“An Open Letter”
“An Open Letter”
[In margin: Rudelbach on the Church constitution, para. [X1 A 669 423] cxxxi, pp. 243 etc.]497
This book has the merit of having shown that the state church gave rise to or contributed to giving rise to the proletariat.
How much there is to this, Rudelbach seems not to have perceived.
In Christendom life is completely unchristian also in terms of what it means to live together with the common man and what this involves.
In this respect my life is like a discovery—alas, in a certain sense I can say that it is a dearly purchased discovery. It is unchristian [X1 A 669 424] and wicked to base the state on a substructure of men who are totally ignored and excluded from personal association—even though on Sunday there are touching sermons about loving “one’s neighbor.”—JP IV 4164 (Pap. X1 A 669) n.d., 1849
Dr. Rudelbach498 and I
We shall never understand one another.
For him it has long since been definitely settled that he is a Christian. And now he busies himself with history and the external forms of the Church. He has never felt the disquietude of the idea, wondering every single day whether he is now a Christian or not. “Never”—no, because one who has felt this once, one day, one hour, does not let go of it during his entire life, or it never lets go of him.
The idea has involved me in personal self-concern, and therefore I can never find time for projects, for I must begin every day with this concern: Are you a Christian now? Indeed, perhaps this very day there will be an existential collision that will make it clear that you are not a Christian at all.—JP VI 6725 (Pap. X4 A 20) n.d., 1851
On the folder:
The article on Rudelbach
A part that has not been used, but one that may have some significance.—Pap. X5 B 120 n.d., 1851
[X5 B 121 317] Notations on final copy of “An Open Letter Prompted by a Reference to Me by Dr. Rudelbach”:
[X5 B 121 318] 4. [“the second half is false,” p. 51] since I have never sought to use external means or proposed them or had anything to do with something as great as “the Church” but have limited my activity to “the single individual.”
6. [“that external conditions and forms will help,” p. 54]. As I see it, the so-called old-time Christians* are therefore at this time in the process of plunging full blast—jubilating** in song and dance besides—toward what (Christianly understood) is perhaps the most dangerous of all illusions.
* who have become, to be sure, terribly modern.
** “like a bird rushing into the snare.”—Pap. X5 B 121 n.d., 1851
Addition to Pap. X5 B 121:
[X5 B 124 319] With just a few strokes on the chart of our situation, let me sketch the movements of my operation.
[X5 B 124 320] In my opinion, we ordinary men may be content (and Christianly this is also permissible), may be humbly content, with being Christians in quiet inwardness. When this is the case, one may also very well be satisfied with the given external forms—yes, it is precisely and truly Christian not to be occupied with external forms. However, I do believe that greater effort ought to be made to develop a competent clergy who would work for the inward deepening of Christianity in individuals* and to guarantee the commonwealth a sound cadre of plain, good Christians (who constitute an indispensable foundation) who are not occupied with reforming either state or Church.
If anyone believes he cannot be satisfied with being such a Christian in hidden inwardness but aspires to something higher, then, in my opinion, there is Christianly only one thing higher—martyrdom, in which one walks alone, forsaken by men and also, humanly speaking, forsaken by God. The frightful, narrow way of this martyrdom, its frightful splendor, must be stated and portrayed because Christians should never forget that it exists [er til], because if it is forgotten, the average Christian would become all too secular, but if it is remembered, being humbled under this lofty ideal will help to develop inwardness in us ordinary Christians.
But there is still one thing more: the way of the lower level—sectarianism, partisanship, politicizing in the realm of the Church, reformation by way of balloting, etc. All this ought to be opposed. It is sad to see that the so-called old-time Christians—perhaps as a result of having once felt a pressure—now have broken loose all the more and join together with what in a Christian sense is their opposite, and now in their old age they represent a most impoverished Christianity (a composite of politics and Christianity); whereas in their earlier days and especially in the earliest times they represented the original, primitive old Christianity.
This is my opinion. The fault of this age is fancying itself to [X5 B 124 321] be an age of reformation and, curiously enough, wanting to reform en masse. But Providence sends no reformer. If it sends anything, it sends a servant or two—to reform the reformers.
“There is something antiquated about this.” To be sure. But watch out. With the help of the year 1848 it will not be long before it will have become the newest of all.—Pap. X5 B 124 n.d., 1851
Addition to Pap. X5 B 121:
Conclusion
There is something curious about the whole thing; I am almost tempted to believe that Dr. [Rudelbach] has not read any of my writings at all but that it only seems so to him and that he then naturally also must be able to designate the significance of all these writings and to assign them a place in foreign literature and in our own. But I do not find this inexplicable at all. If someone, like me, has read only a few works, he is easily able to keep the lines straight. But if one has read an enormous mass of books, such a mistake can easily take place. It is like many other things. A person who has never traveled further than Roskilde can easily and definitely know where he has been. A much-traveled person, however, one who has traveled around the world many times and been all over, may very readily think and say, when some place is mentioned that he has not actually visited: Yes, I was there the summer of 1835; there is a very high tower with a magnificent view, etc. (but there is no tower at all). So it is also with the notion that the point of my work as an author is supposed to be emancipation of the Church from the state. Inasmuch as I am not occupied with the Church,[*] I am even less occupied with its emancipation from the state—just as there can only be very figurative reference to a view from the tower if there is no tower.
[*] In margin: but with influencing the single individual—Pap. X5 B 125 n.d., 1851
Filled with self-concern through having been wounded by the ideals but nevertheless ineffably happy because of this and grateful for it. For, if one is human, as far as the ideals are concerned it is the most fearful presumption that could arise in a human being to want to be more than an unhappy lover, however burning with zeal one’s striving may be; but, if one has become the unhappy lover, to be able to forget for one moment that this is the greatest good fortune that can befall a man would be the most dreadful ingratitude, a proof that he no longer sees the ideals that indescribably move and captivate even the most unhappy of all their unhappy lovers—if he sees them.—Pap. X5 B 126 n.d., 1851
The Old Orthodox [X4 A 36 25]
who claimed that they were the only true Christians in Denmark.
I have nothing against their separating from us—but it is indefensible that they should achieve this by balloting and without giving up the claim that they are the true Church.
But this is supposed to be the tactic—and then judgment is [X4 A 36 26] supposed to fall upon Mynster and his party.
In what frame of mind could the honest Spandet499 make his proposal? Did he look upon it as similar to a motion about gas streetlighting and the like—if so, then of course a vote may be taken, but it was certainly improper to make his proposal in this vein. Or, if he insists that he has regarded it as a matter of conscience, how in the world can he then be satisfied with serving a matter of conscience (which as a “royal service” not only must be promoted quickly and be put through but must also be put through or the one commissioned falls)—by making a motion for balloting and then seeing how many votes it will get.
Even if it did go through, the cause would still be wrongly served, and an indirect proof would be given that it is not a matter of conscience for him and that he has bitten off too much.
And if it fails to pass, then perhaps he will step forth in character.—JP VI 6728 (Pap. X4 A 36) n.d., 1851
In margin of Pap. X4 A 36:
The Old Orthodox would like to withdraw from the whole Church and yet reserve for themselves the status of being the true Church, and perhaps also (as Rudelbach seems to indicate in his book on the constitution of the Church)500 keep all the Church property for themselves, which per capita is not so insignificant, since the Church property is rather considerable and, according to Rudelbach, the true Christians are very few.—JP VI 6729 (Pap. X4 A 37) n.d., 1851
Dr. Rudelbach
is really vapid. Apparently he has not read the portion in Practice in Christianity501 (stating that Christianity does not exist) in such a way that it even remotely occurred to him to compare himself with the ideal and ask himself: But are you yourself a Christian? No, he is definitely and unalterably convinced that he and his party are Christians. And now he has been delighted with the statement and has had Mynster in mind.
And I, on the other hand, quite simply had only myself in mind.—Pap. X4 A 46 n.d., 1851
That Christianity Always Involves a Double-Danger
is shown even by my life’s fragmentary approximation of a Christian existence.
The present step against Rudelbach502 involves a double-danger, for those who really gain by it leave me stuck with it—yes, ultimately they may even use it against me.
For the most part men are wary of venturing out except when there is only one danger. So it is with Grundtvig503 at the moment, for if he were to introduce the concept of Christian freedom in a Christian way he would have the secular-minded against him as well as the ecclesiastical establishment. But he unchristianly removes the one danger by a coalition with the friends of the peasants.—Pap. X4 A 79 n.d., 1851
The End of the Affair504 [X5 B 128 324]
by
S. Kierkegaard
In this paper [Fædrelandet, no. 37, February 13, 1851, and 38, February 14, 1851], Dr. Rudelbach, by stating some points of difference, has now explained in somewhat more detail that we two do not agree.
Well, wasn’t that just what I said? For how did the affair begin? Toward the end of the little book on civil marriage there is a passage in which Dr. R. succinctly states his whole point of view and his plan of operation: “What is rightly called routine and state Christianity must go. We must fight for the emancipation of the Church from the state by means of free institutions, one of which is civil marriage.” This means that the goal is external change through the use of external means. The following note is added to this text: “This is exactly what Søren Kierkegaard seeks to impress upon, to imprint upon, and, as Luther says, to drive home to all those who will listen.”
Consequently we two, Dr. R. and I, agree, completely agree! And I, knowing my task and my responsibility, I, who have guarded in the most anxious fear and trembling of conscience lest even a jot or tittle hinting at external change be mixed into these many books but with the most rigorous abstemiousness have fought alone, and solely with the weapons of the spirit, for the inward deepening of Christianity in the single individual, I regard the disagreement between Dr. R. and me to be comparable in kind and scope to [X5 B 128 325] that between two physicians (yet it must be kept in mind that in the Christian sense I do not pass myself off as a physician but am rather myself a patient), one of whom thought that external means should be used in a given situation (or at least the addition of external means) and the other thought that only internal remedies should be used, yes, that the use of external remedies amounted to a conspiracy with the disease, a greater danger than if nothing at all were done either with surgery or with drugs! — But enough of this; the works testify to this, and besides, in my earlier article I found and used the occasion to point this out quite adequately. And then we two agree, totally agree!
Thus I find myself prompted and obliged, especially in view of present circumstances,* to make a slight objection: [X5 B 128 326] that we two simply do not agree, that I have worked simply and solely for the inward deepening of Christianity in the single individual, and that for the rest (this was added after the article against Dr. R., which was published over my name, had really ended), I humbly acknowledge that there is a far higher task, that a person may collide with the established order in such a way that external change becomes a matter of conscience, so that he must operate not only along the lines of being a witness to the truth but with “the apostle” as the prototype; yet if a person must or desires to venture out in this way, his operation cannot possibly be fashioned with balloting as the model, and he cannot march to the tune of “Let’s get together.” In fact, I made it [changed from: God knows I made this objection] in a way that seems uncalled for, because, among other things, Dr. R. had used a very appreciative statement about me, and then it is always unpleasant to have to make an objection; with such a point of departure it is very easy to infringe on a man. But, after all, I have not had great returns as an author, and therefore I have wanted at least the satisfaction that what I have intended should stand as clearly as possible. And in this respect that little note was extremely misleading.
Therefore I make the objection that we two do not agree. And this is what Dr. R. has followed up in a freer discourse that sticks neither to the text nor to the note nor to the matter itself: the text and the note. Dr. R. presents a few points of difference: we two do not agree.
But what about that note? And how can Dr. R. possibly begin his article by saying that I have seriously misunderstood him? I was the one who stated immediately that we two disagree, [X5 B 128 327] that there must be a misunderstanding on Dr. R.’s part. The affair between Dr. R. and me is not a discussion concerning Christianity and politics beginning with my open letter but is that little note in which R. summarily maintained that we two agree. It was not I who began, not I who invited discussion; on the contrary, it was that little note by R., and it was I who in a newspaper article defended myself against what the note seemed to intend: that without further ado I ought to be regarded as one who is in complete agreement with Dr. R. Therefore my signature stood about midway in the article, indicating that the affair with Dr. R. had really terminated.
But now the disagreement has certainly been substantiated. To me this is the main point. If Dr. R. wants to say that this is a misunderstanding—with pleasure! This is of no importance to me. On the other hand, it is of importance to me that it be clearly maintained that we two disagree. “But, honored friend, this is a misunderstanding.” Yes, yes, then let it be a misunderstanding.
One can hardly be more compliant, and Dr. R. cannot possibly demand more, especially in a case in which the disagreement, according to my conception, is so manifest that I pledge myself to make it comprehensible to a child, although my reader may well smile at my situation, he who easily sees with half an eye what I could—if not see—at least know without trying. And now, since everything, after all, is supposed to be free in our time, since we are to have civil marriage without wedding ceremony and union, so I too shall be free, and I hope that no one joins me together with Dr. R. by forced union if I have even the slightest misgiving about it.
The disagreement, therefore, has now been substantiated.
I see, however, and with joy, that there is something else that has remained unchanged; I see it with joy, partly because, as mentioned, I know Dr. R. from my father’s house, partly because Dr. R. is our learned and expert Dr. R., and finally because it is after I have had to write an article such as my first [X5 B 128 328] one—I see with joy that Dr. R. has maintained unchanged his friendly good will toward me. Yes, this time it seems to have found an even stronger expression than the first time, when toward the end of the article it is said of me that I have made the one great sacrifice the world does not know—my time, my diligence, my life.
I find this last portion very fine, very fine of Dr. R.; I urgently request him to accept my thanks for it.
But it would not be fine of me to keep silent about it, for what is said of me there is much too much. I still am essentially only a poet. I have had the task of laying emphasis upon ideality, of applying the ideals, but then the additional task of seeing to it, for the sake of God in heaven, that the horrible thing does not happen that I am confused with the perfection I portray. But with respect to my undertaking, I have not sacrificed either my time or my labor, and least of all my life. The most that can truthfully be said of me is that I, in the service of the idea, have dedicated or consecrated my time, my labor during part of my life, for the fact that I have worked gratis can signify at most that I have sacrificed some money and signifies least of all what I have done least of all—sacrificed my life. On the contrary, to describe my seven years of activity as an author I may use the words of the poet: Ich habe gelebt und geliebt [I have lived and loved].506 I have lived, lived much in a few years, and I have loved—yes . . . . . yes, the ideals, yes, indescribably, and in all honesty I still do. I have not been cheated out of this love, and it has not been pounded out of me, either, but has only been made more intense. Yet I am only a poet. I have been permitted to go on living in almost the childlike situation of a father’s son, occupied early and late in portraying the ideals and in testifying that such glorious ones have lived, who, by stepping forth in character, have shown that they had a cause of conscience or that they still were related ethically to the idea and therefore [X5 B 128 329] neither sought first of all to become a crowd nor babbled nonsense about being a crowd, hopefully anticipating the results of balloting—such glorious ones, of whom it is literally true that they have sacrificed—for we can all, the clergy as well as the layman, talk, sing, orate, and talk big about sacrificing, but sacrificed!—note this well—sacrificed! Oh, this is so elevated: they have sacrificed, sacrificed time and labor (and in return they received nothing but the ingratitude of all!), honor and property (and the reward, the only reward, but all the more abundant, was mockery), a cozy life lived in harmony with men, friendship and love and life, and all for the sake of truth! I, on the other hand, am essentially only a poet who happens also to have been wronged. From the very beginning and continually I have been accused of being a colossal egotist. Perhaps they still do not understand me, that my sickness may be just the opposite. Through much association with the ideals in quiet solitariness I have learned to hate myself, learned to understand what a wretched bungler I am; many a time I have felt that my life could be bought for four shillings—to such a degree have I learned to hate myself. But I love—yes . . . . . yes, the ideals, yes, indescribably!
Added in margin: as one who loves what wounds: the ideals; what infinitely detains: the ideals; as one who loves what, humanly speaking, makes a man unhappy: the ideals; what teaches “to flee to grace”: the ideals; what in a higher sense makes a man indescribably happy: the ideals—if in the self-concern of the infinite he can learn properly to hate himself. Indescribably happy, although he nevertheless has had to and has to admit humbly to himself that there is something infinitely higher that he has not reached, and on the other hand so indescribably happy that he simply does not feel it to be something lacking if he perhaps does not happen to find time either to dance507 or to vote or to clink glasses.—Pap. X5 B 128 n.d., 1851
[X4 A 85 52] For “The Accounting.”508 Something, however, which is not to be included.
Concerning Myself
Inasmuch as before God I regard my entire work as an author as my own upbringing or education, I could say: But I have remained silent so long lest, in relation to what I understand before God to be my own education, by speaking prematurely I become guilty of talking out of school. This could then be added to the passage in the final draft of “The Accounting”: Before God I call this my upbringing or education etc.
I would have liked very much to use this very expression; lyrically, it would have gratified me to use this expression. But there is something else that holds me back. As is frequently the case, the most humble expression seen from another angle is the very one that is apt to say too much, and so it is here. Precisely this humble expression would accentuate the fact that it is my education, almost in the sense of my [X4 A 85 53] being an authority. It is simpler as it stands in “The Accounting,” with the addition that I need further education, and the tone is such that it can be said of every man.—JP VI 6737 (Pap. X4 A 85) n.d., 1851
My Tactic
always disputere only e concessis (to take a man’s words when he says something great about himself and then to press the existential consequences upon him), might seem to be “villainous malice and envy.” By no means, it is admiration. But it is the admiration of reflection that looks where it is going, and ethically it is irony, which the lack of character in our age needs.—JP VI 6739 (Pap. X4 A 101) n.d., 1851
. . . Just one word in closing. I dare not say that I had the [X6 B 173 274] honor of knowing Bishop M.509 from my father’s house; that would have been an almost unnatural relationship, since there was, in fact, the greatest possible and most distancing difference in the circumstances of life: the honorable conspicuousness of loftiness and the inconspicuousness, yet honorable in its own way, of lowliness.
But from my father’s house I do know Bishop M.’s sermons; I inherited many good things from him, among them Bishop M.’s sermons, which for my own upbuilding I have read and do read and will go on reading again and again. I [X6 B 173 275] have consulted them—also when I took the step of opposing that literary contemptibleness510—and intend to consult them every time I am to act. I have but one thing to say about this man’s sermons to everyone who pays any attention to my voice: Listen to him, read him. And again I say: Listen to him, read him. As for myself, I wish that I may feel even more strongly, every time I pick up Bishop M.’s sermons for my upbuilding, the presence of the one who is dead, that departed one who brought me up on Bishop M.’s sermons. Thus I am well provided for religiously, because Bishop M. tells me exceptionally well what to do and the departed one says: Will you do it now, immediately.
But with respect to doing it and doing it immediately, I no doubt am way behind, probably will never do it perfectly. That I have known how to present ideals and accentuate ideality poetically—yet for God in heaven’s sake and with honest fear and trembling guarding against being confused with what I have presented511—is something quite different, but then I have never pretended to be essentially more than a singular kind of poet. Therefore it is not true, as Dr. Rudelbach says in concluding his reply to me in Fædrelandet, no.——,512 “that I have made the one great sacrifice the world does not recognize, my time, my diligence, my life.” This is a misunderstanding, although uncommonly sympathetic, especially after my article in the same newspaper.513 But it is a misunderstanding; essentially I am only a poet. I have not “sacrificed,” not “my time,” not “my diligence”—the most that can be said is that I have dedicated or devoted my time and my diligence in a part of my life to the service of an idea. And least of all have I sacrificed—“my life.” No! Essentially I am only a poet who loves what wounds: ideals; what infinitely detains: ideals; what makes a man, humanly speaking, unhappy: ideals; what “teaches to take refuge in grace”:* [X6 B 173 276] ideals; what in a higher sense makes a man indescribably happy: ideals—if he could learn to hate himself properly in the self-concern of infinity. Indescribably happy, although humbled, deeply, profoundly humbled, before the ideals, he has had to confess and must confess to himself and to others that there is the infinitely higher that he has not reached, yet unspeakably happy to have seen it, although it is precisely this [having seen] and that [ideals] which cast him to the earth, him, consequently the unhappy one. [Crossed out:—Well, perhaps for time, but not for eternity: what unspeakable happiness, what bliss! Underneath here: S. Kierkegaard.] No, no, the eternally happy one. For eternity! For one can grow weary of all temporal and earthly things, and so it would be tormenting if they were to continue eternally. But the person who receives a vision of ideals instantaneously has but one prayer to God: an eternity! And this prayer is instantaneously heard, for ideals and eternity are eternally inseparable. Thus he, the happy one, has an eternity for contemplation. And should he finish, then he has—what good fortune!—an eternity in which to begin from the beginning. And there is no hurry, there is time enough, plenty of time, still an eternity left . . . . . what ineffable happiness, what bliss!
And in calm weather, when life seems to be tranquilized in illusions, one may think one can do without all this fantasy about ideals, think that all they do is disturb everything, and quite right—they will disturb all the illusions. But when everything is tottering, when everything is splitting up into parties, small societies, sects, etc., when, just because everyone wants to rule, ruling is practically impossible—then there is still one force left that can control men: the ideals, properly applied. For in the first place, the ideals, properly applied, do not come too close to anyone, do not give offense to the ambitions of all, to the ambitions of anyone, which can so easily happen to someone who wants to rule; and in the next place, ideals split up every crowd, seize the individual and keep control of him. I point to my own life. Through my considerable association with the ideals I dare say I have become a good subject—which perhaps is quite a rarity these days when everybody wants to rule.—JP VI 6749 (Pap. X6 B 173) n.d., 1851
S. KIERKEGAARD
. . . . . cannot be formed according to the paradigm of balloting (balloting, balloting with discussion, balloting without discussion—O balloting, from, in, with, upon, by balloting) or be done according to the popular song: Let’s a few of us get together, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah. Streetlighting and clothes and, with all due respect, the sanitation department can be reformed in this manner; but let us be men: Christianity does not lend itself to reformation in this way.—JP IV 4208 (Pap. X4 A 102) n.d., 1851
. . . . . You have 1,000 pastors—if you had only one who had nevertheless a little to sacrifice for the sake of Christianity, you would be better served. You want to reform the Church—then find first of all one Christian, and let him reform the Church.—JP III 3733 (Pap. X4 A 117) n.d., 1851
[X4 A 118 67] My Sights
are always directed toward this: Christianity actually does not exist, that is to say, existentially, and this is also why I call myself a poet.
For the sake of this aim it is naturally of importance to me to exclude anything that could be misleading in this respect. At one time it was believed that the need was for a speculative [X4 A 118 68] system—this was misleading, for then it was tacitly conceded that we are Christians, that this was certain, and that everything was all right, since the need was only for a system. Nowadays people want to reform the Church—this is equally misleading, as if everything were all right with all of us as Christians. Here, you see, is the difference between me and Rudelbach, who speaks only of a little party, which he calls the Church—they are the true Christians, which, however, I do not think is so.—Pap. X4 A 118 n.d., 1851
Amazing!
Once the objection against Christianity (and this was right at the time when it was most evident what Christianity is) was that it was unpatriotic, a danger to the state, revolutionary—and now Christianity has become patriotism and a state Church.
Once the objection against Christianity (and this was right at the time when it was most evident what Christianity is and the objection was made by the genuinely keen-eyed pagans) was that it was antihuman—and now Christianity has become humanity.
Once Christianity was an offense to the Jews and foolishness to the Greeks, and now it is—culture. For Bishop Mynster515 the mark of true Christianity is culture.
And now, if Dr. Rudelbach will give up his office and step forth as a solitary man, get rid of misconceived collaboration in the form of political favor, and declare that he is no Christian and that Christianity does not exist at all—that would be something. But this whole muddle of voting by every Tom, Dick, and Harry, which allows for a host of illusions—no, this is nonsense.—Pap. X4 A 126 n.d., 1851
Vinet
I have now obtained Der Sozialismus in seinem Princip betrachtet [Socialism Considered According to Its Principles],516 by Vinet, translated by Hofmeister.
Reading his foreword to the little book has been enough.
He is not the man [the awaited existential ethicist]. He is a brilliant author who writes something about the single individual but is not in character, does not operate in character, is not existentially higher than all discussion—no, no, he writes something that he then submits to public opinion; he palavers with the public in the usual author fashion.
But nevertheless there is spirit.—JP IV 4211 (Pap. X4 A 185) March 9, 1851
In margin of Pap. X4 A 185:
It was Vinet for whom Rudelbach shouted in his book on civil marriage,517 saying that Vinet and I are in agreement. Curiously enough, I then requested a book by him from the University Library. It was on loan. Some time later it was sent to me. A few days later the librarian told me that the one who had had the book would like to have it again. I returned it at once. It turned out that Martensen518 was the one who had had it. It was a large book by Vinet in French, and for that reason I did not read any of it. But today I myself have obtained the little book, which I had ordered.—JP IV 4212 (Pap. X4 A 186) March 9, 1851
Independence
How is it that in our time only a wealthy person is regarded as an independent man? I wonder if it is not because we have completely forgotten or transformed into a fable the fact that being able to live on roots, water, and bread is a more secure independence.—JP II 1271 (Pap. X4 A 257) n.d., 1851
[X4 A 270 145] Conversation with Bishop Mynster,519 May 2
As I entered, I said that this was just about the time he usually traveled on his visitations and I usually liked to call upon him some time before.
So we talked together about the minister and the department, which I do not note down since it does not concern my cause.
Then the conversation was drawn to more recent events. I mentioned again the tactic with my latest pseudonym520 and pointed out how without it I could not have taken the position against Rudelbach, which he admitted. I then repeated that even if he had something against this book of mine, which was possible, it was nevertheless a defense of the established order.
Then I turned suddenly to his book521 and said outright that I had not come to thank him for my copy because there was something in it that I could not approve, and this was why I had been delinquent about visiting him.
[X4 A 271 146] We talked about this; yet he was momentarily startled when I turned the conversation this way. So we talked about this. He maintained essentially, as I could well understand, that he had merely said that Goldschmidt522 was talented, whereupon I pointed out that this could be understood as an understatement. I reminded him that he, too, had enemies and how an enemy might construe his behavior. I repeated again and again that what concerned me was whether his reputation had not suffered too much by directing attention to Goldschmidt in this way.* I pointed out to him that he ought to have demanded a revocation by G.; I told him that, with his permission, I would show how he should have done it—that is, demanded a revocation. The precariousness of it all lay, I told him, in this, that he should keep in mind that he has to represent prestige—and that it was impossible for me to defend his conduct. I pointed out to him how he now had G. in his power, that he could give a turn to the affair—one usually brings out the good in a man by means of the good. The fact that M. had directed attention to G. in this way ought to have made G. aware that a revocation was necessary; since it was lacking, what had been done was also of a different character. But M. was of the opinion that there was still something in the fact that G. had remained silent. I explained again how insidious G. was and that it probably would appear some time.
Then I said to him, “It may seem strange that youth speaks to age in this manner, but for the present will you permit me to do so and allow me to give you some advice: If there is anything about me of which you disapprove, if you would like to give me a whack, do it, do it; I can take it and shall see to it that you do not suffer for it; but, above all, do not do it in such a way that your own prestige comes to suffer thereby. It is your prestige that concerns me.”
Again and again I repeated: “I want it said plainly and bluntly,” “I want my conscience to be clear,” “It must be noted that I have said that I cannot approve of it” (and as I said it, I bent over the table and wrote, as it were, with my hand). To this he replied: “Well, it is very explicit.” And I saw to it [X4 A 271 147] that every time I said this he replied and indicated that he had heard it.
In other respects my conversation was permeated by all the affection for him I received from my father and still have. I talked much longer than usual. Incidentally, he was more friendly and attentive than usual today. I did something that I otherwise do not do—I spoke a little with him about his family, a subject he brought up himself by saying that his daughter was to be married. And I spoke a little with him about himself, about the joy of his old age, and how grateful he must be. And then again—that he must be sure to watch out for his prestige.
Usually he has to be pressed when I speak of paying him a visit, and generally he is in the habit of saying that I might better come some other time, without saying when. This he did not do today. On the contrary, he said that I would be welcome. And when I said: Is another time perhaps more convenient for you, he replied: Come at the specified time. To which I answered: I would certainly prefer to come at that time; it is very special to me; I am accustomed to it, and “tradition is still a great force.” (This was an allusion to something in the conversation.)
And so it went—Thanks, good friend, etc.
I parted from him on the most friendly terms possible.
Incidentally, when we spoke together of Goldschmidt, he made an attempt to point out that he had used “talented” for Goldschmidt and “gifted” for me and that the latter meant much more. To which I answered: That is of no consequence, the question here is your prestige. Thereupon he abandoned this attempt.**
On the whole I was happy to have spoken with him. My affection for him belongs to him, after all, and it does not help much to put in print how devoted to him I am—it would never be understood anyway.—JP VI 6757 (Pap. X4 A 270) May 2, 1851
In margin of Pap. X4 A 270:
* He said that G. was a useful man and that one ought to utilize such people. I replied that there is an impatience that sees only what appears advantageous at the moment but which is dangerous, and that it was a question of whether or not he had not bought too dearly by paying with his prestige.—JP VI 6758 (Pap. X4 A 271) n.d., 1851
** The dubious aspect (of the extent to which Mynster did not mean to affront me by grouping me with Goldschmidt in this way) was something that up until now I have not wanted to note down, although I hid it in my memory. When I said that he at least ought to have let G. first disavow his past, M. answered: Then I would have to have read through all of his numerous books. Thus I was supposed to believe that M. was actually ignorant of the fact that there was a paper called The Corsair, that G. had edited it for six years, and that M. did not understand that this was what I was aiming at!—JP VI 6759 (Pap. X4 A 272) n.d., 1851
And this [Mynster’s and Goldschmidt’s use of the numerical] also took place right at the very moment (for Mynster had already nodded toward Goldschmidt but had not yet linked him with me) when I (out of love for my idea and the truth but also genuinely out of love for the old man) had once more lined up against the numerical and had broken sharply with Rudelbach523 and the Old Orthodox.—Pap. X4 A 522 n.d., 1852
To Declare Maieutically that One Himself Is Not a Christian524 [X4 A 553 370]
Take the Socratic position: error and evil are puffed-up knowledge—therefore Socrates is the ignorant one and remains that until the end. Likewise, to be a Christian has become an illusion, all these millions of Christians—therefore the situation must be reversed and Christianity must be introduced by a person who says that he himself is not a Christian.
This is the way I have understood it. But to what extent ought this tactic be maintained to the end, and to what extent should I stick to it?
For me, the entire operation has been a matter of being honest with myself: whether and to what extent I wanted to become a Christian in the strictest sense. Devoutly (for I felt myself to be ordained to this task, my only one), I intellectually assumed the task of making clear what Christianity is, and the pseudonym525 also declared himself not to be Christian.
[X4 A 553 371] But when the one who enters upon this operation is himself in the situation of having to determine whether he actually wants to become a Christian in the strictest sense, this tactic cannot and ought not to be maintained to the end. Otherwise the most appalling thing could happen—that by jacking up the price of being a Christian he ultimately (let us take the extreme) would get everyone to give up Christianity and he himself would give it up. Furthermore, such a person, himself detached, could take a demonic delight in torturing those who call themselves Christians by attaching to them heavy burdens that he himself has not yet taken up.
So it is with me. But suppose that someone else had undertaken the enterprise of maieutically introducing Christianity, declaring himself not to be a Christian, someone else who from the outset had in deepest inwardness made up his mind about being and wanting to be a Christian in the strictest sense—ought this maieutic position then be maintained to the end, or is there not a difficulty here that is not present in the Socratic position? To be specific, Christianity teaches that a danger is involved, persecution goes along with confessing that one is a true Christian—this is no doubt evaded by the person who in introducing Christianity declares himself not to be a Christian. True enough, the evil in “Christendom” is precisely that all are Christians, and thus there is no danger connected with calling oneself Christian but rather an advantage, and here again, in reverse, the danger might come through not wanting to declare oneself to be a Christian. Yet to this Christianity might reply: “Because there is no danger connected with being a Christian in the sense that these millions are Christian, I do not for that reason take back my word that suffering, mockery, and persecution are still to be expected if one genuinely wants to be a Christian and confesses to being one—and this you evade by introducing Christianity in such a way that you declare yourself not to be a Christian.” And so it is, too. The scruples about claiming to be a Christian, which I have expressed in a little essay, Armed Neutrality526 (because I do not want the point of contention to [X4 A 553 372] be my claim that “I am a Christian” but that “I know what Christianity is”), because of the fear that on judgment day God might say to me: You have dared to call yourself a Christian—these scruples are removed by what I have pointed out here, that on judgment day God could very well say to such a person: By declaring yourself not to be a Christian, you have evaded suffering for confessing that you are a Christian (with respect to Socrates,527 there was no ignominy etc. connected with calling himself wise, something he evaded by calling himself ignorant).
But let us suppose that the person who introduced Christianity maieutically (in order to get rid of the illusion, the notion of being Christian because one is living in Christendom), declaring himself not to be a Christian, let us suppose that he not only from the beginning made up his mind about wanting to be a Christian in the strictest sense but that he completely ordered his life (although continually declaring himself not to be a Christian) according to the requirements of Christianity concerning renunciation, dying to the world,[*] and lived in voluntary poverty and thereby was definitely exposed to the suffering and persecution that are inseparable and are essential Christianity—can he continue to the end with this formula: I am not a Christian? The answer to this must be: Christianity nevertheless always requires the confession of Christ, and yet the suffering he suffers may not necessarily be for Christ’s sake; perhaps he could also be secretly proud of having no fellowship with other Christians.
If the formula “I am not a Christian” is to be maintained to the end, then it must be done by an “apostle”528 but in an entirely new style. He must have an immediate relation to Christ and then only in death explain how it all hangs together. Whether this will ever happen, I cannot say.
[*] In margin: and everything involved in “imitation,”529 dying to the world, being born again, and so on, which I myself was not aware of in 1848.—JP II 1962 (Pap. X4 A 553) n.d., 1852