Soren Kierkegaard

otherby virtue of which it is anob-ject, but the eye cannot be that other:
The eye is the combining faculty).”
So the moor presumably did seem to foster the development of mighty
spirits, but among the descendants of these spirits it seemed to develop
somethingquitedifferent:Kierkegaardlosthissenseofdirection,confused
forests with the sea, and became seasick and desperate; the infinite plain
burnedunderhisfeet;andallthewhileobjectsretreatedfromhimthemore
he tried to approach them. The natural world, which until then had re-
ceived its mythic importance from the memory of his father, suddenly re-
verseditselfandimplodedintothewanderer,producingthedizzyingempti-
ness whose name is anxiety. There was nothing, no thing, no object; the
eye was unable to combine. Not even the myth could manage any longer
tosecurethemoorasthegroundunderthefather’sstory.It,too,hadburst,
allowing the increasingly directionless young man to plummet through
himself, past all fixed points, out into nothing.
From the district around Viborg the journey continued to the town of
Holstebro, “the Jerusalem of hosiers,” where the name Michael Pedersen
Kierkegaardwasquitewellremembered.Inotherrespects,however,there
wasnotmuchthatawakenedremembrancesofthingspast;onthecontrary,
the opposite was the case. At Holstebro there was a sort of trapshooting
contest in which a person was supposed to hit a little birdy, something
everyone continued to find enormously amusing even though it had
amused them for the better part of a day. Kierkegaard was compelled to
resumehisstatusastourist,andnotedsatirically:“Iwanttoconveymybest
wishestothehonoredinhabitantsofHolstebro,inthehopethatthissingular
amusement might last for a minimum of eight days. The birdy, too, seems
to be a pretty tough character, for although its wing was shot off—at any
rate the prize for having done so was awarded to the lucky winner—it
remainedsittingthere.Thetownjudgewasthereinallhisaugustpresence,
making microscopic observations with the assistance of a spotting scope.
The only thing lacking was that the town had no official newspaper in
which to publish the results.” The estrangement continued. Driving past
the church in the village of Idum, the coachman asserted that the pastor
was named Giedde. Kierkegaard knew the man, but when he descended
from the carriage to meet him, he was received coolly: The pastor was
namednotGiedde,butGjeding—butintheJutlanddialectnoonecantell
the difference!
The journey continued in a southerly direction toward Ringkøbing. In
thisdistrict,oddlyenough,younggirlswentaroundwearing“men’shats.”
Kierkegaardmetoneofthemandhopedthatshewouldremoveitforhim
so that he could do the same, but she was coy and kept it on. Ringkøbing