master asked me today if I believed in equality. I answered, “I believe we are all equal before God.” He said somewhat impatiently, “Yes, of course. But does that translate into political equality?” I was so amazed that he would put such a serious question to me with the expectation that I would have an immediate answer, which I felt I would be called upon to justify in the very next moment, that I simply stared at him. He stared back. Knowing full well what a wealthy man would want to hear from a servant, I hedged with, “Not in reality.” He mimicked my words back to me, “Not in reality,” punctuated with another question, “but which reality?” “There is only one reality, Sir, in which we proceed to become what God has known us to have been from the beginning, as Saint Paul put it, neither Greek nor Jew, free nor slave, male nor female—neither marrying nor given in marriage. We are free to become what we are, but we will never be equal until we are capable of regarding one another in the light of God’s countenance.” He seemed taken aback at that, whether on account of agreement or disagreement I could not say.
Matt 19:13–15. The disciples think children are a waste of their master’s time, but Jesus thinks they are the heart of the matter: “of such is the heavenly kingdom.” Margarete says she is not a young lady, not because she is ill-bred or immoral, but because she is still a young girl, a child. True innocence is before all distinctions—of such is the heavenly kingdom.
July 5
Mrs. H. and I into the cooking wine this evening. Consolation for a failed meal, one of her rare opportunities to prove her worth in the kitchen missed. Or did the wine precede the culinary disaster? Our master was very forgiving—perhaps he sensed the cause. I am certain he partakes when he is out, whereas we go nowhere but to the market to supply his needs (and I on my walks with the dog). Mrs. H. is a widow whose children do not visit. Our master has become her surrogate son, and she worries about him as she would her own if she knew more of their doings. “Out of sight, out of mind”—true even for a mother.
Surprised by my master’s question yesterday, even more than he was by my response. He is opposed to all social leveling, as far as I can tell, and yet he seems to value the opinion of a servant, or at least wants to hear it. Perhaps just taking the pulse of the people.
Matt 19:16–26. Jesus tells the rich young man, “If you want to be complete, go and sell what you have, and give it to the poor . . . When the young man heard this, he went away troubled, for he had many goods.” My master’s goods are many, and he values them greatly. Does this make him a hypocrite? Is my relative poverty necessarily a spiritual boon? Never mind how I came by my poverty, but to inherit one’s wealth as my master did seems so innocent. He has not devoted his education or adult life to the pursuit of wealth, but rather to understanding. I will not say knowledge or reputation, because these things are vexed and his approach to them has been sidelong. Better yet, he seeks wisdom. Solomon exhorts rulers to wisdom, for “a harsh judgment will be held over the powerful.”42 How odd my master conducts himself as a weak person when in fact he has so many advantages of which he makes full use and has no intention of giving up. Are these weaknesses of body, mind, or social standing—the burden of the family curse that has actually bent his back, the disadvantage of the younger son, the lack of a wife and children? Now that I consider the possibilities, I see there is no need to pose the question. He is weak in many ways, like a true apostle, “for when I am weak, then I am strong.”43 But is this true of those who are weak not by choice, but by necessity?
July 6
Paul refers to his affliction as his weakness—some disease, perhaps a family trait, not clear what it is, but not voluntary, in any case. So the matter of affliction has no relation to the choice of poverty, unless one thinks Christianity consists in willing God’s will, which cannot be escaped no matter what one chooses.
Matt 19:27–30. The one who abandons all of life’s goods for the sake of Jesus’ name will win “eternal life.” “The first will be last and the last will be first.” But what if the abandoning is not done by me, not chosen by me, but done to me? Do abandoned people make good disciples, or are they merely weak, worthless people trying to make something of themselves, trying to get over on other people by means of paradoxes and perverse principles? To abandon one’s children—is this what God wants? Always the dilemma of Abraham and Isaac. Who is this man Jesus, really, and why has he gotten so much attention? What makes him different from any other eccentric martyred for his lack of common sense, his lack of instinct for self-preservation? We are all sons and daughters of God.
Faust has found the little woman of his dreams by seeing her image in a mirror and sniffing around her virginal chamber. He has fallen in love with his idea of female purity so that he may become something other, better, than who he is. “Poor Faust, I no longer know you,” he says to himself while succumbing to the enchanting atmosphere of Margarete’s spotless, empty room.44
July 7
A warm and brilliant day. The dog is eager for a walk. Mrs. H. and I have gotten the rest of the carpets out to sun and air. There is so little traffic in the house, they hardly need beating, but there is the dust, some ash, and the dog hair, so we do that too while the weather is good. The light invades my senses, my mind—I can almost hear it, a buzz of liberated energy. I dreamt last night of flying, first with ease and then with some difficulty. As always there are people around and it is unclear whether they notice but I worry about their judgment. Are they ignoring me out of politeness, taking their time deciding how to respond, or waiting for me to fall? I love to follow the contours of the ground and treetops—there are never buildings to fly around, but sometimes I fly inside large rooms with high ceilings, always staying close to the ceiling when indoors. It would be nice if I could carry powers from one set of dreams over into another. Even a little capacity for flight would be so helpful in my dreams of impossible staircases. But what determines the plot of a dream is the self-imposed horizon of possibility in that dream. These horizons do not overcome one another—they are fixed. The gardener mows, steering clear of our carpets.
Matt 20:1–16. “Have I not power to do what I want with those who are mine?” Last first, first last. The application of the parable ends with “For many are called but few are chosen,” and yet in the parable itself the householder hires everyone he meets throughout the day, and even more improbably, at the exact same wage. It is the liberality, not the selectivity, of his hiring practices that offends his workers. I am grateful that no one in Master Kierkegaard’s vineyard is offended by what I receive despite my late arrival; I believe we all have his affection in addition to a livelihood and a home. The dog waits patiently. He appears to be asleep, but as soon as I move he will jump up. A great deal of light still left and the air mild.
July 9
Living in this, his house, like Margarete with her necklace, an illicit gift from Faust. “If only the earrings were mine!”45
Matt 20:17–19. No mention of the disciples’ reaction to Jesus’ third announcement of his Passion, unless the next passage is taken as continuous with this, in which case the response is not to deny or become sad (as with the first and second announcements), but to ask to share in his destiny. But is this possible? “Can you drink the cup I drink?”46 Jesus asks. Margarete sings a tragic drinking song in which a king takes his last drink from a golden goblet given him by his lover. He then throws the goblet into the sea and we are made to watch it sink—or drown. The giving and receiving of gifts, the acceptance of cups. The rather obvious grail imagery turned on its head. Margarete’s room befouled. Breathing in the stale, heavy air left behind by Mephistopheles and Faust, she breathes out this drinking song, an uncanny blend of innocence and experience. She longs
