ABSTRACT
Vigilius Haufniensis, watchman of Copenhagen, keeps anxious vigil through the night. His nightwatch uncovers a dark truth, the truth that history begins “in the glance of an eye.”1 How can this truth survive the light of day? What kind of a report is this from a man accustomed to dark, who can write a nearly impenetrable work on angst? His gnomic intimation falls from the night like the word of Nietzsche’s madman – God is dead. But perhaps his word is contra-Nietzsche, and not all that mad. Be that as it may, what sort of history could begin in a glance? The answer seems to be that a glance might provide access to human temporality, to “lived time”; and might provide a context for thinking about “repetition” as the saving form temporality might take. In fact, Vigilius gives us a figure to reflect on as we wrestle with this glance that opens up to time and repetition – not to say eternity. It’s the figure of a princess looking out to sea. But we’ll start somewhat closer to home with another image of an anxious sea-watch opening on time.
