there must be no difference between one person and another; we should
all be brothers and sisters, owning everything in common; riches, social
station, art, science, et cetera, are all evil; all people should be as alike as
they once were in the little town of Christiansfeldt; they should dress alike,
pray at specified times, get married by drawing lots, go to bed at a certain
hour, eat the same food, from one bowl, in accordance with a specified
tempo, et cetera et cetera.”
When strict uniformity is imposed on people, it is a matter of indifference
whether it happens in the name of Christianity or communism; its very
unfreedom is a clear demonstration of its untruth.
And it would in fact be interesting to know what other activities might
be hidden behind the repeated “et cetera et cetera.”
From the Financial Papers of One Still Living
Wednesday, May 5, 1847: “How strange, that I have turned thirty-four. It
is utterly inconceivable to me. I was so sure that I would die before or on
this birthday, that I could actually be tempted to suppose that my birthday
was erroneously recorded and that I will still die on my thirty-fourth.”
Kierkegaard noted this day in a little cluster of journal entries dealing
with a number of subjects, including the matter of the difference between
sin and spiritual struggle, and the matter of death, both actual death and,
especially, symbolic death: “When I left her, I chose death—and for this
very reason I have been able to work so prodigiously. She screamed, in
parody, ‘I’ll die,’ while I acted as if the pleasures of my life had only just
begun; all this was perfectly in order: She is a woman and I am an ironist.”
It cannot be denied that the passage ends in a rather abrupt bit of cynicism,
but farther down the page, separated by a pound sign (#), Kierkegaard
moderated his position: “And yet the cause lies even deeper. Naturally,
what induced me to leave her, my deepest unhappiness, now took on a
quite different significance for me, since that was the reason I had to make
her unhappy and take a murder on my conscience. Therefore, from that
moment on my misery conquered me; it could not be otherwise. In order
to justify my conduct toward her I constantly had to be reminded of my
fundamental unhappiness. That is how things are.” It was following these
lines that the birthday celebrant wrote of his amazement at having reached
the age of thirty-four.