2Although he had been a student for a few years, Johannes had done relatively little reading, especially for a student. In grammar school, he had become well acquainted with the classics and was happy to go through them again, although their substance had no effect upon what was going on inside him. On occasion, one or another modern work came into his hands, but he had no perception of what significance the reading of it should have for him. Historical works did not engage him, because the preponderant development of his mind had deprived him of a sense for empirical actuality [Virkelighed], and just as he was usually indifferent to what other people said and thought if it had no relation to thinking, so, too, he was indifferent to all accounts of what was said and done by those who had lived earlier. If he encountered a recent philosophical work, he of course did not lay it aside before he had read it, but when he had read it, he often felt dissatisfied and discouraged. His whole orientation of mind made him feel uncomfortable about reading. At times, a title would tempt him, and he would go to the book gladly and expectantly, but, lo and behold, it would discuss many other things, least of all that which one would have expected. If at length he worked his way little by little through to what the title had justified his searching for, the thought process would frequently be interrupted and the matter left undecided. He was often annoyed to find so much attention paid to what [IV B 1 113] appeared to him to be incidentals. The investigation would be interrupted in order to correct one or another singular opinion advanced by some author totally unknown to him. For him to understand this digression properly would require a prior reading of that man’s book. That in turn perhaps would presuppose others etc. He also thought he observed that the reason for incorporating a particular opinion of a particular author would be a very peculiar one: because he lived in the same city as the writer, because he wrote in the same journal, etc. He did not always find rigorous, dialectical movement; he sadly missed the wonderful sport of dialectic, its puzzling surprises. After having made several attempts, he gave up reading. He once again devoted himself to his own thinking, even if it did not lead him to anything. 3He refrained, however, from any hasty judgments about those particular books or about books in general. He heard others make altogether different judgments and concluded that the fault was his own, that his upbringing had been deficient, and that, even if it had not taught him anything else, it still had taught him to draw this conclusion.
In listening to others talk, he also observed that he had not encountered the writings of the great thinkers among the recent philosophers. Again and again he heard these names mentioned with enthusiasm, almost with adoration. It gave him unspeakable joy to hear their names, even though he did not dare to read them, because he had heard that they were so difficult that the study of them would require ages. It was not cowardice or indolence that deterred him but a painful feeling inherent in him from early childhood: he was not like other people. He was far from feeling happy about this difference but instead 4he felt it as a pressure he probably would have to endure all his life. He felt like a child who was delivered into the world with much pain and who could not forget this pain even if his mother had forgotten it in her joy over his birth.5
[IV B 1 114] As for reading, Johannes now experienced a strange contradiction. The familiar books did not satisfy him, but still he did not dare to lay the blame on the books. The outstanding books he did not dare to read. 6So he read less and less, followed his inclination to ponder in silence, became increasingly shy, fearful that the major thinkers would smile at him if they heard that he, too, wanted to think, just as fine ladies smile at the lowly maiden if she has the audacity of also wanting to know the bliss of erotic love. He was silent, but listened all the more attentively.
7When he listened to the others speak, he noted that a particular main idea came up again and again, whereupon he snatched it and made it the object of his own thinking. Thus fate came to his aid by providing him with subject matter in exactly the way he needed it. The purer, the more virginal, so to speak, the task, the more precious it was to him; the less others had assisted his thinking, the happier he was and the better everything went for him. He seemed to consider it an imperfection that he could do his best thinking about an idea if it came to him as new-fallen snow without having passed through the hands of others. 8He truly considered it a great thing to be able, as were the others, to toss about in the multiple thoughts of multiple thinkers. Yet he soon forgot this pain in the joy of thinking.
9By listening to the conversation of others, he became particularly aware of one thesis that came up again and again, was passed from mouth to mouth, was always praised, always venerated.* 11He now encountered the thesis that would come to play a decisive role in his life. This thesis became for his life what in other respects a name frequently is in a person’s history—everything can be said in all brevity by mentioning this name.
This thesis became a task for his thinking. Whether it would take a long or a short time to think it through, he did not know. But this he did know: until that time came, he would [IV B 1 115] not let go of it, even though it were to cost him his life.
What made him even more enthusiastic was the connection usually made between this thesis and becoming a philosopher. Whether he would be able to become a philosopher, he did not know, but he would do his best. With quiet solemnity, it was decreed that he should begin. He encouraged himself by recalling the enthusiasm of Dion, who, upon going aboard ship with a handful of men to begin the war with Dionysius, said: It is enough for me just to have participated. If I were to die the moment I set foot on land without having achieved a thing, I would still regard this death as happy and honorable.12
He now sought to clarify for himself the connection between that thesis and philosophy. Preoccupation with it would become for him an encouraging prelude; the clearer the connection became, the more enthusiastically he would proceed to the main concern. So he closed himself up in himself with that philosophical thesis, and at the same time he paid careful attention to every clue he could glean. If he perceived that his own thought process was different from that of others, he memorized theirs, went home, and began all over from the beginning. That their thought process was generally very brief did indeed strike him, but he saw that only as a new point to their advantage.
Now he began his operations and immediately juxtaposed the three principal statements he had heard regarding the relation of this thesis to philosophy. These three theses were [IV B 1 116] as follows: (1) philosophy begins with doubt;13 (2) in order to philosophize, one must have doubted;14 (3) modern philosophy begins with doubt.15
In margin: * Many were the times he heard it repeated: De omnibus dubitandum est [Everything must be doubted].10