the first place - but cracking that mystery is what the resulting movement is about. The mystery must be unpacked so that the being-for may focus on the Other: one needs to know what to focus on. (The `demand' is unspoken, the responsibility undertaken is unconditional; it is up to him or her who follows the demand and takes up the responsibility to decide what the following of that demand and carrying out of that responsibility means in practical terms.) Mystery - noted Max Frisch - (andthe Other is a mystery), is an exciting puzzle, but one tends to get tired of that excitement. `And so one creates for oneself an image. This is a loveless act, the betrayal." Creating an image of the Other leads to the substitution of the image for the Other; the Other is now fixed - soothingly and comfortingly. There is nothing to be excited about anymore. I know what the Other needs, I know where my responsibility starts and ends. Whatever the Other may now do will be taken down and used against him. What used to be received as an exciting surprise now looks more like perversion; what used to be adored as exhilarating creativity now feels like wicked levity. Thanatos has taken over from Eros, and the excitement of the ungraspable turned into the dullness and tedium of the grasped. But, as Gyorgy Lukacs observed, `everything one person may know about another is only expectation, only potentiality, only wish or fear, acquiring reality only as a result of what happens later, and this reality, too, dissolves straightaway into potentialities'. Only death, with its finality and irreversibility, puts an end tothe musical-chairs game of the real and the potential-it once and for all closes the embrace of togetherness which was beforeinvitingly open and tempted the lonely self." `Creating an image' is the dress rehearsal of that death. But creating an image is the inner urge, the constant temptation, the must of all affection . . . It is the loneliness of being abandoned to an unresolvable ambivalence and an unanchored and formless sentiment which sets in motion the togetherness of being-for. But what loneliness seeks in togetherness is an end to its present condition - an end to itself. Without knowing - without being capable of knowing - that the hope to replace the vexing loneliness with togetherness is founded solely on its own unfulfilment, and that once loneliness is no more, the togetherness ( the being-for togetherness) must also collapse, as it cannot survive its own completion. What the loneliness seeks in togetherness (suicidally for its own cravings) is the foreclosing and pre-empting of the future, cancelling the future before itcomes, robbing it of mystery but also of the possibility with which it is pregnant. Unknowingly yet necessarily, it seeks it all to its own detriment, since the success (if there is a success) may only bring it back to where it started and to the condition which prompted it to start on the journey in the first place.