'All existence makes me anxious, from the smallest fly to the mysteries of the Incarnation; the whole thing is inexplicable to me, I myself most of all'. Kierkegaard, from a draft of The Concept of Anxiety.
Are we anxious enough?, W. asks. Have we ever been anxious? Sometimes W. suspects that, despite everything, we are entirely too comfortable. To the man of anxiety, everything is uncertain, everything insecure. The desk at which he is sitting will be there tomorrow – but will he be there? His notebook and his pen will be present, also - but will he have been dragged off to a mental asylum? Will he have stuck his head in a gas oven?
Lars Iyer's Blog 