Passion by Fashion: Kierkegaard, St. Francis, and Clothes

Eric Ziolkowski (U.S.A.)

Despite Walter Benjamin’s perception of fashion as a defining feature of the nineteenth

century,1 Mark C. Taylor’s claim that “Fashion is a recent invention” and “did not exist prior to

the advent of modernity”2 needs to be qualified. Leopardi personified Fashion [Moda] as the

immortal sister of Madam Death [madama Morte], and both of them as daughters of Caducity

[Caducità]; as Fashion reminds Death, “you and I together keep undoing and changing things

down here on earth although you go about it one way and I another.”3 Georg Simmel likewise

saw fashion as a timeless “universal phenomenon in the history of our race,” though he allowed

that it “plays a more conspicuous rôle in modern times.”4 In his view fashion is the human

impulse to imitation, satisfying the need for social adaptation and conformity, freeing the

individual from the concern of making choices and to subsist “simply as a creature of the group,

as a vessel of the social contents.” At the same time, fashion equally satisfies the opposite “need

of differentiation, the tendency towards dissimilarity, the desire for change and contrast.”5

Understood as combining the antitheses of imitation and differentiation, “equalization and

individualization,”6 or “the need of union . . . and the need of isolation,”7 fashion bears directly

upon the thinking and writings of Søren Kierkegaard, as much as it bears upon the life of St.

Francis of Assisi: a figure with whom he is rarely mentioned in conjunction. This article

considers the general pertinence of fashion to Kierkegaard, and then the tradition of philosophical

and theological antipathy to fashion from Socrates to Kierkegaard, before briefly comparing the

latter with Francis. With whose renowned public renunciation of clothes Kierkegaard appears to

have felt, at least once, a momentary affinity.

1 Cf. Walter Benjamin, The Arcades Project (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1999), 62–81. 2 Mark C. Taylor, Hiding (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997), 169. 3 Giacomo Leopardi, Operette Morali / Essays and Dialogues (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982), 68-69. 4 Georg Simmel, “Fashion,” International Quarterly 10 (1904), 133, 137. 5 Ibid., 132, 133. 6 Ibid., 143. 7 Ibid., 137.

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Fashion, Comparison, and “Demonic Despair”

The bearing of fashion upon Kierkegaard is revealed through his consistent pitting of the

single individual - or, in Simmel’s terminology, the socially-differentiated individual - against

such mimetically-oriented conformist group-forces as “rabble-barbarism” [Pøbelagtighed],

“leveling” [Nivellering], and the established ecclesiastical order. Like Kierkegaard himself, his

unpublished pseudonym Petrus Minor deplores “the crowd, the mass, the public or whatever

droves there are that give one occasion to have to speak of human beings as one speaks of a drove

of cattle.”8 While readers are often drawn to Kierkegaard’s notion that God beckons the single

individual away from submersion in the crowd, many have been disturbed by his oft-perceived

asocial individualism.9 Regardless of whether this perception is fair or correct, the pertinence of

fashion to Kierkegaard’s exaltation of the single individual is evinced in his signed writings of

1845–48; where he repeatedly expresses contempt for comparison [Sammenligning], “the worst

of all seductions” and “the noxious shoot that stunts the tree.”10 People’s indulgence in

comparison is the sine qua non of fashion. “The fashionable person,” observes Simmel, “is

regarded with mingled feelings of approval and envy,”11 both of which feelings stem from

comparison. For Kierkegaard engagement in comparison, as betrayed by either one of those

feelings, is always hazardous and wrong, especially when the individual’s relation to the eternal

truth is at issue. This is because

if it is true that I do not have the right to compare myself with others in order to praise and

exalt myself but need only to relate myself to the ideal, then it is also true that I do not have

the right to compare myself with others in order to despair over myself, but here again I

must keep to myself and to the truth and never permit myself either proudly or

sympathetically to want to understand the truth through the fate of a third person whom I

can never know; instead I must grasp the eternal truth.12

8 Pap., VII-2 B 235, p. 41n / BA, 150n. 9 On the development of this construal, see the introduction to Foundations of Kierkegaard’s Vision of Community: Religion, Ethics, and Politics in Kierkegaard, ed. George B. Connell and C. Stephen Evans (Atlantic Highlands NJ: Humanities Press, 1992), vii–ix. 10 SV1, 8: 177, 178 / WL, 186. 11 Georg Simmel, “Fashion,” 140. 12 Pap., VI A 137 / JP, 1: 924.

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Anticipating Leopardi’s presentation of Fashion and Death as perpetually “undoing and changing

things,” a presentation supported by Simmel’s observation that fashion “always occupies the

dividing-line between the past and the future” and “is concerned only with change,”13

Kierkegaard observes in his Upbuilding Discourses in Various Spirits (1847): “Custom and use

[Skik og Brug] change, and any comparison limps or is only half truth; but eternity’s custom

[Skik], which never becomes obsolete, is that you are a single individual.”14 Skik og Brug, an

expression that Kierkegaard and his pseudonyms use quite often, might also be translated loosely

as “fashion.”15 Yet the Danish term Mode, which Kierkegaard sometimes uses, is semantically

closer to “fashion” in Simmel’s sense. For example, when Kierkegaard pronounces a certain

situation “as comical as a man would be—or everyone if it became the style [or fashion, Mode]—

if he were to go around wearing a cap with a thirty-foot visor;”16 or when his pseudonym

Johannes Climacus observes that “just as in one era people wear round hats, in another three-

cornered hats, in the same way a fashion [en Mode] in our generation would have a person forget

the ethical requirement.”17 The focus upon images of head coverings in these passages coincides

with yet another of Simmel’s points, namely, that

Fashion occasionally will accept objectively determined subjects such as religious faith,

scientific interests, even socialism and individualism; but it does not become operative as

fashion until these subjects can be considered independent of the deeper human motives

from which they have risen. For this reason the rule of fashion becomes in such fields

unendurable. We therefore see that there is good reason why externals—clothing, social

conduct, amusements—constitute the specific field of fashion, for here no dependence is

placed on really vital motives of human action.18

In accordance with the principle of contradiction that informs his conception of the existential

stages and underlies his conception of irony, humor, the comic, and the tragic, the earlier

quotation from Kierkegaard about a cap would in fact defy Simmel’s point here. For the only

13 Georg Simmel, “Fashion,” 139, 152. 14 SV1, 8: 222 / UDVS, 130. 15 Hermann Vinterberg and Jens Axelsen, McKay’s Modern Danish–English/English–Danish Dictionary (New York: David McKay), 1959. 16 SV1, 8 : 94 / TA, 101. 17 SV1, 7: 302 / CUP1, 349. 18 Georg Simmel, “Fashion,” 135.

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reason Kierkegaard evokes a cap, an item that falls within the normal “field of fashion”

designated by Simmel, is to analogize the idea of an ephemeral, external, visual fashion in cap-

wear to what he identifies as the current, internal, existential fashion of “forget[ting] the ethical

requirement.”

This is not the only place where Kierkegaard defies the normal confinement of fashion to the

sphere of “externals—clothing, social conduct, amusements.” Elsewhere, writing in the late

1840s and evoking no external analogy, Kierkegaard points out that the “[Hegelian] system is

scarcely mentioned anymore, at least not as the shibboleth [Mode-Ordet, literally a fashion-word]

and as the demand of the times.”19 Several years earlier, the normal limitation of fashion to the

external sphere is more elaborately and brazenly defied by the Fashion Designer [Modehandler]

at the banquet recounted in “In Vino Veritas,” the first part of Kierkegaard’s Stages on Life’s Way

(1845). Whereas scholars today are quick to call attention to the Designer’s condemnable sexism

and misogyny, his association of fashion with women and fickleness is hardly original.

Nonetheless, as a literary figure, the Designer particularly pleases Kierkegaard.20 Not only

because he is the only banqueter who is newly invented rather than adopted from Either/Or,21 but

also, undoubtedly, because he epitomizes a modern cultural tendency that Kierkegaard wants to

expose as pernicious: the leveling of all human thought, commitments, and even religion to a

plane dominated by the whims of fashion. “Fashion,” the Designer declares, “is the sacred,”22 and

“Everything in life is a matter of fashion:” from love, hoopskirts, and a nose ring, to fear of

God.23 It thus seems natural for Johannes Climacus to diagnose the Fashion Designer as

constituting “demonic despair in a state of passion.”24 This diagnosis anticipates Simmel’s

conclusion that fashion, because of the mimetic requirements it places upon its adherents,

“releases the individual of all responsibility—ethical and aesthetic.”25 For passionate “demonic

despair” is one of the epitomic conditions of aesthetic existence, whose exemplar is marked by a

desire to avoid responsibility.26

19 SV1, 13: 605 / PV, 118-119. 20 Pap., V A 109 / JP, 5: 5744. 21 A point made by Alastair Hannay, Kierkegaard: A Biography (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 261. 22 SV1, 6: 67 / SLW, 67. 23 UDVS, 71. 24 SV1, 7: 255 / CUP1, 298; cf. Pap., VI A 41, p. 16 / JP, 5: 5804. 25 Georg Simmel, “Fashion,” 155. 26 SV1, 2: 79 / EO2, 86.

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Kierkegaard and Climacus were not the first to oppose fashion from a philosophical or

theological perspective.

Philosophical and Theological Anti-Fashion from Socrates to Kierkegaard

The philosophical opposition to fashion began as early as Socrates, who reportedly claimed to

be as unfit for “fine raiment and fine shoes” as for fine speech.27 After him, Diogenes of Sinope

proved downright antagonistic to fashion: known for folding his presumably dirty, sweaty, and

wrinkled cloak, in order to sleep in it. That prototypical Cynic was said to have required his

young followers to go barefoot and scantily clad; to have once derided a youth for dressing with

overmuch care; and to have eventually been found wrapped up, dead, in his own cloak, which he

had putatively used to smother himself. In his contempt for pretentious dress Diogenes was

perhaps equaled only by the Israelites’ god Yahweh who, as reported several centuries earlier,

threatened through a prophet’s voice to punish court officials and royal family members who

wore imported garments.28

By the dawn of the Common Era the modest cloak, robe, or mantle, called the pallium (the

Latin equivalent of the Greek �μάτιον), had become the standard intellectual’s anti-fashion

statement. A garment associated no less stereotypically with the unworldly philosopher in the

Roman Empire than is the tweed jacket with the professor in modern America. Thus, Justin

Martyr, even after his conversion, was known for going about in the garb of the philosophers

[habitu quoque philosophorum incedens],29 and Tertullian exalted the pallium over the more

cumbersome Roman toga as the garment specially suited “to clothe the Christian [vestire

Christianum].”30 As for clothes that departed from nature and modesty [de natura et modestia

transferunt], Tertullian urged that it be considered acceptable to stare and to point one’s finger at

them, and to betray them with a nod [acie figere, et digito destinare, et nutu tradere].31 However,

the kind of Christian sartorial elitism which such an attitude evidently fostered elicited a backlash

at the Council of Gangra (340–45), whose twelfth canon condemns any man who “under pretence

27 Quoted in Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers [Vitae philosophorum], 6, 40–41. 28 Zeph 6: 8. 29 Cited in Peter Brown, The Body and Society: Men, Women and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988), 99. 30 Tertullian, “De pallio,” Patrologia Latina, ed. Jacques Paul Migne, vols. 1-217 (Paris: Migne, 1844–1855), vol. 2, 1106A. 31 Tertullian, “De pallio,” vol. 2, 1098B.

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of asceticism, should wear a peribolœum and, as if this gave him righteousness, shall despise

those who with piety wear the berus and use other common and customary dress.”32 Here,

περιβόλαιον denotes the pallium of philosophers and monks, and βήρος connotes lacerna, the

kind of cloak Romans donned over their togas in cold or wet weather.

That conciliar pronouncement seems echoed in a comment Martin Luther made a millennium

later. According to him, “the monks considered themselves much holier and better than other

Christians by reason of their garb, their tonsures, their eating and drinking.” Such asceticism,

without faith, would not help any monk escape damnation: “It might be better for him to wear a

silken garment in place of his hair shirt.”33 Among the aspects of monasticism against which

Luther railed were the precepts about, and the practice of, donning cowls, hoods, cords, cinctures,

and hair shirts. Nowhere, observes Luther, do the scriptures prescribe such monkish attire. Even

John the Baptist, “with his holiness, his ascetic life, his odd dress and food,”34 never exhorted

people “to imitate his example, to don a camel’s hairy hide and put a leather girdle around their

waists. On the contrary, he pointed to Christ.”35 And if John, the greatest of humans, could not

help us to salvation by his asceticism, “any other saint, such as Francis, Dominic, or the pope

with his austere orders, cowls, cords, and rules will be a thousand times less capable of doing

this.”36

Consistent with his own exaltation of faith over works as the sole criterion for human

justification Luther insisted that wearing monkish garb, which he dismissed as a work,37 does not

constitute service to God.38 Cowl-wearing, like fasting and obeying the rule of a religious order,

should not be mistaken as essential to piety and hence obligatory;39 and that Christ and his

sacrifice are not to be confused with St. Francis and the saint’s cowl.40 Indeed, Luther disparaged

the cowl constantly, condemning it as contrary to God,41 and criticized the practice of imitating

32 “The Council of Gangra,” Acta et symbola conciliorum quae saeculo quarto habita sunt, ed. E. J. Jonkers (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1954), 83. Cf. also Peter Brown, The Body and Society, 288; and Lynda L. Coon, Sacred Fictions: Holy Women and Hagiography in Late Antiquity (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997), 58. 33 Luther’s Works, ed. Jaroslav Pelikan and Helmut T. Lehman, vols. 1-55 (Saint Louis: Concordia Publishing House, 1955–76), vol. 23: 68. See also vol. 23: 71, 127, 261, 271, 320, 409. 34 Ibid., vol. 22: 65. 35 Ibid., vol. 22: 51; cf. 50. 36 Ibid., vol. 22: 59; cf. 50. 37 Ibid., vol. 23: 135, 182. 38 Ibid., vol. 23: 24, 25, 34. Cf. vol. 23: 121, 171. 39 Ibid., vol. 52: 172-73. 40 Ibid., vol. 22: 359. 41 Ibid., vol. 22: 268, 270, 327, 386, 387; cf. vol. 23: 68, 124, 179, 196, 263, 333, 367.

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such saints as Bernard and Francis whose examples inspired it.42 His conviction in this regard

was compounded by his experience of having once striven for salvation “by means of the

cowl,”43 during his years as an Augustinian monk.

Three centuries after Luther’s time we encounter the most decisive case of a philosopher

being derided for having broken a basic rule of sartorial fashion. Arguably no article of any

philosopher’s attire, not even Diogenes’ cloak; nor Justin’s, has ever been more openly discussed

or, above all, publicly mocked than Kierkegaard’s uneven trouser legs—not to mention other

idiosyncrasies of his dress and physical appearance.44 On account of the frequent satirizing and

cartooning of them in The Corsair, during his notorious and protracted conflict with that tabloid,

his legs attracted stares and snickers on the street as he walked by. Reducing him to “a martyr of

laughter” in a manner Kierkegaard likened to Christ’s Passion,45 this public mockery became so

intense that his tailor feared for his own trade.46 In a journal entry of 1849, alluding to the former

editor of The Corsair, Kierkegaard quips: “it would be a relief if I could get [Meïr Aron]

Goldschmidt to write, for example, about my suit-coat, my vest, my hat, so my legs could get a

little peace.”47 As a child, a generation later, Georg Brandes would be admonished by his nurse to

pull his own trousers over his boots so as not to be a “Søren Kierkegaard.”48

Kierkegaard knew that he was not the first philosopher whose clothing attracted attention. He

was fond of citing the passage from Diogenes Laertius that contains Socrates’s aforementioned

avowal of being unfit for fine raiment and fine shoes.49 On one occasion he alluded to Diogenes

of Sinope’s ethic of worldly frugality, including the latter’s wearing but a single garment, as

inverting the human being’s precocious other-worldly need of God.50 Johannes Climacus evokes

the image of Diogenes “hurriedly belt[ing] up his cloak and eagerly trundl[ing] his tub up and

42 Ibid., vol. 2: 113; cf. vol. 22: 51, 261, 268, 273, 446; cf. vol. 24: 224; cf. vol. 34: 26. 43 Ibid., vol. 22: 359. 44 COR, 114–15, 120, 131, 133–35. See also Encounters with Kierkegaard. A Life as Seen by His Contemporaries, trans. and ed. Bruce H. Kirmmse (Princeton: Princeton University Press 1996), 23, 89, 90, 92, 97, 138, 183. 45 Pap., X 1 A 120 / JP, 6: 6348; and Pap., X-2 A 39 / JP, 6: 6493. See also Eric Ziolkowski, Evil Children in Religion, Literature, and Art (Basingstoke, Hampshire: Palgrave, 2001), 136-37. 46 Pap., VIII 1 A 175 / COR, 222. The article “The New Planet” in The Corsair, no. 277, 9 January 1846 (translated in COR, 114) contains satirical references to Kierkegaard’s tailor that could have credibly caused him anxiety over his professional reputation. 47 Pap., X 2 A 101 / JP, 6: 6509. 48 Georg Brandes, Søren Kierkegaard, En kritisk Frenstilling i Grundrids (Copenhagen: Gyldendal, 1877), 1. Translated in Encounters with Kierkegaard. A Life as Seen by His Contemporaries, 97. See also COR, 290n, 107. 49 SV1, 13: 134n / CI, 38n; and SV1, 8: 104 / TA, 111; and SV1, 12: 301 / FSE, 9. 50 SV1, 5: 86 / EUD, 303. See Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers, 9.

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down the street.”51 Yet Kierkegaard offered a different explanation of the cause célèbre his own

trousers had become. Commenting from the imagined vantage of a heavenly “poet” upon the

present time “when ‘legs’ are supposed to provide the criterion . . . for what it is to be a human

being,” he wrote that his mockers all furnished “an essential appurtenance, a chorus, a priceless

market-town chorus, which took its stand on what it understood, his trousers, which became ‘the

demand of the times,’ or even more precious, a chorus that wanted to ironize—the ironist.”52

To ironize the ironist! It was no small irony that the late father of this bookish ironist—the

father of this philosopher in the ill-fitting trousers, garbed self-consciously in the “costume

[Costümet]” of public derision53—had been a merchant of textiles and clothing, a fact noted in

the dedications to him that head all but one of Kierkegaard’s six sets of upbuilding discourses of

1843 and 1844.54 In this regard, Kierkegaard was probably aware of his own striking affinity with

St. Francis.

Francis and Kierkegaard—Cut from Similar Cloth?

Like Kierkegaard, Francesco (Francis) Bernardone was the son of a cloth merchant; a wealthy

Assisian. If the relations between Søren, Michael Pedersen Kierkegaard, and Bishop Jakob Peter

Mynster triangulated in a way that had far-reaching implications for Søren’s religious

development, and his stance toward society and the church,55 so did the bishop of Assisi (Guido

II) wind up adjudicating a fateful filial-paternal crisis between Francesco and Pietro Bernardone;

at the pivotal juncture in the son’s self-removal from everyday society in response to a divine

calling. According to the official legend: young Francis’s conversion from existence as a reveler

and bon vivant to a life of pure, single-minded, imitation of Christ, or what Kierkegaard might

describe as his “leap” from the aesthetic stage to the religious (bypassing the ethical altogether),

involved his stripping himself naked publicly in the presence of the bishop and handing his

clothes back to his stunned father.

51 SV1, 4: 176 / PF, 6. 52 SV1, 13: 581 / PV, 96. 53 SV1, 13: 554 / PV, 67. 54 SV1, 3: 9, 169; SV1, 4: 5, 119; SV1, 5: 77 / EUD, 3, 51, 105, 229, 293. 55 Pap., VIII 1 A 415 / JP, 5: 6076: “I have admired no one, no living person, except Bishop Mynster, and it is a joy to me to be reminded always of my father.”

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This scene, recorded in the initial written account of Francis’s life56 and signifying his

renunciation of worldly goods and of kinship ties, became a standard feature of Franciscan

hagiography and a popular scene in late medieval and Renaissance art.57 Notably it is mentioned

in the little monograph of 1826 on Francis by the German Catholic writer and publicist Joseph

von Görres, which Kierkegaard cites without comment in a journal entry of 1841.58 That this

renunciation scene may have led Kierkegaard to identify with Francis’s symbolic self-divestiture,

and subsequent life of self-imposed poverty, is suggested by his writing four entries later: “Next

to taking off all my clothes, owning nothing in the world, not the least thing, and then throwing

myself in the water, I find most pleasure speaking a foreign language, preferably a living one, in

order to become entfremdet [estranged or alienated] to myself.”59 Here Kierkegaard’s use of that

German term seems telling, for Görres’s German text suggests that Kierkegaard identifies with

Francis. Görres, upon first describing Francis as “a rich merchant’s son [Eines reichen Kaufherrn

Sohn]” (a description likely to catch Kierkegaard’s attention), observed that the young,

poetically-gifted saint-to-be did not remain alien [fremd] to the spiritual-lyrical sway of the

troubadours who passed down from southern France to central Italy, including Assisi, toward

Rome. If Kierkegaard finds pleasure in “speaking a foreign language” so as to become self-

alienated, he was likely encouraged by Görres’s ensuing conjecture that it was Francis’s solid

grasp of the troubadours’ foreign tongue, Provençal, that had enabled their songs to affect Francis

in such a way as to foster his estrangement from his worldly self. “After his conversion,” added

Görres, “he went once through a thicket and sang God’s praise with a loud voice in the French

language, and when robbers asked him who he was, he called himself the Herald of God.”60

Whether or not Kierkegaard really did identify with Francis’s renunciation, his acquaintance

with the saint’s life clearly made a significant and lasting impression on him; despite the scarcity

of other references to him in the writings. Having referred to Francis’s stigmata in a journal entry

of 13 October 1838 as the “print” that Christ made upon the Occident61 Kierkegaard later, in an

56 Thomas de Celano, Vita prima S. Francisci (Quaracchi-Florence: Typographia Collegii S. Bonaventurae, 1926-1941), paragraphs 13–14. 57 See Eric Ziolkowski, Evil Children in Religion, 93-99, which includes a reproduction of Giotto’s frescoed representation of this scene (illustration 5). 58 Joseph von Görres, Der heilige Franciscus ein Troubadour (Strassburg, 1826); cited in Pap., III A 93 / JP, 5: 5492. In the re-edition I consulted, Der heilige Franziskus [sic] von Assisi, ein Troubadour (Berlin: Weltgeist-Bücher, 1926). The scene in question is alluded to on p. 8. 59 JP, 5: 5493. In Papirer this undated entry of 1841 occurs as III A 97, and the citation of Görres’s book at III A 93. 60 Görres, Der heilige Franziskus, 8. 61 Pap., II A 276 / JP, 1: 288.

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entry of 1847, points to Francis’s form of “conformity [Conformitet] with Christ”—crystallized

in the stigmata—as a medieval “exaggeration.”62 The next year, in his Christian Discourses

(1848), he makes what turns out to be the sole reference to Francis (albeit not by name) in the

entire published authorship, and the last reference to him anywhere in all the writings:63 exalting

him as “the imitator [Efterfølger] of Christ who resembled him most.” Kierkegaard proceeds to

question the factuality of the stigmata, alleging that Francis was one “who did not, as superstition

so coveted, bear his wounds on his body but whose life was also retrogression instead of

progression, who also, according to the Christian order of precedence, ascended from rung to

rung, ridiculed, insulted, persecuted, crucified.” Here, Francis’s image is invoked to support

Kierkegaard’s claim that Christ was crucified not by a few individuals or by his first-century

generation but rather by the human race. According to Kierkegaard, like all humans, “even”

Francis, Christ’s closest “imitator,” would be able to imagine himself present at the Crucifixion

only “as an accomplice.”64

Despite his figurative claim to have written Either/Or “in a monastery,”65 and his later self-

regard as “a penitent,”66 Kierkegaard pursued a course of life radically different from Francis’s,

especially regarding manner of dress. According to legend, the naked Francis had no sooner

handed his clothes to his father than the presiding bishop removed his own episcopal mantel

[pallium] and wrapped the young man in it,67 a gesture foreshadowing the Catholic Church’s

official embrace of the Order of Friars Minor that the young renunciant went on to found.

Kierkegaard, though he by contrast will disparage the deceased Bishop Mynster and cut himself

off from the established Danish church, nonetheless never mocks the peculiarities of monastic

garb the way Luther did. Yet, despite his own trouser-leg problem in particular, as well as The

Corsair’s cartooning of his whole physical and sartorial gestalt, Kierkegaard can honestly record

62 Pap., VIII 1 A 349 / JP, 2: 1839. 63 The only exception is the unannotated bibliographic list constituting Pap., X 6 C 7; cf. JP, 6: 6830, which includes a citation of Leben und Regel des heiligen Franziskus von Assis [sic], trans. Herenaus Haid, vols. 1-2 (Munich: Jakob Giel, 1828–29). The second volume bears the variant title Die kleinen Werke des heiligen Franziskus von Assis. Kierkegaard’s citation of Haid’s translation combines these two titles. 64 SV1, 10: 288 / CD, 278. 65 SV1, 13: 526 / PV, 35. 66 Pap., X 1 A 56, p. 44 / JP, 6: 6317, p. 400; Pap., X 1 A 115 / JP, 6: 6345; Pap., X 1 A 250, p. 164 / JP, 6: 6383; Pap., X 2 A 130 / PJS, 436; and SV1, 13: 519 / PV, 24. 67 Cf. e. g. Thomas de Celano, Vita prima S. Francisci, 15, line 7; Julien Speyer, Vita S. Francisci, 9, line 8; and Bonaventure, Legenda maior, 2.4, line 12; all in “Legendae S. Francisci Assisiensis saeculis XIII et XIV conscriptae,” Analecta Franciscana (Quaracchi–Florence: Typographia Collegii S. Bonaventurae, 1926–41), vol. 10: 14, 340, 565. See also Legenda trium sociorum, ed. Théophile Desbonnets (Rome: Collegio S. Bonaventura, Grottaferrata, 1974), p. 105, sect. 20, line 20.

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in a journal entry of 1848: “I have never been a Diogenes, . . . ; I have dressed properly and

decently.”68

68 Pap., IX A 64 / JP, 6: 6160.