in my soul it awakens with such en- ergy, larger than life, that | actually overstrain myself with it, and for me the ideal anticipation is so far from explaining life 484 Supplement that instead I am debilitated when I depart from it to find something equivalent to the idea. Iam too disturbed and, so to speak, nerve-shattered to rest in it—JP V 5402 (Pap. II A 512) July 25, 1839 There are animals that cannot eat as long as anyone is watch- ing them, animals that get their nourishment in the most amazing and cunning ways—so it is with my moods: what I? seem to despise, I absorb secretly and unnoticed.—JP I 802 (Pap. IIf A 219) n.d., 1840 I live constantly on the border between felicitous Arabia and desert Arabia.—JP V 5503 (Pap. III A 142) n.d., 1841 The older one gets, the more one feels at certain times like shouting: Allah is great, somewhat as the Arabs do on almost every occasion in life. Today a paper was missing; it was ex- tremely important for me to know whether or not it still ex- isted; if it did, it could destroy the entire point of a very elab- orate piece of work—looking for some other things, I opened a secret drawer, and there it was—and I shouted: Allah is great.°*—JP V 5554 (Pap. III A 220) n.d., 1840-42(?)
My Umbrella, My Friend It never forsakes me; it did that only once. It was during a ter- rible storm; I stood all alone on Kongens Nytorv, forsaken by everybody, and then my umbrella turned inside out. I was at a loss as to whether or not I should abandon it because of its faithlessness and become a misanthrope. I have acquired such an affection for it that I always carry it, rain or shine; indeed, to show it that I do not love it merely for its usefulness, I some- times walk up and down in my room and pretend I am out- side, lean on it, open it up, rest my chin on the handle, bring it up to my lips, etc.—JP V 5555 (Pap. III A 221) n.d., 1840-42(?)
In the old days, as is well known, they wrote one word after the other without a break, one sentence after another without Either/Or, I 485 any separation. One shudders to think of reading such writing! Now we have gone to the opposite extreme. We write nothing but punctuation marks, no words, no meaning, but simply ex- clamation and question marks.—JP III 2319 (Pap. HI A 222) n.d., 1840-42(?)
If I did not know that f am a genuine Dane, I could almost be tempted to explain the contradictions moving within me by supposing that I am an Irishman. For the Irish do not have the heart to immerse their children totally when they have them baptized; they want to keep a little paganism in reserve. Gen- erally the child is totally immersed under water, but they leave the right arm free, so that he will be able to wield a sword with it, embrace the girls.—JP V 5556 (Pap. Ill A 223) n.d., 1840- 42(?)
My head is as empty and dead as a theater when the play is over.—JP V 5559 (Pap. III A 224) n.d., 1840-42(?)
ieac8 after one has lived a dozen years in this appalling still life, this wretched, meager life has yielded just about as much cream as one can swallow in one single instant without over- eating. I cannot march to that tempo.—JP V 5558 (Pap. HI A 225) n.d., 1840-42(?)
What is sin: the pact of an evil conscience with the devil— and what has a memory like that of an evil conscience?—JP IV 4005 (Pap. Ill A 226) n.d., 1840-42(?)
From sketch: lam well aware that most people do not, like guarantors and sureties, dare to admit what they think; therefore they put their refractoriness in the mouth of a fictitious character and then think themselves blameless—I say it loudly and clearly before the whole parish, that is, to you— —Pap. III B 179:5 n.d., 1841-42 486 Supplement From sketch: Gaede it was the manorial right I preferred to have—yus pri- mae noctis.°°—Pap. III B 179:6 n.d., 1841-42 From sketch: You ask me what I do in the world—answer: I amuse my- self—what do you think of that—I know very well that my oc- cupation is the opposite of most other people’s, for they are bored.—Pap. III B 179:7 n.d., 1841-42 From sketch: You say I am in love, and I have to agree with you, but not with what you go on to say, that I should get married. My love is a world-historical passion that demands sacrifices.— Pap. Il B 179:11 n.d., 1841-42 From sketch: All Tam qualified to do is to converse with crazy people and to offer them my hand.—Pap. III B 179:21 n.d., 1841-42 From sketch: The other evening I went to the theater and saw Don Gio- vanni. I seldom talk with anyone on such an occasion; acciden- tally I met a man who for thirty years has seen D. G. every time it was performed. In this way, the one generation shakes the hand of the next generation in admiring this immortal mu- sic.—Pap. III B 180:1 n.d., 1841-42 From sketch: Do you recollect the first time you stole away to a rendez- vous, how your heart was so full, so moved by vague ideas of what was in store for you—do you recollect how you longed Either/Or, I 487 for the sun to go down—do you recollect the first time you knocked on the little wicket gate——do you recollect the first time you hurried to hear D. G., do you recollect when the chandelier was raised and the piece had not yet begun, do you recollect the first time the mysterious three taps behind the curtains signaled to the conductor, do you recollect the first time he rapped three times with his baton.—Pap. III B 180:2 n.d., 1841-42 From sketch: There are beasts of prey that cannot assimilate their food if someone is watching.—Pap. III B 180:3 n.d., 1841-42 From sketch: For me the most intolerable relationship in life is any rela- tionship involving love or a personal relationship; it has an in- commensurability that one can never terminate. Just as natu- ralists inject liquid wax into the veins of animals, which are thereby arrested and the vein shows up more clearly; just so I inject money into every life situation of that nature, thereby killing it. One puts on heavy clothes in cold weather, armor in battle—so do I attire myself'in money in order to protect my- self against the cunning onset of all these personal relation- ships. —Pap. III B 180:4 n.d., 1841-42 From sketch: It is the most beautiful moment in my life—when I stand down there in one of the bathhouses stripped—the door is open—the wide horizon—the air is hazy—I have nothing more to do with the world—I am split naked—leap out into the water.—Pap. III B 180:5 n.d., 1841-42 From sketch: Tam rich—in order that financial worries will not divert and cool my hot head; I can always smile—in order better to guard Il B 180:8 213 HI B 180:8 214 488 Supplement against the inner weeping and the stifled sighs of the soul; I have knowledge—in order that my sick soul will not lack the material in which to clothe itself; I have many friends—in or- der to prevent myself from confiding in one person.—Pap. III B 180:6 n.d., 1841-42 From sketch: Everyone has his ideal, and most often one becomes its car- icature. My ideal has always been a stout, fat basement dweller. I recall this figure from my earliest childhood, when he stood there in his basement door in the afternoon light and smoked his pipe—indeed, I am actually a caricature!—Pap. III B 180:7 n.d., 1841-42 From sketch: All sorrow is fantasy. If people did not believe that they ought to sorrow dutifully because it is tradition and custom, it would cease. If it were tradition and custom to laugh on sor- rowful occasions, everyone would do that. Only when a per- son’s circumstances are so complex that he is always com- pelled to hide one passion with another, only then would one, if one could see into hearts, be able to see who was sorrowing and who was not.—Pap. III B 180:8 #.d., 1841-42 From sketch: From sketch: It must be a wonderful thing to earn something; the only thing I have earned up until now is a gentle warmth flowing through my whole body when I have walked or ridden horse- back, but how pleasant it is! I cannot say that I earn my bread by the sweat of my brow, but in the sweat of my brow I earn the sweat of my brow, and this earning is indescribably pleas- ant. Ina way, I eat my bread in the sweat of my brow, and thus it always does me the most good.—Pap. III B 180:9 n.d., 1841- 42 Either/Or, I 489 From sketch: I have shouted my pain out in the wide world—to see if I could scream it away or if Echo could steal it from me, but Echo is too conscientious for that. —I have sunk it deep in the abyss of my soul; I am like a stone sunk deeper and deeper in my own depths; I have hidden myself in the noise of the world, mislaid myself in its diversions and delights—I have entangled myself in myself.—Pap. III B 180:10 n.d., 1841-42 From sketch: Modern tragedy has taken the comic into itself; the more one thinks about it, the more one is tempted to cancel the dif- ference between the tragic and the comic in the unity of the tragic. Both obviously depend upon a misrelation between idea and actuality, and the two ways people have always sought to allay it have been either by laughing or by crying, but the misrelation itself is obviously the tragic, which thus becomes the unity of the tragic and the comic.—Pap. III B 180:11 2.d., 1841-42 From sketch: To be consistent is not worth the trouble; it is much too bor- ing. Nor are there any more boring people than the consis- tent.—Pap. III B 180:12 n.d., 1841-42 From sketch: The Stoics say that all pain resides in the idea—stop imag- ining it and it ceases. As an Epicurean, I imitate them. All pleasure resides in the idea—evoke it and you have pleasure. In other words, the idea is the breath through which one appro- priates the one as much as the other, that by which it actually comes into existence [bliver til]. Therefore, continually keep yourself in motion; true enjoyment does not consist in rest but in control over unrest. You expect something from a thing, 490 Supplement and quite rightly so, for you ought to see the thing in order to desire it. Your expectation is disappointed; that is not bad but good, for thereby it acquires a reality [Realitet] for you that it otherwise would not have acquired.—Pap. III B 180:13 n.d., 1841-42 From sketch: From sketch: The sky viewed through a ventilator in a stagecoach: it is past midnight—a soft breeze passes through the little window, and from this one’s thoughts take occasion to move in the op- posite direction, out from this narrow little passageway into the wide world. The sky is restless, moved by great thoughts; the moon tries in vain to regain its composure. —The stage- coach proceeds slowly, slowly in comparison with the swift flight of the clouds—and yet it is drawn by four horses, and yet it is hastened by the various passengers’ various thoughts, wishes, and longings, which, however different they are, nevertheless have this in common, that all of them are restless- ness, haste. —Here is one of the instances in which actuality has its significance. One could easily imagine all sorts of in- genious combinations of ways in which these very different individuals could be brought together, but it has no reality. I have traveled with a poor widow from Nain,® who suddenly received news that her son had become ill and who now was riding fifty miles to see him. She cried a good deal. In the same carriage was a man who had traveled halfway around the world.—Pap. III B 180:14 n.d., 1841-42 From sketch: From sketch: In order properly to feel the slowness of time, I have lying before me a little calendar, the smallest edition of it obtainable, where each day is but an infinitely small magnitude, whereas for me it is an infinitely large magnitude.—Pap. III B 180:15 n.d., 1841-42 Either/Or, I 491 From sketch: And at times she nevertheless knelt before me and stretched her hands up to me!—Pap. III B 180:16 n.d., 1841-42 From sketch: If only one could forget oneself—and yet there is only one way to do it, and that is to love.—Pap. III B 180:17 n.d., 1841- 42 From sketch: Every classification has lost its meaning for my life, has be- come an illusion. I can remember visiting a house where they had a clock that struck, but very slowly, usually at intervals of a quarter hour. When it was supposed to strike twelve, it took three hours to strike the twelve strokes; meanwhile it had be- come three o’clock. It was behind and became more and more so; finally it was not possible for it to finish—consequently it struck and by its striking tried to create a division of time, but this was not enlightening but thoroughly confusing.—Pap. III B 180:18 n.d., 1841-42 aiheg ak and if the bitter cup of suffering is handed to me, I will ask that, if possible, it be taken away, but if it is not pos- sible, I will take it cheerfully, and I will not look at the cup but at the one who hands it to me, and I will not look at the bottom of the cup to see if it is soon empty, but I will look at him who hands it to me, and while I trustingly raise the goblet I will not say to any other man: Here’s to your health, as I myself am sa- voring it, but I will say: Here’s to my health, and empty its bit- terness, to my health, for I know and am convinced that it is for my health that I empty it, for my health, as I leave not one drop behind.—JP V 5562 (Pap. III A 228) n.d., 1840 492 Supplement ahh aes and it was the delight of his eyes and his heart’s ae- sire. And he stretched out his arm and took it, but he could not keep it; it was offered to him, but he could not possess it—alas, and it was the delight of his eyes and his heart’s desire. And his soul verged on despair, but he preferred the greater anguish, losing it and giving it up, to the lesser of having it wrongfully, or, to speak more exactly, as one should do in this holy place, he chose the lesser anguish to avoid the greater one of possess- ing it with a soul at strife...and oddly enough it turned out to be the best for him.—JP V 5563 (Pap. IH A 229) n.d., 1842 It certainly would not be appalling that I should suffer pun- ishment that I deserved because I had done wrong; but it would be appalling if] or any man should be able to do wrong and no one punished it. It would not be appalling that I should wake up in anxiety and horror to the deceit of my heart; it would be appalling if I or any man should be able to deceive his heart in such a way that no power could awaken it...I will conduct myself at this moment as I consider best, but then I beseech you, O God, that, if] have acted wrongly, your judgment will not give me peace until I have realized my de- lusion, for it is not important that I go free but that the truth take place. It is not that I would hide or hide my action from myself; I know and I want to know what I have done; and even if I awakened in the middle of the night I still would want to be able to say definitely what I had done. I do not want to de- ceive myself; I want to know clearly and specifically what will at some later time be either to my shame, yes, to my horror, or to my peace and joy.—JP I 890 (Pap. III A 230) n.d., 1842 There are men who say with a certain pride: I am indebted to no other human being; I am self-taught. There are others who say: This great philosopher is my teacher, this outstand- ing general, and I count it an honor to be his pupil, to have fought under him—but what would you think if'a person were to say: God in heaven was my teacher, and I count it an honor to be his pupil, that he educated me.—JP 1785 (Pap. III A 231) n.d., 1842 Either/Or, I 493 Therefore my voice will shout for joy, louder than the voice of a woman who has given birth, louder than the angels’ glad shout over a sinner who is converted, more joyful than the morning song of the birds, for what I have sought I have found, and if men robbed me of everything, ifthey cast me out of their society, I would still retain this joy; if everything were taken from me, I would still continue to have the best—the blessed wonder over God’s infinite love, over the wisdom of his decrees.—JP II 2184 (Pap. III A 232) n.d., 1842 The nature ofhereditary sin has often been explained, and still a primary category has been lacking—it is anxiety [Angst]; this is the essential determinant. Anxiety is a desire for what one fears, a sympathetic antipathy; anxiety is an alien power that grips the individual, and yet he cannot tear himself free from it and does not want to, for he fears, but what he fears he de- sires. Anxiety makes the individual powerless, and the first sin always occurs in weakness; therefore it apparently lacks ac- countability, but this lack is the real trap.—JP 1 94 (Pap. HI A 233) n.d., 1842 Addition to Pap. Ill A 233: Women are more anxious than men; therefore it was she whom the serpent chose for his attack, and it deceived her through her anxiety.—JP 1 95 (Pap. III A 234) n.d., 1842 Addition to Pap. Il A 233: In volume VI, p. 194, of his works, Hamann makes an ob- servation that I can use, although he neither understood it as I wish to understand it nor thought further about it: “However, this Angst [anxiety] in the world is the only proof of our het- erogeneity. If we lacked nothing, we should do no better than the pagans and the transcendental philosophers, who know nothing of God and like fools fall in love with lovely nature, and no homesickness would come over us. This impertinent disquiet, this holy hypochondria..."—JP 196 (Pap. ILA 235) n.d., 1842 494 Supplement 494 Supplement When you were happy, have you ever said to yourself that you could easily go through life alone? When you were heavy- hearted, have you ever said that it seemed as if even God in heaven was not able to help you2—JP II 1985 (Pap. III A 236) n.d., 1842 ba was Perhaps you express yourself more as a child; per- haps you say: God, to be sure, is all-powerful; it’s an easy mat- ter for him and for me it is so very important that I get my wish; my future, my joy, and everything depend on it. It is charming of you not to lose your childlikeness even though sufferings threaten; you captivate us. And yet is it not true that you could not wish to captivate God in the same way, for if you obtained what you wanted, you would obtain it as a child does, and you could not love God with your whole heart, could not love him with all your passion—but only this love is becoming to a man, only this love makes him happy.—JP III 2395 (Pap. III A 237) n.d., 1842