Soren Kierkegaard

one format, sometimes in another,” after which the cop yis laid “upon m y
sick heart like a dressing made from the herb called ‘God’s Hand.’ ” But
this was not a pure, unalloyed inwardness, for he could have the entire
house illuminated so that he could recite a portion of the book of Job—
“with a loud voice, almost yelling”—just as he would occasionally open a
window “and shout his words out into the world.” If his love had once
been directed at a woman, his passion was now for the book of Job, and in
a quite literal sense, for just as the Young Man and Job share the dinner
table, so do the yalso share the bed—“thus I take the book to bed with me
at night!”
As the young woman has been replaced by the book, so too has the erotic
passion been replaced b ythe passion of reading: “Even though I have read
the book again and again, ever yword in it remains new to me. Ever ytime
I approach it, it is born anew or it becomes something new in m ysoul.
Like a drunkard, little b ylittle, I imbibe all the intoxication of passion until
this slow sipping makes me almost unconscious with drink.” The Young
Man has projected all his love onto the writing, onto the book of Job; he
has wedded his sexualit yto its textualit y, but when he removes his lustful
gaze from the page, it is as though the text takes back the repetition, leaving
the youth in a despairing state that receives its clearest expression in the
letter dated October 11: “M ylife has been brought to its uttermost point.
I am disgusted with existence, it has no savor and is without salt or meaning.
Even if I were hungrier than Pierrot, I still would not eat of the explanation
offered b ymen. One sticks a finger in the ground in order to tell b ythe
smell what countr yone is in. I stick m yfinger into existence, it smells of
nothing. Where am I? What does that mean, ‘the world’? What does that
word mean? Who has tricked me into this entire affair and now leaves me
standing here? Who am I? How did I come into the world? Wh ywasn’t I
consulted? Wh ywas I not made acquainted with the customs and rules, but
instead thrust into the ranks, as though I had been shanghaied b ya militar y
recruiter? How did I acquire a share in the great enterprise the ycall realit y?
Wh ydo I have to have a share in it? Isn’t it a matter of free choice? And if
I am to be forced to do this, where is the manager, because I have something
to say? Is there no manager? To whom shall I direct my complaint? Exis-
tence is a debate, after all, so might I ask that m yviews be taken into consid-
eration?...Will no one answer? Isn’t this of the greatest importance to all
the gentlemen involved?... How did it come about that I became guilty?
Or am I not guilty? Why, then, am I labeled as such in every language?
What sort of a wretched invention is human language, when it says one
thing and means another?”