Soren Kierkegaard

abitbleary-eyed,butinViborg,asineveryprovincialtown,peopleinsisted
that nowhere had the king been so delighted with his visit as right there.
FromViborghewentbycarriagetoHald,whereanoldmanlayouton
theheather,impressingKierkegaardwithhisutterinsouciance.Kierkegaard
joined company with him as far as Non Mill, and when they passed
Koldbæk, which was said to have the most delicious water in the entire
district, the old fellow lay down on his belly and drank happily from the
brook. “And this is the life we are brought up to disdain!” he wrote in his
notebook,fullofromanticindignation.Thepartingwaspainful,however.
WhenKierkegaardhadwantedtogivethemanafewsmallcoinsasthanks
for his company, the old man made as if to kiss him on the hand, thus
assuming a posture of servility that disturbed Kierkegaard’s impression of
the stout-hearted common man. “I would have preferred more bold con-
fidence,” Kierkegaard explained.
Themoorwasnotonlythemoor,itwasalsoamythicbitofnature,and
forKierkegaarditwasanimatedbythememoryofpoorMichael,whohad
minded his sheep and had one day climbed a little hill to curse a distant,
uncaringGod.Travelingdownnarrowlanesandoverwheelruts,theone-
time shepherd’s well-to-do son rolled by in his coach, noting things at a
distance: “The moors must be particularly suited for the development of
mighty spirits. Here everything lies naked and exposed to God, and here
they do not have the many diversions, the many crannies and recesses, in
which consciousness may hide away and from which earnestness so often
has a difficult time rounding up one’s scattered thoughts. Here conscious-
nessmustcloseinuponitselfinfirmandprecisefashion.Hereonthemoor
you may truly say: ‘Whither shall I flee from Thy presence?’”
Kierkegaardputthistothetestandsetoutonasolitarywalkaboutwhich
he would later file a report: “Walking on the moor...Ilost my way. Far
away a dark mass loomed up, tossing one way and the other in constant
unrest.Ithoughtitwasaforest.IwasquiteamazedsinceIknewthatthere
wasnoforestintheareaotherthantheoneIhadleftbehindme.Aloneon
the burningmoor, surrounded onall sidesby absolute samenessexcept for
thetossingsearightinfrontofme,Ibecamepositivelyseasickanddesperate
because despite all my efforts at walking I could not manage to get any
closer to the forest. Nor did I ever get there, because when I reached the
ViborgRoaditstillappearedtobethere,exceptthatnow,standingonthe
white road, I could see that it was heather-covered hills on the other side
of Viborg Lake. On the moor, precisely because one has such extensive
vistas,onehasabsolutelynoscaleofmeasure.Onewalksandwalks.Objects
do not change, because there actually is noob-ject [Latin:object, ‘thrown
(ject) against (ob)’] (for to be an object always requires the existence of an