Feb for Fear and Trembling, Repetition, and some Upbuilding Discourses

Such incalculably great readers, Kierkegaard and his pseudonyms: of Abraham and Job, in Fear and Trembling and Repetition, respectively, and then of the New Testament in his Upbuilding Discourses. Also of the story of the fall in the background, and of Shakespeare brooding over all--conversant with them all with such awe, such gratitude:

"Thanks, once again thanks, to a man who, to a person overwhelmed by life's sorrows and left behind naked, reaches out the words, the leafage of language by which he can conceal his misery. Thanks to you, great Shakespeare, you who can say everything, everything, everything just as it is--and yet, why did you never articulate this torment? Did you perhaps reserve it for yourself, like the beloved's name that one cannot bear to have the world utter, for with his little secret that he cannot divulge the poet buys this power of the word to tell everybody else's dark secrets. A poet is not an apostle; he drives out devils only by the power of the devil" (61).

And such discernment, ever reflecting, yet not quite getting lost in the hall of mirrors, the labyrinths of literature: Abraham here and Agamemnon there, Luke over here and Shakespeare over there...

And such astonishing writers they are! One thing I remembered but could never place, this description of the knight of faith, made me so happy to find at last:

"In the afternoon, he takes a walk to the woods. He enjoys everything he sees, the swarms of people, the new omnibuses, the Sound. Encountering him on Strandveien, one would take him for a mercantile soul enjoying himself. He finds pleasure in this way, for he is not a poet, and I have tried in vain to lure the poetic incommensurability out of him. Toward evening, he goes home, and his gait is as steady as a postman's. On the way, he thinks that his wife surely will have a special hot meal for him when he comes home--for example, roast lamb's head with vegetables. If he meets a kindred soul, he would go on talking all the way...." (39)

And many things I knew nothing about, like the description of the farcical theater like the belly of Jonah's whale which proceeds this passage, have been revelatory to read:

"My unforgettable nursemaid, you fleeting nymph who lived in the brook that ran past my father's farm and always helpfully shared our childish games, even if you just took care of yourself...Then I lay at your side and vanished from myself in the immensity of the sky above and forgot myself in your soothing murmur! You, my happier self, you fleeting life that lives in the brook running past my father's farm, where I lie stretched out as if my body were an abandoned hiking stick, but I am rescued and released in the plaintive purling!--Thus did I lie in my theater box, discarded like a swimmer's clothing, stretched out by the stream of laughter and unrestraint and applause that ceaselessly foamed by me" (166)

Gosh. Or this preface, repeated with variations before each set of Upbuilding Discourses, following the repeated dedication to his father:

"Small as it is, it probably will slip through, since it shifts for itself and goes its way and tends to its errand and discerns its own enigmatic path--until it finds that single individual [hiin Enkelte] whom I with joy and gratitude call my reader--until it finds what it is seeking, that favorably disposed person who reads aloud to himself what I write in stillness, who with his voice breaks the spell on the letters, with his voice summons forth what the mute letters have on  their lips, as it were, but are unable to express without great effort, stammering and stuttering, who in his mood rescues the captive thoughts that long for release..." (53)

"What is not found in the second and third hours may be found in the fourth, or what was found there may again be found in the fourth: that which it seeks, that single individual [hiin Enkelte] whom I with joy and gratitude call my reader, that favorably disposed person who receives the book and gives it a good home, that favorably disposed person who in receiving it does for it by himself and by his acceptance what the temple box by itself did for the widow's mite: sanctifies the gift, gives it meaning, and transforms it into much.
                                                 S. K."            (107)

This all resonates. My word, yes.

And then the helpful remarks of the translators and editors, who point out who that single individual was in particular, how these ideas were developed through drafts and diaries, if one wants to dig into that sort of thing, to get at the truth that is true for someone, or for something, to give some context and some bearing on the categories of language and thought behind the various projects. But the main thing is that they make this writing and reading available, accessible, and what a labor of love that must have been, which I can only hope in some small way to assist with sharing some of it here throughout the year.