The Comically Infinite Man1

A long time ago, I procured a little book edited by Soren Kierkegaard entitled The Sickness Unto Death (1849). What is more, I read it. (I must confess to having been first attracted to it solely by its title). For and as a tribute to Alastair Hannay I was inspired to set down in print this brief (altogether too brief, philosophically speaking) and unsystematic reflection. What struck me most palpably was the suggestion that, although our worldly endeavors and thus our publications are, so to speak, temporally limited, our despair is not. I write on the obligations and privileges of that mood.