Soren Kierkegaard

within whose depths he would devote himself to “secret whispering with
the reader.” And this was what happened five years later inPrefaces, where
the preface whispers in this lyrical manner: “A preface is a mood .Writing
a preface is like whetting a scythe; like tuning a guitar; like talking with a
child; like spitting out of the window... .Writing a preface is like ringing
a man’s doorbell to play a prank on him; like going past a young girl’s
window and looking at the cobblestones .It is like striking at the wind with
one’s walking stick; like doffing one’s hat even though there is no one to
greet .Writing a preface is like having done something that entitles one to
demand a certain amount of attention; like asking a lady for a dance, but
not making a move; like pressing one’s left leg to the horse, pulling the
reins to the right, and hearing the steed say ‘psst’ and telling the whole world
to get lost .It is like joining in, without being the least bit inconvenienced by
having joined in; like standing on Valby Hill and looking at the wild
geese... .Writing a preface is like having arrived, standing in a cozy parlor,
greeting the person one has longed for, sitting in an easy chair, filling a pipe,
lighting it—and having so infinitely much to talk about with each other.
Writing a preface is like being aware that one is in the process of falling in
love .The soul has a sweet restlessness; the mystery is posed; everything that
happens hints at its solution .Writing a preface is like bending aside a branch
of a jasmine bower and seeing her sitting in concealment: my beloved .This,
yes this, is what it is like to write a preface! And what is he like, the person
who writes it? He mixes with people like a dunce in the winter and a fool
in the summer .He is hello and good-bye in one person, always happy
and carefree, contented with himself, really a frivolous good-for-nothing,
indeed, an immoral person because he does not go to the stock exchange
to make money, he merely strolls through the building .He does not address
annual meetings because the air is too close .He does not propose toasts at
any society because this requires several days’ advance notice .He does not
run errands on behalf of the System .He does not pay down the national
debt; indeed, he does not even get seriously concerned about it .He passes
through life like a cobbler’s boy whistling in the street, even though the
person who needs his boots is standing and waiting—he’ll just have to wait
as long as there is a single sliding hill left or the least sight worth seeing.
This, yes this, is what the person who writes prefaces is like.”
And this, yes this, is the way that Kierkegaard writes when he presents
aestheticallythe immediacy he has much greater difficulty coming totheologi-
cally .A person does not need to be anything other or greater than his own
little faltering preface—in the confidence that at some point in eternity God
will surely bring order out of the individual’s divided and piecemeal tale
and write an emphatic postscript.