Volume 15, Tome III: Kierkegaard's Concepts: Envy to Incognito (Kierkegaard Research: Sources, Reception and Resources) [1 ed.] 9781472434326, 1472434323

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KIERkEGAARD’S CONcEPTS TOME III: ENVY TO INcOGNITO

Kierkegaard Research: Sources, Reception and Resources Volume 15, Tome III

Kierkegaard Research: Sources, Reception and Resources is a publication of the Søren Kierkegaard Research Centre

General Editor JON STEWART Søren Kierkegaard Research Centre, University of Copenhagen, Denmark Editorial Board FINN GREDAL JENSEN KATAlIN NUN PETER ŠAjDA Advisory Board LEE c. BARRETT MARÍA j. BINETTI ISTVÁN CZAkÓ HEIkO SchUlZ cURTIS l. ThOMPSON

Kierkegaard’s Concepts Tome III: Envy to Incognito

Edited by STEVEN M. EMMANUEl, WIllIAM McDONAlD AND JON STEWART

First published 2014 by Ashgate Publishing Published 2016 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017, USA Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business Copyright © Steven M. Emmanuel, William McDonald, Jon Stewart and the contributors Steven M. Emmanuel, William McDonald and Jon Stewart have asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the editors of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library The Library of Congress has cataloged the printed edition as follows: Library of Congress Control Number: 2014930611 ISBN 9781472434326 (hbk) Cover design by Katalin Nun

Contents

List of Contributors List of Abbreviations

ix xiii

Envy Janne Kylliäinen1 Epic Nassim Bravo Jordán9 Epigram David R. Law13 Ethics Azucena Palavicini Sánchez21 Evil Azucena Palavicini Sánchez and William McDonald29 Exception/Universal Geoffrey Dargan37 Existence/Existential Min-Ho Lee45 Experience Jakub Marek53 Fairytale Nathaniel Kramer61 Faith William McDonald67 Finitude/Infinity Erik M. Hanson73

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Forgiveness John Lippitt81 Freedom Diego Giordano89 Genius Steven M. Emmanuel93 God Paul Martens and Daniel Marrs99 Good Azucena Palavicini Sánchez107 Governance/Providence Jack Mulder, Jr.113 Grace Derek R. Nelson119 Gratitude Corey Benjamin Tutewiler125 Guilt Erik M. Hanson131 Happiness Benjamin Miguel Olivares Bøgeskov137 Hero Sean Anthony Turchin145 History Sean Anthony Turchin151 Holy Spirit Leo Stan157 Hope William McDonald163 Humility Robert B. Puchniak169

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Humor Alejandro González175 Hypocrisy Thomas Martin Fauth Hansen183 Identity/Difference Claudine Davidshofer189 Imagination Frances Maughan-Brown195 Imitation Leo Stan203 Immanence/Transcendence Leo Stan209 Immediacy/Reflection Zizhen Liu215 Immortality Lee C. Barrett223 Incognito Martijn Boven231

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List of Contributors Lee C. Barrett, Lancaster Theological Seminary, 555 W. James St., Lancaster, PA 17603, USA. Martijn Boven, University of Groningen, Faculty of Arts, Oude Boteringestraat 23, 9712 GC Groningen, Holland. Nassim Bravo Jordán, Universidad Iberoamericana, Prolongción Paseo de la Reforma 880, Lomas de Santa Fe, 01210, Mexico City, Mexico. Geoffrey Dargan, University of Oxford, Regent’s Park College, Oxford OX1 2LB, UK. Claudine Davidshofer, Emory University, Philosophy Department, 516 South Kilgo Circle, Atlanta, GA 30322, USA. Steven M. Emmanuel, Department of Philosophy, Virginia Wesleyan College, Norfolk, VA 23502, USA. Diego Giordano, Dipartimento di Scienze Economico-Quantitative e FilosoficoEducative, Università di Chieti, Campus Universitario, Via Pescara, 66013 Chieti scalo, Italy. Alejandro González, Fakultät der Philosophie, Universität Wien, Universitätsring 1, 1010 Vienna, Austria. Erik M. Hanson, Department of Philosophy, University of Colorado, Colorado Springs, 1420 Austin Bluffs Parkway, Colorado Springs, Colorado 80918, USA. Thomas Martin Fauth Hansen, Søren Kierkegaard Research Centre, Farvergade 27 D, 1463 Copenhagen K, Denmark. Nathaniel Kramer, Brigham Young University, Department of Humanities, Classics, Comparative Literature, 3008 JFSB, Provo, UT 84602, USA. Janne Kylliäinen, Department of Political and Economic Studies, P.O. Box 54, 00014 University of Helsinki, Finland.

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David R. Law, School of Arts, Languages and Cultures, University of Manchester, Manchester M13 9PL, UK. Min-Ho Lee, Department of Philosophy, Hannam University, 133 Ojeong-dong, Daedeok-gu, Daejeon 306-791, Republic of Korea. John Lippitt, Department of Philosophy, School of Humanities, University of Hertfordshire, De Havilland Campus, Hatfield AL10 9AB, UK. Zizhen Liu, Goethe-Universität, Frankfurt am Main, Fachbereich 06, Ev. Theologie, Campus Westend, Grüneburgplatz 1, 60323 Frankfurt am Main, Germany. Jakub Marek, Faculty of Humanities, Charles University in Prague, U Kříže 8, 158 00 Praha 5 Jinonice, Czech Republic. Daniel Marrs, Baylor University, Department of Religion, One Bear Place #97284, Waco, Texas 76798-7284. Paul Martens, Baylor University, Department of Religion, One Bear Place #97284, Waco, Texas 76798-7284. Frances Maughan-Brown, Philosophy Department, Stokes Hall North, Boston College, Chestnut Hill, MA 02467, USA. William McDonald, School of Humanities, University of New England, Armidale, NSW, 2351, Australia. Jack Mulder, Jr., Department of Philosophy, Hope College, 126 E. 10th Street, Holland, Michigan 49423, USA. Derek R. Nelson, Wabash College, Crawfordsville, Indiana 47933, USA. Benjamin Miguel Olivares Bøgeskov, Sygeplejerskeuddannelsen, Nordsjælland, University College UCC, Carlsbergvej 14, 3400 Hillerød, Denmark. Azucena Palavicini Sánchez, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Faculdad de Filosofía y Letras, Programa de Maestría y Doctorado en Filosofía, Circuito Interior s/n Ciudad Universitaria, Mexico City D.F., 04510, Mexico. Robert B. Puchniak, St Paul’s High School, 2200 Grant Ave, Winnipeg, Manitoba, R3P 0P8, Canada. Leo Stan, Department of Humanities, York University, 262 Vanier College, 4700 Keele St. Toronto ON, M3J 1P3, Canada.

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Sean Anthony Turchin, c/o Søren Kierkegaard Research Centre, Farvergade 27 D, 1463 Copenhagen K, Denmark. Corey Benjamin Tutewiler, Department of Theology and Religious Studies, University of Nottingham, University Park, Nottingham NG7 2RD, UK.

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List of Abbreviations Danish Abbreviations B&A Breve og Aktstykker vedrørende Søren Kierkegaard, vols. 1–2, ed. by Niels Thulstrup, Copenhagen: Munksgaard 1953–54. Bl.art. S. Kierkegaard’s Bladartikler, med Bilag samlede efter Forfatterens Død, udgivne som Supplement til hans øvrige Skrifter, ed. by Rasmus Nielsen, Copenhagen: C.A. Reitzel 1857. EP

Af Søren Kierkegaards Efterladte Papirer, vols. 1–9, ed. by H.P. Barfod and Hermann Gottsched, Copenhagen: C.A. Reitzel 1869–81.

Pap. Søren Kierkegaards Papirer, vols. I to XI–3, ed. by Peter Andreas Heiberg, Victor Kuhr and Einer Torsting, Copenhagen: Gyldendalske Boghandel, Nordisk Forlag, 1909–48; second, expanded ed., vols. I to XI–3, by Niels Thulstrup, vols. XII to XIII supplementary volumes, ed. by Niels Thulstrup, vols. XIV to XVI index by Niels Jørgen Cappelørn, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1968–78. SKS Søren Kierkegaards Skrifter, vols. 1–28, vols. K1–K28, ed. by Niels Jørgen Cappelørn, Joakim Garff, Jette Knudsen, Johnny Kondrup, Alastair McKinnon and Finn Hauberg Mortensen, Copenhagen: Gads Forlag 1997– 2013. Samlede Værker, vols. I–XIV, ed. by A.B. Drachmann, Johan Ludvig SV1 Heiberg and H.O. Lange, Copenhagen: Gyldendalske Boghandels Forlag 1901–06. English Abbreviations AN Armed Neutrality, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1998. AR On Authority and Revelation, The Book on Adler, trans. by Walter Lowrie, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1955. ASKB The Auctioneer’s Sales Record of the Library of Søren Kierkegaard, ed. by H.P. Rohde, Copenhagen: The Royal Library 1967.

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BA The Book on Adler, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1998. C

The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1997.

CA The Concept of Anxiety, trans. by Reidar Thomte in collaboration with Albert B. Anderson, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1980. CD Christian Discourses, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1997. CI The Concept of Irony, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1989. CIC

The Concept of Irony, trans. with an Introduction and Notes by Lee M. Capel, London: Collins 1966.

COR

The Corsair Affair; Articles Related to the Writings, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1982.

CUP1 Concluding Unscientific Postscript, vol. 1, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1982. CUP2 Concluding Unscientific Postscript, vol. 2, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1982. CUPH Concluding Unscientific Postscript, trans. by Alastair Hannay, Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press 2009. EO1 Either/Or, Part I, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1987. EO2 Either/Or, Part II, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1987. EOP Either/Or, trans. by Alastair Hannay, Harmondsworth: Penguin Books 1992. EPW Early Polemical Writings, among others: From the Papers of One Still Living; Articles from Student Days; The Battle Between the Old and the New Soap-Cellars, trans. by Julia Watkin, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1990. EUD

Eighteen Upbuilding Discourses, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1990.

List of Abbreviations

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FSE For Self-Examination, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1990. FT Fear and Trembling, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1983. FTP Fear and Trembling, trans. by Alastair Hannay, Harmondsworth: Penguin Books 1985. JC

Johannes Climacus, or De omnibus dubitandum est, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1985.

JFY Judge for Yourself!, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1990. JP Søren Kierkegaard’s Journals and Papers, vols. 1–6, ed. and trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, assisted by Gregor Malantschuk (vol. 7, Index and Composite Collation), Bloomington and London: Indiana University Press 1967–78. KAC

Kierkegaard’s Attack upon “Christendom,” 1854–1855, trans. by Walter Lowrie, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1944.

KJN Kierkegaard’s Journals and Notebooks, vols. 1–11, ed. by Niels Jørgen Cappelørn, Alastair Hannay, David Kangas, Bruce H. Kirmmse, George Pattison, Vanessa Rumble, and K. Brian Söderquist, Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press 2007ff. LD Letters and Documents, trans. by Henrik Rosenmeier, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1978. LR A Literary Review, trans. by Alastair Hannay, Harmondsworth: Penguin Books 2001. M

The Moment and Late Writings, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1998.

P Prefaces / Writing Sampler, trans. by Todd W. Nichol, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1997. PC Practice in Christianity, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1991. PF Philosophical Fragments, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1985.

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Papers and Journals: A Selection, trans. by Alastair Hannay, Harmondsworth: Penguin Books 1996.

PLR Prefaces: Light Reading for Certain Classes as the Occasion May Require, trans. by William McDonald, Tallahassee: Florida State University Press 1989. PLS

Concluding Unscientific Postscript, trans. by David F. Swenson and Walter Lowrie, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1941.

PV

The Point of View including On My Work as an Author, The Point of View for My Work as an Author, and Armed Neutrality, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1998.

PVL The Point of View for My Work as an Author including On My Work as an Author, trans. by Walter Lowrie, New York and London: Oxford University Press 1939. R Repetition, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1983. SBL

Notes of Schelling’s Berlin Lectures, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1989.

SLW Stages on Life’s Way, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1988. SUD The Sickness unto Death, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1980. SUDP The Sickness unto Death, trans. by Alastair Hannay, London and New York: Penguin Books 1989. TA Two Ages: The Age of Revolution and the Present Age. A Literary Review, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1978. TD Three Discourses on Imagined Occasions, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1993. UD Upbuilding Discourses in Various Spirits, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1993. WA Without Authority including The Lily in the Field and the Bird of the Air, Two Ethical-Religious Essays, Three Discourses at the Communion on Fridays, An Upbuilding Discourse, Two Discourses at the Communion

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on Fridays, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1997. WL Works of Love, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1995. WS Writing Sampler, trans. by Todd W. Nichol, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1997.

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Envy Janne Kylliäinen

Envy (Misundelse—noun; misunde—verb) Derived from older Modern Danish (1500–1700s). The construction of the verb is the same as in the German misgönnen. It is constructed with the help of the negating prefix mis- from an older verb unde that originally meant “to be disposed” toward the other in this way or that, and later “to grant” a thing to a person. Thus, the verb literally means not to grant something to the other. Usually, however, both the verb and the noun also involve a desire to take away, to deprive the other of the desired thing.1 According to Molbech’s Danish lexicon, the verb misunde means “to be sorry, to be dissatisfied that it goes well with others; not to grant the other the good that he possesses.” The noun Misundelse refers to the disposition to envy (misunde) others.2 Envy is often discussed by Kierkegaard both in his published and unpublished works. It is repeatedly characterized as the counterpart of admiration (Beundring).3 According to Kierkegaard, there is “reflection’s envy” and “ethical envy,” the former being the precondition for the latter.4 The object of envy may be the freedom of the unmarried aesthete,5 the happiness of the married ethicist,6 the love of God that the Christian enjoys,7 or Christ himself.8 Envy takes the form of not granting the other the good things,9 of wanting to diminish the merits of the other,10 and of desiring altogether to destroy the other.11 In his journals and papers Kierkegaard also describes how he is being envied himself.

Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 14, columns 187–9. 2 Christian Molbech, Dansk Ordbog, vols. 1–2, Copenhagen: Gyldendalske Boghandlings Forlag 1833 (ASKB 1032), vol. 2, “misunde.” 3 SKS 4, 445n. / CA, 146n.; SKS 10, 142 / CD, 131; SKS 11, 199–200 / SUD, 86. 4 SKS 8, 78–9 / TA, 81–2. 5 SKS 3, 82 / EO2, 78. 6 SKS 6, 81–4 / SLW, 82–5. 7 SKS 25, 188, NB27:73. 8 SKS 8, 320–1 / UD, 219. 9 SKS 5, 68 / EUD, 58. 10 SKS 3, 226 / EO2, 237. 11 SKS 9, 256–7 / WL, 257. 1

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More thorough analyses of envy can be found in A Literary Review of Two Ages,12 in Christian Discourses,13 and in the journals and papers.14 It does not seem that Kierkegaard’s view of the phenomenon of envy itself and his understanding of the concept significantly change during his authorship. From his journals and notebooks one may see, however, that after the Corsair affair he comes to experience the reality of envy more thoroughly. To understand the different aspects of Kierkegaard’s conception of envy, we shall begin with his (1) theological and metaphysical considerations, and then proceed to his analysis of envy as (2) a social and (3) psychological fact. Then we shall consider Kierkegaard’s (4) remedy for envy, (5) how he suffered from envy himself, and (6) how he still considered envy to be a good thing, as a means of ethical and religious upbringing. I. Theological and Metaphysical Considerations Kierkegaard occasionally considers the idea that envy is a phenomenon of life itself: that it has its basis in the world itself, or in the divine ground of existence. He writes about “life’s envy” (Livets Misundelse) of the prominent person, which indicates that he is just “a human being like everyone else.”15 He describes how the pagan is worried that “life’s envy” (Tilværelsens Misundelse) tomorrow might steal his good fortune.16 As Kierkegaard is aware himself,17 this is the pagan, ancient Greek idea of “divine envy”: the Greek gods were envious of human heroes and therefore brought them down sooner or later. In The Concept of Irony Kierkegaard notes how in Plato’s Timaeus the idea of envious gods was replaced with the idea of a benevolent demiurge “who did not know envy but wished to make the world like himself as much as possible.”18 Hence, the phenomenon of envy would no longer have its ground in divine metaphysical reality. Considering this theological issue of envy, there is an interesting remark in the discourse “Every Good Gift and Every Perfect Gift Is from Above” from 1843. Kierkegaard writes about “the Father of lights, whose clarity no shadow changes, no shifting varies, no envy eclipses, no cloud snatches away from the believer’s eye.”19 The remark is probably equivocal on purpose: it is impossible to tell if there really is no shadow of envy in God, or if there is no shadow of envy only in the believer’s eye.

SKS 8, 78–80 / TA, 81–4. SKS 10, 126–33 / CD, 115–23. 14 SKS 26, 257–8, NB33:15 / JP 3, 2986. 15 SKS 5, 353 / EUD, 367–8. 16 SKS 10, 86 / CD, 78. 17 Cf. SKS 5, 408 / TD, 29. 18 SKS 1, 221n. / CI, 173n. 19 SKS 5, 353 / EUD, 138. 12 13

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II. Envy as a Social Fact As a social fact envy is analyzed above all in A Literary Review of Two Ages. In contrast to the enthusiasm typical of the passionate revolutionary age, envy is here claimed to be “the negatively unifying principle” in the modern passionless and reflective age. Kierkegaard claims that the modern reflective age transforms existence into an equivocation in which the difference between morality and immorality is diluted.20 The modest implementation of the higher in one’s personal life is given up for an impersonal reflection. The inwardness of relationships between the low and the high (admirer–admired, citizen–king, son–father, adolescent–schoolmaster, woman– man) is enervated by critical reflection on the relationships.21 According to Kierkegaard, this tension of reflection establishes itself ultimately as the principle of modern society. In modern society “reflection’s envy” holds the will and energy of individuals in captivity and makes society into a vast penitentiary. This, in effect, corrupts the atmosphere of society and little by little reflection’s envy changes into “ethical envy.”22 What is worse, in modern society ethical envy takes the form of “characterless envy” (Charakteerløshedens Misundelse).23 In ancient Greece, for example, ethical envy was endowed with “character”: the envious admitted his own envy and the excellence of the excellent. Thus, envy still meant an indirect recognition, “a negative acknowledgement of excellence.”24 The modern reflective age, however, produces an equivocating envy that “no longer has the character to come to a self-awareness of its own significance.”25 Such a “characterless envy” does not recognize excellence. It suppresses “not only the excellence which is but that which is to come.”26 The view that modern society is dominated by such a hidden, characterless envy recurs again and again in Kierkegaard’s texts.27 So does the view that in modern society envy produces mediocrity by leveling down all that aims at something higher: enthusiasm (Begeistring), excellence (det Udmærkede), the prominent and the extraordinary individuals (den Udmærkede, den Overordentlige).28 In a late journal entry entitled “Living by Comparison” from 1854 Kierkegaard sketches an anthropological explanation for the generality of this social phenomenon. “The law of existence for mass men [det Numeriske] is that they live by comparisons,” writes Kierkegaard. “Just like the others” expresses two characteristic marks of human beings: (1) sociality and (2) envy. Sociality, holding on to the herd, is part SKS 8, 74–5 / TA, 77–8. SKS 8, 75–6 / TA, 78–9. 22 SKS 8, 78–9 / TA, 81–2. 23 SKS 8, 80 / TA, 83. 24 SKS 8, 80 / TA, 84. 25 SKS 8, 80 / TA, 83. 26 SKS 8, 80 / TA, 84. 27 See, for example, SKS 21, 14, NB6:8 / KJN 5, 10–11, and all those numerous entries in which Kierkegaard describes himself as a victim of envy. 28 See, for example, SKS 5, 413 / TD, 34; SKS 27, 544–5, Papir 445 / JP 3, 3064; SKS 22, 52, NB11:89 / KJN 6, 48; SKS 26, 57, NB31:75 / JP 1, 794. 20 21

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of the animal nature of human beings, though animals do not have envy. This is because every animal is only a “specimen” (Exemplar). The human being, on the other hand, is “the only animal species in which every specimen is (κατὰ δύναμιν) more than the race, is an individuality, intended to be spirit [lagt an til Aand],” writes Kierkegaard.29 While mass man does not become spirit, he “retains all the same this feature that distinguishes him from other animal creatures: envy.”30 III. Envy as a Psychological Fact Anthropologically and psychologically, then, envy is based on the task inherent to the structure of human existence: the task of becoming a spirit. While men in general avoid this task, they envy those individuals who try to become spirit. Accordingly, Anti-Climacus explains that envy is in fact secret admiration. While admiration is happy self-surrender, envy is unhappy self-assertion.31 Admiration changes to envy when the mediocre person would like to resemble what he admires but cannot do so.32 In A Literary Review of Two Ages Kierkegaard suggests that reflection is a mental precondition for such a hidden and hideous admiration. This claim is clarified by a note from 1845. Kierkegaard describes how the child, who still cannot differentiate the real from the ideal king, is completely uncritical and without envy. The childlike ignorance is “devoid of all envy…uncritical of reputed good or weak qualities, whether he is a good or a wise king.”33 In consequence, a child “without having read the royal constitution…thinks as affectionately as possible of His Majesty the King.”34 Kierkegaard’s idea seems to be that once critical reflection arises, the ideal is thereby separated from the real and the individual begins to make comparisons. “Reflection’s envy” creates room in the human soul for envy. Were the quantity of finite and temporal goods in this world not limited, however, there would be nothing to envy. In Christian Discourses, in the discourse “The Joy of It: That the Poorer You Become the Richer You Are Able to Make Others,” the nature of earthly goods itself is identified as the ground for envy. Kierkegaard writes: “Every earthly or worldly good is in itself selfish, begrudging [misundelig]; its possession is begrudging or is envy [Misundelse] and in one way or another must make others poorer—what I have someone else cannot have; the more I have, the less someone else must have.”35 It is the begrudging desire for these earthly goods that opens the door for envy to enter the human soul. Kierkegaard claims that “all the time and energy, all the mental solicitude and concern that is applied to acquiring or possessing earthly

SKS 26, 257–8, NB33:15 / JP 3, 2986 (translation slightly altered). Ibid. 31 SKS 11, 199–200 / SUD, 86. 32 SKS 12, 235 / PC, 241. 33 SKS 27, 329, Papir 318 / JP 5, 5756. 34 Ibid. 35 SKS 10, 126 / CD, 115. 29 30

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goods is selfish, begrudging [misundende].” And this fact is not altered even if the rich person is willing to share his goods, since “at every moment” in which he is occupied with acquiring or possessing them, he is bound to be selfish.37 For this reason the possession of money by the rich is in itself “a kind of envy that has taken it from the poor.”38 Kierkegaard points out that the same may hold true also of the “less perfect spiritual goods,” such as “insight, knowledge, capacities, gifts, etc.”39 If the possessor of such spiritual goods is not benevolent and communicative but selfish, then these goods, too, become begrudging. Such goods as wisdom and learning turn thereby into earthly goods that are possessed and desired in an envious way. The effects of envy in the human soul Kierkegaard describes here and there in his other texts. The effects are multifarious. Once envy has come to dwell in the human soul it affects what the individual sees in others: “when envy lives in the heart, the eye has the power to elicit the impure even from the pure.”40 Envy expresses itself as ill-will and malice,41 but it may also assume the form of (apparent) compassion.42 Envy mixes in even with friendship,43 and admiration, determined as it is by the worldly “mine” and “thine,” always contains some envy.44 36

IV. Remedies for Envy What, then, might save the soul from envy? In his texts Kierkegaard sketches several alternative remedies. First, in Stages on Life’s Way Judge William claims that as a married man he is “too happy to envy anyone.”45 Thus, the full life of an ethical individual would seem to leave no room for envy. Second, in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript Climacus claims that envy is “essentially lunacy” since it means that the individual relates himself absolutely to the relative.46 But if the ethical-religious individual practices in his inwardness “the absolute distinction,” that is, separates the absolute from the relative, he is without envy.47 This way to escape envy through hidden religious inwardness had come up already in the “Preface” of Three Discourses on Imagined Occasions. There Kierkegaard suggests that when the single individual personally appropriates

SKS 10, 127 / CD, 115. SKS 10, 127 / CD, 116. 38 Ibid. 39 SKS 10, 129–30 / CD, 119. 40 SKS 5, 71 / EUD, 61. 41 SKS 9, 256–7 / WL, 257. 42 SKS 12, 67 / PC, 56 and SKS 25, 435, NB30:58. 43 SKS 8, 137 / UD, 23. 44 SKS 5, 389 / TD, 5. 45 SKS 6, 104 / SLW, 109. 46 SKS 7, 384 / CUP1, 422. 47 SKS 7, 376 / CUP1, 414. 36 37

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religious truth, the worldly “mine” and “thine” disappear, and with these disappear both admiration and envy.48 In Fear and Trembling Johannes de silentio sketches the third way to escape envy in the variant of the figure of Faust. He imagines a doubter who has “a sympathetic nature” and who “loves existence.”49 Such a Faust is free from envy and, in consequence, hides the pernicious doubt in his soul so that it does not spoil the unreflected bliss of ordinary people. Here it is sympathy and love that overcome envy.50 Fourth, in Christian Discourses, in the above-mentioned discourse “The Joy of It: That the Poorer You Become the Richer You Are Able to Make Others,” Kierkegaard pits against envy all “the true goods of the spirit.”51 With these goods Kierkegaard refers to Christian faith, love, and hope. In Fear and Trembling Johannes de silentio stages the communication of faith as problematic. In opposition to this, in Christian Discourses Kierkegaard claims that “the goods of the spirit are in themselves essentially communication [Meddelelse]; their acquirement, their possession, in itself a benefaction to all.”52 Kierkegaard writes that having faith “does not begrudge others anything.” The believer “has taken nothing from anyone” but “has only what every human being can have.”53 Therefore, according to Kierkegaard, every human being should rejoice in the believer, not envy him, since in him everyone may see that “this glory and blessedness are possible as a common possession for all human beings.”54 Likewise Christian love is communication. The one who has love, “has…worked for all others” and all the time that he is “working to acquire love for himself” he is simultaneously “working for all others.”55 Similarly with hope if a person has eternity’s hope beyond all measure, “he has thereby worked for all.”56 The fact that there is one person who has hope “is decisive for all that they are able to have it.”57 Thus, while every earthly good and its possession is “in itself begrudging” (misundelig), “is envy” (Misundelse), and “in one way or another must make others poorer,”58 the person who is occupied with acquiring faith, hope, and love begrudges others nothing but makes others richer.59 However, even if one is saved from being envious through these true goods of the spirit, one is thereby not saved from becoming the object of envy. Kierkegaard states that no one should envy the believer but “every human being should be joyed SKS 5, 389 / TD, 5. SKS 4, 197 / FT, 109. 50 The thought that love may overcome envy is expressed also in the discourse “Love Will Hide a Multitude of Sins” from 1843. See SKS 5, 68 / EUD, 58. 51 SKS 10, 129 / CD, 118–19. 52 SKS 10, 128 / CD, 117. 53 SKS 10, 127 / CD, 116. 54 Ibid. 55 SKS 10, 128 / CD, 117. 56 Ibid. 57 Ibid. 58 SKS 10, 126 / CD, 115. 59 SKS 10, 129, 132 / CD, 118, 121–2. 48 49

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7

by him.” But he also states that no one is met with such an aggressive envy as the person who takes seriously the Christian faith that God loves him. And it does not help if such a believer declares that the same love is offered to everyone; this just serves to intensify the bitterness.61 Thus, just as Christ was envied, so shall his follower be.62 Only “in eternity no envy will tamper with the wreath of honor that the loving one wears with honor,” writes Kierkegaard.63 60

V. How Kierkegaard Suffered from Envy Admitting to be a very imperfect Christian, Kierkegaard claims to have received his fair share of envy. In the journals and papers following the Corsair affair Kierkegaard depicts himself repeatedly as a victim of envy, especially the envy of the exclusive circles (de Fornemme), the elite (de Ansete), who left him in the lurch and did not defend him against the rabble.64 Kierkegaard exclaims: “It seems to me that I have written things which must move stones to tears,” but he adds that it “moves my contemporaries only—to insult and envy.”65 He admits that being slowly burnt to death is a terrifying torture but notes that it does not continue year after year as does being slowly eaten alive by the vermin of envy. He complains that Danish envy is disgusting and suggests that some of the Danish vermin envy his money, some his talents, some his diligence.66 “How disgusting to live in a situation where the only thing that can help me is to die. Every day I live, I become more of a burden to the envy of this market town.”67 VI. Envy as a Means of Ethical and Religious Upbringing However, Kierkegaard and his pseudonyms also see the good sides of envy. First of all, Kierkegaard admits that there is such a thing as righteous, justified envy. In Fear and Trembling Johannes de silentio states that if it were not what he does but what happens to him that makes the person great, this should arouse in us “righteous envy.”68 Thus, if those chosen by God had not been tried in anxiety and distress, every person would be justified in envying them. In The Concept of Anxiety Vigilius Haufniensis remarks in the same vein that if the immortality that is for every man were reserved for only one man, in this case for a talented genius, this “rightly would SKS 10, 127 / CD, 116. SKS 25, 188, NB27:73. 62 Cf. SKS 8, 320–1 / UD, 219. 63 SKS 9, 262 / WL, 263. 64 See, for example, SKS 20, 84, NB:108 / KJN 4, 82–3; SKS 20, 162, NB2:54 / KJN 4, 160–1; SKS 20, 387, NB5:40 / KJN 4, 387; SKS 21, 134–5, NB7:109 / KJN 5, 140–1; SKS 22, 142, NB11:233 / KJN 6, 137–9. 65 SKS 20, 406, NB5:82 / KJN 4, 407. 66 SKS 20, 162, NB2:54 / KJN 4, 160. 67 SKS 21, 15, NB6:9 / KJN 5, 11. Translation modified. 68 SKS 4, 156–7 / FT, 64. 60 61

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arouse the justifiable envy of all the world.”69 In Philosophical Fragments Johannes Climacus notes that Socrates accepted neither honor nor money for his teaching. Climacus suggests this was because Socrates disciplined himself “with the same divine jealousy [Misundelse] with which he disciplined others and in which he loved the divine.”70 In all three cases we see envy praised because it levels in a righteous way and produces fair equality. This, then, is the first positive side of envy, which is pointed out also at the end of A Literary Review of Two Ages.71 The second positive side of envy is also pointed out at the end of A Literary Review of Two Ages. Although God is not envious, and there really is no such a thing as divine envy, in the hands of Governance human envy may turn into a means to educate and raise individuals. In a nota bene from 1854 entitled “Surprising Self-Contradiction,” Kierkegaard claims that envy serves to make the individual into the extraordinary: There is nothing, of course, which human envy assails the way it assails the extraordinary. And yet no one becomes a true extraordinary except through the mistreatment of men. Consequently, envy will mistreat a person in order to prevent him from becoming the extraordinary, and no one becomes the extraordinary except through human mistreatment—consequently envy produces the extraordinary.72

In the margin of a draft from 1849 Kierkegaard remarks that envy also serves as a trial that exposes “someone who without justification wants to be the extraordinary,” and in this way envy is “in the service of truth.”73 To summarize, there is no divine envy. Envy is a human phenomenon that prospers especially in modern societies. It is the counterpart of admiration. Its preconditions are the human capacity of reflection and the scarcity of finite and temporal goods in the natural and social world. Its effects are begrudging, malicious ill-will, and leveling. Sometimes the leveling that envy produces is justified, however, in that it produces equality. Envy may also serve as an upbringing that develops the individual ethically and religiously. The individual is saved from envy through ethical-religious striving and through the true goods of the spirit, namely, faith, love, and hope. See also Admiration; Irony; Leveling; Love; Immediacy/Reflection; Sympathy/ Empathy.

SKS 4, 405 / CA, 103. SKS 4, 231 / PF, 23–4. 71 Cf. SKS 8, 100–4 / TA, 106–9. 72 SKS 26, 57, NB31:75 / JP 1, 794. 73 SKS 27, 544–5, Papir 445 / JP 3, 3064. 69 70

Epic Nassim Bravo Jordán

Epic (episk—adjective; Epik—noun) From the Latin epicus, Greek ἐπικός, derived from the Greek ἔπος, which means “word” or “story.” In Danish it refers to epic poetry, a poetical work which has heroic deeds as its subject. In a broader sense, it can also make reference to a narrated form of art, that is, a literary composition characterized by epos, as opposed to lyric and drama.1 The most frequent appearance of the word “epic” in Kierkegaard’s published works is in Either/Or, followed by From the Papers of One Still Living. In Part One of Either/Or, published in 1843 under the pseudonym “Victor Eremita,” there is a recurrent use of the term in the essays “The Immediate Erotic Stages” and “The Tragic in Ancient Drama Reflected in the Tragic in Modern Drama.” However, the most extended discussion about epic appears in From the Papers of One Still Living, published in 1838. In addition to this, there are several significant comments about the concept in early journal entries from 1835, 1836, and 1837. Kierkegaard develops the concept of the epic in various ways: (1) as a literary genre; (2) as an aesthetic category; and (3) as a stage in life or existential category. I. Epic as Literary Genre Following its common lexical meaning, the epic is a genre of poetry that expresses heroic deeds using narrated speech as its medium. Thus, in “The Immediate Erotic Stages” Kierkegaard refers to Homer as a “classic epic poet”2 because he worked on “the most remarkable epic subject matter imaginable,”3 the “most exceptional epic subject matter,”4 that is, the heroic myth of the Trojan War. Furthermore, it is underscored that “the more concrete and thus the richer the idea and likewise the medium, the greater is the probability of a repetition.”5 Since poetry in its wider sense is based on language, which is the most concrete of all media, and

Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 4, columns 545–8. 2 SKS 2, 62 / EO1, 55. 3 SKS 2, 56 / EO1, 48. 4 SKS 2, 57 / EO1, 49. 5 SKS 2, 62 / EO1, 54. 1

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its idea is also the most concrete, inasmuch as it is permeated by the historical,6 it follows that literary classic works, including epic poems, have a greater possibility of repetition. In other words, epic classic works occur more often than other types of artistic compositions that are more abstract, like sculpture and musical masterpieces. History itself indicates that this is indeed the case.7 II. Epic as Aesthetic Category The epic, according to this view, is part of a dialectical triad of poetic genres that, in ascending order, starts with lyric poetry, goes through epic, and finishes up in the unifying synthesis of drama. This schema is proposed by Johan Ludvig Heiberg, who, in turn, was presumably influenced by Hegel’s aesthetic theory. In Hegel’s historical view, however, the epic corresponds to the immediate, objective stage of world history; the lyric to the reflective, subjective moment; and the dramatic to the highest, unifying perfection of poetry. In his own hierarchy, Heiberg, perhaps unaware of the Hegelian triad, reverses the order of the first two moments, posing the lyric as the immediate stage, and the epic as the reflective, negative stage. In an earlier period, Kierkegaard followed Heiberg’s scheme. Thus, for example, in an entry from December 1835, he notes that Don Juan, the figure that corresponds to immediacy, should be “interpreted lyrically,”8 whereas the Wandering Jew, who represents reflective despair, is depicted as an epic personage. In another entry from January 16, 1837,9 he even sketches a detailed schema of Heiberg’s aesthetic triads where the lyric appears as the first moment, followed by the epic. It seems that at the time Kierkegaard considered this particular order to be correct, although he did entertain some doubts, since he observes that it would make more sense to begin with the epic, as the history of poetry indicates.10 In a similar manner, in an entry from August 2, 1836, he claims, “we always see a nation’s poetic development begin with the epic and only then does the lyrical follow.”11 Taking this into account, Kierkegaard argues that the historical succession from epic to lyric could also work as a model for the development of individual human life.12 To summarize, the epic represents a step in the dialectical evolution of dramatic genres. According to Heiberg’s formulation, which Kierkegaard adopted with some vacillation in his early years, it corresponds to the mediated, negative stage of reflection.

Cf. SKS 2, 62 / EO1, 55. Ibid. 8 SKS 19, 94, Not2:7 / JP 1, 1179. 9 Cf. SKS 17, 113, BB:23 / JP 5, 5192. 10 Cf. SKS 27, 143, Papir 172 / JP 2, 1565. 11 SKS 27, 141, Papir 163 / JP 1, 126. 12 Ibid. 6 7

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III. Epic as Existential Category As a stage of life, the epic follows upon the lyrical. In this way, Kierkegaard seems to acknowledge the validity of Heiberg’s epic–lyric–drama triad. In From the Papers of One Still Living, he claims that in order to become a good novelist (Romandigter) one must first undergo a “proper epic development,”13 which here can also be understood as a synonym of life-development (Livs-Udvikling).14 Such an epic development is not to be taken as a “vociferous, hoarse enthusiasm over some ephemeral culprit, or as a languishing staring at some chance individuality, or as a literary paying of compliments.”15 It is rather an “earnest embracing of given actuality,”16 a constant and undeviating striving towards a single goal in life.17 In Kierkegaard’s view, Hans Christian Andersen lacks this kind of epic temperament. Since Andersen has not undergone an epic development in his own personal life, his novels suffer from the same fault, stagnating in “a web of arbitrary moods and moving through an elegiac duodecimo-scale of almost echoless, dying tones.”18 The conclusion is drawn that he must have remained in a lyrical mood, skipping over his epic stage. Andersen’s failure to achieve such an epic development is partly due to intrinsic faults of the age, which, according to Kierkegaard, has a great tendency to forget its own past development19 and is continually confronted with the given actuality.20 Even so, there are literary exceptions to this rule, like the pseudonymous author (Madame Gyllembourg) of En Hverdags-Historie (A Story of Everyday Life), a work that manifests a “sublimate joy in life,” a “battle-won confidence in the world”21 that furthermore possesses “an evangelistic tinge” that makes its reading “a truly upbuilding study.”22 In other words, En Hverdags-Historie is an example of a novel that is epically developed. Strangely enough, Kierkegaard readily admits that the age is otherwise quite rich in epic material.23 But if an epic development consists, as stated above, in adopting a positive attitude towards actuality, it follows that Andersen’s mistake, his incapacity to go beyond his lyrical stage, is of a more personal nature. Perhaps he attempted and failed to understand the world, becoming depressed and succumbing in the process, or maybe he isolated himself from the world through lyrical contemplation. At any rate, his connection with actuality was severed. “The first,” Kierkegaard argues, “is an abortive activity, the second an original passivity. The first is a broken manliness, the second a consistent womanliness.”24 As a result, Andersen developed, SKS 1, 26 / EPW, 71. Cf. SKS 1, 26 / EPW, 70. 15 SKS 1, 26 / EPW, 71. 16 Ibid. 17 Cf. SKS 1, 27 / EPW, 71. 18 SKS 1, 25 / EPW, 70. 19 Cf. SKS 1, 17 / EPW, 61. 20 Cf. SKS 1, 19 / EPW, 64. 21 SKS 1, 21 / EPW, 65. 22 SKS 1, 21 / EPW, 66. 23 Cf. SKS 1, 26 / EPW, 70. 24 SKS 1, 36 / EPW, 81. 13 14

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in Kierkegaard’s view, “a certain gloom and bitterness against the world.”25 Without the epic, his selfhood was never adequately fulfilled. It remained only “a possibility of a personality,”26 becoming fragmentary, and, as a result, his writings suffered from the same fault. To summarize, the epic can be considered both as an aesthetic category and an existential category. As the latter, it means personal action or striving, always within a positive relation towards actuality. The author who has no epic in his personal life is not qualified to write novels, for these constitute a reflection, according to this view, of the novelist’s personality. A fragmentary and unreflected life produces a fragmentary and unreflected novel, a mere volatilization of an incomplete personality into fiction. See also Aesthetic/Aesthetics; Life-View; Lyric; Novel; Objectivity/Subjectivity; Poetry; Romanticism; Stages; Theater/Drama, Vaudeville/Farce.

25 26



SKS 1, 29 / EPW, 73. SKS 1, 25 / EPW, 70.

Epigram David R. Law

Epigram (Epigram—noun) From the Greek ἐπίγραμμα, “inscription,” “short poem.” In Molbech’s Dansk Ordbog, a copy of which Kierkegaard owned,1 “epigram” is defined as “a short poem the chief object of which is to express succinctly a single sagacious, shrewd idea, an apt unexpected witticism, or biting sarcasm.”2 Kierkegaard’s knowledge of the epigram as a literary form is likely to have come through a variety of different channels. He possessed a copy of Lessing’s “Zerstreute Anmerkungen über das Epigramm”3 and, in view of his thorough knowledge of Holberg’s writings, may have been acquainted with the latter’s Latin epigrams, although he makes no direct reference to them in his works and journals. Furthermore, Kierkegaard’s knowledge of classical and contemporary literature would have furnished him with examples of epigrams. We find him citing pithy statements and proverbs from Aristippus,4 Aristophanes,5 Lucian,6 Plutarch,7 Cicero,8 Sallust,9 Christian Molbech, Dansk Ordbog indeholdende det danske Sprogs Stammeord, tilligemed afledede og sammensatte Ord, efter den nuværende Sprogbrug forklarede i deres forskiellige Betydninger, og ved Talemaader og Exempler oplyste, vols. 1–2, Copenhagen: Gyldendalske Boghandlings Forlag 1833 (ASKB 1032). 2 Kierkegaard also owned the first four volumes of the Dansk Ordbog published by Videnskabernes Selskab, that is, Dansk Ordbog, ed. by Videnskabernes Selskabs Bestyrelse, vols. 1–4, Copenhagen: N. Møller og Søn 1793–1826 (ASKB Appendix 2, 5–8). 3 Gottfried Lessing, “Zerstreute Anmerkungen über das Epigramm,” in Gotthold Ephraim Lessing’s sämmtliche Schriften, vols. 1–32, Berlin, Stettin: Vossische Buchhandlung 1825–28, vol. 17, pp. 73–238 (ASKB 1747–62). It is likely that Kierkegaard derived from this collection the text from Paul Pellison that he employs as the epigraph of the “Diapsalmata” (SKS 2, 26 / EO1, 18). 4 SKS 15, 263 / BA, 107. 5 SKS 2, 46, 141 / EO1, 36–7, 141; SKS 4, 53 / R, 182; SKS 4, 196n. / FT, 107–8n.; SKS 6, 39, 46 / SLW, 35, 43; SKS 6, 380 / SLW, 410; SKS 2, 273 / EO1, 282–3; SKS 21, 370, NB10:208 / JP 6, 6392. 6 SKS 1, 292, 317 / CI, 253, 282; SKS 4, 53 / R, 182 ; SKS 7, 86 / CUP1, 86 ; SKS 2, 27 / EO1, 19; SKS 18, 107, FF:169 / JP 5, 529. SKS 2, 137 / EO1, 137 may also allude to Lucian. 7 SKS 6, 86 / SLW, 88; SKS 7, 134, 150n., 257 / CUP1, 143, 161–2n., 283; SKS 11, 239 / SUD, 127; SKS 12, 68 / PC, 56; Pap. VII-1 B 56, pp. 243–4 / COR, 195. 8 SKS 2, 141 / EO1, 142; SKS 3, 302 / EO2, 319; SKS 6, 20, cf. 151 / SLW, 13, cf. 151; SKS 13, 258 / M, 204. 9 SKS 1, 90n. / CI, 28n.; SKS 2, 285 / EO1, 295; SKS 3, 273 / EO2, 288; SKS 4, 215 / PF, 5; SKS 9, 316 / WL, 319; SKS 17, 280, DD:208g / EPW, 106; Pap. VI B 235, p. 291 / WS, 148. 1

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and Horace,10 but surprisingly he makes no mention of The Greek Anthology or the most influential of the Roman epigrammatists, Martial. Among the modern European authors who coined epigrams Kierkegaard cites Montaigne,11 Boileau,12 Talleyrand,13 Lessing,14 Lichtenberg,15 Holberg,16 and Wessel.17 A survey of Kierkegaard’s citation of the aforementioned authors will reveal that he borrows epigrams or choice phrases from them to add color to his arguments, to let fly a barb at an opponent, or simply to illustrate a point. Kierkegaard also coins epigrams of his own. An early example is provided by a journal entry of 1837: “Philosophy is life’s dry nurse, it can look after us but not give us suck.”18 Some of the diapsalmata of Either/Or, Part One evince the characteristics of the epigram, namely, brevity, wit, and sometimes a sting in the tail.19 Many of Kierkegaard’s epigrams, however, are embedded in larger discourses, which means that their epigrammatic character can easily be overlooked. Nevertheless, a close reading of his writings will reveal that Kierkegaard was a master of the well-turned phrase that succinctly sums up an aspect of the human condition or makes a barbed, satirical comment. To take just two examples: “Fixed ideas are like cramps e.g. in the foot—the best remedy for them is to trample on them,”20 and, “Love…does not change the beloved but it changes itself.”21 Although Kierkegaard follows the contemporary definition of “epigram” as a brief, succinct statement with a sting in its tail, there are two distinctive ways in which he builds on this meaning in his employment of the term in his writings, namely his use of “epigram” to denote a means of exposing the inadequacies of the SKS 4, 508 / P, 47; SKS 5, 83 / EUD, 74; SKS 8, 101 / TA, 106; SKS 12, 297 / WA, 183; SKS 13, 232 / M, 182; SKS 15, 276 / BA, 121; SKS 28, 415, Brev 259 / LD, 294, Letter 211. 11 SKS 23, 471, NB20:151 / JP 3, 2779; SKS 24, 22, NB21:19 / JP 3, 2780; SKS 24, 43, NB21:59 / JP 1, 78; SKS 10, 145 / CD, 135; SKS 20, 208, NB2:172 / JP 3, 2775. 12 SKS 4, 149–50 / FT, 55; SKS 18, 165, JJ:80 / JP 5, 5625. 13 SKS 1, 292 / CI, 253–4; SKS 4, 409 / CA, 108; SKS 6, 317 / SLW, 339; SKS 18, 208, JJ:212 / JP 1, 623; SKS 26, 283, NB33:42 / JP 4, 3870; Pap. V B 115:2 / JP 3, 2322; cf. SKS 26, 125, NB32:14 / JP 3, 2980. 14 See, for example, SKS 6, 389 / SLW, 421; SKS 8, 147 / UD, 32; SKS 16, 100 / PV, 120. 15 SKS 6, 16, 187 / SLW, 8, 199; SKS 16, 72n. / PV, 92n.; SKS 14, 81 / COR, 40; cf. SKS 18, 212, JJ:226 / JP 1, 745. 16 SKS 4, 199 / FT, 110; SKS 4, 505 / P, 44; SKS 6, 272 / SLW, 293; SKS 7, 263 / CUP1, 287; SKS 17, 47, AA:32a / JP 5, 5213; SKS 17, 210, CC:26 / JP 5, 5191; SKS 26, 318, NB34:7 / JP 3, 3185; SKS 27, 164, Papir 226 / JP 2, 1675; SKS 14, 83 / COR, 44; Pap. III B 1, 106 / EPW, Supplement, 219; Pap. VI B 133, 226 / TD, Supplement, 125; Pap. VI B 98:15, 179 / CUP2, 30; Pap. XI–3 B 188, 314 / M, 574; SKS 28, 389, Brev 262 / LD, 246, Letter 180; SKS 2, 284 / EO1, 295; Pap. VI B 133, 222 / TD, 122; SKS 7, 179 / CUP1, 196; SKS 14, 66 / COR, 26; Pap. X–5 B 128, p. 325 / COR, 248n.; SKS 27, 492, Papir 416 / JP 6, 6196; cf. SKS 6, 316 / SLW, 340; SKS 20, 265, NB3:39a / JP 3, 3563. 17 SKS 6, 298 / SLW, 321; SKS 17, 280, DD:208 / EPW, 105; Pap. I B 6, 180 / EPW, 212; SKS 1, 135 / CI, 77; SKS 2, 227 / EO1, 233. 18 SKS 17, 51, AA:47 / JP 3, 3252. 19 See, for example, SKS 2, 28, 32, 37, 38 / EO1, 19, 20, 23, 28, 29. 20 SKS 17, 255, DD:115 / JP 3, 3699. 21 SKS 4, 240 / PF, 33. 10

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present age and his development of what we might term the “existential epigram,” that is, the use of “epigram” to denote a human being who epitomizes and/or satirizes a feature of contemporary existence. I. “Epigram” as the Exposure of the Inadequacy of the Age The first distinctive Kierkegaardian use of “epigram” is his employment of the term to summarize features of contemporary society that expose the inadequacy or absurdity of the age. An example of this usage is provided in an 1851 journal entry entitled “epigram,” where Kierkegaard writes: “In our age everything must be free—yes, one must be free, even if he does not care about it at all; one must be free, otherwise they will kill him—to this extent everything must be free.”22 The epigrammatic character of this journal entry stems from the paradox of freedom being enforced by the radical violation of an individual’s freedom through the threat of violence. To override someone’s freedom by threatening him with violence because he refuses to be free is a contradiction, which exposes the hypocrisy of contemporary society. In A Literary Review of Two Ages Kierkegaard draws attention to the epigrammatic character of anonymity: “Anonymity in our age has a far more pregnant significance than is perhaps realized; it has an almost epigrammatic significance.”23 Anonymity has epigrammatic significance because it expresses a truth of contemporary society, namely, that the increasing dominance of objective reflection threatens individuality by reducing human beings to indistinguishable members of an anonymous mass. In his discussion of “The Historical Point of View” in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript,24 Climacus employs the term “epigram” in his exposure of the futility of attempting to prove the objective truth of Christianity by historical inquiry. The historical approach enmeshes the enquirer in a never-ending approximation process and postpones indefinitely the decision concerning the eternal happiness offered by Christianity. For Climacus, “Such an objective state of mind is an epigram (unless its opposite is an epigram on it) on the restlessness of the infinitely interested subject, who must indeed have an answer to such a question, which pertains to the decision about his eternal happiness, and who in any case would not at any price dare to forego his infinite interest until the very last moment.”25 Here Climacus is employing “epigram” in the sense of satire. Objectively striving to acquire an eternal happiness is satirical because this is precisely the means by which the individual cannot achieve his/her goal, since an eternal happiness can be acquired only by means of subjective appropriation and never by means of an objective relationship. Later in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript Climacus mocks the German philosopher who, in order to answer the question of truth, “first transforms himself into a superrational something.”26 The inadequacy of this notion of the truth would become readily apparent if anyone were foolish enough to shape his existence 24 25 26 22

23

SKS 24, 256, NB23:97 / JP 2, 1267. SKS 8, 98 / TA, 103. SKS 7, 30–55 / CUP1, 23–49. SKS 7, 31 / CUP1, 23. SKS 7, 176 / CUP1, 191.

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according to such a philosopher’s guidance. Climacus writes: “When a person as a learner enthusiastically relates in this way to such a German professor, he accomplishes the most superb epigram upon him.”27 That is, the individual who sought to appropriate existentially the philosopher’s teaching on truth would expose the fact that the professor has merely “imagined and has written books”28 about the truth but has never himself attempted to exist in it. The professor has accomplished an epigram upon himself because any individual who attempted to appropriate and exist in the truth advanced by the professor would expose the fact that the professor’s truth cannot be existed in. Climacus employs the term “epigram” in a similar way on the next occasion he uses it in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript, namely, in his discussion of “Actual Subjectivity, Ethical Subjectivity; the Subjective Thinker.”29 He writes: “Let a doubting youth, but an existing doubter with youth’s lovable, boundless confidence in a hero of scientific scholarship, venture to find in Hegelian positivity the truth, the truth for existence—he will write a dreadful epigram on Hegel.”30 It is precisely the mismatch between the Hegelian conception of truth—which is abstract and consequently impossible for human beings to exist in—and the youth’s commitment to appropriating and existing in this truth that satirizes Hegelianism. As Climacus puts it, “The youth’s admiration, his enthusiasm, and his limitless confidence in Hegel are precisely the satire on Hegel.”31 The abstract thinker wants to abstract from his own actuality, but this is impossible, for the abstract thinker continues to exist in actuality. Consequently, “this continuance of his existence, ‘this sometimes sad professorial figure,’ is an epigram on the abstract thinker, not to mention the allegation of ethics against him.”32 Kierkegaard frequently employs “epigram” and its cognates to expose the mismatch between Christendom and genuine Christianity. In The Sickness unto Death Anti-Climacus writes: “Is it not epigrammatic enough that cursing was not customary in paganism, whereas it really is right at home in Christendom.”33 In Christendom, cursing, that is, taking the Lord’s name in vain, is epigrammatic because it confuses the highest with the lowest by conjoining the name of the Holy One with the triviality of everyday life. This lack of respect means that Christendom shows less reverence for the holiness of the divine name than paganism, which “out of a kind of horror and fear of the mysterious…as a rule named the name of God with tremendous solemnity.”34 It is a satire on contemporary Christianity that although paganism is inferior to Christianity, it expresses more adequately the reverence for God that should be shown by Christians.

Ibid. Ibid. 29 SKS 7, 274–329 / CUP1, 301–60. 30 SKS 7, 282 / CUP1, 310. 31 SKS 7, 282 / CUP1, 311. 32 SKS 7, 290 / CUP1, 318. 33 SKS 11, 228 / SUD, 115–16. 34 SKS 11, 228 / SUD, 115. 27 28

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Several journal entries Kierkegaard made in 1853 are entitled “epigram.” In the first of these Kierkegaard complains that, “Christianity has become complete nonsense. We are all Christians by birth—in ‘Christendom’ a child is not merely born in sin but also in nonsense.”35 In the second entry with the title “epigram” Kierkegaard relates a story of how a Swedish pastor was so shaken by the effect of his sermon on his congregation that he comforted them with the words, “Don’t cry, my children; it may all be a lie.”36 Why, Kierkegaard asks, do contemporary clergy not follow the Swedish pastor’s example and likewise confess the mendacity of Christianity to their congregations, a question to which he supplies his own answer, namely that it is unnecessary because the congregation already knows that the clergy preach lies. The epigrammatic character of the third entry entitled “epigram” stems from the contrast between the supposed perfectibility of Christianity and the state of “perfection” achieved in the Danish Church, which far from being the perfection of Christianity is in fact a caricature of true Christianity.37 Another 1853 entry entitled “epigram” cites the story of a traveller asking an Englishman if he is on the road to London, whereupon the Englishman informs the traveller that although he is indeed on the right road, he must turn about if he is to reach his destination.38 Kierkegaard makes use of this story to illustrate that Christendom is travelling in the wrong direction, namely, away from Christianity. It is indeed progress of sorts that Christianity has become doctrine and then scientific scholarship, but it is progress away from what Christianity truly is, namely, a life. To recover the true nature of Christianity, it is necessary to turn around and take leave of objective scholarship, give up the delusion of the inferiority of the first Christians for whom Christianity was merely a life, and recover the existential character of Christianity. II. The Existential Epigram Perhaps the most distinctive use of “epigram” by Kierkegaard is his application of the term to human beings and the modes of existence they have adopted. We might describe this as the existential or even “incarnational” use of the term. A human being is an epigram when he or she incarnates a particular understanding of existence, which has the power either to satirize contemporary society or the mode of existence adopted by the individual concerned. Thus Swift’s life has an epigrammatic character, since his entering in his dotage the lunatic asylum he founded as a young man enables Kierkegaard to employ it as an example of the axiom “Old age fulfills the dreams of youth.”39 Another example of “epigram” being used to denote a mode of existence is Climacus’ comment, noted earlier, that an individual’s inability to live

SKS 25, 228, NB28:18 / JP 1, 402. SKS 25, 229, NB28:21 / JP 1, 403. 37 SKS 25, 229, NB28:22 / JP 3, 3207. 38 SKS 25, 231, NB28:24 / JP 3, 3317; cf. SKS 4, 266n. / PF, 64n.; SKS 27, 158, Papir 211 / JP 1, 203. 39 SKS 2, 29 / EO1, 21. 35 36

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according to the abstract truth espoused by the German professor constitutes “the most superb epigram upon him.”40 There are three striking examples of the existential use of “epigram” in Kierkegaard’s writings, namely, the application of the term to Quidam in Stages on Life’s Way, Adler in The Book on Adler, and Kierkegaard himself in The Point of View for My Work as an Author. In his diary entry for midnight March 20th Quidam writes, “If I were to die tomorrow, my existence would still be an epigram that makes any epitaph superfluous.”41 Quidam does not elaborate on why his existence is an epigram, but presumably he means that his life sums up a particular mode of existence, namely, an existence lived in the light of the religious demand and God’s countermanding of Quidam’s desire to marry. Frater Taciturnus also notes Quidam’s epigrammatic character, commenting that Quidam’s “unsophisticated veneration for the opposite sex has something touching about it, plus a certain epigrammatic force superior to knowledge of the world.”42 For Kierkegaard, Adler serves as a satire on Hegelianism and an epigram on Christendom.43 In the sketch for version I of Chapter IV of The Book on Adler Kierkegaard writes of Adler that “He is an epigram on present-day Christendom; that he became a pastor when he was a pagan and was dismissed when he had come closer to becoming a Christian.”44 In version III Kierkegaard makes a similar statement, commenting with regard to Adler that “the epigrammatic aspect still remains: that he as a pagan becomes a Christian pastor, and that he, when he had come somewhat closer to becoming a Christian, is dismissed.”45 Adler is an epigram on Christendom because it was only when he was closer to becoming a Christian than ever before, much closer than when he was ordained, that Adler was dismissed from his post. The epigrammatic character of Adler’s life thus consists in the fact that he became a pastor when in reality he was a pagan, but then was expelled from the church when he was ceasing to be a pagan and on the road to becoming a Christian in the true sense. In a journal entry of 1848 Kierkegaard reflects on his having taken “one examination more than have most people,” namely, that he has “allowed the inner intensity of my feelings to be examined by a woman.”46 Alluding to his broken engagement with Regine Olsen, he states that it was he “who had to bear the responsibility and be the one who took action,” which he did by “mitigat[ing] matters for her by saying that I was a scoundrel, a deceiver.”47 “Then,” Kierkegaard continues, “a murder was placed on my conscience: it was said and repeated as solemnly as possible that it would be her death.”48 Kierkegaard concludes this SKS 7, 176 / CUP1, 191. SKS 6, 244 / SLW, 262. 42 SKS 6, 400 / SLW, 431. 43 SKS 15, 285 / BA, 305–6. 44 Pap. VII–2 B 265:11 / BA, 303. 45 SKS 15, 285 / BA, 306. 46 SKS 21, 159, NB8:33 / JP 6, 6273. 47 Ibid. 48 Ibid. 40 41

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entry with a statement about his character as an epigram: “If at times it has satisfied my anger to be like a sort of epigram on my contemporaries, here I have learned how mournful it is to be an epigram in this way.”49 Kierkegaard does not explain in what way he is an epigram, but presumably it is in his expressing in his person the absoluteness of the religious demand and the contrast between his religious vocation and his outward appearance as a scoundrel and deceiver. At the conclusion of The Point of View Kierkegaard allows his “poet” to speak about “[t]he martyrdom this author suffered” for his idea and for his being “a genius in a market town.”50 It is this martyrdom that enables Kierkegaard’s poet “to see the epigram, the satire, not the particular things that he wrote but what his whole life was.”51 Kierkegaard’s life is an epigram because it exposes the brutality of the crowd, reveals the significance of the category of the single individual, and “cast[s] Christianity, becoming a Christian, wholly and fully into reflection.”52 III. Conclusion Kierkegaard has a fondness for witty remarks, which allow him to hammer home a point or add color to an argument. It is his interest in clever, satirical formulations that prompts him to quote epigrams from other authors, occasionally to use them as the epitaphs for his works, and to coin epigrams himself. The most distinctive usage of “epigram” by Kierkegaard, however, is his employment of the term to denote a means of exposing the inadequacy of the present age and his application of the term to human beings who embody an existential principle of some kind. These two usages are connected, for the existential usage of “epigram” ties in with Kierkegaard’s notion of the epigram as the means of exposing an inadequacy in the present age. Certain human beings can be “epigrams” that personify or incarnate principles which make apparent a defect, deception, or omission in contemporary society. Understood in this sense the epigram has a revelatory function. It brings out into the open existential possibilities ignored or suppressed by the dominant world-view. In bringing these existential possibilities to expression the epigram implicitly judges or at least places in question the values taken for granted by contemporary society. See also Allegory; Aphorisms; Irony; Life-View; Metaphor; Parody; Rhetoric; Wit.

Ibid. SKS 16, 75 / PV, 95. 51 SKS 16, 75 / PV, 96. 52 SKS 16, 76 / PV, 97. 49 50

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Ethics Azucena Palavicini Sánchez

Ethics (Ethik—noun; ethisk—adjective; Sædelighed—noun; sædelig—adjective) The Danish word Ethik (modern spelling, etik) comes from the Latin ethica, which comes from the Greek adjective ἠθικός, “moral” (derived from the noun ἦθος, “custom” or “character”).1 The related term Sædelighed corresponds to the German word Sittlichkeit (meaning customary morality).2 Ethics is the branch of philosophy that reflects on the values relating to human conduct, usually in terms of good or bad motives and rightness or wrongness of actions. This kind of understanding presupposes a reflection, in many cases systematic, by which human actions are analyzed with a view to establishing general principles of evaluation. Although the concept appears almost throughout Kierkegaard’s entire corpus, the works in which it appears most frequently are The Concept of Irony, Either/Or, Part Two, Fear and Trembling, The Concept of Anxiety, Stages on Life’s Way, Concluding Unscientific Postscript, Works of Love, and Practice in Christianity. Kierkegaard distinguishes two main forms of ethics: (1) rational ethics and (2) religious ethics. I. Rational Ethics Rational ethics inquires into the various factors that determine human actions within a rational context. This category includes Kierkegaard’s (A) ethical sphere of existence and (B) his analysis of ethics as a science. Both sub-categories share key elements such as choice, virtues, and duty, and how these relate to actions as well as to individuals. (A) Ethics, understood as an existential sphere, is examined in Kierkegaard’s works Either/Or, Part Two and Stages on Life’s Way, published in 1843 and 1845 respectively. Both texts are pseudonymous, and in both the reflections on ethics are made by a married man, who depicts the dynamics of the ethical sphere of existence in the context of marriage and love-relationships. The human being is conceived as a dynamic relation between the finite and the infinite,3 which is set in motion by a decisive choice. Choice is developed in Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 4, columns 548–9. 2 Ibid., vol. 23, columns 66–9. 3 SKS 11, 127 / SUD, 13. 1

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three different scenarios: the aesthetic, the ethical, and the religious.4 These give rise to different conceptions in an individual’s life. A person situated in the ethical stage aligns his or her priorities, attitudes and criteria with the concepts of duty, responsibility, and commitment.5 With these ethical categories the ethical individual evaluates the aesthetic and the religious spheres of existence, as well as the aesthetic and religious elements in his or her own life. For example, an ethical individual would be able to experience the aesthetic mood of first love in the context of his moral life by presupposing it as present in marriage, rather than nostalgically recalling it as past.6 In contrast with Kantian ethics, which dismisses all heteronymous elements, this approach embraces joys and pleasures, ascribing to them substantive value as elements to be sustained by a moral life. The ethical sphere of existence is characterized by the individual’s relation to duty—enabled by deliberation, choice, and resolve.7 A passionate decision to commit to the ethical sphere of existence means that henceforth ethical terms become our primary means of orientation in the world: “Therefore, it is not so much a matter of choosing between willing good or willing evil as of choosing to will, but that in turn posits good and evil.”8 To choose the ethical is thereby a means of unifying the self, or at least of committing to striving to realize a vision of oneself in one’s “eternal validity.”9 The choice of the ethical sphere is not only a point of departure but also the chief means by which all of an individual’s actions and attitudes towards life can be seen as a unity or as a continuous history. In other words, a form of existence comes into being through an individual’s free choices, and these make her life unique. Thus, the basic constitution of the ethical sphere of existence is identified with choosing oneself because, “[i]n choosing itself, the personality chooses itself ethically and absolutely.”10 The personality both informs the choice and is formed by the choice and is only apparently kept in abeyance in the moment of deliberation, since even delaying a choice amounts to a choice and discloses something about one’s character.11 This construal of ethics as a sphere of existence contributes to descriptive ethics by means of what Judge William calls reflections upon life-views,12 where the inquiry is not about right or wrong but about whether the life-view is authentic or inauthentic, depending on the free choice of accepting our duty in light of our personality or not. On the face of it, Judge William’s ethics are deontological. However, given that he emphasizes the formation of character in the moment of choice, and contrasts the personalities associated with different life-views, his ethics can also be assimilated 6 7 8 9 4 5

12 10 11

SKS 6, 439 / SLW, 476. SKS 3, 77 / EO2, 86. SKS 3, 43 / EO2, 36. SKS 3, 160 / EO2, 163. SKS 3, 165 / EO2, 169. SKS 3, 198 / EO2, 206. SKS 3, 173 / EO2, 177. SKS 3, 160 / EO2, 163. SKS 3, 173–9 / EO2, 179–84.

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to virtue ethics. But they are contrasted with eudaimonistic virtue ethics, because one chooses oneself under the aegis of duty or guided by a notion of authenticity.13 If we also take into account the ethics underpinning Kierkegaard’s upbuilding discourses, with their emphasis on virtues such as faith, hope, patience, courage, gratitude, humility, and love, it might seem that Kierkegaard ultimately embraces a form of virtue ethics. But these virtues are cultivated out of obedience to God, in what looks more like a form of divine command ethics. This obedience to divine authority can only be achieved by having faith in that authority, by cultivating humility (especially about the scope and application of one’s reason in ethics),14 by augmenting one’s capacity to sympathize (especially through the experience of suffering),15 by attaining love through sin-consciousness,16 and ultimately by becoming as nothing before God—that is, by annihilating one’s ego and what Kant calls the empirical self—in order to strive to become the ideal, ethical-religious self who has a personal relationship with God. Ethical concerns about good and evil, the choices we make regarding them and the way we respond to the demands of duty, are among the key elements that constitute the narrative view of self. Judge William underscores the need for continuity in the ethical sphere, whereby the individual takes responsibility for her history. The point of departure for the task of becoming an ethical self is to grasp oneself as a concrete personality. But the personality is also embedded in the social so that one is, for example, also a bourgeois personality. Duty, on the other hand, is universal and makes universal demands on the singular individual. The ethical individual, then, aspires to become a higher form of self, which is absolute and has its own teleology.17 The ethical individual is aware of the idiosyncratic impulses deriving from her concrete nature, but reconciles these with her commitment to duty. Duties, while universal, are also my duties and in their continuous appropriation by the concrete personality, the individual unites the universal and singular.18 In the Concluding Unscientific Postscript Johannes Climacus develops the idea of an ethical individual presented in Either/Or, Part Two. The Concluding Unscientific Postscript is the sequel to Philosophical Fragments, and its analysis is based on Climacus’ dialectical reflections upon the nature of faith in an eternal truth that has an historical point of departure, where what is at stake is a person’s eternal happiness. One of the main claims of the text is that Climacus’ contemporaries have forgotten what it means to exist due to an excess of objectivity. That is, they leave out of consideration the particular, concrete existence of the individual and the ethical requirement that moral imperatives be inwardly appropriated. This leads to the confusion of the aesthetic sphere and speculative philosophy with ethics. In order to restore the existential path to the individual, the latter has to relate herself to her own existence by appropriating ethical matters that concern her: “Only Cf. Pap. IV A 246 / JP 5, 5636. Cf. SKS 11, 263–9 / WA, 127–34. 15 SKS 11, 251–9 / WA, 115–24. 16 SKS 11, 273–80 / WA, 137–44. 17 SKS 3, 250 / EO2, 263. 18 SKS 3, 250–1 / EO2, 263–4. 13 14

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the ethical and ethical-religious knowing is essential knowing. But all ethical and all ethical-religious knowing is essentially relating to the existent knower.”19 Given this, Climacus takes the modality of ethical knowledge to be existential. Thus, the first requirement of ethics is inwardness.20 The relationship between inwardness and ethics is very close because ethics requires that an individual become a whole human being.21 This task must be absolute and the individual has to be absolutely involved in it because “[t]he ethical as the absolute is infinitely valid in itself and does not need embellishment in order to look better.”22 On this view, ethics requires the development of a continuous personality with a capacity for inwardness, together with the personal appropriation of universal duties. This presentation of ethics emphasizes the formation of character and steers a course between Kantian and Hegelian ethics. (B) Kierkegaard also discusses ethics focused on duty, the individual, the community, and the relationship among them. This theme can be found in Kierkegaard’s dissertation, The Concept of Irony,23 The Concept of Anxiety,24 written by the pseudonym Vigilius Haufniensis, and Johannes de silentio’s Fear and Trembling.25 In this context, ethics is understood as the science of the ideal.26 It attempts to bring the ideal to life by demanding that human beings accomplish it as a task. This different aspect of ethics emphasizes the universality of duty at the heart of the scholarly field of ethics. Therefore, ethics is not a particular belief, personal code of conduct, or life-view, as seen earlier, but a universal set of criteria by which every human action can be evaluated. Understood in this way, ethics provides individuals with the conditions that allow them to distinguish between good and evil. An essential feature of this kind of ethics is language because it expresses subjective assertions in such a way that they can become inter-subjective. It allows individuals to step out from the isolation of their inner life and share it with the community, based on the universality of beliefs and values. Because of language we can articulate certain guidelines for behavior, such as “the father must love the son.”27 The relation established between individuals, duty, community, and actions is then developed in the context of the universal. In other words, universal commandments of duty, order, and value bind together particular actions, the consequences of those actions, and the individual performing them, giving rise to an agent who can assume responsibility for the actions she has performed. On this view, ethics is subject to justification in terms of public reason—a view congruent with both Kantian and Hegelian ethics. 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 19 20

SKS 7, 181 / CUP1, 198. SKS 7, 133 / CUP1, 142. SKS 7, 316–17 / CUP1, 346. SKS 7, 133 / CUP1, 142. SKS 1, 270–1 / CI, 227–8. SKS 4, 425–6 / CA, 123–4. SKS 4, 148 / FT, 54. SKS 4, 324 / CA, 16. SKS 4, 162 / FT, 71.

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II. Religious Ethics Religious ethics considers human actions in the light of divine revelation. Kierkegaard’s discussion of this kind of ethics can be found in Works of Love, published under his own name. Ethics, as viewed in the context of revelation, is considerably different from the rational ethics described above. If God is accepted as the source of our existence, then he is the source of the commandments that must be obeyed, absolutely and personally, by all individuals.28 In other words, even when commands are issued universally, they are directed towards each individual and must be embraced by each individual as a way of relating to God, in an indirect way.29 These commandments are absolute and the individual’s corresponding actions have eternal value, which God alone is capable of judging properly. As these demands are placed upon single individuals, they are to be performed in particular, personal, and passionate ways.30 Individuals assert themselves absolutely, inwardly, and ineffably, while language renders each event it articulates publicly intelligible and commensurable. Therefore, silence is the best expression of obedience to divine command. However, religious duty is specific to each and every one of us. Even if we should take “you shall love the neighbor”31 to be a divine command, the way we appropriate and act on it is an individual, personal matter that cannot be expressed fully in language. To summarize, throughout the Kierkegaardian corpus we can distinguish two distinct types of ethics, rational and religious. Both have elements in common such as the emphasis on good and evil, duty, choice, freedom, and action. But there are other features that differentiate religious ethics, such as inward reduplication, ineffability, eternity, faith, absolute obedience, sin-consciousness, repentance, selfsacrificing love, and the task of building up an unchangeable ideal self for salvation. With regard to both rational and religious ethics, the relationship between reason and will is essential to actions, their performance, and their evaluation. This is so, first, because choice involves both reason and will, whether it inclines toward good or toward evil.32 Second, individuals can make use of objective knowledge in their reflection and deliberation. Third, will brings the process of reasoning to an end and enables the performance of the chosen action, or in Kierkegaard’s terms, gives rise to reduplication.33 Language and communication function differently in rational and religious ethics. Rational ethics is intimately related to communication and language because it allows ethics to be intelligible to everyone. Evaluation in rational ethics is guided by criteria that are articulated in and communicated through language. By means of definitions, rules, and principles, the specific content of an ethical idea can be understood and followed by others. 30 31 32 33 28 29

SKS 9, 173 / WL, 164. SKS 9, 168 / WL, 160. SKS 9, 172 / WL, 173. SKS 9, 51 / WL, 44. SKS 7, 311 / CUP1, 339. SKS 12, 138 / PC, 134.

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By contrast, religious ethics is ineffable, even for the individual performing the duty. Insofar as duty is eternal and absolutely posited in individuals, each person experiences its demand uniquely. This uniqueness is impossible to express in language because its articulation would render it universal. The fulfillment of a religious command is performed primarily and essentially in inwardness. Temporality is a feature that also distinguishes the two types of ethics. Rational ethics is finite and temporal, whereas religious ethics is located in the synthesis of the temporal and the eternal.34 The absolute is an eternal demand, upon which turns the possibility of salvation. Salvation pertains to the ethical-religious self one takes as a task, and which is predicated on narrative continuity: “The good signifies continuity, for the first expression of salvation is continuity.”35 Through temporal subjective phenomena such as memory, hope, regret, and remorse, the individual is able to acknowledge that a story, her story, is created by means of her choices in the context of the ethical. But it is the higher order ideal self enabled by religious faith, and the ways in which it is enacted by the particular, concrete individual in existence, which is the bearer of absolute validity and is the subject of salvation: “And the talk about his life must once again have been wholly different in order to express continually immortality’s difference from all the changeableness and the different kinds of variations of the perishable.”36 Rational and religious ethics are also differentiated by their modality: in the case of rational ethics civic duty is universal in scope, and in the case of religious ethics God’s commands are absolute in modality. When the scope of ethics is considered universal, it is unlimited in its application across individuals; when the modality of ethics is absolute, it is unlimited in its demands upon the individual. When the absolute conflicts with the universal, the possibility of the teleological suspension of rational ethics arises for faith.37 The relationship between the individual and duty is determined either by rational or religious parameters. If this relationship is established within the limits of rationality, then the universal principles established by reason can be taken as a point of departure for performing or reflecting upon one’s actions. In this sense, the individual’s relationship to the universal is one in which she attempts to give concrete expression to the universally human in her individual life.38 Now, if the individual’s relation to duty is circumscribed by religious ethics, it is developed in terms of absoluteness and concreteness. As noted above, divine commands are directed exclusively to single individuals, and they impose a duty— not as a result to be achieved, but as a process whereby the performance of duty itself is unconditional and not directed toward a concrete, changeable object. The primary task of religious ethics is to build up an ideal self, with eternal validity, which can be the subject of divine forgiveness and salvation. In striving to achieve this, the individual must acknowledge her limitations by developing sin-consciousness, must SKS 4, 392 / CA, 88. SKS 4, 434 / CA, 130. 36 SKS 8, 126 / UD, 10. 37 Cf. SKS 4, 148–59 / FT, 54–67. 38 SKS 3, 310 / EO2, 328. 34 35

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confess her sins honestly and in all humility at the altar and repent, and with the expectancy of faith be prepared to suffer on behalf of others in acts of self-sacrificing love. See also Absolute; Aesthetic/Aesthetics; Choice; Duty; Evil; Exception/Universal; Existence/Existential; Good; Individual; Language; Love; Marriage; Religious/ Religiousness; Self; Sin; Stages; Teleological Suspension of the Ethical.

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Evil Azucena Palavicini Sánchez and William McDonald

Evil (Onde, Ondskab—noun; ond—adjective) The Danish word Onde can mean harm, misfortune, or illness, as well as evil. It may also refer to a person or thing that produces harm or injury. Ondskab also refers to a bad nature, wickedness, or inclination to cause harm. The adjective ond indicates that something is bad, inferior, or lacking in some respect.1 Christian Molbech notes that ond generally expresses what is contrary to good or what goes against the requirements of reason or morality.2 The term appears most frequently in The Concept of Irony, Either/Or, Part One, The Concept of Anxiety, the Concluding Unscientific Postscript, Edifying Discourses in Various Spirits, and Christian Discourses. However, the most sustained discussions of the concept of evil are found in The Concept of Anxiety, the Concluding Unscientific Postscript, and The Sickness unto Death. In these works, Kierkegaard’s analyses of evil can be examined under three rubrics: (1) evil as ignorance or indifference; (2) evil understood in relation to anxiety, guilt, and freedom; and (3) evil understood in relation to sin and despair. I. Evil as Ignorance or Indifference The characterization of evil depends on the existential sphere of whoever characterizes it. The aesthete A, for example, characterizes boredom as “the root of all evil,”3 which “is annulled only by amusing oneself.”4 Evil for Judge William, when characterizing it in his friend the aesthete, “like the Middle Ages’ concept of it, has a certain additive of good nature and childishness.”5 More generally though, Judge William regards as evil those forces that undermine human freedom: “Habit” is properly used only of evil, in such a way that by it one designates either a continuance in something that in itself is evil or such a stubborn repetition of something in itself innocent that it becomes somewhat evil because of this repetition. Thus habit always designates something unfree. But just as one cannot do the good except in Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 15, columns 682–95. 2 Christian Molbech, Dansk Ordbog, vols. 1–2, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1833, vol. 2, pp. 118–19. 3 SKS 2, 275 / EO1, 285. 4 SKS 2, 279 / EO1, 290. 5 SKS 3, 18 / EO2, 8. 1

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Azucena Palavicini Sánchez and William McDonald freedom, so also one cannot remain in it except in freedom, and therefore we can never speak of habit in relation to the good.6

However, Judge William refers most often to evil in conjunction with its polar opposite, good. Good and evil mark the extremes of ethical judgment. The ethical life, according to Judge William, is the choice to make the categories of good and evil the absolute basis of one’s normative judgments and one’s whole existence.7 Yet, for Judge William, not only the choice itself counts, but also “the energy, the earnestness, and the pathos with which one chooses. In the choosing the personality declares itself in its inner infinity and in turn the personality is thereby consolidated.”8 Indifference towards ethics and personal salvation mires one in the aesthetic sphere, thereby undermining the possibility of choosing oneself and exercising ethical freedom in the categories of good and evil.9 Throughout The Sickness unto Death, the pseudonymous author Anti-Climacus analyzes the role of ignorance of the good as a form of evil. This is done in the context of showing how sin and evil relate to despair. According to the Socratic view of ethics, an individual is virtuous to the extent that she acknowledges the good. Conversely, when an individual does moral wrong it is out of ignorance of the good. In this sense, evil as ignorance appears to be a deficiency that can be remedied by acquiring the requisite knowledge. However, intellectual knowledge of ethics is not enough, even for Socrates. Practical knowledge trumps intellectual knowledge in ethics, so if one’s life belies one’s intellectual opinions about ethics, that is sufficient evidence that one has not understood the good.10 In his discussion of the anxiety of sin, Vigilius Haufniensis inquires into (1) anxiety about evil, and (2) anxiety about the good.11 Those who suffer from anxiety about evil are on the path to good, while those who suffer from anxiety about the good are on the path to being demonic. “The demonic…manifests itself clearly only when it is in contact with the good, which comes to its boundary from the outside….The good, of course, signifies the restoration of freedom, redemption, salvation, or whatever one would call it.”12 The demonic, then, is closely associated with evil since its anxiety propels it away from the good, but without the individual being “entirely in the power of evil,”13 where evil, as the polar opposite of good, signifies the loss of freedom, redemption, or salvation. The demonic is not on the brink of evil by virtue of Socratic ignorance of the good, since its anxiety about the good implies some degree of knowledge. It is both tempted and repulsed by the idea of choosing the good, and when thoroughly repulsed rejects the good defiantly—in despair, willing to be itself.14 This introduces SKS 3, 127 / EO2, 127. Cf. SKS 3, 163–6 / EO2, 166–9. 8 SKS 3, 164 / EO2, 167. 9 SKS 3, 166 / EO2, 169. 10 Ibid. 11 SKS 4, 415–37 / CA, 113–36. 12 SKS 4, 421 / CA, 119. 13 SKS 4, 424 / CA, 122. 14 SKS 11, 186 / SUD, 73. 6 7

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the notion that evil is willed, rather than being an inevitable effect of natural causes. Don Giovanni, for example, is not evil because his desire is a force of nature rather than something he wills. He “is the expression for the demonic qualified as the sensuous.”15 Faust, on the other hand, is closer to evil. He is reflective, understands the good and is even attracted to it in the form of innocent immediacy (Margarete),16 yet is the incarnation of doubt, which might be construed as ignorance of faith or ignorance of resolve. Faust also knowingly “surrendered himself to the Devil for the express purpose of attaining enlightenment,”17 yet his doubt continued because although Mephistopheles permitted him to look through his spectacles into man and into the secret hiding places of the earth, Faust must forever doubt him because of his inability to provide enlightenment about the most profound intellectual matters. In accordance with his own idea he could never turn to God because in the very instant he did so he could have to admit to himself that here in truth lay enlightenment; but in that same instant he would, in fact, have denied his character as one who doubts.18

Faust’s is a willed ignorance of God, and therefore of the good, since in willing to be himself he will not admit that the enlightenment he seeks is only available through God. Yet he is not fully absorbed into the deceit of the Devil either, since he still doubts that Mephistopheles has given him true enlightenment. Faust, then, is a liminal figure with respect to evil as ignorance—all-knowing intellectually, but ignorant ethically and spiritually. Johannes Climacus, in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript, warns that those who try to think of ethics in terms of “world-historical” developments “must ultimately disregard the true distinction between good and evil, since this is only in the individual, and in each individual actually only in his relationship with God.”19 Part of the problem for the speculative thinker of world history is that she “sees it speculatively as the immanence of cause and effect, ground and consequent.”20 Kierkegaard’s ethics are robustly anti-consequentialist; he and his pseudonyms are much more interested in examining intentions, goals, and purposes than the consequences of actions. Only the aesthetic sphere is primarily concerned with consequences, such as boredom or world-historical significance. The aesthetic and speculative focus on consequences can also be construed as a form of ignorance— of the inner life. This focus also leads to confusion about the difference between thinking and acting. For the ethical individual, the “actuality is not the external action but an interiority in which the individual annuls possibility and identifies himself with what is thought in order to exist in it. This is action.”21 “With regard to evil, the confusion of thinking and acting deceives more easily,” on account of

17 18 19 20 21 15 16

SKS 2, 95 / EO1, 90. SKS 2, 202–3 / EO1, 207. SKS 17, 19, AA:12 / EO1, Supplement, 454. SKS 17, 19, AA:12 / EO1, Supplement, 454–5. SKS 7, 145 / CUP1, 156. SKS 7, 144 / CUP1, 155. SKS 7, 310 / CUP1, 339.

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the stringent demands of the good, “which requires itself of the individual to such a degree that it defines a thought of evil as sin.”22 Ignorance per se is not a sufficient condition for evil. Innocence, for example, is ignorant of good and evil without thereby being evil. Furthermore, Vigilius Haufniensis says “that God knows nothing of evil, that he neither can nor will know of it, is the absolute punishment of evil.”23 Even freedom, when “it remains in the good…knows nothing at all of evil.”24 These quotations suggest that evil is to be understood in the religious context as that which is absolutely excluded by the good, rather than as ignorance of, or indifference to, the good. II. Evil Understood in Relation to Anxiety, Guilt, and Freedom According to Johannes Climacus, “every human being is both good and evil”25 in the sense of having a propensity to both. But this fact is of no interest to ethics, which has becoming as its medium rather than being, because a human being cannot become both good and evil simultaneously.26 By free acts one brings good and evil into the world, just as sin enters the world by a qualitative leap.27 Guilt, as an affective consciousness of sin, alerts the ethical individual to the possibility for freedom to act differently by becoming good. In The Concept of Anxiety, the psychological concepts of guilt, freedom, and anxiety are understood as part of the dialectical progression to the dogmatic concepts of sin, faith, and despair, respectively, whose analysis is taken up in The Sickness unto Death. Guilt is the psychological manifestation for freedom of the possibility of sin,28 while anxiety is the psychological manifestation of the possibility of freedom.29 Once the spirit is posited and the possibility of sin with it, freedom has its opposite in guilt.30 The movement that essentially acknowledges the existence of guilt is repentance because, “freedom, as soon as guilt is posited, returns as repentance.”31 According to Johannes Climacus, “[g]uilt-consciousness is the decisive expression for the existential pathos in relation to an eternal happiness.”32 But guilt-consciousness “lies essentially in immanence [and] is different from the consciousness of sin.”33 The decisive difference between guilt and sin is that, in the case of guilt, “it is the same subject, who by holding the guilt together with the relation to an eternal happiness becomes essentially guilty, but the identity of the Ibid. SKS 4, 413n. / CA, 112n. 24 Ibid. 25 SKS 7, 383 / CUP1, 420. 26 Ibid. 27 SKS 4, 413 / CA, 111. 28 Cf. SKS 4, 411 / CA, 109. 29 Cf. SKS 4, 354 / CA, 49. 30 SKS 4, 410 / CA, 108. 31 Ibid. 32 SKS 7, 484 / CUP1, 533. 33 SKS 7, 483 / CUP1, 532. 22 23

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subject is such that the guilt does not make the subject into someone else.”34 Sinconsciousness, on the other hand, enables the possibility of becoming someone else, because it opens the self to faith in transcendence. Sin-consciousness, therefore, is much more radically related to freedom than is guilt-consciousness because it heralds the possibility of transfiguration of the self as the very basis of freedom. Lack of sin-consciousness, then, is a form of ignorance that undermines this radical freedom and as such is a form of evil. The radical freedom for self-transformation inherent in sin-consciousness depends on the promise of salvation or redemption from sinfulness, thanks to divine forgiveness. Wherever there “could be a question of salvation, the individual was not entirely in the power of evil, and if the individual was entirely in the power of evil, punishment would be a contradiction.”35 III. Evil in Relation to Sin and Despair While sin-consciousness is necessary to becoming a higher self, sinfulness is also the condition that alienates us from God. “[W]hat really makes human guilt into sin is that the guilty one has the consciousness of existing before God.”36 This consciousness is not simply a psychological state, but is a spiritual state that has profound ontological implications. While guilt-consciousness might take us to the limit of immanence by forcing us, unhappily, to face the question of our eternal happiness, it cannot propel us to make the qualitative leap to transcendence, whereby being born anew becomes possible. Only faith in the possibility of salvation, given to us by the transcendent, can effect this leap. Meanwhile, human duplicity can seek escape by turning inwards and closing itself off. This is the demonic as inclosing reserve (Indesluttethed), which is an insidious form of unfreedom.37 As such it is a manifestation of evil. Evil as sin can also be understood by contrasting it with the notion of absolute good. The idea of evil as double-mindedness is developed in the occasional discourse whose theme is that purity of heart is to will one thing. Throughout this discourse, Kierkegaard emphasizes the state of double-mindedness as a condition of human nature, which is sinful and duplicitous. In contrast with good—understood as unity38—doublemindedness is a misrelation with the good. Double-mindedness is compared with doubt (Tvivl) and conceived as a form of despair (Fortvivlelse), due to the individual’s failure to relate single-mindedly to one thing. For example, an individual could will only one thing out of fear of punishment,39 for reward,40 or she could will one thing only to a certain extent.41 Ibid. SKS 4, 424 / CA, 122. 36 SKS 11, 194 / SUD, 80. 37 SKS 4, 424 / CA, 123. 38 SKS 8, 140 / UD, 26. 39 SKS 8, 243 / UD, 146. 40 SKS 8, 149 / UD, 37. 41 SKS 8, 172 / UD, 64. 34 35

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But even with sin-consciousness the individual can still fail to grasp the good in freedom. The various ways in which this failure can occur are analyzed in The Sickness unto Death as forms of despair. Thus, each of the forms of despair represents an obstacle to radical, self-transforming freedom and thereby constitutes a form of evil. Each of these forms of despair is also construed as willful sin. Anti-Climacus systematically analyzes despair as the sickness unto death. He argues for its universality as a sickness of the spirit and of the self, which takes three forms: in despair not to be conscious of having a self; in despair not to will to be oneself; and in despair to will to be oneself.42 He then goes on to consider “despair considered without regard to its being conscious or not, consequently only with regard to the constituents of the synthesis [of the self].”43 Each of these forms of despair represents an imbalance in the opposites, whose balance is necessary to the formation of the self as spirit. As such, they represent impediments to freedom and therefore to the good; hence they can be construed as evil. But Anti-Climacus goes on to characterize the conscious forms of despair, which are thereby more evil since they are made in full consciousness of the eternal and still fail to relate to it appropriately. These forms of despair also involve the will, either negatively in despairing through not willing to be oneself or positively through despairing in willing to be oneself.44 The worst is defiance, which is conscious of itself as being in despair. In order to gain the faith that is the antidote to despair, the self has to “lose itself in order to win itself. Here, however, it is unwilling to begin with losing itself but wills to be itself.”45 It should be noted here that not all willing amounts to an exercise of freedom in the ultimate sense. While the individual in despair is capable of willing, she is not capable of willing to lose herself and is therefore incapable of attaining the freedom of faith. Even if one has acquired sin-consciousness and the self-understanding that one is in despair and one has the willingness to lose oneself in faith, there are further impediments to freedom, which amount thereby to evil. As we have seen, sinconsciousness is distinguished from guilt by virtue of the consciousness of being before God. When one has sin-consciousness before God, but is still not willing to be oneself or in despair wills to be oneself, then sin is intensified.46 It is also possible that one despairs over one’s sins and despairs of the possibility of the forgiveness of one’s sins, which amounts to offense.47 Sinfulness is the condition that alienates us from God and is the biggest impediment to freedom, thereby rendering it a form of evil. But sinfulness is also the condition that enables us to attain sin-consciousness, which is the pathway to faith. Only through faith can we understand God’s forgiveness, which underpins atonement and offers the ultimate form of freedom for the higher self. God’s love is the foundation upon which the higher self can be built. While evil acts are sins, 44 45 46 47 42 43

SKS 11, 129 / SUD, 13. SKS 11, 146–57 / SUD, 29–42. SKS 11, 162–87 / SUD, 47–74. SKS 11, 181 / SUD, 67. SKS 11, 191 / SUD, 77. SKS 11, 221–5 / SUD, 109–13.

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opposed to the good, they are distinct from sinfulness as part of the fallen human condition. It is sinfulness that is forgiven by God, through his act of self-sacrifice in Christ. The possibility of atonement achieved thereby enables the establishment of a higher self, which is free to choose the good before God, thereby rejecting evil. See also Anxiety; Atonement/Reconciliation; Choice; Conscience; Defiance; Demonic; Despair; Duty; Ethics; Faith; Forgiveness; Freedom; God; Good; Guilt; Love; Moment; Reason; Recollection; Repentance; Salvation/Eternal Happiness; Sin; Spirit; Will.

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Exception/Universal Geoffrey Dargan

Exception (Undtagelse—noun; undtage—verb); Universal (det Almene—noun; almen—adjective; almindelig—adjective; det Universelle—noun; universel— adjective) The noun Undtagelse is derived from the verb undtage (to exclude, deny, take away), and ultimately from the Old Norse undan taka. The lexical meaning refers to something or someone excluded or not counted, more specifically, that which is excluded from a definition or rule. Additionally, it means a deviation from the norm, a rare case, or something not usually encountered in everyday experience.1 Kierkegaard uses three different Danish words, each of which is translated in English as “universal.” They are all adjectives, though Kierkegaard also employs them as nouns. Almen is from the Old Norse almennr and refers to that which governs the whole. As such, it has an abstract or indeterminate quality.2 It can also mean that which applies to most or all people, the public.3 Almindelig, from the Old Norse almenniligr, typically relates examples of universal characteristics, intending to include comprehensively all that is traditionally the case.4 Universelle, from the Latin universalis, is a more general term describing that which applies in all cases and/or to the entire world.5 Although Kierkegaard did employ Universelle in early works (such as The Concept of Irony and Either/Or), the word soon all but disappeared from his published writings, although he continued to use it in his journals and notebooks. Instead, he began to make use of Almene, almindelig, and their variants. Both are employed extensively throughout the corpus; Almene appears most often in Either/ Or, Fear and Trembling, and Repetition, though it is consistently present in later writings as well. The most in-depth discussions of the relationship between the universal and the exception take place in Either/Or, Fear and Trembling, Repetition, and Stages on Life’s Way. Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 25, columns 1342–4. 2 Ibid., vol. 1, columns 461–2. 3 In the 1833 Molbech dictionary owned by Kierkegaard, the entry for Almeen also includes a brief English definition: “public spirit.” See Christian Molbech, Dansk Ordbog indeholdende det danske Sprogs Stammeord, vols. 1–2, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1833, vol. 1, p. 31 (ASKB 1032). 4 Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vol. 1, columns 467–72. 5 Ibid., vol. 25, column 1390. 1

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For Kierkegaard, the exception and the universal are inextricably linked; however, the latter precedes the former. So, in order to elucidate the exception, we must first define the universal. In The Concept of Irony, Kierkegaard describes universal concepts that “are not attained through the atomistic observations of experience or by the usurpations of induction—on the contrary, they continually presuppose themselves.”6 That is, the universal is not merely that which applies to everyone everywhere; it refers to an established set of axioms. This implies that we inherently possess knowledge of universals, either as Kantian concepts or as Platonic recollections. Either way, universals precede our knowledge of them. Kierkegaard considers this and concludes that we still need an “explanation as to how ideas exist before things and in what sense they do.”7 Without additional concretization, universals quickly become “infinite abstractions” which provide little guidance for daily life.8 Thus, the universal must be a two-sided concept. The universal “begins with thought,” but there is also an “actualizing individuality” that enables the universal to be known in experience.9 In the individual, the character of the universal is seen. This, in turn, reveals the “positive” and “negative” sides of the universal.10 The positive side, manifested, say, as the ethical (Kierkegaard’s most common example of the universal), provides the absolute form of the universal—here, the moral laws that are to be obeyed. Negatively, the ethical must also necessarily establish certain behaviors as universally wrong. In other words, that which is opposed to the universal is presumed in and created by the universal itself. It becomes the task of the individual to form her selfhood such that it reflects and embodies the universal. To become a person is to act in accordance with the universal. As Judge William states in Either/Or, Part Two, “the person…makes himself the universal human being, not by taking off his concretion…but by putting it on and interpenetrating it with the universal.”11 Becoming the universal human being makes the person “infinitely secure,”12 gives the person “true joy,”13 and “brings him into harmony with all existence.”14 Dialectically, one’s selfhood reveals itself as a unique feature of the universal, because “every human being is the universal human being.”15 The abstraction of the universal makes this individual actualization necessary.16 The universal is actualized when an individual does her duty. Judge William explains, “my duty is the particular, something for me alone, and yet it is duty and SKS 1, 129 / CI, 70. SKS 1, 130 / CI, 71. 8 Ibid. 9 SKS 1, 272 / CI, 230. 10 SKS 1, 273 / CI, 231. 11 SKS 3, 244 / EO2, 256. 12 SKS 3, 243 / EO2, 255. 13 SKS 3, 287 / EO2, 304. 14 Ibid. 15 Ibid. 16 Cf. SKS 3, 244 / EO2, 255: “this is the secret the individual life has within itself—that simultaneously it is an individual life and also the universal.” 6 7

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consequently the universal.”17 In order to actualize the universal, the human being must exhibit a “dialectic of duty” wherein he or she is an individual and the universal at the same time.18 If this is not the case “the difference between good and evil is canceled,” since it is impossible to speak of a universal ethics in an abstract sense.19 In this dialectic of duty, necessity and freedom—typically seen as opposites— paradoxically merge: “duty is the expression of his absolute dependence and his absolute freedom in their identity with each other.”20 On these grounds, Kierkegaard will reject Adler’s claim to have had a special revelation. Adler’s “collision of the special individual with the universal” (in this case, Christendom) contradicts his continuing “service of the universal” as a pastor of the Danish People’s Church.21 No one, says Kierkegaard, would hire a man who sought employment from one employer while at the same time openly admitting his allegiance to another. Just as a soldier who purposefully chooses to march in the wrong direction necessarily stands out, “an extraordinary with a revelation-fact must step out of the ranks….the earnestness of the universal demands unity and uniformity….”22 In Fear and Trembling, Johannes de silentio adds to this account. We learn that the ethical as such is the universal, and that the universal “applies to everyone,” “applies at all times,” and “has nothing outside itself that is its telos” but is instead “the telos for everything outside itself.”23 The universal is also identified with “the divine”24 and “the disclosed.”25 The universal thus not only applies everywhere and in all cases, but, in the form of the ethical, mandates proper action. This is why Johannes Climacus will later say that nothing that is done for the sake of the universal can be “an object for admiration,” precisely because the universal is “a requirement.”26 A person who discovers her responsibility to actualize the universal will be unable to return to any prior awareness. Rather, the person admits that her “singularity” must be “annulled” and the universal must be expressed in her actions. She must become disentangled from the “hiddenness” that prevents her from being “disclosed in the universal.”27 Individuality is only properly established in relation to the universal. Judge William had declared, “The more of the universally human an individual can actualize in his life, the more extraordinary a human being he is.”28 Johannes de silentio adds to this that any attempt to avoid responsibility leads to “sin” vis-à-vis

19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 17 18

SKS 3, 251 / EO2, 263. SKS 3, 251 / EO2, 264. SKS 3, 252 / EO2, 264. SKS 3, 257 / EO2, 270. SKS 15, 117–18 / BA, 29, emphasis in original. SKS 15, 118 / BA, 30. SKS 4, 148 / FT, 54. SKS 4, 160 / FT, 68. SKS 4, 172 / FT, 82. SKS 7, 327 / CUP1, 358. SKS 4, 172 / FT, 82. SKS 3, 309–10 / EO2, 328.

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the universal.29 If the situation is to be resolved, the person must “repent” of the desire to assert his or her individuality before the universal.30 It may seem reasonable to conclude that there can be no exception to the universal. But both Judge William and Johannes de silentio admit there may be a person who exists outside the universal. What, then, is the exception? Kierkegaard distinguishes between the ethical exception and the religious exception. The former is the exception as presented by Judge William. From his perspective, the exception is a lost, suffering soul, always trying to return to the universal. In a sense, every person is an exception because each one is unique. Again, “it is equally true that every human being is the universally human and also an exception.”31 However, the ethical exception is always less important than the universal, and should properly recognize this fact.32 It is “not something great but inferior.”33 The individual, seeking to establish her selfhood, inevitably posits exceptionality. In Repetition, Constantin Constantius calls this inherent dialectical tension “a battle in which the exception arises in the midst of the universal.”34 This “very dialectical and infinitely nuanced” battle is between the exception, who seeks justification as an individual, and the universal, to which the individual must submit. It is not as though the exception has rejected the universal. On the contrary, the exception “thinks the universal with intense passion.”35 Constantius says the universal actually “rejoices” over an exception, since, ironically, the exception makes possible the universal’s own assertion of itself as the universal.36 In some sense, the universal creates the possibility of the exception. However, Constantius agrees that, in the end, the ethical exception must submit to the universal. The pseudonyms distinguish between an exception who returns to the universal, and one who fails to do so. In each case, the exception “wrestles” with the universal and “thinks through” the universal, but the exception who struggles with the universal and then returns to it is “strengthened” by and “reconciled” to the universal.37 In contrast, the exception who fails to return is like “a sinner who cannot endure the pain of repentance.”38 According to Judge William, the universal is “a severe master,” but anyone who becomes reconciled to it sees that “what caused him pain and made him inferior in his own eyes proves to be an occasion for his… becoming an extraordinary human being.”39 In other words, once reconciled to the universal, the exception finds comfort in allowing her individuality to be absorbed into the universal for its purposes. Similarly, Johannes de silentio tells us, “the tragic SKS 4, 148 / FT, 54. Ibid. 31 SKS 3, 313 / EO2, 332. 32 SKS 3, 257 / EO2, 270. 33 SKS 3, 266 / EO2, 281. 34 SKS 4, 92 / R, 226. 35 SKS 4, 93 / R, 227. 36 Ibid. 37 Ibid. 38 Ibid. 39 SKS 3, 312 / EO2, 331. 29 30

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hero relinquishes himself in order to express the universal.”40 This relinquishing, however, provides the ethical exception with “security…precisely because it is a giving up for the universal.”41 What if an individual is convinced that she cannot, for some legitimate reason, fully surrender to the universal? Judge William says this will “generate a profound sorrow” within the person’s soul and that such grief “is itself an expression of the universally human…and will reconcile him with it.”42 The universal will eventually redeem a genuine penitent, so to speak. One’s circumstances are never an excuse for refusing reconciliation.43 Suppose, for instance, a genius recognizes that her society will not accept a groundbreaking discovery and, out of respect for the universal, decides to keep silent about her exceptionality. In Johannes de silentio’s words, they “[want] to save the universal” “by being hidden.”44 What happens? Eventually the silence will become too much to bear: “ethics condemns him, saying, ‘You must acknowledge the universal.’ ”45 In remaining silent, one defies the universal precisely by refusing to acknowledge its presence, and thus one is caught in a double bind: to speak is to assert oneself against the universal, but to remain silent is the same self-assertion. The religious exception, however, has a means of escaping this trap. In Stages on Life’s Way we are told that when a person becomes a “religious exception” they will “ignore the universal”; for example, a man will forsake the good of marriage in order to be the religious exception.46 When seen from the point of view of the universal, this leads to a realization that one has opposed the good, resulting either in a “heartbreaking” feeling of self-annihilation or a decision to return to the universal, where the individual is now “unhappy, unfit for this joy.”47 Why? The individual believes that he was too weak to maintain his exceptional status in the face of the universal and thus is unworthy of the happiness offered by the return. This leads to the following observation: “it is easy to perceive that no one can become a justified exception on his own.”48 In other words, if there is a justified (or religious) exception—and Hilarius Bogbinder repeatedly states that he does not know “whether there is or ever has been a justified exception,”49—she must be responding to an experience that is genuinely outside the universal and thus cannot be reconciled with it. “It must,” we are told, “be someone who has been living on in a secure understanding with life and then suddenly is halted.”50 The example is given of one truly and deeply falling in love. But it is also noted that falling in love can itself be a universal concept that one must SKS 4, 167 / FT, 75. SKS 4, 167 / FT, 76. 42 SKS 3, 311–12 / EO2, 330. 43 SKS 3, 266 / EO2, 281. 44 SKS 4, 195 / FT, 107. 45 SKS 4, 199 / FT, 110. 46 SKS 6, 163 / SLW, 175. 47 Ibid. 48 SKS 6, 164 / SLW, 176. 49 Ibid. 50 Ibid. 40 41

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give up in order to be the exception. If this is to serve as a proper analogy, it must be a falling in love that supersedes and is irreconcilable to, the universal ideal. Even with this caveat, it remains the case that “a person who wants to break with actuality must at least know what it is he is breaking with.”51 The religious exception must also be “married.” This is to say that the person must not only be related to the universal in a meaningful manner, but must also have made a commitment to it, such that a bond is formed. For, “if he is not so bound, it is impossible for him to become an exception.”52 Furthermore, the exception must “love life…because the one who wills to reject something universal has to be better informed about it than the person who is peacefully living in it.”53 The exception who rejects a universal precisely out of ignorance, cynicism, or some other negative quality would not be justified. This means the religious exception is horrified and tormented by the break she must make with the universal. It becomes a continuous suffering, wherein the individual “has ventured out into the trackless infinite space where the sword of Damocles hangs over his head…where the snare of unknown temptations clutches at his feet…where no human help reaches out.”54 The genuine exception cannot even know whether she is an exception or not, since to know this would short-circuit the whole process. Again, a person must experience something transcendent or absolute in order to be justified as a religious exception. Otherwise she is obliged to return to the universal, and any attempt to do otherwise will lead to the sense of self-annihilation mentioned above. But even the genuine religious exception (if there is one) does not escape a trial. Rather, as noted above, the suffering of the religious exception is continuous, whereas the ethical exception always has at her disposal the possibility of returning to the universal. The religious exception becomes a “rebel” and an “enemy” of the universal,55 and must be reconciled “to the fact that human language has only curses for him…and yet he must not harden his own heart against it, for at the same time he does he is unjustified.”56 The admission that one is below the universal, while at the same time being unable to deny that one has experienced something above the universal, leaves the religious exception in a state of desperation and “wretchedness” and reliance upon God alone.57 The justified exception will thus have a deep faith. In Fear and Trembling we read that in faith “the single individual is higher than the universal”58 and that faith is a paradox; it cannot be mediated, “for all mediation takes place only by virtue of the universal.”59 Abraham, the religious exception, “acts by virtue of the absurd, for it is precisely the absurd that he as the single individual is higher than the universal.”60 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 51 52

SKS 6, 165 / SLW, 177. SKS 6, 165 / SLW, 178. SKS 6, 166 / SLW, 178. SKS 6, 167 / SLW, 179. SKS 6, 167 / SLW, 180. SKS 6, 168 / SLW, 180. SKS 6, 168 / SLW, 181. SKS 4, 149, 162 / FT, 55, 70. SKS 4, 150 / FT, 56. SKS 4, 150 / FT, 56–7.

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This idea is echoed in Repetition, where we are told that, unlike a poet, a religious individual “is composed within himself and rejects all the childish pranks of actuality.”61 The young man explains to Constantius that Job is a genuine exception because he trusts God in spite of all his troubles. Job’s passion, we are told, “is not smothered.”62 In contrast, the one who is not an exception lacks “the perseverance to carry through an idea when the world incessantly disagreed with him.”63 Likewise, Johannes de silentio can find no connection between Abraham’s act and the universal; in fact, they are entirely opposed. Unlike the tragic hero or knight of infinite resignation—both synonyms for ethical exceptionality—Abraham’s act was not demanded by any universal purpose (nation, culture, or the like), so it cannot be reconciled to the ethical.64 In the eyes of the universal, he will always be a murderer.65 His conduct “cannot be defended” and “cannot be mediated.”66 Abraham, says Johannes de silentio, knows that to belong to the universal is “beautiful and beneficial,” and that he could be “understandable” both to himself and to everyone else belonging to the universal, if he could only return.67 As an exception, he knows how “glorious” it would be “to live with Isaac.”68 He also knows how “dreadful” it is to exist in the solitude that comes from stepping outside of the universal.69 But he has no other choice; the experience of the absolute makes it impossible for him to return to the universal. While the ethical exception can make an “infinite movement” and become “secure in the universal,” the religious exception “is constantly being tested [prøves].”70 Any possibility of returning to the universal must be overcome by the individual as a spiritual trial, otherwise the religious exception will be “outside the paradox” and responsible again to the duty required by the universal.71 The situation is one of paradox, silence, and hiddenness. The religious exception does not, at any time, believe herself to be special. Rather, she recognizes that it is possible for anyone to be a religious exception.72 It is not the action of the individual but the experience of the absolute that compels the uniqueness of the religious exception. It is the religious exception alone who can stand outside the universal, if such a one exists. See also Absolute; Absurd; Choice; Duty; Ethics; Irrational; Mediation/Sublation; Negativity; Paradox; Self; Teleological Suspension of the Ethical.

SKS 4, 96 / R, 230. SKS 4, 79 / R, 207. 63 Ibid. 64 SKS 4, 154, 201 / FT, 59, 113. 65 SKS 4, 166 / FT, 74. 66 SKS 4, 172 / FT, 82. 67 SKS 4, 167 / FT, 77. 68 SKS 4, 168 / FT, 77 69 SKS 4, 167 / FT, 76. 70 SKS 4, 169 / FT, 78. 71 Ibid. 72 SKS 6, 162 / SLW, 174. 61 62

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Existence/Existential Min-Ho Lee

Existence/Existential (Existents—noun; existentiel—adjective) The word Existents (modern form, eksistens) comes from the Latin ex(s)istentia. The lexical meaning of Eksistens refers generally to the fact or state of existing but may also include the sense of being-there (Tilværelse). The word may also refer to a particular condition or mode of being, or to persons of a particular sort.1 In its adjectival form, the word may indicate that something is decisive for, or has a profound influence upon, a person’s (spiritual) life. In logic, “existential” refers to a proposition that affirms or implies the existence of a thing. The word Existents and its derivations occur in more than twenty of Kierkegaard’s published works. Their occurrence is, however, highly concentrated in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript. It is noteworthy that they almost never occur in the upbuilding discourses.2 Existents is sometimes used in the broad sense of the fact or the state of having reality. In the following sentences, for instance, the word seems to be used in this sense: “Suppose a concept could be joined to this existence of ideas outside any concretion….”3 “If…it pleases a man to wax serious in the thought of what he will do for others, this demonstrates that basically he is a fool whose life is and remains a jest despite looks and gestures and powerful eloquence and careful theatrical postures, the existence of which means nothing except insofar as with the assistance of irony there can be a little amusement out of it.”4 This usage is, however, relatively rare. The term occurs most frequently in the following sense: the fact or state of having reality in the sphere of actuality. In this sense it applies naturally to every actual being, and indeed Kierkegaard uses it, for example, in relation to a rose.5 Yet all discussions about existence in Kierkegaard’s works are ultimately focused I wish to express my thanks to Patrick Stokes for his generous help with proofreading. 1 Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 4, columns 249–50. 2 Only one of them occurs, and that only once, namely, “existence-relations” (ExistentsForhold) in the preface of Two Discourses at the Communion on Fridays (the passage that contains the word is a quotation from the Concluding Unscientific Postscript). SKS 12, 281 / WA, 165. 3 SKS 1, 130 / CI, 71. 4 SKS 4, 504 / P, 42–3. 5 SKS 7, 301 / CUP1, 330.

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upon that of human beings, and although Kierkegaard sometimes uses more definite terms like “to exist as an individual human being,”6 or “a human existence,”7 it is often designated by the single term “existence.” Kierkegaard’s own definition of existence can be found in the following words of Johannes Climacus in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript: “ ‘To exist [at existere]’ generally signifies only that by having come into existence [være blevet til] the individual [Individet] is there [er til] and is in the process of becoming [er i Vorden].”8 These words express, explicitly or implicitly, some of the most fundamental characteristics of existence: (1) To exist means to be in the sphere of actuality or to be an actual being, as distinct from a possible being, which an idea or a thoughtbeing is. (2) The sphere of actuality is characterized by the fact that everything in it is in the process of becoming. Becoming (Vorden) or movement (Bevægelse) are thus essential features of existence. Climacus says, indeed, that “to exist is to become,”9 and that “existence is movement.”10 Temporality is closely connected with this aspect of existence, for movement presupposes time.11 Thus to exist means to be in time,12 and everything that exists is a temporal being. (3) Everything that exists exists after having come into existence. According to Kierkegaard, the change of coming into existence is the transition from non-being to being or from possibility to actuality, and thus is a change not in essence but in being.13 No coming into existence, therefore, occurs by necessity, for necessity “is not a qualification of being but of essence,”14 whereas all coming into existence occurs in freedom, that is, by way of a freely acting cause.15 (4) An existing being or an actual being is always a particular, that is, a concrete individual being. To exist means to be a particular, to be concrete. Nothing abstract or general, therefore, can be said to exist. Indeed, Climacus says: “Existence is always the particular [det Enkelte]; the abstract does not exist.”16 These aspects, then, essentially characterize existence in the sense of being actual.17 Human beings share them with all other existing beings. There is, however, Ibid. SKS 7, 319 / CUP1, 348. 8 SKS 7, 530 / CUP1, 583. The Hongs’ translation modified. 9 SKS 7, 183 / CUP1, 199. 10 SKS 7, 284 / CUP1, 312. The Hongs translate the Danish term Bevægelse as “motion” in this sentence. 11 Cf. SKS 7, 313 / CUP1, 342. 12 Cf. SKS 7, 176 / CUP1, 192. 13 SKS 4, 273 / PF, 73. 14 SKS 4, 274 / PF, 74. 15 SKS 4, 275 / PF, 75. 16 SKS 7, 301 / CUP1, 330. 17 In Kierkegaard’s writings, the Danish word Tilværelse is often used in a similar sense, in which case it usually is also translated into English as “existence.” This does not mean, however, that Tilværelse and Existents, both in the sense of having reality in the world of actuality, are interchangeable. Kierkegaard, indeed, seems to use Tilværelse to accentuate the simple fact of being in the sphere of actuality and Existents to suggest or accentuate some essential aspects of actual beings, particularly, becoming or movement. 6 7

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something more in human beings which distinguishes them from other actual beings. Whereas the latter are merely temporal and “there is nothing eternal in a bird,”18 for example, the former are temporal and, yet, at the same time have something eternal in them. A human being, in other words, is a synthesis of the temporal and the eternal or the finite and the infinite. The synthesis he is, however, is a possibility, for the eternal in him is in the form of possibility and does not become an actuality until he actualizes the eternal in himself. To this extent, human existence could be defined as being a synthesis of the temporal and the eternal in the form of possibility. The term “existence,” used in the sense of human existence, has this meaning. Let us, for the sake of convenience, call this “existence in the wider sense.” “Existence,” however, occurs in a stricter sense, too. In order to elucidate existence in this sense and compare it with existence in the wider sense, let us resume the discussion about coming into existence. Existence in the sense of being actual, then, begins with coming into existence. Now, “coming into existence can contain within itself a redoubling [Fordobling],” says Climacus in the Philosophical Fragments, “that is, a possibility of a coming into existence within its own coming into existence.”19 This is the case with a human being’s coming into existence. The latter, indeed, can be said to contain a possibility of coming into existence within itself, insofar as he comes into existence as a possible synthesis of the temporal and the eternal and, when he actualizes the eternal in himself, the possible synthesis that he is becomes actual or comes into existence. In the case of human beings, thus, there are two kinds of coming into existence: while the one is shared with the coming into existence of other existing beings, the other is proper to human beings. As previously stated, all coming into existence occurs by way of a freely acting cause. As far as a human being’s coming into existence is concerned, whereas he plays no role in that of the first kind, he plays, by contrast, an essential role in that of the second kind, as what Climacus calls “a relatively freely acting cause,” which, he says, “in turn definitely points to an absolutely freely acting cause,”20 namely, God. This means that the coming into existence of the synthesis which a human individual is requires an act of freedom on the part of the individual himself. A person does not become a synthesis as a matter of course, but only if he himself works in that direction in freedom. Self-activity is a prerequisite for becoming a synthesis. Becoming a synthesis is thus different from being a synthesis, and the word “existence” often takes that as its meaning, too. Let us call existence in that sense “existence in the stricter sense.” Existence in the wider sense, that is, existence in the sense of being a synthesis, applies to every human being, for it is a universal human condition to be a synthesis. When Climacus says that “existence possesses the remarkable quality that an existing person [den Existerende] exists whether he wants to or not,”21 the term is used in this sense. Existence in the stricter sense, on the other hand, applies only to those who in infinite self-concern strive to actualize the eternal in their lives.

SKS 8, 292 / UD, 195. SKS 4, 276 / PF, 76. 20 Ibid. 21 SKS 7, 116 / CUP1, 120. 18 19

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If it is possible to say that Kierkegaard’s purpose in his whole authorship is practical rather than theoretical, which is expressed in, among other places, On My Work as an Author and The Point of View for My Work as an Author, it would be equally possible to say so in connection with his purpose in his discussions about existence; that is to say, his main concern in those discussions is less to present existence as a human condition as such than to make one aware of existence as a task. To this extent, it would be correct to say that existence in the stricter sense is more significant than existence in the wider sense in Kierkegaard’s authorship. After this overview of the concept of existence in the stricter sense, let us now take a look at some of its major aspects. In the following, the term “existence,” without any qualifying terms, will be used in the stricter sense. Since existence consists in becoming a synthesis of the temporal and the eternal, the finite and the infinite, let us first consider more precisely what it means to become a synthesis. A human being, then, has two aspects, the finite and the infinite. What he is in the finite sense is “this very specific being with these natural capacities, predispositions, etc., in this specific concretion of relations, etc.”22 And yet he has at the same time the possibility of becoming infinitized and thereby transcending his finite self. With respect to the latter aspect, Kierkegaard stresses repeatedly in his writings that true infinitization for a human being does not consist in taking off his finite self, but, on the contrary, in putting it on in such a way that the infinite or the eternal pervade it or, in other words, transforming it into a concrete expression of the infinite or the eternal. The true infinitization, thus, has two moments: that of “an infinite moving away from” one’s finite self, on the one hand, and that of “an infinite coming back to” it, on the other.23 Without the second moment, the first moment becomes abstract and devoid of any positive meaning for human beings. The infinite alone cannot make one a true human being any more than the finite alone, for, although irreducible to his finite concretion, a human being belongs after all to the actual world, which is finite and temporal. Thus, when a person, in a moment of enthusiasm, chooses absolutely an end of eternal worth or an ideal, if this movement is to become a true infinitization, it is necessary for him to actualize the ideal here and now as the person he is. This is precisely the meaning of becoming a synthesis and, therefore, of existence. It should, however, be noted here that existence is not something that can be accomplished through one single act or movement once and for all. Existence is, on the contrary, a process, a continual becoming. Belonging to the sphere of actuality, human beings are constantly in the process of becoming and, therefore, what the individual achieves in the infinite sense at one moment cannot be preserved at the next as a matter of course, but only if it is achieved again or “repeated.” To this extent, it can be said of existence that it consists in “repetition” or that it is “a continued striving [en fortsat Stræben].”24 He writes, “Even if a person has achieved the highest, the repetition by which he must indeed fill out his existence, if he is not

24 22 23

SKS 11, 182 / SUD, 68. SKS 11, 146 / SUD, 30. SKS 7, 117 / CUP1, 121.

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to go backward (or become a fantastical being), will again be a continued striving, because here in turn the conclusiveness is moved ahead and postponed.”25 The continued striving that defines existence consists more precisely in actualizing one’s ideal in one’s daily life or, in other words, expressing it through action on a daily basis. Existence is essentially constituted by actions, that is, actions in the infinite sense. Now, action requires thought. Indeed, action lies essentially in willing, or more precisely, willing “in the noble sense of freedom”26 and not “in the sense of desire.”27 But in order to will in this sense one needs beforehand to think independently about what the right thing to do is to be faithful to one’s ideal. A thoughtless person, a person who with respect to matters that concern him essentially or spiritually does not think by himself but follows blindly what “people” say, cannot will in this sense and, therefore, cannot act in truth. On the other hand, although action requires thought, it does not come about directly from thought. The thought-action is a possibility and is thus qualitatively different from the actual action. Between possibility and actuality there is no continuity. The transition from possibility to actuality takes place only by means of a leap (Spring).28 Since existence is constituted by actions, the same can be said of the relation between existence and thought: “to think is one thing and to exist in what has been thought is something else. Existing in relation to thinking is not something that follows by itself any more than it is thoughtlessness.”29 Action in the infinite sense or in the sense of an act of freedom requires momentum. This momentum, which Kierkegaard calls the “momentum of eternity [Evighedens Fart],”30 is achieved through passion (Lidenskab). Climacus thus calls the instant when the individual becomes a synthesis “the moment of passion”31 and says that “existing, if this is not to be understood as just any sort of existing, cannot be done without passion.”32 The passion in question here is what Climacus calls “idealizing passion,”33 “passion of the infinite,”34 or “passion of freedom,”35 and he distinguishes it from what he calls “earthly passion”36 or “the temporal and earthly passion.”37 Whereas the latter “hinders existing by changing existence into the momentary,”38 the former “is an anticipation of the eternal in existence in order for an existing person to exist.”39 Existence has gradations. The level of existence Ibid. See also SKS 7, 91 / CUP1, 92. SKS 8, 219 / UD, 117. 27 Ibid. 28 Cf. SKS 7, 313 / CUP1, 342. 29 SKS 7, 231 / CUP1, 254–5. 30 SKS 8, 159 / UD, 48. 31 SKS 7, 180 / CUP1, 197. 32 SKS 7, 283 / CUP1, 311. 33 SKS 7, 285 / CUP1, 312. 34 SKS 7, 186 / CUP1, 203. 35 SKS 7, 161 / CUP1, 175. 36 SKS 7, 285n. / CUP1, 312n. 37 SKS 8, 239 / UD, 142. 38 SKS 7, 285n. / CUP1, 312n. 39 SKS 7, 285 / CUP1, 312–13. 25 26

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depends upon the intensity of passion: the greater one’s passion is, the higher is the degree to which one exists. Existence can be expressed in terms of the self or spirit. In Either/Or, Part Two, Judge William, in speaking of self-choice, which can be considered as the beginning of existence, says of the person who chooses himself correctly that “in an eternal and unerring sense he becomes conscious of himself as the person he is.”40 The existing person or the person who becomes a synthesis is thus characterized by consciousness, that is, a self-consciousness, not in the finite sense, but in the infinite sense. This means, in other words, that the synthesis that comes into existence or becomes actual is not a simple relation between the two constituents, but a relation that itself is conscious or relates itself to itself. “The self,” in Kierkegaard’s view, is precisely “the conscious synthesis of infinitude and finitude that relates itself to itself.”41 The self being defined as such, it is clear that existence or becoming a synthesis means becoming a self. The self in that sense is also a synonym for spirit: “Spirit is the self.”42 Existence, therefore, can also be said to consist in becoming spirit or in spiritual development. It is to be noted here that, although the human self is a relation that relates itself to itself, which, in Kierkegaard’s view, is freedom, it is nevertheless “a derived, established relation”43 and, therefore, can be fulfilled only if, in relating itself to itself, it simultaneously relates itself to the power that established it, that is, God.44 We can see here another aspect of existence, namely, the relationship to God; for if it is said of becoming a self that it can be done in truth only through a relationship to God, the same can be said of existence, too. Consciousness, that is, self-consciousness in the above-mentioned sense is, then, essential to existence. An existing person, indeed, is the person who does not forget or leave himself in any circumstance; who continues to be earnest about himself, infinitely interested in what he becomes and personally present in all his activities. This depiction of an existing person can be epitomized by another key concept in Kierkegaard’s writings, namely, subjectivity. For Kierkegaard, to exist means to become subjective or to develop subjectively. To become a self does not mean to become someone other than one is, but to become oneself, what one is in one’s immediacy. Considered in his immediacy, each human being, with his own concretion, is unique, that is, there is no other human being like him.45 The person who becomes a self gains therefore uniqueness, for he becomes precisely the unique person he is. On the other hand, as for the act of putting one’s immediate self on, it is Kierkegaard’s conviction that every human being can achieve that, if he wills it,46 which means that the act belongs to the universally human and that the person who achieves it gains universality. The person who becomes himself, becomes simultaneously unique and universal. Kierkegaard calls such a person the SKS 3, 198 / EO2, 206. SKS 11, 146 / SUD, 29. 42 SKS 11, 129 / SUD, 13. 43 SKS 11, 130 / SUD, 13. 44 Cf. SKS 11, 130 / SUD, 14. 45 Cf. SKS 3, 244 / EO2, 256. 46 Cf. SKS 3, 173 / EO2, 177. 40 41

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single individual (den Enkelte), of whom he says: “The single individual can mean the most unique of all, and the single individual can mean everyone.”47 To exist means to become a single individual or to develop as a single individual. The preceding lines suggest that independence (in the internal sense) is an essential aspect of existence. An implication of this in connection with interpersonal relationships is that a person cannot lead another person directly to existence. In order to exist, indeed, the individual has to stand alone (in the internal sense), and the highest service a person can do for another with respect to existence is, thus, to help him to win independence from all others, including the person himself. This means, in other words, that existence cannot be communicated directly but only indirectly. After this brief look at some characteristics of existence in the stricter sense, let us, to finish, turn our attention to the term “existential.” The adjective “existential” and the adverb “existentially” (existentielt), although they sometimes seem to pertain to existence in the wider sense, usually relate to existence in the stricter sense. In those cases, they make the terms they qualify connote the characteristics of existence in that sense. For example, what Climacus calls “the existential pathos” (den existentielle Pathos) signifies not words but action;48 it is “the pathos for everyone”49 and not just for some privileged persons, “the pathos of the continuance”50 and not the “pathos of the moment.”51 Still, they occur often, particularly in a context where an aspect of existence in the stricter sense is accentuated, namely, action or practice in contrast to irresponsible words or knowledge. Thus, for example, existentially to express Socratic ignorance means to express it not in words, but in action, with one’s life, or to put it into practice.52 In the subtitle of the Concluding Unscientific Postscript, the book is characterized as “an Existential Contribution” (Existentielt Indlæg). This phrase would indicate that the end of the book is practical rather than theoretical. To this extent it could also be used to characterize Kierkegaard’s whole authorship.53 See also Actuality; Being/Becoming; Communication/Indirect Communication; Concrete/Abstract; Finitude/Infinity; Freedom; Individual; Movement; Objectivity/ Subjectivity; Passion/Pathos; Personality; Self; Spirit; Stages; Time/Temporality/ Eternity; Striving; Will. SKS 16, 95 / PV, 115. Cf. SKS 7, 352 / CUP1, 387; SKS 7, 393 / CUP1, 432. 49 Cf. SKS 7, 359 / CUP1, 394. 50 SKS 7, 487 / CUP1, 536. 51 Ibid. 52 Cf. SKS 11, 201 / SUD, 88. 53 This article is particularly indebted to the following works: Howard Hong, a note on existence, in PF, Explanatory Notes, 297–8; Per Lønning, “Existence,” in Concepts and Alternatives in Kierkegaard, ed. by Niels Thulstrup and Marie Mikulová Thulstrup, Copenhagen: C.A. Reitzel 1980 (Bibliotheca Kierkegaardiana, vol. 3), pp. 131–79; Gregor Malantschuk, presentation of Kierkegaard’s basic concepts, in JP, vols 1–4, and his Kierkegaard’s Concept of Existence, trans. by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Milwaukee: Marquette University Press 2003; Hélène Politis, Le Vocabulaire de Kierkegaard, Paris: Ellipses 2002; Julia Watkin, Historical Dictionary of Kierkegaard’s Philosophy, Lanham, Maryland and London: Scarecrow Press 2001. 47 48

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Experience Jakub Marek

Experience (Erfaring—noun; erfare—verb; erfaren—adjective) From the German Erfahrung, the lexical meaning of erfare in Danish is to undergo or observe (experience) a psychical activity, or, more concretely, it denotes the actual individual results or discoveries gained through such activity (Erfaring), such as personal observations (for example, “to see for oneself”). It is also used in the sense of the sum of all experience a person has had (Erfarenhed), the wisdom of life. The verb erfare also means to understand something, to become informed about it.1 I. Kierkegaard makes frequent use of the term “experience” (Erfaring) and the infinitive form “to experience” (at erfare).2 We find more sustained expositions of the concept in Kierkegaard’s edifying discourses, most importantly in the discourse on “The Expectancy of Eternal Salvation” (from Three Upbuilding Discourses of 1844). The term is also employed, with different meanings, in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript and Practice in Christianity. Kierkegaard pays only slight attention to the philosophical conception of experience as empirical knowledge. From his existential viewpoint, he stresses subjective knowledge and disregards the empirical in the sense of perceiving consciousness (wahrnehmendes Bewusstsein)3 or in the sense of objectivity.4 On the other hand, Kierkegaard places great emphasis on experience as activity, praxis as opposed to mere theory.5 In his usage, “experience” always has this aspect of practical knowledge, or, in its most important form, of existential knowledge, existential qualification. This publication was supported by The Ministry of Education, Youth and Sports, Institutional Support for Long-term Development of Research Organizations, Charles University, Faculty of Humanities 2012. 1 Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 4, columns 489–93. 2 At times, he uses words that are similar in meaning, the most important being Oplevelse (at opleve) and the unusual and only once used Udlevelse (see notes 49, 53, and 67). 3 Cf. SKS 15, 57 / JC, 169. 4 Cf. SKS 1, 309 / CI, 272. 5 Cf. SKS 5, 171–3 / EUD, 170–5.

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This practical knowledge figures very often in the simple meaning of “being experienced,” of the wisdom of life (Livsvisdom). Kierkegaard mocks the bourgeois “trivial compendium of experiences as to how things go,”6 this “quantum satis of experience,”7 this “school of life,”8 where one learns everything and nothing: “Here as everywhere, experience is a curious character, for its nature is always to be both for and against.”9 Experience, along with rationality and probability10 is the foundation of a comfortable, mimicking pseudo-existence.11 Experience is the capacity of making successful, practical calculations about the world.12 These calculations establish humanly appropriate goals (Maal) and criteria (Maalestok) for one’s life13—they provide “human grounds of comfort.”14 Yet such experience is always fragmentary and casuistic,15 unreliable in the important aspects of life. Experience is the “double-tongued friend”16 and its wisdom is dubious.17 Kierkegaard maintains, that “the life whose experience did not end with verifying that experience is inadequate, is only aimless running that becomes lost on the wrong path”18 and conclusively dismisses experience: “Is not doubt the very unrest that makes the life of experience unstable so that it never finds peace or takes a rest, is never finished with observing and even if it ever did that would never find rest?”19 II. However, individual experiences, understood as significant events or occurrences that influence one’s life, are different from the accumulated wisdom of experience. In Kierkegaard’s works we encounter instances and analyses of such experiences on different levels. The aesthetic notion of experience: Kierkegaard’s aesthetic characters often seek experiences in the sense of a plurality of experiences. The aesthete A of Either/Or is experienced in this sense, he “seem[s] destined to have to suffer through all possible moods, to be required to have experiences of all kinds,”20 whereas Quidam of Stages SKS 11, 156 / SUD, 41. Ibid. 8 SKS 8, 155, 182 / UD, 44, 76. 9 SKS 2, 417 / EO1, 430. 10 Cf. SKS 6, 348–9 / SLW, 376. 11 Cf. SKS 9, 250 / WL, 250–1. 12 SKS 9, 258 / WL, 257–8. 13 Cf. SKS 5, 256–61 / EUD, 259–65. 14 SKS 5, 257 / EUD, 260. 15 Cf. SKS 1, 32 / EPW, 76. 16 SKS 5, 28 / EUD, 18–19. 17 Cf. SKS 5, 29–30 / EUD, 20–1. 18 SKS 5, 259 / EUD, 263. This “experience” is more of an “excuse” for not committing oneself to the demands of a genuine existence. Cf. SKS 5, 373 / EUD, 389–90. 19 SKS 5, 138 / EUD, 135. Cf. SKS 5, 168, 215 / EUD, 169, 215. 20 SKS 2, 40–1 / EO1, 31–2. 6 7

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on Life’s Way is equally inexperienced.21 Such experiences are a kaleidoscope of interesting souvenirs.22 Experiences of this kind cannot themselves become an “anchor” of one’s existence, and the individual who tries to use them in this way is essentially melancholic.23 As early as in his critical review of Andersen’s Only a Fiddler (From the Papers of One Still Living), Kierkegaard argues that a true and positive life-view (Livs-Anskuelse) is qualitatively different from a sum of experiences.24 Fragmented and atomistic experiences lack the continuity and authority of a life-view. In The Concept of Irony, Kierkegaard again discusses the possibility of a positive life-view and relates it to irony as the “consciously absorbed negation of the validity of experience.”25 Yet this time experience stands for the newly gained quality.26 Experiences are not just the above-mentioned “curiosities”; instead Kierkegaard stresses the value of experience in the form of first-hand acquaintance or personal observation.27 This is the experience Johannes Climacus makes of what it means to actually doubt everything, an experience the other so-called philosophers seem to lack.28 Without such experiences there remains only empty talk and didacticizing (at docere).29 Lastly, there are also situations experienced by the aesthetic characters where Kierkegaard values the authenticity of such experiences, that is, their aspect of infinity, singularity or substantiality. This is the experience of the much-discussed first love. Judge William analyzes such experience as being ultimately of a religious character.30 III. Kierkegaard distinguishes between two major aspects of experiences: (1) experiences as the plurality of the “interesting”; and (2) experiences as a “reflection of infinity,” as something substantial.31 This duality can be found in an early journal entry from Kierkegaard’s trip to Gilleleje, where he famously asks for a “truth that is truth for me, [an] idea for which I am willing to live and die.”32 This subjective truth is, “Unsophisticated” in the Hongs’ translation. Cf. SKS 6, 399 / SLW, 431. Cf. SKS 6, 17–8 / SLW, 9–11. Recollection (Erindring) in this sense is also a major category of Either/Or’s “Diapsalmata” and “Rotation of Crops.” See also “inexhaustible spiritual treasure” (en [u]udtømmelig aandelig Skat) in SKS 18, 135, HH:19 / KJN 2, 126. 23 Cf. SKS 4, 348 / CA, 43; SKS 6, 363 / SLW, 391. 24 Cf. SKS 1, 32 / EPW, 76. See also SKS 8, 17 / TA, 13–14. 25 SKS 1, 176 / CI, 124. 26 Cf. SKS 1, 119–22 / CI, 59–61. 27 Alastair Hannay’s translation of Autopsi—see SKS 7, 21, 48 / CUPH, 13, 37. The Hongs use “autopsy” (CUP1, 11, 43). 28 Cf. SKS 15, 52 / JC, 164. See also SKS 4, 510 / P, 49. 29 Cf. SKS 12, 138 / PC, 134. 30 SKS 3, 64 / EO2, 58. Cf. also SKS 2, 379 / EO1, 391. 31 “The Moment” (Øieblikket) is in this respect an experience. Cf. SKS 4, 390–1 / CA, 87–8. 32 SKS 17, 24, AA:12 / JP 5, 5100. 21 22

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in the margin of the text, specified to be an inner experience (en indre Erfaring). In the same journal entry, and for the first time, Kierkegaard uses an important metaphor, which he often employed later to depict the complexity of experience: the metaphor of the sea. In the very same marginal note Kierkegaard continues: “but how many there are who experience life’s different impressions the way the sea sketches figures in the sand and then promptly erases them without a trace.”33 The metaphor of the sea stands for life as a whole34—there is the stormy sea of vivid yet elusive impressions, and there is also the deep water.35 “Just as no one who has been taught a great deal about swimming is able to keep afloat in a storm, but only the person who is intensely convinced and has experienced that he is actually lighter than water, so a person who lacks this inward point of poise is unable to keep afloat in life’s storms.”36 In this metaphor, Kierkegaard crosses the horizontal (aesthetic, mundane) and vertical (religious) axes—every individual existence is in need of vertical suspension,37 of the anchor,38 of true comfort and hope. This is faith, and in this metaphor it is likened to swimming.39 IV. Faith is a gift, and every individual is in need of this gift, yet “Before this need awakens in a person, there must first be a great upheaval.”40 This turning point of existence is the turn away from the aesthetic and towards the religious. Kierkegaard again associates it with a special experience. In order for this need to awaken, one must despair.41 The other essential experience is suffering. Kierkegaard uses his “favorite expression”42 again in evoking the metaphor of the sea to make his point: “While aesthetic existence is essentially enjoyment and ethical existence essentially struggle and victory, religious existence is essentially suffering—and not as transitional but persisting. The suffering is…the 70,000 fathoms upon whose depth the religious person constantly remains.”43 It is the experience of suffering which marks the true religious existence. Anti-Climacus stresses this in his Practice in Christianity, arguing that one cannot use imagination to avoid or substitute the experience of suffering. If this were possible, then there would be no meaning in life.44 It is the Ibid. See also the same picture in SKS 5, 259 / EUD, 263. Cf. SKS 3, 87–8 / EO2, 83–4. 35 Cf. SKS 3, 142 / EO2, 144. 36 SKS 17, 28, AA:12 / JP 5, 5100. 37 Cf. SKS 2, 40–1 / EO1, 31–2. 38 Cf. SKS 17, 26, AA:12 / JP 5, 5100. 39 Cf. SKS 4, 133–4 / FT, 37–8. 40 SKS 5, 139 / EUD, 136. 41 Cf. SKS 3, 204–5 / EO2, 212–13. 42 SKS 15, 263–4 / BA, 107–8. “To be out over 70,000 fathoms of water” is Kierkegaard’s favorite expression indeed—see for example SKS 6, 411–12, 433–4, 439 / SLW, 444, 470, 477; SKS 7, 131, 187, 212, 263 / CUP1, 140, 204, 232, 288; SKS 9, 357 / WL, 363. 43 Translated by Alastair Hannay (CUPH, 241). Cf. SKS 7, 263 / CUP1, 288. 44 SKS 12, 186–8 / PC, 186–9. 33 34

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actual experience that makes the difference. There is no religious existence without the continuous experience of suffering.45 Kierkegaard uses the locus classicus of the Apostle Paul’s experience of the “thorn in flesh” to picture religious suffering in its most heightened form.46 Analytically, we can distinguish several different meanings of religious experience: (1) It is the turning point, the life-changing experience. This can be, as we have seen, despair, but also repentance (Anger),47 or, in Christian Discourses, also suffering: “it [suffering] makes it impossible ever to be happy in the thoughtless and worldly way the natural man is, as the youth in his inexperience is, as the child in its innocence is.”48 (2) It is the concretion of one’s life, the concrete content of one’s existence, that which makes it individual; it is the everyday concrete existence.49 (3) As such it is the expression of who one is, one’s subjectivity, the basis of one’s self-knowledge. Such is the experience of the passionate interest in one’s eternal happiness.50 (4) Finally, Kierkegaard understands such experiences as necessary conditions that gradually51 prepare the single individual for the problem of Christianity.52 V. “That faith and the Christian-religious have humor preceding them shows, moreover, what a tremendous range of existence is possible outside Christianity, and on the other hand, what experience of life is required for properly embracing Christianity.”53 Johannes Climacus, the pseudonymous author of the Philosophical Fragments and the Concluding Unscientific Postscript to the Philosophical Fragments, presents his dialectical conception of the successive existential spheres (aesthetic, ethical, religious [religiousness A], Christian [religiousness B]) and understands the lower existential spheres as necessary conditions of the possibility of true Christian existence. The individual spheres are stages of existence, which, in a Hegelian sense of experience,54 prepare the individual for a deeper understanding of his condition at the next stage. SKS 7, 392, 393 / CUP1, 431, 432. SKS 5, 321 / EUD, 331–2. 47 Cf. SKS 5, 54 / EUD, 46; SKS 4, 319–20, 324 / CA, 12, 17; SKS 7, 471–2 / CUP1, 518–19. 48 SKS 10, 299 / CD, 279. 49 Cf. SKS 7, 443 / CUP1, 489, here Kierkegaard uses the word Oplevede. 50 Cf. SKS 7, 57 / CUP1, 53. 51 Cf. SKS 5, 334 / EUD, 346. 52 That is, “the problem” of the Philosophical Fragments and of the Concluding Unscientific Postscript to the Philosophical Fragments. 53 In Hannay’s translation (CUPH, 245, emphasis mine). Cf. SKS 7, 266 / CUP1, 245. Note that in this formulation Kierkegaard uses the word Udlevelse. 54 G.W.F. Hegel, Die Phänomenologie des Geistes, in Werke, vols. 1–20, ed. by Eva Moldenhauer and Karl Markus Michel, Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp 1969–71, vol. 3, p. 72: “der Weg des natürlichen Bewusstseins…der Weg der Seele, welche die Reihe ihrer Gestaltungen, als durch ihre Natur ihr vorgestreckter Stationen, durchwandert, dass sie sich zum Geiste läutere, indem sie durch die vollständige Erfahrung ihrer selbst zur Kenntnis desjenigen gelangt, was sie an sich selbst ist.” 45 46

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According to this conception, ethics constitutes a necessary condition for the religious.55 Unless the single individual completes his experience of the ethical sphere, and becomes “enriched” by this experience, he cannot proceed into the religious sphere. The ethical is just a transitional sphere (Gjennemgangssphære).56 In Climacus’ view, the next religious sphere is also just a condition of the last existential sphere—Christianity. For this reason he calls the third sphere religiousness A and distinguishes it from religiousness B (Christianity). “Religiousness A must first be present in the individual before there can be talk of becoming aware of the dialectical B.”57 Climacus understands this dialectical movement as the unfolding of immanent human possibilities.58 The experiences of the ethical or religious cannot constitute a new quality59 (eternal happiness as the cure to sinfulness).60 As long as Christianity is the ultimate goal and the individual strives for his eternal happiness, these experiences only prepare him for the possibility of being saved by God.61 VI. In addition to the above-mentioned meanings of experience in Kierkegaard’s works is the notion of experience as that which gives authority. Experience is then the authority that testifies for the truth,62 while experience underpins the genuineness of the witness to the truth.63 More importantly, first-hand experience64 gives authority to the individual’s speech,65 especially preaching.66 Without this “authority of experience” such preaching is baseless67 and lacks the “power of conviction.”68 VII. Lastly, Kierkegaard makes use of experience in his method of indirect communication. Not only does he often address his reader directly and appeal to the reader’s Cf. SKS 7, 353 / CUP1, 388. SKS 6, 439 / SLW, 476. 57 Translated by Alastair Hannay (CUPH, 466). Cf. SKS 7, 506 / CUP1, 556. Cf. the whole “Intermediate clause between A and B” (SKS 7, 505–10 / CUP1, 555–61). 58 That is, “the developed possibility of subjectivity’s first possibility” (SKS 7, 122 / CUP1, 130). 59 Cf. SKS 1, 119–22 / CI, 59–61; SKS 7, 483–4 / CUP1, 532–3; SKS 4, 131–2, 148–9 / R, 9–10, 25–6; SKS 7, 188, 500 / CUP1, 205–6, 550. 60 Cf. SKS 10, 166 / CD, 159. 61 SKS 12, 163 / PC, 159–60. 62 Cf. SKS 10, 199 / CD, 189. 63 Cf. SKS 6, 424 / SLW, 460. 64 Cf. SKS 15, 264–5 / BA, 108–9. 65 Cf. SKS 3, 305 / EO2, 323. 66 Cf. SKS 7, 380 / CUP1, 418–19. 67 Cf. “Oplevedes Rigdom” in SKS 15, 262 / BA, 106. 68 SKS 5, 238 / EUD, 238. 55 56

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personal experience,69 but his method attempts to communicate or evoke such experiences.70 It is, then, Kierkegaard as an individual who attempts to communicate or pass on his own hard-won experiences.71 To conclude, we have distinguished between several major different usages of the word experience in Kierkegaard’s works. Experience is used in the sense of wisdom of life, the practical knowledge of how things go in the world. Such experience is dubious and fragmentary. Kierkegaard pays much attention to the role of significant experiences in the development of individual existence. Such experiences (for example, despair or suffering) mark a turning point in existence or make up the individual content and concretion of a person’s existence. Climacus suggests that whole spheres of existence (ethics, religiousness A) are in fact necessary experiences in the sense of being conditions or qualifications for the full development of an individual on the road to Christianity. Kierkegaard refers to experience as the basis of one’s authority as a witness to the truth. Personal experience of the existential problem at hand is also an important aspect of Kierkegaard’s authorship and a demand placed on his readers. See also Despair; Ethics; Existence/Existential; Faith; Objectivity/Subjectivity; Recollection; Religious/Religiousness; Stages; Suffering; Witness.

As in SKS 9, 225 / WL, 222; SKS 5, 453, 458 / TD, 84, 90; or SKS 13, 102 / FSE, 80. For example, the terrifying (Forfærdelse). Cf. SKS 10, 108 / CD, 96; SKS 5, 321 / EUD, 331. 71 Cf. SKS 5, 150 / EUD, 149. 69

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Fairytale Nathaniel Kramer

Fairytale (Eventyr—noun) The Danish term Eventyr derives from the Latin adventura and the French aventure. The Latin verb is advenire, meaning “to happen” or “occur.” The lexical meaning in Danish refers to an event or incident which to a significant degree is accidental or remarkable, especially one that is strange, surprising, or exciting. When used in the plural, the Danish may refer to erotic experiences or tales of love. Eventyr may also suggest a daring or even dangerous undertaking. In a third meaning, Eventyr refers to a story or tale about strange or marvelous events. These are usually fantastical stories, something that lies out of the norm. Eventyr may also refer to an implausible or untruthful story.1 The most frequent use of the word Eventyr is in Either/Or, Part One, with Part Two a close second. The Concept of Irony also contains several references to fairytales, as does The Concept of Anxiety. Thus fairytales are referred to in the works that Kierkegaard wrote in what is often called his first period. Apart from these four works, the Concluding Unscientific Postscript contains several references, mainly in a discussion of Napoleon. A few other works also refer to fairytales, including Upbuilding Discourses in Different Spirits, Works of Love, The Sickness unto Death and Johannes Climacus, or De omnibus dubitandum est. Given the frequency of references in Either/Or, Part One, one might understandably equate Kierkegaard’s use of the fairytale with the aesthetic sphere of existence. Even elsewhere in Kierkegaard’s oeuvre there is a close association between fantasy or imagination and the fairytale. In fact, this tension between the fairytale and what is variously called in Kierkegaard’s corpus “actuality,” “history,” or “reality,” forms one of the central issues in Kierkegaard’s use of the fairytale. In the section titled “Irony after Fichte” from The Concept of Irony, Kierkegaard expresses this tension and irony’s role in this way: to the extent that irony is good natured enough to assume a past, this past must be of such a nature that irony can have a free hand with it and play its game with it. Thus it was the mythical part of history, legend and fairytale that mainly found favor in its eyes. The actual history, however, in which the authentic individual has his positive freedom because therein he possesses his premises, had to be set aside. To that end, irony acted just as Hercules did when he was fighting with Antaeus, who could not be conquered as Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 4, columns 559–61.

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Nathaniel Kramer long as he kept his feet on the ground. As we all know, Hercules lifted Antaeus up from the ground and thereby defeated him. Irony dealt with historical actuality in the same way. In a twinkling, all history was turned into myth-poetry-legend-fairytale. Thus irony was free once again.2

This lack of ground in the fairytale, as opposed to actuality and history, structures a whole host of uses of the fairytale by Kierkegaard. Depending on the pseudonym and/or the particular work, the fairytale acquires different valences and significance with regard to this issue. In “The Seducer’s Diary” from Either/Or, Part One, Johannes offers to Cordelia what he regards as “the best nourishment: mythology and fairytales.”3 In his attempts at seduction, Johannes relies on empty literature, fluff as it were, to fire Cordelia’s imagination and more fully ensnare her in his wiles. Fairytales thus represent, at least for Johannes and the aesthetic view, if not a kind of frivolous literature at least one that is more sensual, more directed toward eliciting emotion and passion rather than reflection and understanding. This same sense of the fairytale is employed in The Concept of Irony in a review of Friedrich von Schlegel’s novel Lucinde, wherein the character Lisette “regaled herself only from time to time with sweet-smelling things and during this time had stories, travel accounts, and fairytales read to her by her attendant, a handsome, supple boy she herself had seduced in his fourteenth year.”4 In consideration of the above uses of fairytale, one of the most frequent translations of the Danish word Eventyr is not “fairytale” but “adventure(s).” Usually adventure in these contexts suggests an erotic escapade of one sort or another. In Either/Or, Part One, the aesthete often refers to Mozart’s Don Giovanni and the figure of Don Juan as one repeatedly involved in such adventures.5 Here, too, Charles from Scribe’s play The First Love is presented as engaged in similar erotic diversions.6 Johannes the seducer claims that “all love is secretive, even the faithless kind, if it has the appropriate esthetic element within it. It has never occurred to me to wish for confidants or to boast of my adventures [Eventyr].”7 What comes to the fore, however, especially in “The Seducer’s Diary” though elsewhere as well, is the private, interior, and psychological dimensions that develop in the course of such adventures. It is not the conquest itself that matters (or so claims the aesthete), but the aestheticization of the conquest and the pursuit. Thus such adventures open up and reveal a secret interior of the self. In the section titled “Silhouettes” from Either/Or, Part One, the aesthete writes: “See, these adventures are our delight, our diversion; to try ourselves in them is our knighthood.”8 While this quotation may appear to be one more instance of the erotic adventure story with its invocation of knights and fair maidens, the aesthete sees something more in such pursuits insofar

SKS 1, 313 / CI, 277. SKS 2, 400 / EO1, 412. 4 SKS 1, 328 / CI, 294. 5 See both SKS 2, 193 / EO1, 197 and SKS 2, 108 / EO1, 105. 6 SKS 2, 267 / EO1, 275. 7 SKS 2, 326 / EO1, 336. 8 SKS 2, 173 / EO1, 175. 2 3

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as they “try” him, thus providing not only a sense of challenge but of purpose and meaning as well. Judge William in Either/Or, Part Two, not surprisingly, uses the idea of the fairytale to condemn the attitudes expressed above when he writes: existence for you is a fairytale, that you frequently are tempted to begin every story thus: “Once upon a time, there was a king and a queen who could have no children,” and that you thereupon forget everything else in order to make the comment that, curiously enough, in the fairytale this is always a reason for a king and a queen’s grief, whereas in everyday life we hear instead about grief over having children, which orphan asylums and all such institutions bear out.9

The comparison of the aesthete’s life with a fairytale returns us again to a view of the fairytale as a mere figment of the imagination and therefore disconnected from reality. Judge William claims that the aesthete merely hovers above the self and is not engaged in the distress and disappointment that often accompanies real life. Furthermore, the issue of having children or not having children also implies the impotence of the aesthete’s point of view. Judge William appears to dismiss the fairytale because he equates it exclusively with the aesthetic point of view. However, in the section of Either/Or, Part Two titled “Balance Between the Esthetic and the Ethical,” he uses a fairytale (or at least the component parts of a fairytale) to describe the difference between the aesthetic conception of choice and the ethical view. He writes: there are stories about human beings whom mermaids or mermen have subjected to their power with their demonic music. To break the spell, so says the story, it was necessary for the person under the spell to play the same piece backward without making a single mistake. This is a very profound thought but very difficult to do, and yet this is the way it is.10

Judge William seems to be saying that one can learn something from a fairytale, that fairytales provide a certain psychological insight into the self. In fact, Judge William’s insistence that “this is the way it is” suggests that the fairytale reveals a human reality, contrary to what his dismissal of them and the aesthetic view would suggest.11 In this vein, fairytales and similar kinds of literature (myth, legend, ballads) are often used by Kierkegaard and his pseudonyms as sources to document or narrate the human experience. For example, Johannes the seducer suggests that fairytales are sources of information on the erotic and sensual experiences of humankind: “It would certainly be interesting if some literary drudge could be found to count up in fairytales, legends, folk ballads, and myths whether a girl is more often faithless or a man.”12 Fairytales also reveal other aspects of human existence. In The Concept of SKS 3, 192 / EO2, 198–9. SKS 3, 161 / EO2, 164–5. 11 See SKS 3, 192 / EO2, 90 as well as Kierkegaard’s tacit dismissal of the fairytale in Works of Love when he writes “Christianity is not some fairytale” (SKS 9, 76 / WL, 70). 12 SKS 2, 368 / EO1, 380.

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Anxiety, Kierkegaard refers to the Brothers Grimm tale “The Story of the Youth Who Went Forth to Learn What Fear Was” in order to illustrate that the journey through anxiety is universal for all human beings: In one of Grimm’s fairy tales there is a story of a young man who goes in search of adventure in order to learn what it is to be in anxiety. We will let the adventurer pursue his journey without concerning ourselves about whether he encountered the terrible on his way. However, I will say that this is an adventure that every human being must go through.13

The Concluding Unscientific Postscript also provides a more nuanced reading of the difference between reality and fantasy and sees the fairytale as containing a pattern that might be extrapolated to the human being as well. Here, Climacus discusses Napoleon as an example of the problem of measuring or evaluating one’s existence by the final outcome rather than by recourse to the patterns of the fairytale. Climacus writes: “Who has not admired Napoleon, who has not thought, with a shiver of devotion—just as the child listens to the fairy tale and hears it once again with a reluctant but therefore more admiring shiver, because the adult usually allows the fairy tale to belong to the imagination—that here the most fantastic tale has become actuality!”14 It would seem that Napoleon is something of a fairytale life come into reality. One cannot help but think of Hegel’s famous line from his letter to Niethammer of Napoleon as a world soul in this regard.15 Climacus carries this connection between Napoleon and the fairytale further by contending that if Napoleon and his life appear to be such a fairytale, then there is also another “fanciful figure” that inhabits this fairytale world with him. Climacus describes this other figure as a “shrunken old witch, a shriveled being, a little creation, a spider.”16 This creature might be described as a kind of Fate, who, no matter how charmed an existence an individual might lead, ultimately holds the power: “we are indeed in a fairytale that a person standing as large as life among others goes to pieces at the mention of a word, turns into dust and is as if blown away.”17 In the cases above, fairytales are no longer considered as merely frivolous and light, implausible, or untruthful stories, but rather stories that contain insights into what it means to be a human being. Indeed they become repositories or sources for understanding the human condition. Kierkegaard’s awareness of the mode and genre of the fairytale extends to the sources themselves, which is not surprising given the popularity of fairytales during Kierkegaard’s time. In The Concept of Anxiety, Kierkegaard notes the origin of the fairytale in a folk consciousness.18 In some cases, Kierkegaard indicates the collections of fairytales from which he draws: for SKS 4, 454 / CA, 155. SKS 7, 362 / CUP1, 397. 15 Hegel: The Letters, trans. by Clark Butler and Christine Seiler, Bloomington: Indiana University Press 1985, p. 114. 16 Ibid. 17 Ibid. 18 SKS 1, 161 / CI, 108. 13 14

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example, the Brothers Grimm or Johann Karl August Musäus, a German collector of fairytales best known for his Volksmärchen der Deutschen (1782–86).19 In Either/ Or, Part Two, Judge William refers to Musäus’ fairytale about Roland’s three squires to critique the aesthete for living in the moment.20 Sometimes Kierkegaard employs tales that do not come directly from folk culture but are reworkings of fairytales or at least contain similar structures and narrative devices. Adam Oehlenschläger’s Skattegraveren (The Treasure Hunter) is one instance of this.21 In The Concept of Anxiety, Kierkegaard uses one of the tales of Friedrich Schlegel—a tale about Merlin—to illustrate the concept of modesty and desire.22 In both instances the word for tale is the Danish word for fairytale. In summary, the fairytale is used in all of its range of meanings in Kierkegaard’s corpus. Predominating, however, is the tension between the fairytale as merely an imaginative and implausible story as contrasted with what is real or actual. Still, the fairytale is often enough used to explore or at least illustrate certain key aspects of Kierkegaard’s thought such as anxiety or freedom. See also Aesthetic/Aesthetics; Art; Childhood; Hero; Imagination; Legends; Myth; Novel; Poetry; Romanticism; Story-Telling; Writing.

See, for example, SKS 2, 229 / CI, 235 or SKS 4, 454 / CA, 155. SKS 3, 194 / EO2, 201. 21 SKS 2, 207 / CI, 157. 22 SKS 4, 373 / CA, 69. 19 20

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Faith William McDonald

Faith (Tro—noun; tro—verb, adjective) From the Old Norse trú (assurance, belief), Old English derived truwa (agreement) and treow (fidelity, truth), and subsequently Middle English derived trowthe (troth) and Modern English “true” and “trust.”1 All these meanings resonate in the Danish Tro, which is usually translated as “belief” or “faith.” Its lexical meanings include: (1) the belief that a person is completely to be relied upon; (2) the conviction that a person will fulfill one’s expectations; (3) conviction of truth or correctness about something; (4) subjective certainty; (5) a religious conviction about supernatural phenomena; (6) creed or faith.2 Kierkegaard draws several distinctions among his uses of Tro: (1) between epistemological belief and knowledge;3 (2) between faith in another human being and faith in God; (3) between epistemological belief “in the ordinary sense” and religious faith “in the eminent sense”;4 (4) between immediate religious faith, which is unreflective and undialectical, and religious faith as a higher immediacy or “spontaneity after reflection”;5 and (5) between immanent religious faith and Christian paradoxical faith.6 Kierkegaard’s authorship leads the reader through these various senses of belief and faith, from the epistemological (whose opposite is “doubt”), through immediate religious faith, immanent pagan and paradoxical Jewish faith, to a thoroughly dialectical notion of faith (whose opposites are “sin” and “offense”) to be found only in Christianity. Christian faith is a passion, whose intentional object is a person; but this person is paradoxically both an individual man in history and the eternal God. A further article of Christian faith is that the self-sacrifice of God in the person of Jesus Christ atones for the sins of humankind. Because Christian faith is dialectical, it evolves from the preceding senses—but also subsumes them all. The single book with the most uses of the term Tro is Fear and Trembling. However, the pseudonym which most uses the term is Johannes Climacus. These frequencies of usage are both eclipsed by Kierkegaard as author of the various Niels Åge Nielsen, Dansk etymologisk Ordbog, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1966, p. 461. Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 24, columns 523–45. 3 SKS 4, 280–1 / PF, 81–2. 4 SKS 4, 285–6 / PF, 87–8. 5 SKS 20, 362, NB4:159 / JP 2, 1123. 6 SKS 25, 84, NB26:82 / JP 2, 1148. 1 2

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edifying discourses, and even more so by Kierkegaard as author of the journals and papers. The relatively few uses in the pseudonymous works preceding Fear and Trembling occur mainly with respect to having faith in or trusting someone in romantic love. Johannes Climacus maintains that what passes as historical knowledge requires faith. On his view, immediate sensation and immediate cognition give us knowledge.7 But we can have no direct perception or cognition of the transition involved in becoming, from non-being to being. Like David Hume, Climacus takes the continuity between cause and effect to be a matter of belief rather than perception of a necessary connection. Climacus also presupposes that knowledge entails certainty. We can only know what we cannot doubt, and this knowledge falls into two classes: (1) immediate sensation and immediate cognition; and (2) eternal truths, such as logical axioms and analytic truths. Mere belief, however, does not have epistemic certainty, and is considered by speculative philosophy to be inferior to knowledge; for speculative philosophy even religious belief must be superseded by conceptual understanding. Contemporary scholarship tries to go beyond immediate belief, in the religious sense, by bolstering it with probabilistic reasoning. Climacus ridicules as “approximation” this attempt to hedge the risk in reaching for eternal salvation.8 Climacus rejects speculative philosophy’s analysis of faith as an epistemic notion inferior to both certain knowledge and belief grounded in probability. He also rejects both the conception of faith as “immediacy” and speculative philosophy’s call to go beyond faith. He insists that Christian faith is a “second immediacy” which goes beyond, and against, reason. This is because faith belongs to a different modality from reason, whose purpose is not epistemic warrant but spiritual awakening. In Fear and Trembling Johannes de silentio explores the notion of religious faith through his “dialectical lyric” on Abraham, “the father of faith.” Note that silentio confesses that he himself does not have faith so can at best characterize it from the outside. Like Tarquinius Superbus’ messenger in the epigraph to Fear and Trembling, he cannot understand the message he delivers. However, silentio can make some important distinctions, such as that between a knight of resignation, a tragic hero, and a knight of faith. Abraham’s Jewish faith is distinct both from pagan faith and Christian faith, and functions as the surd that adumbrates the Christian absurd. Pagan faith is continuous with pagan morality, which is intelligible to everyone in the community. Civic morality and pagan piety require that any clash between the individual and the “universal” be resolved always in favor of the “universal.” For example, by sacrificing his daughter Iphigenia to ensure the success of the Greek expedition against Troy, Agamemnon sacrifices his personal happiness for the good of the community, in accordance with pagan faith. He is universally understood, admired, and pitied—as a tragic hero. However, when God commands Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac on Mount Moriah, things are different. The command is against the precepts of social morality, against the interests and instincts of Abraham as an individual, and is radically unintelligible. It cannot be communicated directly in terms of universal morality.

7 8

SKS 4, 281 / PF, 82. SKS 7, 21 / CUP1, 11. See also SKS 7, 30 / CUP1, 23.

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If it is understood in terms of universal morality, Abraham’s intention to sacrifice Isaac is indistinguishable from attempted murder (or insanity). It is justified neither by its results nor by Abraham’s social standing. It is beyond justification, unless we view it as motivated by faith, understood as absolute obedience to God. Abraham is represented as an individual who relates absolutely to the absolute in faith, without mediating this relationship through “universal” social morality and intelligibility. On the basis of his faith, as the single individual Abraham stands higher than the universal, contrary to the Hegelian orthodoxy that the individual is justified only in the universal. “The paradox of faith, then, is this: that the single individual is higher than the universal, that the single individual—to recall a distinction in dogmatics rather rare these days—determines his relation to the universal by his relation to the absolute, not his relation to the absolute by his relation to the universal.”9 As a propaedeutic to faith the individual must give up all worldly aspirations and all human understanding in a movement of “infinite resignation.” Infinite resignation is part of the “double movement” of faith, whereby one first acknowledges that the attainment of one’s highest goal is impossible, and second, through the “infinite movement of faith” one recognizes that one’s highest goal is achievable through God.10 By virtue of this unconditional letting go of all worldly concerns, the individual gains “eternal consciousness” in the “love for God.”11 It was not by faith that Abraham renounced Isaac (his most precious attachment in the world), “but by faith Abraham received Isaac.”12 Abraham’s faith demands absolute obedience to God. In terms of Plato’s analysis in the Euthyphro, the good is good because God commands it. Humans cannot judge the goodness of God by their own standards of goodness. Silentio recognizes that the content of such a conception of faith is strictly ineffable (hence the silence suggested by his own name). God’s command, Abraham’s obedience and his absurd trust that he will get Isaac back again, are inward convictions that are nonsensical in the external realm of public justification. Abraham’s faith is discernible only to faith; otherwise he is a would-be murderer or a madman. But Abraham’s faith is not Christian faith. Christian faith is distinguished by being a personal relating to Jesus Christ. It transfigures the absurd character of Abraham’s faith into the paradoxical belief that a particular historical person is the incarnation of God. Each individual can respond to this claim either with offense, since it “contradicts” reason, or with faith. This faith is not a cognitive response to a doctrinal claim, but a passion that must be constantly renewed. Its renewal occurs in the ongoing dialectical struggle the individual has with the possibility of offense. Each time faith conquers offense it maintains victory over worldliness and over the vicissitudes of temporality.13 The expectancy of faith is “that all things must serve for good those who love God.”14 Faith maintains this expectancy even in the face of unrelenting suffering.

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SKS 4, 162 / FT, 70. SKS 4, 140–5 / FT, 45–52. SKS 4, 142 / FT, 48. SKS 4, 143 / FT, 49. SKS 1, 349 / CI, 319. SKS 5, 28 / EUD, 19.

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In Christian faith one receives the world again in spirit—transformed by one’s rebirth as a believer. Faith has the capacity to transfigure suffering into joy, despair into hope, sin into salvation, and death into eternal life. It is a “happy passion”15 and “the highest and the only true good.”16 Faith requires “a sense of the infinite”17 and believes that for God anything is possible. Both these latter conditions are provided by imagination, which is the faculty of possibility in which a sense of the infinite is born. When reason is shipwrecked on the paradox, when the imagination is stretched to its utmost in simultaneously entertaining contradictories, the passion of faith is generated, with a momentum in the direction of the infinite and the eternal—“When he is closest to being in two places at the same time, he is in passion; but passion is momentary, and passion is the highest pitch of subjectivity.”18 At its most intense, the how with which faith subjectively relates to its paradoxical object ultimately brings the object of faith with it: In all the usual talk that Johannes Climacus is mere subjectivity etc., it has been completely overlooked that in addition to all his other concretions he points out in one of the last sections that the remarkable thing is that there is a How with the characteristic that when the How is scrupulously rendered the What is also given, that this is the How of “faith.” Right here, at its very maximum, inwardness is shown to be objectivity. And this, then, is a turning of the subjectivity-principle.19

Whereas ancient skepticism was a willful suspension of belief,20 faith is a willing suspension of disbelief—or the willed tension of upholding contradictory beliefs. Because it requires the will, the individual can be held responsible for this willing suspension of disbelief as an act of freedom. Faith is the opposite of sin,21 and not having faith is itself a sin.22 Therefore, faith is a duty.23 When sin is conceived as distance from God, and faith is expressed as devotion to God, we can understand that lack of faith is a sin. God’s loving self-sacrifice in the person of Jesus Christ, to atone for the sins of humankind, gives the condition for each individual to believe in the possibility of drawing close to God despite the difference of sin. Faith presupposes sin-consciousness and the assurance of this forgiveness of sin, which is only made available to us through the historical “appearance of Christ in his fullness.”24 Christian faith is a passion (Lidenskab) which is also a suffering (Lidelse)—like the passion of Christ. It is not a mere feeling (Følelse)25 that qualifies the psyche, but an intense spiritual trust in God as a person, who has forgiven all our sins. Sin is the only thing that can damage spirit. Therefore, if we have faith we can be certain that SKS 4, 261 / PF, 59. SKS 10, 201 / CD, 191. 17 Cf. SKS 6, 380 / SLW, 410. 18 SKS 7, 183 / CUP1, 199. 19 SKS 22, 414, NB14:121 / JP 4, 4550. 20 SKS 4, 281 / PF, 82. 21 SKS 11, 196 / SUD, 82. 22 SKS 5, 21 / EUD, 11; cf. SKS 22, 53, NB11:93 / JP 3, 3194. 23 Cf. SKS 9, 41 / WL, 33–4. 24 SKS 19, 185–6, Not5:23 / JP 2, 1100. 25 SKS 24, 209, NB23:7 / JP 3, 2532. 15 16

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our spirit is saved, with a certainty beyond epistemology, the certainty that excludes doubt, that comes of the resolution (Beslutning) to believe in Christ.26 However, Kierkegaard is a little wary of following Luther in asserting that “a person is saved by faith alone.”27 We cannot forget about works and grace as paths to salvation, for faith is dialectically qualified and is only renewable through constant striving against sin and against offense.28 Moreover, the condition for acquiring faith is given by the grace of God, to every human being—though in places Kierkegaard suggests that the most cognitively cultured will find it more challenging to have faith than “the simplest of people.”29 What is the passion of faith, which has the capacity to transfigure worldly suffering into the spiritual expectancy of joy? It is everything,30 since the only thing of value is spirit, and spirit can be secured through faith in God’s forgiveness. But even though faith is “everything,” it is not as great as love, which is the ground of faith and hope.31 Whereas faith believes that for God all things are possible, “love believes all things—and yet it is never deceived.”32 Faith and hope without love are but sounding brass.33 Since God is love, and faith relates personally and essentially to Christ’s existing as the human incarnation of love, then faith expresses itself imitatively in works of love. Faith is also defined as “contemporaneity” with Christ,34 as the only antidote to despair,35 and as that which is necessary to attain selfhood—“in relating itself to itself and in willing to be itself, the self rests transparently in the power that established it”—where this power is God and the resting is faith.36 Selfhood here is defined as spirit, so that willing to be oneself as spirit requires faith. In order to will to be oneself as spirit, one needs to relinquish worldly attachments. One mode of attachment to worldly events is attachment to temporality (to wish for or dread future events, and to recall or regret the past). By focusing on the eternal, in faith, spirit conquers all temporal expectation in the expectancy of joy, which is a resolution of faith. Christ is available as an object of faith, and as a model for imitation, in every moment—so Christ, as the God-man, is contemporary with every believer. Christian faith dialectically recuperates all the preceding senses of faith/ belief in the following way. Christian faith requires the suspension of the pursuit of epistemic certainty, partly because it is a passion of the spirit rather than an intellectual cognition, partly because its object is the God who came into being in time. Like any historical event, this latter has to be an object of belief, rather than of epistemic certainty. Christian faith, like ancient skepticism, is an act of will, SKS 4, 282–3 / PF, 84. SKS 13, 44–52 / FSE, 15–24. 28 Cf. SKS 12, 91 / PC, 81; SKS 21, 99, NB7:47 / JP 4, 4855. 29 SKS 7, 268 / CUP1, 294. 30 SKS 4, 126 / FT, 31. 31 SKS 9, 227 / WL, 225. 32 Ibid. 33 SKS 5, 127 / EUD, 122. 34 SKS 12, 17 / PC, 9. 35 SKS 11, 153–4 / SUD, 38–9. 36 SKS 11, 130 / SUD, 14. 26 27

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which chooses between offense and belief. However, since faith is a passion, the temptation to regard it as cognitive and to try to bolster its epistemic certainty with probabilistic reasoning is futile. This temptation is blocked by the paradox, which is an offense to reason. In the case of Abraham’s faith, the paradox takes two related forms: (1) that the inner cannot be translated into the outer; and (2) that the single individual is higher than the universal. Both are “paradoxes” in the sense that they are contrary to (παρά) orthodoxy (δόξα)—but they make the content of Abraham’s faith mysterious and ineffable. Christian faith differs from Jewish faith in relating to a person who embodies a paradox—the paradox that the eternal, infinite, immortal God is incarnated as a particular human being in history. This is “paradoxical” also in the sense that its “contradictions” are primarily urges to wonder, rather than logical contradictories.37 One of these “paradoxes” consists merely in the incongruity involved in the omniscient, glorious God appearing as a humble servant, mocked and martyred by mere humans. Another aspect of the paradox is that the eternal truth should come into being in time—but this, again, is not strictly a logical contradiction, if we take this “truth” not to be propositional, but to consist in a living exemplar of the ethical-religious life for human beings. It is not a set of doctrines, nor a finite set of cognitively assessable actions, but a way of being in the world. Its “offense” consists more in violating prudent worldly aspirations than in violating the laws of logic. It also potentially “offends” by displacing reason as the ultimate arbiter of the good life, in favor of the passions of faith, hope, and love; and by displacing the sensate and the psychological from the top of the hierarchy of human goods in favor of the spiritual. Yet, in order to maintain Christian faith, one needs to have offense (in these senses) as a constant possibility, as a negative criterion against which one chooses to renew one’s faith in Christ. Because faith is a qualification of spirit, which relates to the eternal in time, it is subject to the ontological category of redoubling. “When, however, the eternal is in a human being, this eternal redoubles in him in such a way that every moment it is in him, it is in him in a double mode: in an outward direction and in an inward direction back into itself, but in such a way that this is one and the same.”38 That is, redoubling has the characteristic that “what it is, that it does—at one and the same moment.”39 Faith has this characteristic, since it is the passion for an unlimited striving to imitate the life of Christ, whom it believes to be the human incarnation of eternal love, and whom it trusts to have lived and died to atone for the sins of humankind; and in being that passion, at the same moment it performs that striving inwardly and outwardly. Christian faith is both a duty of obedience to God and a happy passion, which anticipates the eternal in the constantly renewed expectancy of joy, even in the face of suffering. See also Approximation; Double Movement; God; Grace; Hope; Immanence/ Transcendence; Love; Offense; Paradox; Passion; Reason; Redoubling/Reduplication; Skepticism/Doubt; Suffering; Teleological Suspension of the Ethical; Understanding/Comprehension. Cf. SKS 4, 285 / PF, 86. SKS 9, 278 / WL, 280. 39 Ibid. 37 38

Finitude/Infinity Erik M. Hanson

Finitude (Endelighed—noun; det Endelige—noun; endelig—adjective); Infinity (Uendelighed—noun; det Uendelige—noun; uendelig—adjective) Endelig comes from the Old Norse endaligr, and as the noun Endelighed it derives from ende, “end.” The lexical meaning of “finitude” in Danish is found in literary speech as that which is final. It is sometimes a reference to a completed decision. The adjective endelig (“finite”) is used especially in philosophical literature and refers to that which has definite or specific limits in duration or size. In a legal context, it is a limitation of reasons or conditions; it may also refer to a limitation on the amount of time permitted for deliberating upon judgment or decision. It also refers to what is done in a final, decisive manner. In contexts of correction, admission, or confession, endelig can also be used as an adverb to signify a high degree of desirability or necessity, as in English one would emphatically say “finally!”1 Uendelig comes from the Old Norse Úendaligr (-endanligr, -endiligr), the Danish u- expressing the negation. The lexical meaning refers to that which is without limitation or is not bound by time, space, or length; in terms of duration, it is what is non-final. However, it is also absolute, immense, and when it involves a reference to a particular infinity, denotes God. Especially in philosophical literature, it denotes what is without limit and stands in contrast to mortal life. It may also refer to that which is indefinite and without interruption, denoting the incessant, absolute, and unconditional.2 Kierkegaard’s accounts of the concepts of finitude (or “the finite”) and infinity (or “the infinite”) are found throughout his corpus but are most prominent in the pseudonymous works. They are sometimes, but not always, specifically contrasted with each other in the same work. Treated separately, the concept of finitude occurs most frequently in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript to the Philosophical Fragments, followed by The Concept of Irony and The Sickness unto Death, and then with decreasing frequency in The Concept of Anxiety, Fear and Trembling, The Moment, and Either/ Or, Part One. It is also discussed in “Reflections on Marriage” by Judge William, and “In Vino Veritas” by William Afham, which are both found in Stages on Life’s

Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 4, columns 376–9. 2 Ibid., vol. 25, columns 871–4. 1

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Way. The concept of finitude also occurs occasionally in For Self-Examination and in Kierkegaard’s journals and papers. The concept of infinity/infinitude occurs, in order of frequency, in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript to the Philosophical Fragments, followed by The Concept of Irony, and then nearly as often in Either/Or, Part Two, Fear and Trembling, and The Sickness unto Death. It is also found in Either/Or, Part One. The concept of the infinite also occurs in Works of Love, For Self-Examination, A Literary Review of Two Ages, The Moment, and The Book on Adler. Finitude and infinity are contrasted in The Concept of Irony, Either/Or, Parts One and Two, Fear and Trembling, The Concept of Anxiety, the Concluding Unscientific Postscript, The Sickness unto Death, and The Moment. Kierkegaard discusses infinity or the infinite more frequently than finitude or the finite, and he usually does so in philosophical, psychological, and existential contexts. More specifically, the contrast between the infinite and the finite (or finitude) occurs in (1) a cognitive context, as speculative ideality as distinct from the perceptible; (2) an ethical context—as a requirement and universal duty, as opposed to preferentiality; (3) a relational context, in which the relation to the divine is contrasted with the relation to other human beings; (4) a psychological-modal context—as possibility and distinct from the actual and physically necessary; (5) a context of personal identity—as immortality in contrast with the mortal; (6) a volitional context of motivation and locomotion, as opposed to particularity and completion. I. Cognitive Context In a cognitive context, Kierkegaard understands the infinite as a quality of intellectual reflection. Socrates is a model for leading his pupils to the “ship of speculation” (though he never boarded it) as a way of combating the Sophists. In doing so he introduced the abstract, universal, and theoretical through the dialogical and cognitive practice of infinite negativity. What is speculatively and infinitely negated is the finite, perceptible, and actual.3 Speculation responds polemically to the finite by stimulating the subject to contemplate the infinite and the ideal with the aid of imagination.4 In this regard, the infinite negativity of Socrates subverted every human pretension, exposing the empty positivity of status, education, and fame.5 However, the infinite, when it is negated in the application of Socratic irony, becomes the basis for a kind of moral judgment upon the actuality of the historical and political, without regard to particulars.6 Socrates claimed ignorance in a society that emulated the so-called wise. Yet when he demonstrated that the latter lacked genuine knowledge, then from his perspective, Greek culture had lost its validity. His execution subsequently became an indictment upon Athens. Rather than seeing himself as a victim, he viewed his own death as merely the last battle, the final 5 6 3 4

SKS 1, 261 / CI, 217; SKS 14, 83 / COR, 44. SKS 1, 261 / CI, 217; SKS 8, 101 / TA, 108; SKS 11, 147 / SUD, 30–1. SKS 1, 261 / CI, 217; SKS 1, 343 / CI, 312; SKS 1, 267–8 / CI, 236. SKS 1, 299 / CI, 261.

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suffering that he would need to endure. Since the state believed it was inflicting a punishment, his execution became the ultimate irony in an indictment that was an “absolute negative infinity.”7 II. Ethical Context The infinite also applies to the objects of speculation, insofar as they have behaviorally normative significance. Thus, the infinite for Kierkegaard is found in an ethical context, most frequently understood as duty. Giving up one’s self and one’s preferences for the sake of obligation is to give up the finite nature of particular preferences for the sake of the requirements of the infinite.8 In Fear and Trembling, Johannes de silentio praises Abraham, the “knight of faith,” for having undergone a teleological suspension of the ethical. The teleological suspension rests on the fact that the existing individual is incapable of fulfilling ethical duty in every moment. Yet because ethics makes an infinite claim, Abraham is in a heterogeneous relationship to it.9 Note that, for Kierkegaard, the infinite/finite contrast is not used directly when referring to culpability; finite guilt (for example, to offend the state) stands in contrast to total guilt, in which the offended party is God.10 The author of “The Seducer’s Diary” speaks rhapsodically about erotic love as that which loves the infinite or perfection.11 But for all of its promises, erotic love, for Kierkegaard, is nevertheless an ethically unstable basis for relationships and stands in contrast with the ethical ideal of marital commitment. The latter’s aesthetic quality is not in the finite immediacy of erotic love’s infatuation, but in the trans-temporal commitment between husband and wife before God. A wedding ceremony therefore symbolizes an inner infinitude that is witnessed by the eternal.12 The immediacy of erotic love also stands in contrast with a different form of love, that of “neighbor-love” or agape. In Works of Love, Kierkegaard observes that the difference between the immediacy of erotic love and neighbor-love is that the former has yet to undergo the “change of infinity.”13 III. Relational Context Erotic love represents only one element of a larger context that illustrates the contrast of infinity and finitude. This contrast is also found more specifically within a relational context. A relation to the infinite is one of faith, which stands in contrast to finite, human relationships (for example, love and friendship). Human beings naturally possess an immediate consciousness occupied by projects that are limited in virtue 9 7 8

12 13 10 11

SKS 1, 307 / CI, 271. SKS 4, 153–4 / FT, 60. SKS 7, 242–3 / CUP1, 266–7. SKS 7, 483–4 / CUP1, 532. SKS 2, 229 / EO1, 442. SKS 3, 66 / EO2, 61. SKS 9, 140 / WL, 138.

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of being temporal and passing. Yet human beings are not, strictly speaking, merely finite, but also infinite and immortal beings, as it were, wrapped in human skin. A person who has neglected or forgotten this fact in a consciousness of immediacy has become a “multitudinously compounded suit of finitude.”14 A merely finite and immediate consciousness, however, is not properly speaking a self, since becoming a self requires a God-relation that “infinitizes” the human being.15 Being infinitized, and becoming conscious of oneself as a transcendent agent within the confines of temporality, minimally requires that the individual begin by being emptied of the immediate concerns of the merely finite, petty, and temporal.16 From the perspective of Johannes Climacus, who never claimed to have Christian faith, entering into a God-relation is not a matter of speculation and gaining objective certainty. It is instead a matter of infinite passion, concern, and objective uncertainty.17 Other authors are more specific about the requirements for entering into faith. According to Frater Taciturnus, Christian faith desires, before God, to be always in the wrong.18 Wanting to be always in the wrong, before God, stands in contrast to finite human relationships in which a person generally desires to be in the right.19 Climacus identifies being in the wrong with sin, which is a mis-relation between the finite and the infinite.20 IV. Psychological-Modal Context Furthermore, the contrast between the infinite and finitude is also found in a psychological-modal context. Imagination performs the all-important task of discovering possibility in the face of anxiety. The fact that imagination leaves no possibility without consideration leads Kierkegaard to identify this faculty as “infinitizing reflection.”21 For any determinate possibility, not only every possible cause, but also every conceivable consequence, is accessible by way of the imagination.22 Yet faith, constituting an inner certainty that anticipates a countervailing infinity of God, serves as the antidote to anxiety’s potentially overwhelming torments.23 Imagination, in either its excess or lack, also presents the risk of a deeper malady, that of despair. Imagination’s infinitude, if left unchecked by a healthy respect for natural limitations, can lead the individual into the megalomaniacal and defiant despair of the infinite.24 Yet despair of the finite is no less serious a SKS 7, 373 / CUP1, 410. SKS 11, 147 / SUD, 30. 16 SKS 4, 457–8 / CA, 159; SKS 4, 161–2 / FT, 69. 17 SKS 7, 186–7 / CUP1, 204. 18 SKS 3, 331 / EO2, 348. 19 Ibid. 20 SKS 7, 243 / CUP1, 268. 21 SKS 11, 147 / SUD, 31. 22 SKS 4, 407 / CA, 91–2. 23 SKS 4, 456 / CA, 157. 24 SKS 11, 146–7 / SUD, 31. 14 15

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condition. Rather than arising out of an enlargement of imagination, it accompanies an agent’s shortcoming of imagination regarding its possibilities and potential. Such an agent has successfully mastered the prudential and proverbial ways of the world and submitted to the general expectations of society. As a form of consciousness, finitude’s despair embraces modernity’s scientific positivism, thereby reducing the individual’s strivings to merely natural needs and wants.25 Finitude’s despair may also lead an agent to embrace a deterministic fatalism.26 Regardless of the form this despair takes, it is a conditioned consciousness that lacks an unconditioned infinitude—an awareness of one’s immortality as a mortal being that is a requirement sine qua non of proper selfhood. V. The Context of Personal Identity Human beings, according to Anti-Climacus, are syntheses of transcendent and limiting elements, of necessity and possibility, temporality and eternity, finitude and infinity.27 The infinite and finite may therefore be examined in the context of personal identity. The contrast illustrates the difference between the infinite properties of God and the finite qualities of a human being. In an unpublished prayer in Judge for Yourself!, Kierkegaard praises the immortal God, whom he will face in his own finite mortality and wretchedness. Were he not infinite and eternal, God would be incapable of receiving whole-hearted, yet limited, human love. Praise for the human individual’s participation in the infinite also justifies praise from various pseudonyms of that person. Although Abraham is a mystery to Johannes de silentio, he praises Abraham without hesitation. For in spite of being the knight of faith in the service of the infinite, he has nothing in his outward temporal appearance and finitude to betray his allegiance.28 Again, Johannes the seducer praises woman for her capacity to seduce man because she, though being temporal and dwelling in finitude, resembles the immortal infinitude of the gods.29 Yet human beings, though they are finite, nevertheless strive for the infinite and for immortality. It is not an external and poetic infinity, but one that is entirely inward and religious—the one true way that a human being can and should genuinely seek the infinite.30 The possibility of attaining immortality after death constitutes the basis for a human being’s absolute telos, an “eternal happiness.”31 It was this hope and this joy that, for Socrates, made it possible to make the “movement of infinity.”32 Kierkegaard warns against compromising this joy by becoming intoxicated with

27 28 29 30 31 32 25 26

SKS 11, 147–51 / SUD, 33–5. SKS 11, 155–6 / SUD, 41. SKS 11, 129 / SUD, 13. Cf. SKS 7, 382 / CUP1, 420. SKS 4, 133–5 / FT, 39–40. SKS 6, 75 / SLW, 75–6. SKS 1, 130–1 / CI, 297. SKS 7, 508 / CUP1, 559. SKS 7, 416 / CUP1, 458.

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finite and temporal concerns.33 In this regard he chides Bishop Mynster for forgetting the difference between serving God or serving profit.34 VI. Volitional Context The recognition of the possibility of attaining immortality is a form of faith and requires a movement of infinity. And so, the final context in which the contrast of the infinite and finite may be found is that of a volitional context of motivation and locomotion. The only genuine movement of infinity, as Kierkegaard points out in The Concept of Irony, is an inward movement of resignation to the fact that little to no satisfaction can be gained from externalities.35 In Fear and Trembling, the knight of infinite resignation resigns himself to emotional detachment from every earthly pleasure and hope. After this resignation, the knight at least appears to enjoy all subsequent worldly pleasures, yet does so with slight hesitation and disguised regret; he cannot enjoy them properly because he understands them to be ultimately temporary.36 By contrast, the knight of faith, while also making the movement of infinite resignation, knows that, by all accounts, obtaining his desire is impossible. Yet he also takes a second step, that of faith. He is convinced that he will obtain the object of his hope, not by trust in probabilities based on the natural order of things, but by virtue of the “absurd.”37 Unlike the knight of infinite resignation, nothing in his actions betrays his heterogeneity with the world and its delights; he appears to be entirely at home within it, entirely and without hesitation.38 Similarly, as Climacus observes, the authentic individual engages the world with infinite resignation, yet does so while avoiding “worldliness.”39 For Kierkegaard, since willing the infinite is the human being’s highest telos, it is a contradiction in terms infinitely to will anything else that is bound within the finitude of the world.40 Christian concerns seek the will of God and stand in contrast to the worldliness of immediacy.41 In The Moment, Kierkegaard proverbially points out that the difference between striving for the infinite and striving for what is finite is the difference between living for something and living on something.42 To summarize, Kierkegaard draws the distinction between infinity and finitude in six different contexts: In (1) a cognitive context, in which ideality contrasts with the perceptible; in (2) an ethical context, in which the ideal for a course of action is distinct from acting according to preference; in (3) a relational context, in which 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 33 34

SKS 16, 187 / FSE, 133–4. SKS 13, 393 / M, 329. SKS 1, 324 / CI, 289. SKS 4, 133–5 / FT, 40–1. SKS 4, 141 / FT, 46–7. SKS 4, 133–4 / FT, 39. SKS 7, 373 / CUP1, 410. SKS 7, 398–9 / CUP1, 394. SKS 7, 455–6 / CUP1, 502. SKS 13, 210 / M, 162.

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the relationship of the individual to God is distinct from that of a relationship to other human beings; in (4) a psychological-modal context, in which possibility is identified as being without limit and stands in contrast to the physically limited and necessary; in (5) a context of personal identity, such that the immortal and moral elements of an individual are distinct from one another; and (6), a volitional context of inward motion and movement, distinct from external and particular finality or completion. See also Actuality; Anxiety; Contingency/Possibility; God; Guilt; Immanence/ Transcendence; Immortality; Love; Necessity; Negativity; Resignation; Self; Spirit; Striving; Teleological Suspension of the Ethical; Time/Temporality/Eternity.

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Forgiveness John Lippitt

Forgiveness (Tilgivelse, Forladelse—nouns; tilgive, forlade—verbs) Tilgivelse and Forladelse are derivatives of the verbs tilgive and forlade. The Danish verb tilgive corresponds to the English “forgive” and German vergeben.1 Middle Danish also had the form forgive, which in modern Danish, however, is not used in the same sense as tilgive.2 The verb forlade can be used as a synonym to tilgive.3 It corresponds to the German verlassen (einem etwas verlassen) and the obsolete English verb forlet (Middle English forleten). Forladelse has a far more liturgical resonance than Tilgivelse, which has a much broader usage. Kierkegaard uses Tilgivelse approximately twice as often as Forladelse.4 Although there are brief mentions in Stages on Life’s Way and the Concluding Unscientific Postscript, the most substantial discussions of forgiveness occur in Works of Love, The Sickness unto Death, Christian Discourses, the two discourses on “The Woman Who Was a Sinner” (in Three Discourses at the Communion on Fridays and An Upbuilding Discourse from 1850) and Two Discourses at the Communion on Fridays. There are also significant references in other discourses: Three Discourses on Imagined Occasions, the upbuilding discourses of 1843 and 1844, and Upbuilding Discourses in Various Spirits, as well as in a number of journal entries. The primary lens through which Kierkegaard views forgiveness is the forgiveness of sins (Syndernes Forladelse). His discussion makes several interconnected claims: (1) It is apparently impossible—and yet true—that our sins can be forgiven. This consciousness of the forgiveness of our sins (through which the human “becomes spirit”)5 is that which provides the tortured soul with rest. (2) Only God (or Christ) can forgive sins, and so this forgiveness is a “chasmal qualitative abyss”6 between Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 23, columns 1282–3. 2 The principal meaning of forgive in modern Danish is “to poison,” Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vol. 5, columns 488–9. Christian Molbech, when treating the Danish forgive in his lexicon, does not mention the meaning tilgive; see Dansk Ordbog, vols. 1–2, Copenhagen: Den Gyldendalske Boghandlings Forlag 1833, vol. 1, p. 274. 3 Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vol. 5, columns 600–1, definition 5. 4 I am grateful to Jon Stewart and Niels Jørgen Cappelørn for insights into the etymology of these terms. 5 SKS 27, 487–8, Papir 409:1 / JP 1, 67. 6 SKS 11, 233 / SUD, 122. 1

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God and humanity. (3) Despair of the forgiveness of sins is itself a sin (offense), but this can be transcended in faith. (4) Consciousness of the forgiveness of sins turns a heavy burden into a light one. Crucial to understanding, this is the relation between forgiving and forgetting; what it means to “forget in forgiveness”; and how this differs from straightforward forgetting. These discussions of the forgiveness of sins have important implications for both (5) interpersonal forgiveness and (6) selfforgiveness. I. It is Apparently Impossible—and yet True—that our Sins can be Forgiven Kierkegaard remarks that it is extraordinary that our sins can be forgiven, and yet it is not marveled over.7 While the invitation of the Gospel contains a requirement, it also promises the soul rest.8 The consciousness of sin is a great burden from which only God (in the person of Christ) can relieve us.9 The rest the soul seeks is found precisely in the consciousness and acceptance of the fact that one’s sins have been forgiven (“the one and only thought in which there is rest for a penitent”).10 That finding forgiveness is what is “unconditionally important”11 is the first key thing we can learn from “the woman who was a sinner” in Luke 7:37ff. Moreover, God grants not only the forgiveness itself, but the conditions that enable the person of faith to believe in it.12 In an important 1848 note, Kierkegaard describes the belief in the forgiveness of sins as “the decisive crisis whereby a human being becomes spirit; he who does not believe this is not spirit.”13 Moreover, the consciousness of one’s sin is not about “particulars”—this particular sin—but about recognizing one’s whole self as sinful and corrupting. Through belief in the forgiveness of this sinful self, one can become a new person.14 Kierkegaard here describes the belief that sin is about “particulars” as “childish,” echoing similar remarks by Frater Taciturnus in Stages about this as a merely “immediate” view of the forgiveness of sins.15 Taciturnus goes on to say that the difficulty with the forgiveness of sins—an issue “beyond both my understanding and my capacities”16—is becoming transparent to oneself in such a way as to get beyond immediacy.17 (Otherwise, one’s view of the forgiveness of sin gets no further than the point of view of a humorist such as Frater Taciturnus himself: “the unity of the comic and the tragic.”18 Kierkegaard’s humorists, liminally

SKS 10, 118 / CD, 107; cf. Pap. VI B 163 / JP 2, 1341. SKS 10, 281 / CD, 265. SKS 10, 282 / CD, 266. 10 SKS 10, 281 / CD, 265; cf. SKS 11, 280 / WA, 144. 11 SKS 12, 264 / WA, 150. 12 SKS 9, 372–3 / WL, 379–80. 13 SKS 27, 487–8, Papir 409:1 / JP 1, 67. 14 Ibid. 15 SKS 6, 443 / SLW, 481. 16 SKS 6, 446 / SLW, 484. 17 SKS 6, 444 / SLW, 483. 18 Ibid. 9 7 8

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religious figures, seem to struggle with the idea of the forgiveness of sins: Johannes Climacus describes it as “the paradoxical satisfaction by virtue of the absurd.”19) II. Only God (or Christ) can Forgive Sins Crucial to Kierkegaard’s use of the concept of forgiveness of sins is that only God/ Christ qua God20 can forgive sin. Both sin itself and the ability to forgive sin is a “chasmal qualitative abyss”21 between God and humanity. This should be borne in mind, as discussed below, when talking of inter-personal forgiveness and selfforgiveness. III. Despair of the Forgiveness of Sins is itself a Sin (Offense), but this can be Transcended in Faith In The Sickness unto Death, Anti-Climacus claims that one can sin precisely by despairing that one’s sins cannot be forgiven.22 The refusal to accept such forgiveness is described thus: “When the sinner despairs of the forgiveness of sins, it is almost as if he walked right up to God and said, ‘No, there is no forgiveness of sins, it is impossible.’”23 From the perspective of a purely “human understanding,” such a reaction makes perfect sense: only “spiritlessness” would fail to be offended by the idea that sins can be forgiven.24 And yet Anti-Climacus stresses the importance of accepting that God can forgive one’s sin: this “offensive” claim “shall be believed.”25 In other words, beyond this offense lies the possibility of faith.26 To refuse, in offense, to accept it is to intensify one’s sin.27 In this context, Anti-Climacus claims that the forgiveness of sins is the crucial difference between Christianity and paganism.28 IV. Consciousness of the Forgiveness of Sins turns a Heavy Burden into a Light One So does the consciousness of the forgiveness of sins, and the acceptance of that forgiveness, remove our burden? No, not entirely. In “The Gospel of Sufferings” SKS 7, 489n. / CUP1, 538n. On occasion Kierkegaard hesitates to say that Christ forgives sins: see SKS 24, 80–1, NB21:129 / JP 2, 1223. 21 SKS 11, 233 / SUD, 122. 22 SKS 11, 225–36 / SUD, 113–24. 23 SKS 11, 226 / SUD, 114. 24 SKS 11, 227–8 / SUD, 116. 25 SKS 11, 228 / SUD, 116. 26 Cf. SKS 10, 313 / CD, 291. 27 SKS 11, 236 / SUD, 124. Cf. SKS 21, 205, NB9:12 / KJN 5, 213. A perhaps more subtle version of this problem is that one can sorrow over one’s sins in such a way that one creates a new sin, such as impatience. See SKS 21, 103, NB7:56 / KJN 5, 107. 28 SKS 11, 228 / SUD, 117. 19 20

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part of Upbuilding Discourses in Various Spirits, Kierkegaard describes how Christ lays it upon his followers “to carry human burdens lightly”29 and yet adds a new, albeit light, burden. The consciousness of sin is the heaviest burden, while that light burden is the consciousness of forgiveness. The latter is a burden precisely because of our proclivity to take offense;30 because the forgiveness of sins cannot be earned, it reminds us of our absolute dependence upon God. Here Kierkegaard contrasts the person of faith with a “light-minded” person, who equates being forgiven with having one’s transgressions forgotten.31 This introduces an important aspect to Kierkegaard’s analysis of forgiveness, namely, its complex relation to forgetting. Faith differs from light-mindedness in its view that although everything is forgotten, we must remember that it is forgiven, so that strictly speaking, “It is not forgotten but is forgotten in forgiveness.”32 “Forgiveness through Christ is the gentle disciplinarian who does not have the heart to remind us of what has been forgotten but still reminds us of it to the extent of saying: Just remember that it is forgiven.”33 Faith is thus a crucial middle ground between light-mindedness (which forgets, or assumes that the slate has been wiped clean) and heavy-mindedness (which wants to dwell on one’s guilt). The relationship between forgiving and forgetting is an important aspect of Kierkegaard’s analysis, in Works of Love, of forgiveness as the most notable way in which love “hides a multitude of sins.” Initially he seems to say that forgiveness wipes out the relevant sin,34 so that the person who “loves by forgiveness believes away what is seen.”35 But he later returns to the association between forgiving and forgetting, drawing on the Old Testament image of sin as being hidden behind God’s back.36 The loving person who forgives does so by forgetting, blotting out the sin. And in turning towards the person he forgives, he “cannot see what is lying behind his back.”37 The overall impression here is that the loving person willfully refuses to see the sin. (Similarly, Kierkegaard later compares Christ hiding or covering our sins to a mother hen hiding her chicks from danger under her wings.)38 The possible objection that “hidden” or “forgotten” sins are still there—and so are not really taken away—can perhaps be addressed by endorsing the Lutheran idea that the Christian is simul justus et peccator: “at the same time justified and a sinner.”39 Divine forgiveness takes away sin in the sense that God totally forgives sin. But this

SKS 8, 345 / UD, 246. Ibid. 31 SKS 8, 346 / UD, 247. 32 Ibid. 33 Ibid. 34 SKS 9, 292 / WL, 294. 35 SKS 9, 292 / WL, 295, Kierkegaard’s emphasis. 36 SKS 9, 293 / WL, 295; cf. Isaiah 38:17. 37 SKS 9, 293 / WL, 296. 38 SKS 12, 299–300 / WA, 185–6. 39 Cf. Andrew J. Burgess, “Kierkegaard’s Concept of Redoubling and Luther’s Simul Justus,” in Works of Love, ed. by Robert L. Perkins, Macon, Georgia: Mercer University Press 1999 (International Kierkegaard Commentary, vol. 16), pp. 39–55. 29 30

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does not mean that the slate is entirely “wiped clean,” since the consequences of sin remain. An 1846 note, focusing on guilt, sheds light on this position: Forgiveness of sins cannot be such that God by a single stroke, as it were, erases all guilt [Skyld], abrogates all its consequences. Such a craving is only a worldly desire which does not really know what guilt is. It is only the guilt which is forgiven; more than this the forgiveness of sins is not. It does not mean to become another person in more fortunate circumstances, but it does mean to become another person in the reassuring consciousness that the guilt is forgiven even if the consequences of guilt remain.40

As we shall see, this idea—that even the total forgiveness of my sins by God does not wipe out the consequences—has an important implication for how we are to think about self-forgiveness. We turn now to the question of what implications Kierkegaard’s account of the forgiveness of our sins has for our forgiveness of others and of ourselves. V. Interpersonal Forgiveness The most basic answer to the first issue is that Kierkegaard endorses the New Testament idea that our having been forgiven by God means that we must forgive others. A “like for like” operates here, in which “the forgiveness you give is the forgiveness you receive….God forgives you neither more nor less nor otherwise than as you forgive those who have sinned against you.”41 Having double standards on this—failing to see that accepting myself as forgiven means that I should forgive others—is an example of “double-mindedness.”42 This “like for like” is an important aspect of the 1851 discourse on Luke 7:47, “One who is forgiven little loves little.” Here Kierkegaard reasons that since love forgives everything—but you are forgiven as you yourself forgive—then if you are “forgiven little,” then it must be because you love only little.43 Here we have a wound that is “self-inflicted.”44 Conversely, Kierkegaard emphasizes that the many sins of “the woman who was a sinner” were forgiven “because she loved much.”45 The “how” of interpersonal forgiveness is very important to Kierkegaard.46 He notes that the capacity to forgive is a weapon that can be wielded in pride or conceit.47 And yet, handled properly, it is a wonderfully powerful gift one can bestow, more valuable to those who need it than all the riches of Croesus.48 But the danger of potential misuse is why forgiveness must be offered in love: “only love has sufficient dexterity to take away the sin by means of forgiveness,” such that “what is seen is, by 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 40 41

SKS 27, 355, Papir 340:12 / JP 2, 1205, my emphasis. SKS 9, 37 / WL, 380. Cf. Matthew 6:14–15; 18:21–35. SKS 8, 178 / UD, 70–1. SKS 12, 287–8 / WA, 172. SKS 12, 289 / WA, 173. Luke 7:47; SKS 11, 273ff. / WA, 137ff. SKS 8, 344 / UD, 245; Pap. VIII-2 B 50:6 / WL, Supplement, 448–9. SKS 5, 395–6 / TD, 14–15; cf. SKS 9, 292–3 / WL, 295. SKS 5, 394 / TD, 13.

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being forgiven, not seen.”49 Overall, Kierkegaard’s view of interpersonal forgiveness seems to be that it is more of a gift one bestows than a case of “wiping the slate clean” in recognition that the other has repaid his debts. However, such gift-giving operates against the background of a recognition that we have done (and could have done) nothing to earn the divine forgiveness we have received. This is another key lesson we can learn from “the woman who was a sinner.”50 The gift of forgiveness to others is thus given in gratitude to God. This comes out in Kierkegaard’s discussion of the role of the “conciliatory spirit” in love. There he argues that such a spirit, which always aims at reconciliation, needs to forgive even—indeed, especially— when it has never occurred to the wrongdoer to seek forgiveness, but it must be done with a certain lightness of touch such that the potential threat of perceived powergames never arises.51 VI. Self-Forgiveness Finally, what does our sins having been forgiven imply about self-forgiveness? In some places, Kierkegaard makes a harsh distinction between the forgiveness we should offer others and that which we should offer ourselves: “when it is a matter of your own accounting, then you certainly would do wrong to forgive yourself the least little thing, because one’s own righteousness is even worse than one’s own blackest private guilt.”52 Kierkegaard remains acutely aware of the dangers of letting ourselves off the hook too easily and importantly recognizes that self-forgiveness can and should be of a form that leaves room for continued self-reproach, provided it is not utterly debilitating or crippling.53 But his overall position seems to be the less harsh view that precisely because we have been forgiven, we should accept this forgiveness (difficult though many of us will find this).54 Consider the following 1847 journal entry: “A man rests in the forgiveness of sins when the thought of God does not remind him of the sin but that it is forgiven, when the past is not a memory of how much he trespassed but of how much he has been forgiven.”55 It might be objected that this is not really self-forgiveness, but simply the acceptance of God’s forgiveness of us (as discussed in Section IV). And strictly speaking, we might think that self-forgiveness is impossible, since as we have seen, for Kierkegaard, only God can forgive sins. And yet it is important to note that Kierkegaard does speak of self-forgiveness. For example, The Sickness unto Death SKS 9, 293 / WL, 295. SKS 12, 268–71 / WA, 155–8. 51 SKS 9, 331–2 / WL, 336; SKS 9, 337–8 / WL, 342–4. 52 SKS 5, 394 / TD, 12. 53 For an autobiographical recognition of this, see SKS 20, 359–60, NB4:155 / KJN 4, 359–60. Kierkegaard also claims that taking one’s sin lightly is a new sin: SKS 21, 317, NB10:116 / KJN 5, 328. For a more detailed discussion, see John Lippitt, Kierkegaard and the Problem of Self-Love, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2013, Chapter 8. 54 On the difficulty of such acceptance, see, for example, SKS 12, 286; 290–1; 298–9 / WA, 170; 172–3; 184. 55 SKS 20, 187, NB2:116 / KJN 4, 185. 49 50

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gives very short shrift to those who would say “I will never forgive myself.” Far from this showing the speaker’s “deep nature,” Anti-Climacus claims that “if God would forgive him this, well, he certainly could have the goodness to forgive himself. No, his despair over the sin is a far cry from being a qualification of the good, is a more intensive qualification of sin, the intensity of which is absorption in sin.”56 In other words, the refusal to forgive oneself is a manifestation of the offense discussed in section III above. The assertion that “I will never forgive myself” is “exactly the opposite of the brokenhearted contrition that prays to God to forgive.”57 And in an 1850 journal entry, discussing a Catholic convert to Lutheranism who became convinced that he had committed the “unforgivable” sin against the Holy Spirit and was therefore beyond the reach of divine mercy, Kierkegaard connects this with sinful pride, observing: “Perhaps the sin against the Holy Spirit was rather the pride with which he would not forgive himself. There is also a severity in condemning oneself and not wanting to hear about grace which is nothing but sin.”58 There is yet another important lesson to be learned here from “the woman who was a sinner.” In recognition that there is such a thing as proper self-love (echoing discussions in Works of Love and elsewhere), Kierkegaard acknowledges in the first of his 1849 discussions of this woman that there was something self-loving in her love, since “in her need she still basically loved herself.”59 To such an objection, Kierkegaard says he would reply: Naturally…there is no other way…God forbid that I would ever presume to want to love my God or my Savior in any other way, because if there were literally no self-love in my love, then I would no doubt be only imagining that I could love them without standing in need of them—and from this blasphemy may God preserve me!60

Ultimately, the refusal to forgive ourselves, like the refusal to recognize that loving ourselves properly includes owning our creaturely needs, is condemned. So with regard to accepting God’s forgiveness and thus forgiving ourselves, Kierkegaard takes great comfort from the words of 1 John 3:20: “Even if our hearts condemn us, God is greater than our hearts.”61 See also Anxiety; Christ; Faith; God; Grace; Offense; Sin.

SKS 11, 223 / SUD, 111, my emphasis. Ibid. 58 SKS 23, 66, NB15:94 / JP 4, 4029; my emphasis. On Kierkegaard’s own difficulty in accepting forgiveness or forgiving himself, see the moving autobiographical note at SKS 20, 194–6, NB2:136 / KJN 4, 193–4. 59 SKS 11, 278 / WA, 142. 60 Ibid. 61 SKS 10, 311–17 / CD, 289–95. 56 57

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Freedom Diego Giordano

Freedom (Frihed—noun; fri—adjective) From the Middle Low German vriheit and High German Freiheit, the lexical meaning of Frihed is the condition in which the human will can freely choose among different possibilities (things and circumstances). It is the power either to choose or to do good or evil. The concept of freedom includes also the capacity for obedience and disobedience. In the controversy over free will (Villiens Frihed) the word “freedom” denotes a will that is not subject to the law of causation, but is a cause without being an effect.1 In Kierkegaard’s works the word Frihed, together with its inflected forms,2 occurs more than 400 times. The most frequent occurrences are in The Concept of Anxiety, followed by Either/Or, Part Two, and then The Concept of Irony.3 In addition, there are many places in the journals and papers where Kierkegaard discusses this concept.4 However, from a theoretical perspective, we have to acknowledge that in Kierkegaard’s thought “freedom” is a many-sided concept that is best investigated in connection with other concepts. Kierkegaard gives his most extended discussion of the problem of freedom in The Concept of Anxiety, because in the experience of anxiety the human being gets special access to the experience of freedom. According to Kierkegaard, the notion of freedom is implicit in the concept of sin, for to sin is to be able to act freely in this world, also against moral, ethical, and religious precepts: “The prohibition induces in him anxiety, for the prohibition awakens in him freedom’s possibility.”5 In other words, sin is the human possibility of doing wrong. The relation between freedom and anxiety is made evident by the fact that Kierkegaard connects sin—as Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 6, columns 26–9. 2 Namely, the freedom (Friheden) and of freedom (Frihedens). 3 But it is totally absent in From the Papers of One Still Living, Prefaces, The Lily in the Field and the Bird of the Air, and scarcely appears in Fear and Trembling and Philosophical Fragments. 4 For example, see SKS 27, 140, Papir 158 / JP 2, 1232; SKS 17, 213, DD:2 / JP 2, 1233; SKS 18, 35–6, EE:95 / JP 2, 1238; SKS 20, 57–8, NB:69 / JP 2, 1251; SKS 22, 332–5, NB13:89 / JP 2, 1258; SKS 23, 64–6, NB15:93 / JP 2, 1261; SKS 24, 109–11, NB22:8 / JP 2, 1264; SKS 24, 211–12, NB23:13 / JP 2, 1266; SKS 24, 287, NB23:170 / JP 2, 1268; SKS 24, 288–9, NB23:172 / JP 2, 1269; SKS 25, 128–9, NB27:13 / JP 2, 1273. 5 SKS 4, 350 / CA, 44. 1

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an instance of freedom—to the psychological state of anxiety; on the other hand the concept of freedom serves him, more than ethics and religion do, to account for anxiety. According to Kierkegaard, freedom—the fact that the single individual can choose, that is, between good and evil—is full of consequences and, in a Christian sense, these consequences indiscriminately fall on everyone, that is, on the human race. That is the reason why Kierkegaard is so interested in discussing the figure of Adam, because of whom sin flows into the world: “Through the first sin, sin came into the world. Precisely in the same way it is true of every subsequent man’s first sin, that through it sin comes into the world.”6 It follows that freedom is not the mere ability indifferently to choose something rather than something else (it is not a liberum arbitrium—the freedom of indifference),7 because in this instance there would be no reason to choose. On the contrary, a true, positive freedom is the very possibility to “risk oneself” (as Heidegger would put it) in making a choice that changes life and world. More radically, the individual’s freedom is not only bound to a conscious choice for which one must answer, but it is the ground of all human acts, also of every broken or undesired act, of every omission or concurrence of acts, of all deeds of which, though fulfilled by another individual, everybody shares the effects, the advantages and the disadvantages. Before God, we are therefore responsible for deeds that concern remote people and places. The assumption of responsibilities works here at a deeper level: self-conscious inwardness, for the modern human being, becomes hypertrophic conscience, that is to say, a symptom of sickness. In Either/Or, Part Two, Judge William discusses freedom, especially in “The Balance between the Esthetic and the Ethical in the Development of the Personality,” and in “The Esthetic Validity of Marriage.” In the former, Judge William discusses the category of mediation in philosophy, which permits speculation since a system of thought is a continual process of becoming. But, according to him, mediation also engenders confusion between the spheres of thought and freedom. While for thought contradiction does not exist, or rather, exists only insofar as it can be assimilated by thought in order to find a higher unity of opposites, “for freedom, the contradiction does exist, because it excludes it.”8 What Judge William is trying to explain here is a crucial point: freedom does not become true, positive, perfect freedom by assimilating its opposite but by excluding it. And this exclusion “is the very opposite of mediation.”9 As we have seen before, freedom does not mean the possibility to choose “this or that” or “something finite.” What one chooses is not indifferent to who is committed in a choice—otherwise the choice would be an illusion and freedom would be the same as liberty of indifference—but it is something absolute. And what is this absolute that reveals itself in freedom? It is, as Judge William writes, “myself in my eternal validity.”10 SKS 4, 337 / CA, 31. Cf. SKS 4, 414 / CA, 112; SKS 3, 169 / EO2, 174. 8 SKS 3, 169 / EO2, 173. 9 SKS 3, 169 / EO2, 174. 10 SKS 3, 205 / EO2, 214. 6 7

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At this point we can step forward in Kierkegaard’s reasoning. Whoever chooses himself does not do it in a finite sense—“for then this self would indeed be something finite that would fall among all the other finite things”11—but in an absolute sense, for he chooses himself and not someone else. Then, according to Kierkegaard, the self has not existed before, since it came into existence through the choice, and yet it has existed, since it was indeed himself: “The choice here makes two dialectical movements simultaneously—that which is chosen does not exist and comes into existence through the choice—and that which is chosen exists.”12 In other words, freedom, in its double dialectical movement, ontologically founds the being of the subject “because I myself am the absolute, because only I myself can choose absolutely; and this absolute choice of myself is my freedom.”13 Kierkegaard also used these considerations for defining the balance between the aesthetic and ethical. The aesthetic, he writes, is that in a person whereby he immediately is the person he is, while the ethical is that whereby a person becomes what he becomes.14 This means that the person who lives aesthetically does not develop himself; or rather he develops himself with necessity and not in freedom. This point, strictly connected with the notion of freedom, permits Kierkegaard to claim that the ethical choice is a choice in the stricter sense, while the aesthetic choice is no choice at all. The problem is broached some pages before, in the section entitled “The Esthetic Validity of Marriage,” apropos of the first love and marriage, analyzed from the aesthetic point of view. For Judge William the first love is the unity of freedom and necessity, an irresistible force—working in immediacy and not by virtue of reflection—that directs an individual towards another individual.15 Nevertheless, in the first love, freedom is only a “psychical freedom in which the individuality has not yet purified itself of natural necessity.”16 In marriage, on the other hand, freedom comes out as that religious constituent that allows the transformation of interior infinitude into eternal life. Moreover, to the extent that in marriage the individual feels free and spiritually higher, marriage itself enters an aesthetic dimension.17 In The Concept of Irony the notion of “freedom” is primarily used (as an adjective) to describe an essential quality of irony. This happens, for example, when Kierkegaard says that irony is free, “free from the sorrow of actuality,” “free from its joys,” “free from its blessing,” because there is nothing higher than itself.18 Even more interesting is to see the role played by freedom in The Sickness unto Death—where the word “freedom” seldom occurs—and, in this connection, to relate that work to The Concept of Anxiety. At the very beginning of section C of the first part, Kierkegaard gives a clear definition of freedom as the dialectical aspect of the SKS 3, 206 / EO2, 215. SKS 3, 207 / EO2, 215. 13 SKS 3, 214 / EO2, 224. 14 Cf. SKS 3, 215 / EO2, 225. 15 Cf. SKS 3, 52 / EO2, 45. 16 SKS 3, 66 / EO2, 61. 17 Cf. SKS 3, 96 / EO2, 94. 18 Cf. SKS 1, 315 / CI, 279. 11

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categories of possibility and necessity. It concerns man as a synthesis of the finite and the infinite, the temporal and the eternal: “this synthesis is a relation, and a relation that, even though it is derived, relates itself to itself, which is freedom.”19 Despair is a qualification of spirit for it is related to the eternal in the human being; it comes from the relation in which the synthesis relates itself to itself, that is to say when God, who constituted the human being as a relation, “releases it from his hand,” leaving the human being free to relate to itself.20 If anxiety is the dizziness of freedom, which emerges when the spirit wants to posit the synthesis—and freedom now looks down into its own possibility, laying hold of finitude to support itself21— despair is the next stage in Kierkegaard’s anthropology, seeing that in all despair there is a necessary connection between finitude and infinitude, the divine and the human, freedom and necessity. In other words in the case of anxiety freedom succumbs to the dizziness, while despair presupposes freedom as that dialectical condition that permits the synthesis. See also Aesthetic/Aesthetics; Anxiety; Contingency/Possibility; Despair; Ethics; Evil; Faith; God; Good; Marriage; Mediation/Sublation; Self; Sin; Will.

SKS 11, 145 / SUD, 29. Cf. SKS 11, 132–3 / SUD, 16–17. 21 Cf. SKS 4, 365 / CA, 61. 19 20

Genius Steven M. Emmanuel

Genius (Geni—noun) The Danish word derives from the Latin genius, which in its primary sense refers to an innate ability or inclination, or to the person who possesses it.1 Christian Molbech, in his 1833 Danish lexicon, notes that genius (Genie) is the highest and most distinctive expression of a human being’s mental abilities or natural gifts.2 As examples he cites poetic, musical, and mathematical forms of genius. Kierkegaard’s usage mainly conforms to Molbech’s definition and spelling of the word, though he explicitly invokes the Latin root, ingenium, to emphasize the inborn, and hence immanent nature of genius. The most sustained treatments of the concept occur in Kierkegaard’s private papers, in the pseudonymously published essay entitled “The Difference Between a Genius and an Apostle,” and in The Concept of Anxiety. The concept of genius was widely discussed and debated in the nineteenth century. Much of that discussion was stimulated by Immanuel Kant’s seminal definition of genius as “the innate mental aptitude (ingenium) through which nature gives the rule to art.”3 This definition played to the Romantic notion of the true artist as an autonomous figure, an exception, who freely creates works of exemplary originality. Not surprisingly, genius is a recurring theme throughout Kierkegaard’s writings. The concept interests him not only from an aesthetic standpoint, but also in terms of its social, psychological, and religious implications. Indeed, the concept of genius lies at the very heart of Kierkegaard’s deepest reflections on his own activity as an author. According to Kierkegaard, the genius is “the primitive, the original, the seminal point of departure within the sphere of immanence.”4 As an immanent quality, genius falls naturally under the category of the aesthetic. However, this does not preclude the possibility that genius may be used to serve ethical-religious purposes. Although Kierkegaard often refers to genius as a form of talent, he is careful not to conflate these terms. Talent may be present in one whose activity not only conforms to what is already given, but in fact depends upon it. The genius, on the Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 6, columns 804–5. 2 Christian Molbech, Dansk Ordbog, vols. 1–2, Copenhagen: Den Gyldendalske Boghandlings Forlag 1833, vol. 1, p. 355. 3 Immanuel Kant, Critique of Judgement, trans. by James Creed Meredith, London: Oxford University Press 1952, p. 168. 4 Pap. VII–2 B 261:8 / JP 2, 1293. 1

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other hand, neither depends on what is already given, nor conforms to it. Talent and genius are distinguished further in terms of the respective effects they produce. Talent, Kierkegaard explains, is judged “according to the sensation it awakens; genius according to the opposition it awakens.”5 The creative originality of the genius flows directly from the person who possesses it—or as Kierkegaard puts it: “The genius’s originality is the genius himself.”6 While Kierkegaard normally reserves the term “creation” for God, he recognizes that there is some validity in applying this word to the genius, in so far as the latter “has nothing prepared…has absolutely nothing—merely the power, and that which it produces is a production or creation of genius, if this expression [creation] is to be used for a human production.”7 The question of paramount importance for Kierkegaard is whether, and to what extent, a genius consciously takes possession of this power and develops it. Once a person is awakened to the fact that he possesses genius, the first task is to learn how to control it. In this respect, Kierkegaard compares the genius to a fireman operating a fire hose. At first, the force of the water is so strong that it nearly “knocks the fireman over and he reels almost like a drunken man, but the next moment he is in control again and produces an extraordinary effect.”8 Elsewhere he likens the genius to a thunderstorm. In those who lack reflection, he says, “the lightning is slight and rarely strikes.”9 But in a reflective individual the power of genius can become very concentrated, and its lightning strikes can be directed at particular targets with lethal force.10 The genius always stands in an uneasy relation to the established order. Because the genius “lives within himself,” he is not “teleologically positioned in relation to the world and to others.”11 Consequently, he can live perfectly happily in “secluded self-satisfaction” without nullifying his talent and without regard for whether or not anyone else benefits from it. But the crowd resents the autonomy of the genius. For the crowd “wants the genius to express that he exists for its or for their sake.”12 Thus, to the extent that a genius is aware of his gift and takes pride in what he can accomplish on his own, he will naturally arouse opposition from the crowd.13 For this reason, the genius often suffers adversity and may be inclined to lead a solitary existence. However, Kierkegaard points out that adversity is a condition that the genius can and must use to good advantage, in so far as opposition can be a motivating element. Indeed, it is precisely in the face of adversity that genius can develop most fully. In The Concept of Anxiety, Vigilius Haufniensis distinguishes between two stages of genius: the “immediate” and the “religious.” In language reminiscent of Kant, he SKS 25, 334, NB29:71 / JP 2, 1301. Pap. VII–2 B 261:8 / JP 2, 1293. SKS 23, 155, NB16:91 / JP 2 1299. SKS 20, 240, NB2:265 / JP 2, 1294. SKS 27, 476, Papir 397 / JP 6, 6787. 10 Ibid. 11 SKS 11, 110 / WA, 106. 12 SKS 11, 110 / WA, 107. 13 SKS 21, 22–3, NB7:19 / JP 2, 1297. 7 8 9 5 6

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begins by describing the genius as “an omnipotent Ansich [in-itself],” who possesses the potential to “rock the whole world.”14 But he quickly notes that this power is dialectically bound up in a struggle with fate, and that the greater the genius, “the more profoundly he discovers fate.”15 Confronted by fate, two choices are possible for the genius: he can turn inward, which represents the reflective movement toward the religious, or he can remain “turned outward” in the immediacy of his genius. If the genius chooses the former, then he has a chance to come to himself; if he chooses the latter, he may still achieve great things in the world by virtue of his extraordinary gifts, but he will never understand himself in relation to his genius; and in the end he will succumb to fate. In this respect, a “genius-existence is always like a fairy tale if in the deepest sense the genius does not turn inward into himself.”16 In the state of immediacy, the genius is unable to apprehend himself religiously, and thus cannot come to terms with sin and providence. For this reason, he stands “in the relation of anxiety to fate.”17 Haufniensis assumes here that every human life is “religiously designed,” and that to deny this “cancels the concepts of individuality, race, and immortality.”18 Consequently, there is a seed of discontent in the soul of every immediate genius. Deep down he knows that all he accomplishes will vanish, because “his compass cannot be determined higher than that of fate in relation to fortune, misfortune, esteem, honor, power, immortal fame—all of which are temporal determinations.”19 It is only in the inward, reflective movement toward the religious that the genius can become significant to himself, that his talent can truly find justification.20 To the extent that the religious genius turns toward himself, he turns toward God and thereby discovers his guilt. Here guilt plays the role that fate does for the immediate genius, in that he will discover his guilt in proportion to his greatness.21 In turning inward the genius also discovers freedom’s possibility. The relation of freedom to guilt is therefore properly characterized as anxiety, in so far as freedom and guilt are posited as possibilities.22 Just as fate eventually captures the immediate genius, so guilt eventually captures the religious genius, “and this is the moment of culmination, the moment when he is greatest…when by himself he sinks before himself in the depth of sin-consciousness.”23 Two contemporary authors provided occasions for Kierkegaard to discuss the nature of genius in greater depth: Hans Christian Andersen and Adolph Peter Adler. In From the Papers of One Still Living, Kierkegaard published a highly critical review of Andersen’s 1837 novel, Only a Fiddler. The novel is a portrait of an aspiring SKS 4, 402 / CA, 99. Ibid. 16 Ibid. 17 SKS 4, 403 / CA, 101. 18 SKS 4, 407 / CA, 105. 19 SKS 4, 404 / CA, 101–2. 20 SKS 4, 404 / CA, 102. 21 SKS 4, 409 / CA, 107. 22 SKS 4, 411 / CA, 109. 23 SKS 4, 411–12 / CA, 110. 14 15

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violinist, who, by failing to secure the support of a wealthy patron, ends unhappy, his dreams and talent unrealized. In his review, Kierkegaard zeroes in on the suggestion that genius is somehow dependent on external assistance in order to flourish—a view that Andersen expresses in the following way: “Genius is an egg that needs warmth for the fertilization of good fortune; otherwise it becomes a wind-egg.”24 In Kierkegaard’s view, Andersen fails to appreciate the power of genius, particularly in relation to adversity. As he puts the point, “genius is not a rush candle that goes out in a puff of air but a conflagration that the storm only incites.”25 A true genius would have remained committed to his artistic vision. In the end, Andersen does not succeed at depicting a genius at all, but rather a “sniveler.”26 Furthermore, Kierkegaard notes that the novel lacks sufficient character development in order to be able to know whether the hero could be a genius. Andersen merely presents the reader with a series of incidents, which at times give the impression that “the genius is awake…and which at other times are superseded by events that seem to witness to the contrary, until we again hear assurances that now the genius is matured, etc.”27 But in reality, this is never established. Far from being a genius, the protagonist is here depicted as a passive character, a victim of fate. Kierkegaard suggests that the failures of the novel can be traced back to Andersen’s own lack of a “life-view.” The authentic individual, and by extension the authentic author, is one whose experience has crystallized into a definite personality with a point of view. This is a form of self-understanding that grows out of a reflective engagement with the actual world. Because Andersen has not developed inwardly in this way, he has no relationship to himself. Andersen lacks a personality, or as Kierkegaard less charitably puts it, he is merely a “possibility of a personality, wrapped up in such a web of arbitrary moods…who, in order to become a personality, needs a strong life-development.”28 Because Andersen has no life-view his novel lacks deeper unity, a center of gravity.29 He is consequently unable to achieve any distance from his poetic creations, with the result that “his own actuality, his own person, volatilizes itself into fiction, so that one is actually tempted to believe that Andersen is a character who has run away from an as yet unfinished group composed by a poet.”30 Andersen’s inability to delineate the genius of his protagonist reveals something about the limitations of his own creative genius: it is purely immediate and lacking in reflection. Kierkegaard seems to have regarded this as the general defect in the SKS 1, 36n. / EPW, 81n. SKS 1, 43 / EPW, 88. 26 Ibid. 27 SKS 1, 51 / EPW, 95. 28 SKS 1, 25–6 / EPW, 70. In this connection, the reader might compare Kierkegaard’s critical assessment of the novels of Thomasine Gyllembourg, whose literary greatness he attributes to the author’s having a well-defined ethical-religious life-view. See, for example, SKS 1, 17–25 / EPW, 1–69; SKS 8, 11–26 / TA, 7–23. 29 SKS 1, 36 / EPW, 81. 30 SKS 1, 31 / EPW, 75. 24 25

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Romanticist, who, lacking the requisite grounding in actuality, is unable to explain his own works to himself.31 The other figure that caught Kierkegaard’s attention was a Danish pastor by the name of Adolph Peter Adler. In 1843, Adler became the center of a theological controversy by publishing a book in which claimed to have received a divine revelation. Under subsequent cross-examination by church authorities, Adler gradually retreated from that claim, redescribing the event instead as a profound religious experience and characterizing himself as a genius. Kierkegaard wrote extensively about this situation in his private papers. He was especially interested in this case precisely because Adler was an ordained minister with the authority to teach, and yet he evidently did not recognize the qualitative difference between a religious and an aesthetic claim. He saw in Adler a stunning example of the religious confusion of the present age. Kierkegaard eventually published a short conceptual discussion entitled “The Difference Between a Genius and an Apostle.”32 This essay, which appeared under the pseudonym H.H. and contained no reference to Adler, was intended primarily for a theological audience. In the essay, the qualitative difference between the apostle and the genius can be seen chiefly in the way each relates to authority. The apostle is situated paradoxically with respect to the transcendent revelation he has received. His authority does not reside in his creativity or natural talent. An apostle is not born; he is called and sent on a mission by God. His divine authority resides solely in the transcendent revelation he has received. In the sphere of immanence, authority is a “vanishing factor,” a purely historical phenomenon, which is contingent on certain conditions being present.33 The authority of genius is relative to the native intellectual capacity one possesses from birth and may be developed to a greater or lesser degree in any individual depending on a variety of external factors. Such authority cannot exceed the finite period of a lifetime. The genius does not rise above the purely human order of things. However great the products of genius may be, they will eventually be assimilated by the race. Genius is therefore an accidental property that gives one a natural but relative advantage over others, and therefore something that must be appraised on aesthetic grounds, according to the gravity of the content of its productions.34 In Kierkegaard’s discussion of the failures of Andersen and Adler we can begin to see the space he carves out for his own activity as an author. Kierkegaard viewed himself both as a genius and a religious author in the service of Christianity. In his private papers, he repeatedly and emphatically denies that he is an apostle, See, for example, SKS 1, 353 / CI, 325: “The reason Goethe’s poet-existence was so great was that he was able to make his poet-life congruous with his actuality….For the romanticist, the individual poetic work is either a darling favorite with which he himself is utterly infatuated and which he cannot explain to himself—how could he possibly have given life to it—or it is an object that arouses his disgust.” 32 SKS 11, 97–111 / WA, 93–108. 33 SKS 11, 103 / WA, 99. 34 SKS 11, 100 / WA, 96. 31

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describing himself instead as a genius of a special sort: one who is “unconditionally without authority.”35 Kierkegaard’s special genius, as he explains it, lies in being a gifted dialectical thinker and poet.36 It is his dialectical acumen that allows him to penetrate the conceptual confusions that prevent others from understanding the actual requirements of Christian faith.37 He is a “religious genius” in the sense that his activity as an author is informed by deep, sustained reflection on his own spiritual development. This point is elaborated in the posthumously published account Kierkegaard presents in The Point of View for My Work as an Author, in which he notes that it was precisely his religious development—guided from the beginning by divine Governance—that determined how his genius would be used.38 See also Anxiety; Apostle; Irony.

SKS 21, 32; NB6:38 / JP 6, 6220. SKS 21, 233; NB9:56 / JP 6, 6317. 37 See SKS 13, 11–27 / PV, 5–20. 38 SKS 16, 50–69 / PV, 71–90. 35 36

God Paul Martens and Daniel Marrs

God (Gud—noun) From the Old Norse goð, Danish derived gud, corresponding to the German Gott and English “god/God.” When used as a noun, the term generally refers to a supernatural masculine being (when feminine, gudinde, “goddess”) or a higher power that has power over humans and nature. In both spoken and written contexts it can also function as an exclamation and as a means of amplifying subsequent words. It also appears in expressions of greeting, parting, and assurance.1 The term “God” or “god” appears in every one of Kierkegaard’s published works and with considerable frequency in his unpublished journals and papers. Of the published works, the term appears most often in Christian Discourses, Works of Love, and Upbuilding Discourses in Various Spirits respectively. In general, the term appears with greatest frequency in texts published under his own name, but the term also appears numerous times in the pseudonymous literature, especially as “the god” in Philosophical Fragments and the Concluding Unscientific Postscript—which are attributed to Johannes Climacus—and as “God” in The Sickness unto Death and Practice in Christianity—both of which are attributed to Anti-Climacus. In Kierkegaard’s corpus, the term is used to refer to God as understood by the Christian tradition—the Christian God—in the vast majority of cases. That said, it is clear that Kierkegaard is also familiar with a broad array of Greek, Roman, and Norse deities2 and competing philosophical and theological accounts of God provided by his relative contemporaries such as Hegel, Schleiermacher, and Schelling. In fact, Kierkegaard’s attention to the concept of God is conditioned in a particular way by his understanding of the immediate cultural and religious context of mid-nineteenthcentury Danish Christianity. Specifically, Kierkegaard self-consciously turns against several strands of nineteenth-century philosophy and theology by challenging the assumption that God can be known speculatively or objectively from a distance. For Kierkegaard, the Christian God is not “like something one buys in a shop, or like a piece of property.”3 Rather, Kierkegaard is primarily concerned with displaying Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 7, columns 288–300. 2 See, for example, SKS 13, 126 / CI, 67; SKS 2, 148, 173, 406 / EO1, 148, 175, 418–19; SKS 3, 17, 80 / EO2, 8, 75; SKS 4, 210, FT, 123; SKS 4, 385 / CA, 82; SKS 17, 226–7, DD:22 / JP 2, 1697. 3 SKS 10, 96 / CD, 88. 1

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who God is in relation to individuals, the one who is encountered personally through the God-relationship (Guds-Forholdet). A preliminary survey of the names for God employed by Kierkegaard sketches a helpful backdrop for the subsequent examination of Kierkegaard’s more detailed account of this relationship between God and humans. I. Difficulties in Naming God Drawing upon the Christian scriptures and tradition, Kierkegaard refers to God in several familiar ways. To begin, God is the Creator of heaven and earth who “creates out of nothing.”4 Creation, however, is also continually governed and cared for by God. To illustrate this point in a general way, Kierkegaard repeatedly returns to the biblical text found in Matthew 6:25–34 on God’s care for the birds of the air and the lilies of the field.5 Speaking specifically of his personal experience in the posthumously published The Point of View for My Work as an Author, Kierkegaard also confesses that Governance (or Providence) has played a profound role in his authorship without which the authorship would not exist. Kierkegaard readily acknowledges that the activity he attributes to God in this way requires a certain abstract understanding of God as the Omnipotent One,6 the Omnipresent One,7 the Omniscient One,8 and the Eternal One.9 These names personify select attributes of God that are prevalent in the Western intellectual tradition. Yet, Kierkegaard argues that such abstract nomenclature, if taken alone, is deeply inadequate for the task of describing God’s relationship with human beings. Therefore, he continues to flesh out God’s character in relational terms. An example concerning the limits of defining God as omnipotent, drawn from Christian Discourses, illuminates the tension Kierkegaard is seeking to mediate: “If God were only the Omnipotent One, then there would be no reciprocal relationship, because for the Omnipotent One the creature is nothing. But for love it is something.”10 Omnipotence, therefore, constrains itself—“something more wonderful than the coming into existence of all creation!”—and creates something in relation to itself. Specifically, while omnipotence may have made human beings come into existence, it is love that makes human beings come into existence for God.11 The divine appellation of Eternal Love—“the source of all love in heaven and on earth”— in Works of Love captures, through juxtaposition, this particular tension in God’s identity.

6 7 8 9 4 5



10 11

SKS 10, 138 / CD, 127. See also SKS 5, 233–49 / EUD, 233–51. For example, SKS 10, 19–98 / CD, 4–91; SKS 11, 9–48 / WA, 3–45. SKS 10, 139 / CD, 128. SKS 10, 191 / CD, 180. SKS 11, 91 / WA, 87. SKS 10, 216 / CD, 208. SKS 10, 138 / CD, 127. SKS 10, 138 / CD, 128.

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God the Creator is also identified as “the almighty Father.”12 Particularly with reference to James 1:17–22, Kierkegaard understands God to be “the Father of lights.”13 Again, the dual emphases outlined above are appropriated from the biblical text itself: on one hand, the absolute nature of God is affirmed in the claim that “there is no change or shadow of variation”14 in God; on the other hand, the relational nature of God is affirmed in the claim that “every good and perfect gift” is from above and comes down from God.15 Rhetorically, reflections on God as the Father of lights virtually bookend Kierkegaard’s corpus: God plays this role in three of the discourses published in 1843—the year in which Kierkegaard launched his authorship with Either/Or—and also in the final discourse he published in 1855— the year of his passing away. Between these bookends, however, Kierkegaard has much to say about how relations between God and humans are made possible by God’s kenotic self-limitation and humiliation and by the appearance of the God-man (Gud-Mennesket) in history. In short, God’s self-limiting makes it possible for God to relate personally to humans, but God also needs to take further action to enable humans to relate to God. To accomplish that task, God chose to become a human being, the God-man. II. What the God-Man Names God as the immanent Trinity seems to be of no significant interest to Kierkegaard. Moreover, attention to the economic Trinity appears only rarely in the corpus (and then usually in non-theoretical contexts such as the prefatory prayer in Works of Love).16 Yet the second person of the Trinity—Jesus Christ—appears in nearly all of his published works with considerable frequency. Given the sheer number of Kierkegaard’s references to Christ, the brief comments contained in this section are limited to addressing Kierkegaard’s understanding of Christ as he is defined and described as the God-man, a concept that must be attended to if one hopes to grasp Kierkegaard’s understanding of God and God’s relation to humanity. The term “God-man” already appears in Kierkegaard’s dissertation,17 but its identification with Christ in his later writings18 specifically tries to hold together two types of beings—God and humans—that Kierkegaard himself describes as having an “eternal essential difference.”19 The God-man is, according to Practice in Christianity, a “sign of contradiction” because it names “an individual human being, just like others, a lowly unimpressive human being, but now comes the

SKS 5, 46 / EUD, 37. SKS 5, 42–56 / EUD, 32–48. 14 SKS 5, 41 / EUD, 32. 15 This tension is especially at play in SKS 5, 39–56 / EUD, 32–48. 16 SKS 9, 12 / WL, 3–4. 17 SKS 1, 135 / CI, 76. 18 SKS 9, 156 / WL, 155; SKS 8, 195, 294 / UD, 90, 197; SKS 13, 87 / FSE, 64; SKS 16, 250 / JFY, 205. 19 SKS 10, 72 / CD, 63. 12 13

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contradiction—that he is God.”20 Elsewhere, Kierkegaard will refer to the God-man (or the doctrine of the God-man) as a paradox or even the Absolute Paradox.21 The logic of why human beings needed God to become the God-man is outlined succinctly in Philosophical Fragments. In this pseudonymously published text, Kierkegaard explores a thought experiment that contrasts what he understands to be the Socratic and the Christian ways of knowing God: the Socratic assumes that one is born with the knowledge of God; the Christian assumes that one is not born with the knowledge of God. In the former, all that is needed to know God is an occasion—a midwife—to bring forth self-knowledge because “self-knowledge is God-knowledge.”22 In the latter, a teacher must bring both the truth about God and the condition for knowing the truth because the human being is lost in sin23—“in relation to God, we are always in the wrong.”24 He continues, “The teacher, then, is the god, who gives the condition and gives the truth.”25 And, the teacher is the truth, the teaching.26 Rhetorically, Kierkegaard simply refers to “the god” as a generic placeholder in both competing options in Philosophical Fragments; but by the time the thought experiment is complete, it is clear when he is speaking of the Christian God and when he is not. A reminder concerning Kierkegaard’s aversion to speculative or objective accounts of God and knowledge of God is in order at this point. When Kierkegaard refers to knowing God he does not mean knowledge in the normal sense, but the specific relation of faith.27 Or, to restate, “the god cannot be known directly.”28 III. The Hiddenness of God For Kierkegaard, the appearance of the God-man in history opens the possibility of a relationship between humans and God. Yet, this relationship is complex. Johannes Climacus states the difficulty and the resolution as follows: “All knowledge is either knowledge of the eternal, which excludes the temporal and the historical as inconsequential, or it is purely historical knowledge, and no knowledge can have as its object this absurdity that the eternal is the historical.”29 He continues: “The follower [of the god], however, is in faith related to that teacher in such a way that he is eternally occupied with his historical existence.”30 But, being eternally occupied with historical existence in this way is a mode of existing that entails three consequences that run throughout Kierkegaard’s corpus: SKS 12, 130 / PC, 126. SKS 4, 263 / PF, 61; SKS 7, 511–18, 551 / CUP1, 561–9, 607. 22 SKS 4, 220 / PF, 11. 23 SKS 4, 224 / PF, 15. For a fuller development, see SKS 11, 230–6 / SUD 119–31. 24 SKS 3, 321–2 / EO2, 339–54. 25 SKS 4, 224 / PF, 15. The teacher then also becomes the savior, deliverer, and reconciler (SKS 4, 226 / PF, 17). 26 SKS 4, 258 / PF, 55. 27 SKS 4, 263–4 / PF, 62. 28 SKS 4, 265 / PF, 63. 29 SKS 4, 264 / PF, 62. 30 Ibid. 20 21

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(1) an individual’s relationship with God is precisely that—an individual and thus private relationship with God that cannot be explained in the language of purely historical knowledge; (2) an individual’s entire historical existence is subject to the demands of the eternal God; (3) an individual’s relationship with God is mediated through and conditioned by Christ, the God-man. A classic example of the first consequence is dramatically displayed in the relationship between God and Abraham as recounted in Fear and Trembling, a relationship that Abraham necessarily holds in silence because there is no sensible language in which he can explain his willingness to sacrifice his only son.31 The theme of silence is further reinforced by Kierkegaard’s choice of pseudonym for the text— Johannes de silentio. In later texts, Kierkegaard also argues that this relationship is individual and private even in the context of communal Christian activities like worship and Scripture reading. For example, in Upbuilding Discourses in Various Spirits he states that in the midst of the religious address, it is the responsibility of the listener to speak secretly with God within himself;32 in For Self-Examination, the reader of Scripture who wants to encounter God must be alone, “uninterruptedly alone” with God’s Word (Guds Ord).33 To be in relation to God in this way is strenuous: it is to live in fear and trembling, it is a spiritual trial, it is to swim out into a sea that is 70,000 fathoms deep.34 Yet, contrary to some interpreters’ suggestions, the relation between God and the individual—and therefore the content of what God communicates to the individual—does have parameters that have been determined by God in the kenotic act of becoming the God-man. The remaining two consequences indicated above, therefore, warrant further attention. IV. The Demands of God Simply stated, “In the God-relationship there are orders given to a man (and consequently to every man).”35 Recall the discussion from Philosophical Fragments outlined above: the God-man is the teacher and the teaching because, in the God-man, the eternal has appeared in the historical. The orders Kierkegaard refers to are the demands of following the teaching of the God-man. Because the relationship with God is mediated through the God-man, however, “no relation to the God-man is possible without beginning with the situation of contemporaneity.”36 Contemporaneity, for Kierkegaard, is a complex category that attempts to name the manner in which it is possible to enter a relationship with the God-man despite historical separation. Briefly, to become contemporaneous with the God-man, therefore, is to become conscious of the eternal in relation to history. Or, as Johannes Climacus explains, “Christianity is the only historical phenomenon that despite See especially SKS 4, 200–7 / FT, 112–20. SKS 8, 225 / UD, 125. 33 SKS 13, 58–9 / FSE, 30–1. 34 For example, SKS 6, 411 / SLW, 444; SKS 9, 357 / WL, 363. 35 SKS 21, 208, NB9:20 / JP 2, 1382. 36 SKS 12, 92 / PC, 82. 31 32

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the historical—indeed, by means of the historical—has wanted to be the single individual’s point of departure for his eternal consciousness, has wanted to interest him otherwise than merely historically.”37 In short, God’s action in becoming the God-man is the historical moment that serves as the point of departure for becoming conscious of God (and therefore God’s demands). And, the God-man—Christ, the holy prototype for the human race and for every individual38—is the way that must be followed in one’s God-relationship. For this reason, Kierkegaard understands the self-limiting willingness of God to become human as paradigmatic for Christian existence: following Christ consists in being willing to suffer, to die to self, to follow the narrow way that leads to death.39 The demands of God, therefore, necessarily require that individuals imitate God’s kenotic humility—to love God is to become nothing;40 to love the neighbor is to help another to love God.41 In doing so, individuals non-identically repeat the concern for the eternal in the historical. Kierkegaard spends much energy in his later years reiterating this point in manifold ways.42 Despite Kierkegaard’s sharp polemics directed towards his contemporaries that outline the demands of God, one must never forget that the grace evident in God’s willingness to limit God’s infinite power in order to relate to humans is the first and perhaps also the last word in Kierkegaard’s understanding of God. V. The Judgment and Grace of God To bring an account of Kierkegaard’s understanding of God to a fitting conclusion, it is necessary to highlight how his Lutheran debts continue to influence his theology. In a late unpublished journal entry, he outlines the “law of relations” between God and humans: This is the law of the relations between God and man in the God-relationship. DIVISIO There is an infinite, radical, qualitative difference between God and man. This means, or the expression for this is: the human person achieves nothing; it is God who gives everything; it is he who brings forth a person’s faith, etc. This is grace, and this is Christianity’s major premise.

SKS 4, 305 / PF, 109. SKS 16, 199 / JFY, 147. 39 See, for example, SKS 13, 80–92 / FSE 57–70. 40 SKS 9, 107 / WL, 103. 41 SKS 9, 111 / WL, 107. This comment occurs in the context of Kierkegaard’s discussion of God as “the middle term” (Mellembestemmelsen) in relationships between persons. 42 See, for example, his critique of Martensen’s characterization of Mynster as a “truthwitness” in SKS 14, 123–5 / M, 3–8. 37 38

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SUBDIVISIO Although, of course, there can be nothing meritorious, unconditionally nothing, in any action whatsoever, any more than faith could be meritorious (for then the Divisio or major premise is dissolved and we are in the minor premise), this nevertheless does mean daring in all childlikeness to be involved with God. If the Divisio is everything, then God is so infinitely sublime that there is no intrinsic or actual relationship between God and the individual human being. Therefore attention must be paid scrupulously to the Subdivisio, without which the life of the single individual never gets off the ground.43

This succinct entry sharply delineates the dual emphases that permeate Kierkegaard’s conception of God. On one hand, God is the source of all that is good, and therefore all that is good in humanity is a result of God’s grace. On the other hand, Kierkegaard’s God graciously invites humans into a personal relationship, invites humans to trust in God alone, invites humans to leave their cares and worries in God’s hands.44 This invitation allows individuals the opportunity either to become reconciled with God or to reject God and be judged by God.45 In both cases, one must give an individual accounting before God46 because “God is always present; and if he is present, he is also looking at you.”47 The accounting that humans must give before God is rooted in Kierkegaard’s understanding of humans as immortal. In darkly humorous fashion he states the issue as follows: “Precisely because you are immortal, you will not be able to escape God, will not be able to mislay yourself in a grave and behave as if nothing has happened.”48 Here again the criterion for the accounting is rooted in the God-man and his status as our prototype. If you forgive others, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive you.49 This is what Kierkegaard calls “the Christian like for like, eternity’s like for like.”50 This is his final word on God’s grace and love: it is the greatest leniency and the greatest rigor. In this like for like, God’s unchanging grace and inexorable requirement work together in a manner that leaves each individual’s existence open-ended and unsure—and yet fundamentally defined by the individual’s God-relationship.51 See also Christ; Contemporaneity; Faith; Forgiveness; Governance/Providence; Grace; Immanence/Transcendence; Love; Salvation; Teacher; Time/Temporality/ Eternity.

SKS 21, 235, NB9:59 / JP 2, 1383. See also SKS 13, 43–9 / FSE, 15–20. SKS 12, 27–33 / PC, 11–22. 45 SKS 11, 233–4 / SUD, 122. 46 SKS 8, 227–8 / UD, 128. 47 SKS 9, 375 / WL, 383. 48 SKS 10, 215 / CD, 207. 49 Matthew 6:14–15. 50 SKS 9, 369 / WL, 376. 51 SKS 10, 219–21 / CD, 211–12. 43 44

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Good Azucena Palavicini Sánchez

Good (det Gode—noun; god—adjective; Godhed—noun) Godh(er), in Old Danish and Early Modern Danish, comes from the Old Norse góðr and is cognate with the German gut. As a nominalization of the adjective “good” (god) it is understood as a benefit or boon. “Goodness” (Godhed) expresses the characteristic of being good, right or true, exhibiting proper ethical character, integrity, or uprightness.1 The most frequent occurrences of the word “good” in Kierkegaard’s works are found in The Concept of Irony, the Concluding Unscientific Postscript, Edifying Discourses in Various Spirits, Christian Discourses, Practice in Christianity and The Moment. The most sustained discussions of the concept occur in Either/Or, Part Two, The Concept of Anxiety, and Concluding Unscientific Postscript. Kierkegaard conceives of the good in relation to (1) the particular and (2) the absolute. In light of The Concept of Anxiety written by Vigilius Haufniensis and Either/Or, Part Two, by Judge William, “good” is understood as an expression of freedom.2 This dynamic and multifaceted notion has great importance for an individual’s life due to its foundational role and because it is an expression of the self. Both Vigilus Haufniensis and Judge William reflect upon the good in relation to the particular. I. Particular Goods In relation to the particular, the good is conceived as a practical notion whose essential feature is dialectical: it is both abstract and concrete. Judge William, in Either/Or, Part Two, identifies the abstract good with the ethical realm,3 whereas the concrete good is related to concrete actions understood in the context of good and evil, law and morality. When an individual chooses to live ethically, she chooses the good in its abstract form. In this context, good and evil are criteria of evaluation, but they have no concrete expressions. The choice of the good is commitment to a vantage point within the limits of good and evil, from where actions can be evaluated. Informed Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 6, columns 1153–82. 2 Cf. SKS 4, 413 / CA, 111; SKS 3, 214 / EO2, 224. 3 SKS 3, 166 / EO2, 169. 1

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by this ethical framework, an individual cannot prioritize pleasurable behaviors over painful ones merely on the basis that the former are more enjoyable than the latter. Instead, she must inquire for herself which behaviors are morally best. This quest focuses on particular actions in specific existential circumstances, namely, concrete actions. The concrete good cannot be defined entirely in conceptual terms because it acknowledges the individual’s existential circumstances. It is the result of the individual’s exercise of personal choice, judgment, and the application of her understanding of good and evil to her own particular actions. Insofar as this process is capable of conceptualization, it can be expressed in universal and immanent terms—in other words, it can be defined as a law or duty.4 Regarding this view, it is also important to consider Kierkegaard’s analysis in his dissertation The Concept of Irony. Following Hegel’s analysis, Kierkegaard acknowledges Socrates’ equation of virtue with knowledge to have been “a giant stride in arriving at the in-and-for-itself good,”5 thereby becoming “the founder of morality.”6 In contrast to the Sophists who had “stopped with the infinite refraction of the good in the multiplicity of the useful and the advantageous,”7 and in contrast with “the immediate Greek culture,”8 where morality consisted in unreflective conformity to customs and mores, Socrates construed morality as an infinite task, albeit infinitely negative since the “moral individual can never actualize the good.”9 But in trying “to show Socrates as the founder of morality,”10 Hegel concentrated exclusively on the universal idea of the good, rather than on how that idea is actualized concretely in an individual life. Kierkegaard, on the other hand, praises Socrates as one who strives continually to actualize the good (and the true and the beautiful) in concrete, particular actions, which are informed by the idea of the good.11 This Socratic task of striving to actualize the ideal knowledge of the good in concrete action is elaborated in certain recommendations made by Judge William about particular experiences that he considers good, such as marriage12 or friendship: “friendship contributes to a person’s ethical achieving of actuality.”13 These experiences help the individual to fulfill her duty, which is, according to the Judge, to become open.14 Openness is a fundamental attitude required of the ethical individual who chooses herself. This view is also shared by Johannes Climacus in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript where he states: “It is every human being’s duty

SKS 3, 243 / EO2, 255. SKS 1, 274 / CI, 232. SKS 1, 275 / CI, 235. SKS 1, 274 / CI, 232. SKS 1, 274 / CI, 233. SKS 1, 276 / CI, 235. 10 Ibid. 11 SKS 1, 276–7 / CI, 235–6. 12 SKS 3, 74 / EO2, 70; SKS 3, 72 / EO2, 67. 13 SKS 3, 304 / EO2, 322. 14 Ibid. 6 7 8 9 4 5

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to become open.”15 These observations are also valuable for a better understanding of Kierkegaard’s contributions to virtue ethics. In the same vein, it is important to consider Kierkegaard’s concept of faith in “The Expectancy of Faith.”16 Here faith is considered not only as the highest good but also as the most precious and invaluable one: “We travel the wide world over for the other goods; they lie concealed in a remote place accessible to human beings only at great risk….With faith, however, with the highest good, should it not be otherwise, that the gaining it involves no difficulty?”17 Faith may not only be acquired by anyone who truly wills it, but it also has the retroactive power to make the faithful individual rejoice in the human race and other individuals.18 In this sense there might be a presupposition of a certain good-naturedness that coincides with Judge William’s remarks on the aesthete’s personality: “for you are not that ruined, and when you are all alone by yourself, your good-naturedness is perhaps even greater than anyone believes.”19 This seems to contradict Kierkegaard’s position on notions such as the Fall and the individual’s sinful nature. On the other hand, it also has to be taken into account that possessing faith is highly valued because it is the means by which the individual achieves unity in her life, through faithfully willing the good.20 Moreover, in this sense unity might be regarded, not only by Kierkegaard but also by Judge William as a desirable goal in life.21 While giving an account of acquiring unity in one’s life in “An Occasional Discourse”—on the theme purity of heart is to will one thing—Kierkegaard develops the characteristics of the absolute good. Some of these views are also shared by Johannes Climacus in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript. II. The Absolute Good Throughout the Concluding Unscientific Postscript, Johannes Climacus equates the absolute good with eternal happiness.22 Eternal happiness is understood as the individual’s free, passionate relationship to God, in an indirect way. When an individual becomes interested in his own eternal happiness, he realizes that it is the highest good he can ever achieve: “Now, if to him an eternal happiness is his highest good, this means that in his acting the finite elements are once and for all, reduced to what must be surrendered in relation to the eternal happiness.”23 This interest is expressed by earnestly undertaking religious-ethical actions in accordance with

SKS 7, 452 / CUP1, 499–500. SKS 5, 19–20 / EUD, 9–10. 17 SKS 5, 21 / EUD, 11. 18 SKS 5, 19–20 / EUD, 9–10. 19 SKS 3, 189 / EO2, 195. 20 SKS 8, 147 / UD, 34. 21 SKS 3, 98–9 / EO2, 96. 22 Cf. SKS 7, 390 / CUP1, 428. 23 SKS 7, 356 / CUP1, 391. 15 16

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divine commands, rather than by merely talking about “eternal happiness” as one item in a list of goods to which one aspires.24 In this context, individuals must relate to the absolute good in such a way that it transforms their lives or, in Johannes Climacus’ words, they must reduplicate ethical truth by appropriating it in their lives.25 However, this process is dialectical and difficult since it requires that one “gain certitude by virtue of the absurd”26 and an awareness that “the greatest difficulty of all…is that one is capable of doing nothing oneself.”27 Existential pathos in the form of suffering plays a key role in this transformation, because it is the means by which the relation to the absolute good can be developed: “suffering as dying to immediacy, suffering as the distinctive mark of an existing person’s relation to the absolute τέλος.”28 A different view of this relationship is presented in “An Occasional Discourse,” on the theme that purity of heart is to will one thing. According to Kierkegaard, from the individual’s eternal point of view, it is possible to will one thing. This object must be identified with the good because this is the only thing that corresponds to unity and with God.29 Every existing thing in the world changes continually. This means that subjective life events are experienced as myriad, chaotic entities without order or coherence. The eternal as the object of will, by contrast, gives consistency to this flux, because the eternal is always present, whereas events are intermittent: “In truth to will one thing can therefore mean only to will the good, because any other one thing is not a one thing and the person willing who wills only that must therefore be double-minded, because the one who craves becomes like that which he craves.”30 The choice made upon willing the eternal is taken as a point of departure for subjective time to emerge through events such as memory and hope. If the eternal is what gives consistency to human existence, then whenever a human being wills the eternal, she wills coherence, unity and goodness in her life. God, good, and the eternal act as a foundation for the individual, her faculties, and the way she develops her choices and her actions. Vigilius Haufniensis agrees with this notion of the good and in The Concept of Anxiety explores the nature of the good while depicting the nature of our relation to good and evil through anxiety. The good gives consistency to the variety of subjective events lived by the individual. “The good signifies continuity, for the first expression of salvation is continuity….Freedom is tranquil in continuity.”31 Complementing this view, in The Sickness unto Death, Anti-Climacus describes the conditions and the state of an individual who would be rid of despair: “The formula that describes the state of the self when despair is completely rooted out is this: in relating itself to itself and in willing to be itself, the self rests transparently in the power that established it.”32 Ibid. SKS 7, 176 / CUP1, 191–2. 26 SKS 7, 390 / CUP1, 429. 27 SKS 7, 391 / CUP1, 430. 28 SKS 7, 479 / CUP1, 526. 29 SKS 8, 140 / UD, 24. 30 SKS 8, 148 / UD, 34. 31 SKS 4, 434 / CA, 130. 32 SKS 11, 131 / SUD, 14. 24 25

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Good is not only considered a value with which the individual relates authentically to herself, but it also shines through when she rests transparently in relation to God, a state that can only occur by means of faith. In other words, only the individual faithful to her eternal self and to her source of existence can be considered good. The experience of choosing the good (and living it) is qualified by Kierkegaard as a turning point in the individual’s existence, since willing only one thing—that is, the absolute good—gives birth to existential categories that enable the individual to recognize herself. This is one of Kierkegaard’s principal contributions to narrative ethics and practical identity. It is important to bear in mind the complex nature and richness of the concept of the good. Not only in its presentation as absolute good, but also as a concrete particular, the good is considered a practical notion that has its source in the individual: “The good is the being-in-and-for-itself, posited by the being-in-andfor-itself, and this is freedom.”33 Individuals choose freely to be ruled by ethical or religious-ethical principles instead of being indifferent to them. Still, it has to be emphasized that once the good is chosen and viewed as absolute, its autonomous nature as absolute is thereby asserted: “The good is its own reward”34 and resembles the objective nature of the good in Kant, Hegel, or even Plato. As previously stated, when talking about concrete good, it can only be studied in terms of its external appearance. Law and duty are partial statements of how the good is recognized by a number of individuals in certain cases. This is due to the impossibility of its conception in rational terms, since the good is an object of will rather than of reason. In this sense, the good is acknowledged within a context of praxis rather than theory, and pretending to understand it completely in conceptual terms essentially contradicts its nature, thereby rendering it aesthetic rather than ethical. See also Absolute; Aesthetic/Aesthetics; Choice; Concrete/Abstract; Duty; Ethics; Evil; Freedom.

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SKS 3, 215 / EO2, 224. SKS 8, 151 / UD, 39.

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Governance/Providence Jack Mulder, Jr.

Governance (Styrelsen—noun); Providence (Forsyn—noun) Styrelsen, as Kierkegaard uses it, is the definite form of Styrelse, derived from styre, which in Old Norse was stýri and in Middle Low German sture. Comparisons can also be made with the Old High German stiura and the Old English steor, in modern English “steer.” A primary meaning of the root is to steer a ship or vehicle. Other meanings reflect control, ruling over, management, and administration.1 Forsyn comes from the Old Norse forsjá, and its development of meaning was influenced by the Latin providentia. The primary sense is to take care of, or have care for, something. The secondary meaning is just the person doing the caring or providing. A third meaning reflects the fact that in Kierkegaard’s Danish this came to be a kind of name for God.2 Many a young student is introduced to Kierkegaard as a system-bashing existentialist and author of claims such as these: “life must be understood backward….[But] it must be lived forward.”3 While there is undeniably something in Kierkegaard that answers to the paroxysms of youth in this way, there is also Kierkegaard the adult Christian, struggling to find a way in which the course of his life aligns with divine providence. Here it is interesting to see Kierkegaard noting that the work of “Governance” (whose relation to his authorship Kierkegaard was perhaps obsessed with charting) is one of those things that can only be understood backward.4 In what follows here I will discuss Kierkegaard’s use of the terms “governance” and “providence” (which, when used as terms for God, are interchangeable) in two basic sections. The first will discuss how the terms relate to theological matters such as the doctrine of God and of humanity in relation to God in Kierkegaard’s authorship. The second section will discuss how Kierkegaard understands his own relationship to his providential God, both with regard to his personal life and struggles, and with regard to his authorship (which of course are deeply connected).

Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 22, columns 706–18. 2 Ibid., vol. 5, columns 335–6. 3 SKS 18, 194, JJ:167 / KJN 2, 179. 4 SKS 22, 289, NB13:27 / PV, Supplement, 210. 1

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I. Kierkegaard’s Theology of Providence/Governance Kierkegaard uses “Governance” and “Providence” as ways of referring directly to God,5 even though they obviously connote God’s sovereign rule over and loving concern for the world. “Providence” sometimes refers to the Christian doctrine of providence. There are few debates more vexed than how to understand this doctrine. Kierkegaard’s discussion of the relevant issues is not systematic, and I can only offer the briefest of suggestions as to how to reconcile the texts. The first issue relevant to this discussion is Kierkegaard’s doctrine of God as it relates to providence. Kierkegaard frequently refers to God as eternal, and even has a discourse entitled The Changelessness of God,6 and in the main his texts seem to accord with the traditional view that God’s life is atemporal. Thus, “everything is for [God] eternally present, eternally equally present.”7 For those who track the “open theism” debates in the recent philosophical theology literature, it is worth noting that Kierkegaard appears to treat bivalence for future contingents in a favorable way.8 Johannes Climacus also famously treats existence as bound up with the temporality to which he opposes God’s eternity, remarking that existence is a “system” for God, though not for existing spirits.9 Kierkegaard seems to echo this in his journals, as when he notes that one can at most imagine providence as an “everlasting concord in immanence between the infinite and the finite—but not in the process of becoming.”10 God’s providence down to the smallest particular is something Kierkegaard takes to be essential to Christian doctrine, and to this he opposes the paganism of Cicero, which he takes to hold that God is concerned only with superior people and events, whereas Christianity holds that God is concerned about the smallest matters.11 In a revealing discussion, Kierkegaard notes that, while the lily and the bird cannot do otherwise than align themselves with God’s will, we should not presume that we cannot learn obedience from them, especially since “You, too, are subject to necessity.” Indeed, since “God’s will is still done anyhow” we should strive to make a virtue of necessity, as the objector claimed was being done with the lily and the bird.12 Later Kierkegaard notes that God is the God of patience, and that God knew this “from eternity” and also that God “knew it from thousands and thousands of years of daily experience.”13 This pairing is odd theology. The tension is not isolated. It has sometimes been theologically fashionable to contrast the God of classical theism, the “unmoved mover” with a revised understanding of God, as the “most moved mover.” Yet in the opening prayer of The Changelessness of God Kierkegaard praises God’s changelessness in the same When these terms must be understood in this way (which is common), they will be capitalized. 6 SKS 13, 321–39 / M, 268–81. 7 SKS 13, 336 / M, 277. 8 SKS 19, 398, Not13:30 / KJN 3, 396. 9 SKS 7, 114 / CUP1, 118. 10 SKS 27, 349, Papir 340:1 / JP 3, 3628. See also SKS 18, 105, FF:158 / KJN 2, 97. 11 SKS 24, 450, NB25:19 / JP 3, 3062. 12 SKS 11, 34 / WA, 30. 13 SKS 11, 35 / WA, 31. 5

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breath as he exults in the fact that “everything moves you, and in infinite love.”14 Also, a very early entry (1834) claims that a “strict doctrine of predestination” makes God the author of sin, though the features of which Kierkegaard is suspicious therein are not carefully delineated and cannot without controversy be attributed only to, say, Calvinism or Thomism, as opposed to Arminianism or Molinism.15 Thus, it is not obvious, purely from this context, what kind of theory of predestination might pass muster. Some late indications suggest similar difficulties. In 1851, Kierkegaard repudiates the view that God “control[s] everything from the outside by having the rest of the world in his power.”16 In 1854, Kierkegaard likens God to a natural scientist, attempting to secure an experimental result, not by the most direct route, but by allowing the experiment to run its course; indeed, God “refrains completely from intervening.”17 The only way in which God “omnipotently intervened” was in the person of Christ, we are told.18 Again, this is messy. On the traditional view to which Kierkegaard seems to incline at points, there would seem to be many divine interventions, and while Kierkegaard says God is not being aloof here, we need more to understand his considered view. There is, of course, a plurality of ways to spin any long-standing theory of providence, so we should be hesitant to see Kierkegaard as departing too far from a fairly traditional view of providence (probably Arminianism). Clearly, the intervention of God in Christ for Christianity is unique, and it is also clear that Kierkegaard wants to occupy a middle ground with regard to the debate about grace and free will.19 Traditional theorists will no doubt call in distinctions such as God’s antecedent and consequent will, and these may well do the job, but it is worth noting that in Kierkegaard’s haste to preserve human freedom, he sometimes says things that are not easily reconcilable with his seemingly preferred theory of providence. However, the reality is that Kierkegaard would probably be unperturbed, at least intellectually, by these tensions, since he thought that providence could only be believed and not demonstrated.20 Kierkegaard also claimed that belief in providence was necessary to avoid despair.21 Indeed, in a surprising passage, he seems to think that keeping despair at bay in this way is so important that if, per impossibile, someone could show her own life as a refutation of God’s “fatherly concern” for all humanity, then Kierkegaard would have her hide from human beings and “let them live in the beautiful belief in a fatherly Providence.”22 Believers in providence must be on guard against self-importance, since although God concerns himself with the smallest particular, in fact, says Kierkegaard, God is nevertheless concerned with everyone equally.23 This does not mean that everything SKS 13, 327 / M, 268. SKS 27, 93, Papir 49 / JP 2, 1302. See also SKS 27, 93–4, Papir 51:1 / JP 2, 1230. 16 SKS 24, 165, NB22:118 / JP 3, 3662. 17 SKS 26, 340–1, NB34:29 / JP 2, 1450. 18 Ibid. 19 SKS 22, 415, NB14:123 / JP 4, 4551. 20 SKS 27, 349, Papir 340:1 / JP 3, 3628. 21 Ibid. 22 SKS 19, 241, Not8:47 / KJN 3, 235. 23 SKS 20, 57, NB:68 / JP 1, 1010.

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is distributed equally (manifestly it is not), but somehow “Governance really does know how to relate every man’s collision to his capacities.”24 Humanity must content itself with allowing God to do this work, and not attempt to “play providence.”25 At most we are in a position to pick up on the “hints” that Governance drops from time to time.26 Despite all of this, and Kierkegaard’s earlier noted insistence that “God’s will is still done anyhow,”27 Kierkegaard still seems committed to the view that, in rebellion, one can place oneself in a spot where “Governance cannot use the person who has placed himself there.”28 Kierkegaard’s full position on the doctrine of providence may be as difficult to discern as the doctrine itself. II. Providence/Governance as it Relates to Kierkegaard’s Life and Authorship Kierkegaard’s own life, as he sees it, is run through with the workings of Governance. The suggestion of a sword, such as might have pierced Mary’s heart,29 is not accidental: Kierkegaard believes that God makes his “instruments” to suffer (in this life, at least).30 Indeed, Governance assigns duties to Kierkegaard,31 and Kierkegaard sometimes feels the weight of the possible repercussions for not discharging these duties.32 Kierkegaard notes that he has a “strangely childlike relationship…to Governance,”33 but this is not without its sour note. At one point, Kierkegaard is tempted to claim that Governance “maltreats” him in a way that, if others were to discover how this is so, they would attempt to remove him from Governance’s custody just as is sometimes done in the case of abusive parents.34 Kierkegaard quickly steps back, suggesting that this is the misunderstanding his contemporaries would have of him, and not the view he himself takes. It is common to hear Kierkegaard noting difficulties in his life, and then reflecting on how they are finally part of God’s providential plan in ways Kierkegaard could not have foreseen. This happens in connection with his financial difficulties35 and also with regard to his mental health. In connection with the latter, we read that his authorship was made possible in part because “Governance has held me in rein with the help of an extreme depression and a troubled conscience.”36 Nevertheless, Kierkegaard also has a deep and overwhelming gratitude for what Governance has done for him, in part because the very things that have been SKS 21, 349–50, NB10:179 / JP 6, 6385. SKS 20, 221, NB2:207 / JP 3, 3630. 26 SKS 21, 24–7, NB6:23 / JP 6, 6211 and SKS 22, 350, NB14:12 / JP 6, 6526. 27 SKS 11, 34 / WA, 30. 28 SKS 9, 90 / WL, 85. 29 See Luke 2:35. 30 SKS 23, 183, NB17:29 / JP 2, 2093. 31 Pap. VII–1 B 75, p. 269 / CUP2, 111. 32 SKS 16, 51 / PV, 72. 33 SKS 22, 249, NB12:175 / JP 6, 6497. 34 SKS 26, 38, NB31:52 / JP 6, 6895. 35 SKS 25, 94–5, NB26:94 / JP 6, 6820. 36 SKS 21, 57, NB6:74 / JP 6, 6238. 24 25

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trials for him are so inextricably linked with Kierkegaard’s constitution that the abiding happiness he sometimes reports would have been impossible for him if it were not shadowed with melancholy.37 Anti-Climacus puts the matter fairly well as far as encapsulating a Kierkegaardian approach to Governance’s dealings with its instruments. He writes “Governance is love, and even if this ordeal is in earnest, there is nothing cruel in its earnestness; it handles a person gently and never tries a person beyond his ability.”38 It is interesting to note that the same kind of gentleness and care that Kierkegaard sees God extending in terms of giving people what they will need and not trying them beyond what they can bear is also applied to God’s dealings with times in human history and what a particular cultural milieu might need.39 It seems something similar was afoot in terms of how Kierkegaard understood God’s providential activity when it came to Kierkegaard’s authorship, the final issue to which we now turn. Kierkegaard clearly believes that his authorship offers something that his age needs, and it also seems clear that, on his view, God’s providence saw Kierkegaard himself as being a good fit for delivering it. Thus, Kierkegaard notes that Governance “broadens and radicalizes whatever concerns me personally.”40 It is clear that Kierkegaard sees Governance as “encouraging” the authorship as a whole,41 though Kierkegaard does not understand all of God’s plans for it. Sometimes Kierkegaard looks back and perceives that a particular work had been excellently well ordered for publication without really understanding this to be the case at the time.42 At other times, Governance functions almost like a Socratic daimon in making it clear to him that he is not to publish a particular work at a particular time.43 Kierkegaard writes “I cannot emphasize enough that Governance actually is the directing power and that in so many ways I do not understand until afterwards.”44 Kierkegaard even chalks the existence of the pseudonym Anti-Climacus up to the working of Governance, since it had not occurred to him to use any more pseudonyms.45 It seems clear why, when Kierkegaard is tempted to regard his authorship as an offering to God, he backs off and notes that it could only be understood as a gift a child might give back to the parent from whom it originated.46 A fitting way for us to end our work on Kierkegaard’s understanding of providence and how it relates to human affairs is by considering this question: to what extent is the authorship Kierkegaard’s own? Kierkegaard commonly asserts that he is neither an apostle nor a teacher, and claims that he is a “fellow-pupil.”47 In line with these assertions, he unsurprisingly notes that it is not the case that God “directly contributes SKS 20, 398, NB5:62 / JP 6, 6161. SKS 12, 190 / PC, 190. 39 See Pap. VII–2 B 235, p. 42 / BA, 151 and Pap. VII–2 B 235, p. 55 / BA, 244. 40 SKS 21, 352–5, NB10:185 / JP 6, 6388. 41 SKS 7, 572 / CUP1, 628. 42 SKS 20, 325–7, NB4:78 / JP 5, 6113. 43 SKS 22, 298, NB13:37 / JP 6, 6511. 44 SKS 21, 276, NB10:38 / JP 6, 6346. 45 SKS 22, 265, NB12:196 / JP 6, 6501. 46 SKS 16, 66–7 / PV, 89. 47 SKS 16, 58 / PV, 78–9. 37 38

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the thoughts to me” as Kierkegaard produces the work of his authorship.48 At the same time, however, Kierkegaard notes at various points that he was “shackled” by Governance in his writing regimen,49 and that he was “predisposed” since his very early life to become the sort of author he became.50 Anyone who is familiar with the Tanakh, or Christian Old Testament, will note that in the prophetic writings, we often see a kind of formula invoking “the word of the LORD”51 preceding the deliverance of an oracle of sorts by the relevant prophet.52 What is clear is that Kierkegaard does not see himself as delivering this kind of utterance in the authorship. Consider, however, three other ways in which Kierkegaard resembles a prophet like Jeremiah. We have seen that Kierkegaard believes he is what the age needs, in a way similar to how Jeremiah presumably saw his unpopular messages. Kierkegaard also laments the way in which “Governance” uses him, in ways that sometimes recall Jeremiah’s lament along these lines.53 Kierkegaard, as we have noted, also saw himself as predisposed to be an instrument of God from the earliest age, as did Jeremiah.54 Kierkegaard sees himself as a poet, and believes God places him in a situation where his pre-existing talents are just what the situation requires.55 Yet Kierkegaard has a very thick view of the way in which Governance guides his authorship from first to last. Given the way that more modern views of biblical inspiration run, with an institution such as the Catholic Church claiming that the authors of biblical texts are “true authors,” who used then “contemporary literary forms” for expressing truth in a particular “time and culture,” all while the divine inspiration they enjoyed preserved aspects of their literary freedom, we might wonder how different Kierkegaard’s authorship is from Christian Scripture itself, with its different genres and styles. We might wonder whether this is a profitable model for understanding not only Kierkegaard’s authorship but his view of providence itself. See also Apostle; Authorship; Finitude/Infinity; Freedom; God; Grace; Revelation; Scriptures; Time/Temporality/Eternity; Will.

SKS 16, 53 / PV, 74. SKS 16, 65 / PV, 86. 50 SKS 16, 58 / PV, 79. 51 I am preserving the custom of capitalizing all four letters of LORD when the divine name is invoked in the Hebrew. 52 See Jeremiah 1:4. 53 See Jeremiah 20:7–18. 54 Jeremiah 1:5. 55 SKS 21, 360, NB10:192 / JP 6, 6390. 48 49

Grace Derek R. Nelson

Grace (Naade—noun) The Danish word derives from the Old Norse Naad and Old Danish nathæ and nath, and is related to the German Gnade. Its lexical meaning includes both secular and theological usages. It can mean an especially kindly and generous demeanor borne by a person, and was, in this sense, an epithet for a monarch (for example, “your Grace”). Theologically it refers to a disposition of God toward a sinful, unworthy person, or the benefits conveyed by such a disposition. It is both a power that God possesses and gives, and the preferred station or position occupied by the one who receives it.1 Grace is a concept that functions prominently throughout Kierkegaard’s writings, but on which he rarely elaborates in a systematic way. References to, and usage of, the term “grace” occur sporadically throughout his published writings. Entries in his journals and notebooks begin to focus on the finer distinctions and deeper mysteries of grace after he turned his attention to a critique of Christendom.2 Kierkegaard felt that most of his Danish contemporaries in the State Church viewed grace as a kind of cheap insurance policy that was good to have in case the gospel were true.3 But, for Kierkegaard, grace can be no opus operatum without appropriation.4 Grace is the presupposition of much of his work on the dialectical subjectivity of Christian existence, and yet we are left with fewer systematic elaborations of grace than we might expect, given its vital centrality. Of the approximately 1,000 occurrences of the word “grace” in Kierkegaard’s writings, the largest number come from various discourses published under Kierkegaard’s own name, particularly the Christian Discourses. There he frequently interprets biblical passages that pertain to grace, but also often introduces the language of grace to illuminate biblical passages that do not use the term. There are also many references to grace in Either/Or and its sequel Stages on Life’s Way, where Kierkegaard wishes to distinguish the grace-filled character of the religious sphere and the absence of grace in other forms of life. References to grace are everywhere Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 14, columns 804–14. 2 Though this was apparent to Kierkegaard from the beginning; see, for example, in SKS 22, 311, NB313:63 / JP 1, 763. 3 SKS 7, 333 / CUP1, 366. Here Climacus ridicules the idea that infant baptism alone could bring one automatically into blessedness. 4 See, for example, SKS 26, 196, NB32:107 / JP 1, 368. 1

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in Kierkegaard’s notebooks and journals, frequently in his personal, searching accounts of struggle, sin, and despair, and in his sharp social critiques of religious practice in his day. Throughout his writings Kierkegaard is always more concerned with the subjective, existential appropriation of grace than its intrinsic nature eo ipso. Only under certain subjective circumstances does one feel a “need” for grace, and only when one understands that it is needful will one grasp its essence.5 Hunger means nothing to one who can live without eating, after all.6 And Kierkegaard would assert that the awareness of the need for grace is already a peculiar kind of grace. We consider here the following shades of meaning in the concept of grace for Kierkegaard: (1) grace as the end of judgment and relief of the ethical; (2) grace and suffering; (3) grace and faith itself; and (4) grace as freedom. I. Grace as the End of Judgment and Relief from the Ethical The most common way Kierkegaard thought of grace was as the blessed end of ethical striving. Grace is the terminus a quo and terminus ad quem of the Christian life. The gift of grace was not contingent on one’s striving, in a cause-and-effect sense. But rather the gift of grace could only be truly and existentially appropriated after one had exerted oneself tirelessly and completely in the imitation of Christ. The ability to begin this striving was itself a gift of grace, which has caused some to characterize Kierkegaard as an Arminian.7 Kierkegaard lamented the fact that most of Christianity saw grace as a free ticket, as a way of requiring everything of God and nothing of oneself. It viewed the ethical vision of total neighbor love as a nonsensical ideal that should be rejected in favor of judiciousness and common sense. Indeed, the more secularized, formalized, and structured Christianity became, the greater the role common sense played in its theology, and authentic grace was in just this measure diminished. In fact, Kierkegaard connected the rise of “Christendom” to the moment at which Christmas was declared a supreme festival, in about the fourth century. If the savior of the world is a baby, Christendom is delighted, because “here there can be no question of imitation.”8 Unlike the Middle Ages, which Kierkegaard thought saw the attempt at the imitation of Christ as an unrealistic and naïve first step in approaching God, Kierkegaard views imitation more along the lines of Martin Luther.9 Luther recognized that Christian ideals are so utterly and infinitely transcendent that all self-grounded attempts to imitate them are either “a ridiculous nothing [afsindigt

SKS 22, 407, NB14:106 / JP 1, 513. SKS 20, 174, NB2:80 / JP 3, 2461. 7 For example, Timothy Jackson, “Arminian Edification: Kierkegaard on Grace and Free Will,” in Cambridge Companion to Kierkegaard, ed. by Alastair Hannay and Gordon Marino, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1998, pp. 235–56. 8 SKS 24, 186, NB22:151 / JP 2, 1893. 9 SKS 16, 239 / JFY, 193. 5 6

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Intet]” or, at best, “a godly joke [gudfrygtig Spøg].” Therefore the understanding of Christ as prototype or exemplar “can no longer [as in the medieval period)]...occupy the first place. Faith comes first, Christ as the gift.”11 Kierkegaard hypothesizes that the degeneration of the Roman Catholic form of Christianity leads to “surface sanctity” since the demands of outward observances are still maintained, but that the degeneration of Protestantism yields “spiritless secularism” because grace loses its power when it is deemed merely an optional addition to the low demands of a civic or social morality.12 The one who has expended himself in ethical striving—or as the super Christian Anti-Climacus puts it most concretely in Practice in Christianity, in imitation— can receive both grace and its benefits in their fullness. This includes but is not restricted to the hereafter. When Kierkegaard was asked on his deathbed whether he took refuge in divine grace, he said, “Naturally—what else?”13 These are the words of a man who had come to an awareness of the extent of sin and the folly of selffulfillment, and thus could view grace as an unconditioned gift of love from God, which transforms sinners into saints. Kierkegaard can even speak of the power of grace in the forgiveness of sins as a “transubstantiation” of the person from one’s past life to the instant of the present.14 10

II. Grace and Suffering The recognition of the need for grace implies the knowledge of sin, certainly, which involves the naming of despair as such. However, the experience of grace takes the form of suffering, too, since the cycle of the knowledge of sin and the reception of grace is constantly repeated in the dialectic of Christian existence. The greatest grace always comes with the most intense danger. Suffering is a symbol of sin, a feeling of eternity’s breaking into time. Kierkegaard develops this notion especially in the discourse, “The Gospel of Suffering,” related to the notion that suffering engenders perfection through obedience.15 Since obedience here means a yielding to God’s gracious will, it is a sloughing off of penultimate concerns and a grasping of the eternal. Perhaps the clearest statement from Kierkegaard on how the grace of God is the undoing of man comes from his very final journal entry. Here he describes grace as the means through which God brings the Christian to the “highest degree of weariness with life.”16 As a result of this, in Christian experience, “God seemingly changes into sheer cruelty, and with the most cruelly devised cruelty does everything to deprive him [the one who has received grace] of all zest for life, nevertheless [the person]

SKS 22, 366, NB14:41 / JP 2, 1135 (translations modified). Ibid. 12 SKS 27, 563, Papir 455 / JP 3, 3617. 13 Quoted in Walter Lowrie, Kierkegaard, New York: Harper 1962, vol. 2, p. 586. 14 SKS 18, 125, HH:2 / JP 2, 2277. 15 The letter to the Hebrews is the locus classicus for Kierkegaard on this notion. 16 SKS 27, 695, Papir 591 / JP 6, 6969. 10 11

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continues to believe that God is love, that God does it out of love.”17 The awareness of sin and the forgiveness of sin evoke each other by internal necessity. But this necessity is not totally circumscribed by immanent reality, as Kierkegaard thought Hegel conceived of it. Rather, the necessity is grounded in God’s “redemptive intervention,” which is, in a word, grace.18 III. Grace and Faith The reality of grace is not of the same kind as the rest of ordinary, easy-to-describe existence (of the type that J.L. Austin referred to as “medium-sized dry goods”).19 Instead, it is a reality in the metaphysics of Christian faith. The experience of grace does effect a change in sinful Christian existence. But it does so in the same way that an apparently dead tree is regenerated in its roots. As far as the world can see, its leaves are still dead, and yet the tree lives. Early in his journals Kierkegaard noted the profundity that Christ was both savior and judge, but in such a way that each was an aspect of the other.20 These two opposing forces are held together in the act of faith, or in the leap to faith. Kierkegaard could speak in terms reminiscent of Luther’s simul justus et peccator—at the same time justified and a sinner. The only reality that can comprise such different members is that of Christian faith.21 Sin and grace are both elements of Christian existence. When light shines in darkness, both light and darkness are real. Faith in the forgiveness of sins supplies courage for the traveler to continue toward his destination.22 IV. Grace and Freedom In a fascinating series of journal entries Kierkegaard distinguishes between “grace in the first place” and “grace in the second place.”23 By grace in the second place he means essentially the forgiveness of sins, which has been discussed above. But grace in the first place is something different. It is the potentiality of a future. It is the action taken by God to strengthen the Christian to begin, and ever to begin again, to come to faith in God.24 Grace in the first place is Christ as the prototype who inspires and evokes response. Grounding one’s subjectivity in this grace is freedom. In the Concluding Unscientific Postscript Climacus conceives of a leap to faith that embraces the paradox or absurdity of faith. The ability even to conceive such a Ibid. The quoted phrase is from Louis Dupré, Kierkegaard as Theologian, New York: Sheed and Ward 1963, p. 92. 19 J.L. Austin, Sense and Sensibilia, Oxford: Oxford University Press 1962, p. 8. 20 SKS 17, 261, DD:142 / JP 1, 287. 21 SKS 21, 148, NB8:52 / JP 3, 3032. 22 SKS 17, 52, AA:51 / JP 4, 3994. 23 See the Hongs’ discussion, JP 2, Explanatory Notes, pp. 570–1. 24 Kierkegaard often uses “Comforter” for God, the origin of which means “one who strengthens.” 17 18

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leap is an example of “grace in the first instance.” It is grace as the power of God, appropriated by the Christian in faith. Indeed Kierkegaard conceived of his whole life and work as a Christian philosopher and writer in relation to grace. He compared it to a “voyage on the open sea, living in grace and out of grace, entirely in the power of God.”26 Another journal entry from near the very end of his life nicely exemplifies much of how Kierkegaard conceived of grace. He imagines three kinds of people. Those of the first kind are spiritless, dead to the effects of rigor and exertion. The second kind of people are receptive to the demands of Christianity, but quickly despair and shy away from continued commitment, since it would be so onerous. They rebel against God and wither. But people of the third kind exert themselves in the imitation of Christ and meditate deeply on what they have done and failed to do. This overwhelms them, almost to the point of shame, and yet at that very moment they are able to take comfort in the promise of grace. As Kierkegaard puts it, “Only those persons who, brought to this point of life-weariness, are able by the help of grace to maintain that God does it out of love and do not conceal in their souls, in the remotest corner, any doubt about God as love—only those persons are matured for eternity.”27 They savor God’s grace, however, just enough to be reminded of the exacting rigors of Christianity’s ideal, to which they inexorably return. 25

See also Appropriation; Atonement/Reconciliation; Ethics; Faith; Prayer; Religious/ Religiousness; Sin; Suffering.

The term means something like “prevenient grace.” See Hong and Hong, JP 2, Explanatory Notes, pp. 570–1. 26 SKS 20, 83, NB:108 / JP 5, 5962. 27 SKS 27, 695, Papir 591 / JP 6, 6969. 25

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Gratitude Corey Benjamin Tutewiler

Gratitude (Taknemmelighed—noun; Taknemlighed—noun; taknemmelig—adjective) Taknemmelighed, also spelled Taknemlighed, derives from the Old Danish taknæmeligheth. The lexical meaning of Taknemmelighed is gratitude, gratefulness, and thankfulness.1 At the outset, it is important to note a couple of peculiarities with regard to how the concept of gratitude surfaces in Kierkegaard’s writings. First, it appears with far greater frequency in his journals and signed works than it does in those written pseudonymously. Either/Or, Part Two, and the Concluding Unscientific Postscript to Philosophical Fragments are arguably the only pseudonymous works that contain relatively substantial considerations on the concept.2 Second, in Kierkegaard’s journals the emphasis is usually on the Christian’s gratitude for the forgiveness of sins and how this gratitude should lead an individual to imitate Christ (especially from 1850 onward), whereas in the signed works the emphasis is usually on how Christians are to be grateful for temporal gifts. The present entry comprises four sections. The first will examine the place and significance of gratitude in the life and salvation of the Christian. The second section considers how, for human beings, gratitude corresponds to an existential disposition of receptiveness, as opposed to possessiveness. The third section expands on the second, focusing on Kierkegaard’s insistence that God should determine what is good, rather than human beings. Here it will become evident why imitation is necessary in order for human gratitude to reach its highest expression. The final section is then devoted to Kierkegaard’s explanation of how Christians are to be grateful for temporal gifts. I. The Place of Gratitude in the Life and Salvation of the Christian Gratitude, according to Kierkegaard, has an essential place in the life and salvation of the Christian. In one of his most succinct formulations of what salvation looks like for such an individual, he writes, “No, infinite humiliation and grace, and then Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 23, columns 648–9. Cf. columns 647–8. 2 Cf. SKS 3, 54, 63, 101, 224 / EO2, 47, 57, 98, 234–5 and SKS 7, 163–6, 405n. / CUP1, 177–9, 446n. 1

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a striving born of gratitude—this is Christianity.”3 In this progression there is, first, a consciousness of one’s guilt, sin consciousness, or infinite humiliation, which is impossible for human beings to expunge by means of “meritoriousness.”4 Second, there is the forgiveness of sins, an experience of grace that comes from God alone. Third, then, this divine grace gives rise to gratitude in the forgiven individual. At times Kierkegaard suggests that, although the grace of God is “infinite”5 in relation to any human striving, there is some correspondence between the extent to which an individual receives God’s grace and the extent of the individual’s gratitude.6 Finally, “striving”7 and “imitation”8 are then born of gratitude, which was itself born of grace. Again, Kierkegaard writes, “Imitation or discipleship does not come first, but ‘grace’; then imitation follows as a fruit of gratitude, as well as one is able.”9 Christianly understood, works have their place in this final part of the process. “Overflowing with thankfulness,”10 human beings seek out a “stronger expression for [their] gratitude—works.”11 Of course, this progression represents the ideal that is to be realized in the concrete life of the Christian, and it is possible for it to break down in actuality. With regard to the transition from grace to gratitude, for instance, the latter can take one of two forms. The first is merely an appreciative, “frothy gratitude”12 that does not lead an individual to an imitation of the divine. Kierkegaard refers to this lower form of gratitude—which is “not of God but of happiness, fate, the great prize, and the like, or of an enigmatic power, whose intervention prompts one to be amazed”—as idolatry.13 It is the expression of a “milder relationship,” in which case one’s relationship with God “is easily taken in vain.”14 In order for gratitude to reach its true fulfillment, it must be “united with an element of work”15 and lead one to imitate Christ, because “imitation is the stronger expression of gratitude.”16 Indeed, “Christ has desired only one kind of gratitude: from the individual, and as practically as possible in the form of imitation.”17 On a final note, an important distinction can be made here between Kierkegaard’s conception of gratitude and how it is commonly conceived. Whereas gratitude is SKS 24, 163–4, NB22:122 / JP 1, 993. SKS 24, 118, NB22:25 / JP 2, 1533. 5 SKS 27, 623–3, Papir 498 / JP 2, 1504. 6 SKS 26, 395, NB35:37 / JP 2, 1502 and SKS 25, 122–3, NB27:7 / JP 2, 1488. 7 SKS 25, 122–3, NB27:7 / JP 2, 1488 and SKS 24, 163–4, NB22:112 / JP 1, 993. 8 SKS 25, 386–7, NB30:7 / JP 2, 1518; SKS 24, 131–2, NB22:52 / JP 2, 1886; SKS 25, 87–90, NB26:86 / JP 4, 4524; SKS 24, 177–8, NB22:144 / JP 2, 1892; SKS 25, 194–5, NB27:80 / JP 4, 4700. 9 SKS 24, 131–2, NB22:52 / JP 2, 1886. 10 SKS 25, 194–5, NB27:80 / JP 4, 4700. 11 SKS 25, 87, NB26:86 / JP 4, 4524. 12 SKS 25, 163, NB27:50 / JP 3, 2442. 13 SKS 5, 437–8 / TD, 63–4. 14 SKS 24, 125, NB22:39 / JP 1, 695. 15 SKS 3, 54 / EO2, 47. 16 SKS 24, 177, NB22:144 / JP 2, 1892. 17 SKS 25, 386, NB30:7 / JP 2, 1518. 3 4

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often regarded primarily as a consequence (as the joy comes from receiving a gift), Kierkegaard conceives of gratitude as both causal and consequential. In addition to causing an individual to imitate the divine, Kierkegaard counterintuitively maintains that gratitude is the cause of happiness,18 as well as a condition for life itself.19 II. Gratitude as a Disposition of Receptiveness and Remembrance Gratitude does not simply consist in an action, but it refers to an existential disposition or a way for human beings to be in the world. As a disposition, it is, moreover, discernible in both the action and the character of the individual who is acting. The command that Christians are “always to give thanks,” for instance, should not be understood as though it impels incessant utterances of thanksgiving on the part of the Christian; rather, it compels one to live thankfully, such that one’s being and all of one’s actions are established upon a foundation of gratitude.20 With this said, ingratitude and gratitude correspond to two contrasting existential dispositions of the self. The former is associated with a domineering will to possess the good, whereas the latter is constituted by a humbler disposition by which one is postured to receive the good.21 According to Kierkegaard, the ungrateful will to possess is untrue to the nature of human beings, especially insofar as the human being is absolutely dependent upon God, from whom “we willingly receive all things.”22 Due to this elemental refusal to receive the good from God, the ungrateful individual’s endeavors to possess inevitably succumb to frustration.23 Indeed, Kierkegaard writes, “this is the most lamentable and the most ungodly kind of deception, through ingratitude to allow oneself to be defrauded out of the highest, which one thinks one possesses but, alas, does not possess at all.”24 Kierkegaard suspects the individual who strives to possess the good absolutely: “what is the possession of everything if I never receive the proper impression of my possessing it and of what it is that I possess!”25 From this proper impression the individual would learn that a possessive nature, when applied to human beings, is not conducive to possession at all, for it betrays both the nature of what is possessed (that is, gifts are to be humbly received, not taken by force) and the essence of SKS 5, 429 / TD, 54: “[A]ll they lacked was gratitude in order to be happy.” Indeed, Kierkegaard writes, “To be able to pray and to be able to give thanks—that, of course, is to exist for him, and to do that is to live” (SKS 10, 28 / CD, 16). 20 SKS 22, 194, NB12:96 / JP 2, 1513. 21 This distinction persists throughout Kierkegaard’s authorship. Consider “To Be Contented with Being a Human Being,” where Kierkegaard discusses the importance of learning contentedness and gratitude for one’s very being from the birds and the lilies. The possessive nature is represented by the one who wants to exceed himself and become something that he is not, whereas lilies and birds are exemplars of the receptive nature insofar as they act in accordance with their very being and strive to be nothing other than what they are. SKS 8, 259–80 / UD, 158–82. 22 SKS 22, 100, NB11:169 / JP 3, 3439. 23 SKS 4, 163–4 / EUD, 165. 24 SKS 9, 34 / WL, 26. 25 Ibid. 18 19

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human nature.26 Therefore, just as independence is only possible for a human being paradoxically through absolute dependence upon God,27 similarly possession is only possible for a human being through a disposition of receptiveness (“otherwise he is possessed”).28 Simply put, the ungrateful individual neither receives nor possesses, but the grateful individual receives and possesses—the latter of which is made possible by his having received in the first place. As receptive, then, human beings exhibit gratitude for the very fact and givenness of their humanity.29 This gratitude, furthermore, only reaches fulfillment when it reflects an absolute dependence upon God or “a genuine need of God,”30 the source and sustainer of all being. Any form of gratitude that does not reveal an elemental and absolute dependence upon God is, for this reason, “an immature thanksgiving that wants to thank God and yet only deceives itself by thinking that it is thanking God and defrauds God of the thanksgiving.”31 III. Who Determines What is Good? The individual who is determined by the will to possess, moreover, strives to be the ultimate arbiter of what is understood as good. This can even be the case for those who exhibit the lesser, appreciative form of gratitude mentioned above: “everyone will usually be thankful for the good he receives, but everyone’s heart is also indulgent enough to want to decide for itself what is the good.”32 These individuals may be willing to receive, but only in accordance with their self-determined conditions of what it means for some gift to be good.33 Even if they display a mild form of gratitude for some perceived gift, this gratitude is not determined by the goodness of the gift itself, but rather by the good they artificially attempt to project onto it for themselves. Kierkegaard instead declares that the goodness of the gift is wholly determined by the goodness of its giver and the manner in which it is given.34 He is, however, aware that it is possible for human beings to relate to the gift inappropriately. That SKS 3, 54 / EO2, 57. SKS 8, 280 / UD, 182: “Dependence on God is the only independence, because God has no gravity; only the things of this earth, especially earthly treasure, have that—therefore the person who is completely dependent on him is light. So it is with the poor person when he, contented with being a human being, looks at the bird of the air, looks up at it under the heavens, as indeed one who is praying always looks up, one who is praying—no, he, the independent person, is indeed one who gives thanks.” 28 SKS 4, 96 / EUD, 90. 29 Human beings ought to “give thanks that it was granted…to us to be human beings” (SKS 4, 186 / EUD, 182). 30 SKS 24, 87, NB21:140 / JP 2, 1414. 31 SKS 5, 438 / TD, 64–5. 32 SKS 4, 33 / EUD, 25. 33 SKS 3, 101 / EO2, 98: “The majority of people are willing to be grateful when they receive a good gift, but then they demand that it be left to them to decide which gift is good. This proves their shallowness.” 34 SKS 4, 48 / EUD, 39. 26 27

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is, even if the gift is always unconditionally good, human beings do not always recognize it as such.35 Hence, in a manner of speaking, human beings can “change that which was received.”36 Of course the point here is not that the gift from God is not always good for human beings. Nor is it the case that human beings actually affect the goodness of the gift itself. The point is rather that the human being’s relationship to the gift will not necessarily reflect its unconditional goodness.37 For this reason, imitation is crucial in order for gratitude to reach its higher, fulfilled expression. Through imitation human beings are given the condition to receive the good in a manner appropriate to the nature of the gift itself—that is, as a gift from God. Accordingly, the Apostle James does not simply exhort “the believers especially to gratitude…in proportion to the good gifts apportioned to them,” but, what is more, he exhorts “us…to love God in such a way that our nature might become like his.”38 Gratitude is only fulfilled for an individual when he is willing to “live in this life as [Christ’s] imitator” and “suffer for the truth in order to express some gratitude for what Christ is for you.”39 IV. Gratitude for Temporal Gifts Kierkegaard warns against the risk of an improper gratitude for earthly benefits (“i.e., earthly and temporal advantages and good luck, etc.”).40 “In this way,” he writes, “Christianity is easily transformed into heightened life-enjoyment (eudaemonism).”41 At the same time, however, he affirms a proper way for human beings to be grateful for temporal gifts. His published considerations on gratitude for temporal gifts, for instance, often appear within the context of reflections on marriage, where he focuses specifically on how one is to be grateful to God for one’s beloved.42 Earthly benefits and prosperity, according to Kierkegaard, are not necessarily detrimental for the Christian, because once human beings “understand how to thank [God] at all times,” then they have “conquered the world.”43 Put differently, a relationship with God provides the very condition by which human beings can conquer worldliness, which opposes the God-relationship, and gratefully receive SKS 10, 268 / CD, 253–4 and SKS 19, 219, Not7:55 / JP 2, 1507. SKS 4, 53 / EUD, 45. 37 SKS 7, 164 / CUP1, 178: “So I am to thank God, says the pastor, and for what? For the good that he gives me. Excellent! But for what good? Presumably for the good that I can discern is a good. Stop! If I thank God for the good I can discern to be good, I am making a fool of God, because then my relationship with God means that I am transforming God in likeness to me instead of my being transformed in likeness to him. I thank him for the good that I know is a good, but what I know is finite, and consequently I go ahead and thank God for complying with my notion.” 38 SKS 4, 48–9 / EUD, 40. 39 SKS 23, 208, NB17:61 / JP 4, 4867. 40 SKS 20, 223, NB2:211 / JP 2, 1510. 41 Ibid. 42 Cf. SKS 3, 54, 63, 101, 224 / EO2, 47, 57, 98, 234–5; SKS 5, 429, 437–8 / TD, 54, 63–5; SKS 6, 109–10 / SLW, 115–16. 43 SKS 18, 140, HH:28 / JP 3, 3384. 35 36

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temporal gifts in an appropriate manner. “Surely you understood,” he writes, “that it was only through thankfulness to God that everything became a good and perfect gift for you.”44 For the human being who is in right relation to God, “prosperity would become for him an occasion for concern [for one’s inner being] to increase… because he who possesses the whole world and thanks God is strengthening in the inner being.”45 However, although there is nothing more certain than the eternal good, which “is its own reward…here in the world the good is often rewarded temporarily with ingratitude, with lack of appreciation, with poverty, with contempt, with many sufferings, at times with death.”46 In the direst of circumstances, one must remain grateful to God and see to it that this gratitude remains unaffected by any temporal suffering. For the individual who can thank God in all circumstances, according to Kierkegaard, both “prosperity and adversity serve for strengthening in the inner being.”47 The fragility of temporal goods, therefore, should have no final claim on the individual’s gratitude with respect to God, as Kierkegaard prays: From your hand we willingly receive all things. If honor and glory are offered, we willingly receive them from your hand; if it is ridicule and mockery, we willingly receive them from your hand. O, that we might accept the one as we accept the other, with equal joy and gratitude. There is no great difference—and there would be no difference for us if we concentrated on the main clue—that it comes from you.48

To summarize, gratitude has an essential place in the life and salvation of the Christian. It can be understood as the consequence of receiving grace from God, as well as the cause of imitation and striving on the part of the Christian. Next, whereas ingratitude expresses a disposition by which one attempts to possess the good absolutely, gratitude expresses a way of being in the world by which human beings are situated to receive the good from God. God, rather than human beings, determines the nature of the good, and imitation is an essential ingredient in receiving the good in a manner that is true to the gift itself. Finally, all gratitude for temporal prosperity must be established within gratitude for the divine giver from whom it came. See also Forgiveness; Grace; Happiness; Imitation; Striving; Suffering.

46 47 48 44 45

SKS 4, 53 / EUD, 45. SKS 4, 96 / EUD, 90. SKS 8, 151 / UD, 39. SKS 4, 104 / EUD, 98. SKS 22, 100, NB11:169 / JP 3, 3439.

Guilt Erik M. Hanson

Guilt (Skyld, Skyldighed—noun; skyldig—adjective) From the Old Norse skuld (“shoulders”) and Old English scyld, corresponding to German Schuld, the lexical meaning of the Danish term is debt to a person or persons, which the debtor is obligated to recompense. It can mean the responsibility a person has when something has gone wrong for which the offender can be criticized. The term is usually understood as a violation of religious or moral standards, exposing the bearer to punishment, penalty, or condemnation. In a legal context, it is criminal culpability, incurred by the attempt to commit an offense for which the offender is civilly or criminally liable. The judgment of an individual as guilty is meant to lead that person to a feeling of remorse for having made a mistake, having not lived up to certain responsibilities, or for having failed or violated another person.1 Discussions of the concept of guilt span Kierkegaard’s corpus but occur most frequently in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript to the Philosophical Fragments, The Concept of Anxiety, and Upbuilding Discourses in Various Spirits. Other less frequent discussions of guilt occur in the pseudonymous works Fear and Trembling, Either/Or, Part One, Philosophical Fragments, Stages on Life’s Way, and The Sickness unto Death. The concept of guilt occurs in Either/Or, Part Two, but is not identified by the term “guilt” when referring to “being in the wrong before God.”2 Kierkegaard also discusses guilt when writing under his own name in Three Discourses on Imagined Occasions, Works of Love, and Christian Discourses. He has a brief discussion of guilt in “Should One Suffer Death for the Truth?” originally printed in Two Ethical-Religious Essays by “H.H.”3 Guilt is also occasionally discussed in a number of his unpublished journals and papers. Kierkegaard identifies four different kinds of guilt within his work as a whole. The first three show guilt within the sphere of immanence: (1) aesthetic guilt; (2) social guilt (an umbrella term for a violation of the standards of Sittlichkeit, or customary morality), which can be either moral guilt or legal guilt; and (3) total guilt, which identifies an individual as essentially guilty, and entails guilt consciousness. He views both aesthetic and social guilt as lower and finite forms of guilt, and sometimes contrasts them with the higher type of immanent guilt, the guilt Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 19, columns 1303–11. 2 SKS 3, 326–32 / EO2, 346–54. 3 SKS 11, 51–111 / WA, 47–89. 1

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consciousness of total guilt.4 These three kinds of immanent guilt contrast with guilt within the sphere of transcendence, or (4) proper religious guilt or sin consciousness. Proper religious guilt shares with social guilt the particularity of individual sins, but with total guilt it shares the property of guilt consciousness for which the individual is in need of repentance and forgiveness. Found only in narrative, aesthetic guilt is merely nominal guilt. It occurs when a character is tragically in the wrong and suffers as a misfortune.5 The subject can become bad (and thereby be represented within ethical categories), but can never be evil.6 When the suffering continues in successive generations, then the guilt may be considered as a case of inherited guilt, such as when Antigone suffers for the mistake of her father, Oedipus.7 Social guilt, or guilt for violating the expectations of Sittlichkeit is, like aesthetic guilt, a finite form of guilt. From the perspective of the ethical, a subject is guilty who has transgressed human moral custom, such as interrupting solitude, or practicing a vice.8 However, social guilt may also be understood as civil guilt, as a kind of debt that is incurred against another person or society and satisfied by state-enforced punishment.9 Regardless of whether or not the sin committed is exclusively a moral sin, or if it is an actual crime, each offense is understood as a singular commission of an act that makes the individual guilty (and without its commission, the individual would be innocent). In contrast with aesthetic guilt and social guilt, total guilt is absolute. It is not a matter of being guilty of a particular offense.10 Nor can it be simply a joining together of all of one’s guilty acts. Hence, unlike finite forms of guilt, it is not essentially determined by external quantitative criteria, but instead inwardly as an absolute quality when joined together with the concept of God.11 Total guilt is also identified as guilt consciousness, found within a subject who cares unequivocally and absolutely about an eternal happiness.12 However, increasing guilt consciousness does not make the individual closer to an eternal happiness; rather, it only increases the separation.13 Both social guilt and total guilt share a number of features, in that they presuppose a set of standards and norms; guilt results from an individual having transgressed against those norms and incurred a debt, for which the transgressing subject is culpable. The difference between finite social guilt and total guilt may be discerned by a number of important features: (a) the normative quality of the offense—either as only morally bad, or as essentially guilty; (b) the temporal extent of the offense, as momentary or complete; (c) the antecedent psychological state, as either ignorance 6 7 8 9 4 5

12 13 10 11

SKS 7, 484–93 / CUP1, 537–42; SKS 10, 281 / CD, 264. SKS 7, 484 / CUP1, 537. SKS 2, 143–4 / EO1, 144. SKS 2, 159–60 / EO1, 160–1. SKS 6, 25 / SLW, 18; SKS 9, 287 / WL, 289. SKS 4, 459–60 / CA, 161; SKS 7, 493 / CUP1, 542. SKS 7, 483–4 / CUP1, 532. SKS 7, 481–2 / CUP1, 530. SKS 7, 486 / CUP1, 535. SKS 7, 486–7 / CUP1, 535–6.

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and anxiety, or as suffering; (d) the psychological processing mechanism, by either memory or eternal recollection; (e) its existential significance, either as mere moral or judicial culpability, or (when understood as guilt consciousness) as concrete and decisive for eternal happiness. (Note, this list of distinctions is slightly broader than the distinction between the two types that Kierkegaard provides in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript.)14 These distinctions may be explicated as follows. Social guilt and total guilt can be distinguished by (a) the normative quality of offense for which an agent is guilty, whether or not the offense is a mere action or an overall condition. For example, several of Kierkegaard’s pseudonyms discuss guilt resulting from acts of moral deception when having broken an engagement.15 Again, agents incur civil guilt by committing particular crimes.16 From the perspective of total guilt, the category of offense is determined by human nature, sinfulness.17 By this account, whether or not an individual is guilty is not determined by the seriousness of the sin in comparison with others. Rather than focusing on how many times a sin is committed, total guilt is concerned with the awareness of guilt conjoined with a conception of God. The result is absolute guilt.18 Even if the individual protests innocence in a particular case (then because the God-relation is necessarily asymmetrical), the agent is nevertheless essentially guilty.19 Social guilt and total guilt can also be distinguished by (b) their temporal extent for the satisfaction of recompense. Social guilt is guilt for particular offenses incurred at particular and identifiable times. On such and such a date, a vicious individual can be guilty of slander, a criminal may be found guilty of breaking and entering or of murder.20 When a jury deliberates on a crime in which the suspect is found guilty, the defendant is subject to comparison with others, and recompense is satisfied by the temporal extent of the punishment appropriate to the crime.21 With total guilt, on the other hand, unlike particular offenses, which the agent hopes have been forgotten, time and memory of witnesses are not determining factors for culpability.22 Instead, the only temporal relationship of significance is that of the existing individual to an eternal happiness. For eternity, Kierkegaard writes, is able to keep the agent “buckled in the harness of guilt”23 from the first offense and ensures that the human being is absolutely and essentially guilty in relation to it.24 Both finite and total guilt may also be distinguished by (c) the antecedent psychological state accompanying them. The antecedent psychological state of guilt in children is not so much innocence as anxiety that arises out of ignorance and 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 14 15

SKS 7, 477–504 / CUP1, 525–55. SKS 4, 68–70 / FT, 200–2; SKS 6, 186 / SLW, 198. SKS 7, 492 / CUP1, 541; SKS 9, 290–1 / WL, 292–3; SKS 4, 459–60 / CA, 161. SKS 2, 148–9 / EO1, 149. SKS 7, 481–2 / CUP1, 530. SKS 7, 487–8 / CUP1, 528–9. SKS 9, 288–9 / WL, 290–1; SKS 11, 73–4 / WA, 68–9. SKS 7, 492 / CUP1, 541. SKS 7, 480–1 / CUP1, 529–30. SKS 7, 485 / CUP1, 533. SKS 7, 484–5 / CUP1, 533–4.

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freedom in the face of prohibition, which has the effect of awakening desire.25 When it is not the first time, prohibition awakens concupiscence, which determines guilt and sin without being guilt and sin.26 In the dizziness of the anxiety of freedom, Adam and every subsequent human being “falls” and becomes guilty.27 Suffering for social guilt, when inflicted through punishment for either moral or juridical guilt, is the antecedent psychological state for guilt consciousness. It is not mere finite guilt for individual transgressions.28 These two types of guilt may also be distinguished according to (d) the psychological processing mechanism of each. For social guilt, the primary processing mechanism is memory. The criminal continually recounts and repeats his testimony, becoming a “memory expert,” but doing so at the cost of driving away the recollection necessary for repentance.29 And in childish guilt, the agent is only concerned with the number of times it repeats the deed for which it is guilty.30 On the other hand, the guilt consciousness of total guilt is less concerned about the act itself than the fact that the action is set against God; in this hidden inwardness, the subject recognizes that it is essentially guilty.31 Eternal recollection thereby absorbs the memories of particular culpable acts and understands them as temporal reflections of an essential relationship to an eternal happiness.32 Finite guilt and total guilt can also be distinguished by (e) their existential significance to the offender. The finite guilt of moral or juridical guilt is for the guilty party an external guilt, since the criterion for guilt is outside the individual (for example, the laws of the state). 33 The guilty party owes the offended party a penalty to satisfy the debt of offense. However, in total guilt, the guilty individual understands its guilt as a misrelation and, with inwardness, discovers greater awareness of the totality of guilt. The relation to an eternal happiness is therefore decisive for guilt consciousness.34 When it is no longer considered with regard to this relation, then total guilt is reduced to different forms of social guilt, such as a student’s guilt for poor marks on a report card.35 The final type of guilt that Kierkegaard distinguishes is (4) proper religious guilt. It is characterized as sin consciousness, rather than as guilt consciousness, and represents a genuine “break” from the immanence of the three lower forms of guilt. Guilt consciousness may be understood then, as a state that precedes repentance and faith.36 Proper religious guilt shares features with two forms of immanent guilt, namely, social guilt and total guilt. First, with social guilt it shares the recognition of the 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 25 26

SKS 4, 348 / CA, 42. SKS 4, 346–7 / CA, 40–1. SKS 4, 465–6 / CA, 61. SKS 7, 485–6 / CUP1, 533–4. SKS 6, 21 / SLW, 14. SKS 7, 487 / CUP1, 536. SKS 4, 409 / CA, 107. SKS 7, 487 / CUP1, 536. SKS 7, 493 / CUP1, 542. SKS 8, 381–3 / UD, 286–8. SKS 7, 484–5 / CUP1, 533–4. SKS 10, 108 / CD, 96.

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agent as guilty of particular sins and as guilty before God of having committed those sins, and of having disobeyed God at a particular time.37 Second, with total guilt sin consciousness shares the recognition that the totality of sin belongs to the human race essentially as well as to each human being, including oneself.38 Hence, it recognizes the total guilt of a sinner, and for this reason the subject suffers as guilty first and foremost before God.39 A human being is not merely guilty of a particular this or that, but as a sinner, and is therefore always guilty. As such, the guilt that is revealed in sin-consciousness is a misrelation that can only be corrected by faith in God’s love and the possibility of the forgiveness of sins. Guilt consciousness, while not treated the same as proper religious guilt, is nevertheless frequently used by it as an aid to faith in a number of different ways. First, faith seeks to believe that God is love, and does so without comprehending this truth. When doubt assaults faith with a multitude of thoughts, then guilt consciousness “comes to the aid” of faith and thunders its “Halt!” It rescues faith, without doubting that God is love.40 It is the “last reinforcement” aiding in the service of faith. In serving faith it also safeguards joy.41 Second, the terror that comes from the inwardness of guilt consciousness is also proportionate to the degree of edification that comes from the forgiveness of sin.42 Finally, guilt consciousness serves faith by grasping the eternal within a human being. Both repentance and regret serve jointly to awaken knowledge of the life’s “eleventh hour,” when repentance comprehends guilt, and the agent realizes the imminence of the “midnight hour.”43 To summarize, Kierkegaard makes a distinction between four different types of guilt, where guilt puts the agent who is guilty in an asymmetrical position of responsibility or debt. The first two are distinguished from the latter two in virtue of the quality of finitude, as (1) aesthetic guilt, where a subject is nominally “guilty” of having committed a mistake with potentially tragic consequences; (2) social guilt, where the guilty individual has committed a singular transgression against Sittlichkeit; (3) total guilt, where an individual participates in essential guilt (which also belongs to every member of the human race), that identifies separation from an eternal happiness; and (4) proper religious guilt, which, like total guilt or guilt consciousness, shares the particularity of social guilt. The subject is drawn to an awareness of guilt for having committed an offense against God. Proper religious guilt thereby serves as an edifying mechanism for repentance, forgiveness, and the restoration of the person to divine communion. See also Conscience; Despair; Finitude/Infinity; Forgiveness; Inwardness/Inward Deepening; Repentance; Sin; Time/Temporality/Eternity. SKS 7, 530–3 / CUP1, 583–6; SKS 11, 194–5 / SUD, 80; SKS 9, 136 / WL, 134; SKS 9, 286 / WL, 296; SKS 11, 73–4 / WA, 68–9; SKS 11, 81–2 / WA, 77–8; SKS 20, 112, NB:185 / JP 4, 4793. 38 SKS 7, 483 / CUP1, 532. 39 SKS 8, 369 / UD, 272; SKS 20, 159, NB2:49 / JP 1, 463. 40 SKS 8, 369–70 / UD, 273. 41 SKS 8, 369–71 / UD, 273–5. 42 SKS 10, 108 / CD, 96. 43 SKS 8, 129–31 / UD, 14–16. 37

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Happiness Benjamin Miguel Olivares Bøgeskov

Happiness (Salighed—noun; Lykke—noun) The concept of happiness can be expressed by numerous words in Danish, but two are especially relevant in Kierkegaard’s works: Salighed and Lykke. The word Lykke shares the same root as the English word “luck” and can also share its reference to the concept of fortune,1 so that, for example, the Danish word Lykkehjul corresponds exactly to the English “wheel of fortune.” But Lykke can also refer to a feeling of joy and contentedness, one produced not only by favorable external conditions but also by an internal (spiritual) richness, a harmony in the soul,2 which can be closer to some common uses of happiness than to luck. The Danish word Salighed (being or feeling salig)3 shares the same root as the English word “silly,” and is commonly translated as “bliss,” “blessedness” or “happiness.” As with Lykke, Salighed can mean a state of satisfaction, but it emphasizes that this satisfaction is achieved in its highest degree.4 In biblical language, Salighed can refer to the life after death promised by the Christian faith. But salig is also the word chosen to express the beatitudes preached by Jesus, so that the verses that begin “Blessed are those…” read in Danish Salige ere de….5 Lykke and Salighed are used frequently by Kierkegaard (more so even than “angst,” “despair,” or “sin”), but few of Kierkegaard’s works expressly make happiness a central object of their reflections. This occurs only in the Philosophical Fragments, the Concluding Unscientific Postscript, and one of the upbuilding discourses, namely, “The Expectancy of an Eternal Salvation.” In all of these texts, the preferred expression is evig Salighed, which translates as “eternal happiness” or “eternal salvation.” Meanwhile, there is no extended treatment of the word Lykke in Kierkegaard’s writings. Generally speaking, the word Salighed is much more relevant to his reflections on religion. But there are exceptions: the word Salighed

Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 13, column 175. 2 Ibid., vol. 13, column 181. 3 Ibid., vol. 18, column 463. 4 Dansk Ordbog, vols. 1–2, ed. by Christian Molbech, 2nd ed., Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1859, vol. 2, p. 1943. Cf. Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vol. 18, column 461. 5 Matthew 5:1–13. 1

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can be used by non-religious characters such as Johannes the seducer,6 while the word Lykke can be found in Christian contexts.7 Kierkegaard’s use of irony makes it futile to try to track one or more constant meaning of happiness across his corpus. The variety of meanings of “happiness” in Kierkegaard is perhaps better understood by considering the different ways in which this concept is treated in Kierkegaard’s three commonly recognized stages of existence: the aesthetic, the ethical, and the religious. I. The Aesthetic Stage: Happiness as Sensual Enjoyment Kierkegaard’s aesthete can be characterized as having perfected to the extreme the art of enjoying sensuality in its multiple forms.8 For him there is only one understandable “categorical imperative—Enjoy.”9 Therefore, if happiness is understood as enjoyment, then the aesthete should certainly be considered happy. Given this, the reader might be surprised to learn that most of Kierkegaard’s aesthetic characters are explicitly described as unhappy. In fact, a considerable portion of Either/Or, Part One, consists of lectures given to a mysterious group called the Συμπαρανεκρωμένοι, who describe themselves as “we who believe in nothing but unhappiness.”10 What is more, the very opening line of the “Diapsalmata” in Either/Or, Part One, reads as follows: “What is a poet? An unhappy person who conceals profound anguish in his heart but whose lips are so formed that as sighs and cries pass over them they sound like beautiful music.”11 For the aesthete, in fact, some unhappiness is necessary to attain happiness. He goes so far as to claim that “the door of fortune [Lykke] does not open inwards so one can push it open by rushing at it.”12 This means that a straightforward attempt to force one’s way into fortune/happiness is as ineffective as forcing oneself to fall asleep. Happiness demands that one pull back, or—put another way—go through some form of unhappiness. As we read in “Diapsalmata,” in fact, the poet creates beauty out of his anguish, so without this anguish the enjoyment of beauty would not be achieved. Furthermore, careful consideration of the place of unhappiness is needed to protect oneself from what the aesthete calls the “game of gladness and the happiness of fools.”13 This is so because the aesthete, unlike the fool, has discovered the inevitable logic of disappointment that inheres in any sensual desire: the moment that the object of such desire is achieved, it becomes unsatisfactory. Fools believe that unhappiness comes when they cannot attain what they desire, while the aesthete

8 9 6 7

12 13 10 11

SKS 2, 315 / EO1, 325. SKS 10, 305 / CD, 284. SKS 3, 32 / EO2, 24. SKS, 6, 72 / SLW, 72. SKS 2, 214 / EO1, 220. SKS 2, 27 / EO1, 19. SKS 2, 32 / EO1, 23. SKS 2, 214 / EO1, 220.

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has discovered that attaining it is also unhappiness. Fools try to be happy despite their suffering; the aesthete, because of it. This discovery means that, in the aesthetic world, happiness is seldom located in the goal, but rather in the process of achieving it. Popular conceptions of happiness express this thought too—as when it is said, for example, that happiness is about the journey, not the destination, or even that happiness is continually growing. To the aesthete, however, these too will be fools’ expressions for happiness; if those who employ them do not realize that when the destination or the goal of the growing is absurd or unsatisfactory, then the traveler makes no real advance, and the one who grows does not really become any bigger. The aesthete, by contrast, does not deceive himself into thinking that he is advancing only because he is moving. He is all too aware of the emptiness of the goal as well as the emptiness of the process. It is possible, in fact, to read the main chapters of Either/Or, Part One, as presenting strategies for attaining enjoyment through the negativity that follows upon just such a realization of the absurdity of enjoyment as a goal. This is quite clear in “The Seducer’s Diary,” where the title character takes enjoyment entirely in the process of seduction. For Johannes the seducer, the consummation is nearly irrelevant to his seduction; it is an episode that hardly deserves to be narrated and is quick to be forgotten.14 In “Rotation of Crops,” similarly, the author understands that most people seek change to avoid boredom, but because after each change everything turns boring again, one should learn to entertain oneself with minimal change, namely, by entertaining oneself with boring things.15 In “The Unhappiest One,” meanwhile, the author concludes—following the Hegelian definition of an unhappy consciousness as being completely absent to oneself16—that the highest form of unhappiness is also the highest form of happiness.17 In “Ancient Tragedy’s Reflection in the Modern,” we read that “the individual is not happy until he has the tragic.”18 There is in fact some enjoyment to be had in regarding our lives as tragic since this has an aestheticizing effect on the concept of guilt. In “Silhouettes,” similarly, we can see how different women, suffering for unhappy love, sink into a reflective sorrow that gives their lives meaning, and becomes a favorite object for the aesthete’s artistic speculation.19 Perhaps the only character in Either/Or, Part One, whose enjoyment does not seem to include a negative moment is Don Giovanni, who is always able to attain immediately whatever he immediately desires. On the other hand, precisely because Don Giovanni’s desire is immediate, its achievement can never really become present to him. Thus, his love is by definition faithless.20 In the very moment that he achieves what he wants, Don Giovanni desires something else.

16 17 18 19 20 14 15

SKS 2, 432 / EO1, 445. SKS 2, 288 / EO1, 299. SKS 2, 216 / EO1, 222. SKS 2, 223 / EO1, 230. SKS 2, 145 / EO1, 145. SKS 2, 170 / EO1, 172. SKS 2, 98 / EO1, 94.

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II. The Ethical Stage: Happiness as Truth, Beauty, and Meaning Achieved by Absolute Choice The ethical stage is normally represented by the figure of Judge William, the pseudonymous author of Either/Or, Part Two, and the second part of Stages on Life’s Way. For those who identify ethics with the practice of duty independently of the achievement of happiness, it might come as a surprise to find that William, the ethical man, presents himself as a happy man,21 for whom every part of life— profession, marriage, parenthood—is in harmony.22 Even more surprisingly, William expressly denies that he is building a theory of duty.23 A separation between ethics and happiness is not, in fact, what the Judge advocates.24 Rather, he holds that being unhappy in the fulfillment of ethics indicates an imperfect relation to duty25 and a lack of the “deeper connection with the personality” required by ethics.26 Judge William believes that ethics does not need to renounce the pleasures of sensuality.27 What is more, ethics can provide what aesthetics cannot, since for William an unethical life cannot be happy even in the midst of good fortune.28 But if the ethical man is happy, this is not only because he is able to enjoy sensuality as much or even better than the aesthete. It is also because ethics creates a form of happiness unthinkable to the aesthete: “Only when life is considered ethically does it take on beauty, truth, meaning, continuance…security,”29 which is the ultimate source of ethical happiness. Furthermore, ethics is also the foundation of gratitude30 and a basis for friendship. No friendship can be enjoyed apart from the ethical life, William holds;31 by contrast, and not surprisingly, friendship is dismissed and distrusted by the aesthete.32 Judge William also criticizes the aesthete’s strategy for attaining happiness (or at least a part of that strategy) by remarking that its success depends, in most cases, on possessing talent33 and money,34 making it a project for a fortunate few. Ethical happiness, on the other hand, depends only on the development of ethical character by a decision of the will—which is possible for all human beings. In fact, this meaningful and harmonious ethical life is achievable only if life is qualified by spirit. The aesthete might be aware of spirit, but his life is never qualified

SKS 6, 91 / SLW, 94. SKS 3, 306 / EO2, 324. 23 SKS 3, 305 / EO2, 323. 24 SKS 3, 242ff. / EO2, 254ff. 25 SKS 3, 243 / EO2, 255. 26 SKS 3, 242 / EO2, 254. 27 SKS 3, 56 / EO2, 51. It is worth noting that Judge William views religion, Christendom, and ethics as the same. 28 SKS 3, 305 / EO2, 323. 29 SKS 3, 258 / EO2, 271. 30 SKS 3, 54 / EO2, 47. 31 SKS 3, 303 / EO2, 321. 32 SKS 2, 286 / EO1, 297. 33 SKS 3, 278 / EO2, 293. 34 SKS 3, 264 / EO2, 278. 21 22

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as spirit,35 since he uses his spirit for temporal enjoyment; thus in the very moment that pleasure is achieved it is immediately gone, causing despair. The ethical way out of this despair and into ethical happiness is to choose despair,36 to choose oneself in one’s eternal validity,37 to choose to live according to what is universal38—the ethical—which provides a way for escaping the pure flow of time. It would be wrong to identify this ethical happiness—as is popularly done—with the happiness that follows upon commitment to a good cause, or engagement with what I am best at or like most, or choosing what has meaning for me. Rather, ethical choice is an absolute choice, and so is not indifferent to what is chosen, since not everything can be chosen absolutely.39 Most crucially, the absolute choice does not make good what is evil.40 The ethical demands an absolute choice, which cannot be achieved merely by dedicating oneself to such good causes as helping those in need, pursuing a career, or raising a family.41 None of these causes can provide beauty, truth, and meaning; they can only appear to do so. III. The Religious Stage: Happiness as the Absolute Relation to the Absolute The religious stage is illustrated in a variety of texts. One subset of these, those signed by the pseudonym Johannes Climacus, explicitly addresses the concept of eternal happiness (evig Salighed). Climacus characterizes this concept as the “absolute good”42 “the highest good,”43 and “the absolute telos.”44 For him, eternal happiness is better defined by the way in which it is achieved45 than by describing the object achieved. To achieve it, one must “will it absolutely” and in “every instant.”46 Other objects such as money, honor, and pleasure cannot be willed in every instant. They can be achieved by different means, and even without willing them at all;47 hence they cannot constitute an eternal happiness. Absolutely willing eternal happiness implies a change in the subject’s relation with his own existence, since this is possible only for those who are infinitely interested in their own eternal happiness.48 One must, in other words, seek happiness SKS 3, 176 / EO2, 180. SKS 3, 210 / EO2, 219. 37 SKS 3, 203 / EO2, 211. 38 SKS 3, 244 / EO2, 256. 39 SKS 6, 102 / SLW, 107. 40 SKS 3, 164 / EO2, 167. Even though some texts might stress the importance of choice itself above choosing between good or evil (SKS 3, 165 / EO2, 169), that does not mean that things are good because I choose them, but rather that the absolute choice’s own energy will reveal the moral character of its object (SKS 3, 164 / EO2, 167). 41 SKS 3, 205 / EO2, 214. 42 SKS 7, 352, 388, 389 / CUP1, 387, 426, 428. 43 SKS 7, 122, 347, 354, 356 / CUP1, 130, 381, 389, 391. 44 SKS 7, 351, 358, 359, 361 / CUP1, 385, 393, 394, 397. 45 SKS 7, 388 / CUP1, 426. 46 SKS 7, 358 / CUP1, 394; SKS 7, 365 / CUP1, 401. 47 SKS 7, 388 / CUP1, 426. 48 SKS 7, 25 / CUP1, 16. 35 36

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in the inwardness of subjectivity, since “the highest reward, an eternal happiness, exists only for the subjective person.”49 Climacus’ line of thought is similar to the ethical position described earlier, especially in its defense of absolute choice. Yet some important differences can be noted as well. For example, Climacus writes that “in temporality, the expectation of an eternal happiness is the highest reward.”50 But this is a religious observation that the ethicist would not necessarily share, since it is not clear why a perfectly ethical life and its reward cannot be achieved in this world.51 What is more, in the Climacus writings, as in many other Kierkegaardian religious texts,52 we find that even though the relation to the absolute is the foundation of eternal happiness, this relation expresses itself in suffering.53 The nature of this religious suffering cannot be examined here, but one point should be emphasized: religion does not yield the happy harmony with this world that is preached by ethics, but rather entails persecution and renunciation.54 In fact, even though both religion and ethics call for a relation to the absolute, ethics understands the absolute as the universal, while the religious texts insist on subjectivity. In other words, if ethics makes everyone equal, then religion—by means of faith—makes everyone unique before God, whose commands must be obeyed above all else, even if this conflicts with the universal. Kierkegaard’s stress on religious suffering can lead us to doubt whether religious happiness exists at all. Anti-Climacus, in fact, claims that “happiness is not a qualification of spirit.”55 On the other hand, in Fear and Trembling we read that “the knight of faith is the only happy man, the heir to the finite.”56 So the relation between happiness and suffering must be understood dialectically. The knight of faith is, in truth, the only happy man.57 For even though the knight of faith, in suffering religiously, might lose untrue happiness, by losing what is untrue he loses nothing, but gains everything, since he now expects eternal salvation and will inherit the finite. Thus, with regard to every form of happiness other than that of the knight of faith it may validly be said that “deep within the most secret hiding place of happiness there dwells also anxiety, which is despair.”58

SKS 7, 151 / CUP1, 163. SKS 7, 366 / CUP1, 402. See also “The Expectancy of an Eternal Salvation” (SKS 5, 250ff. / EUD, 253ff.). 51 As mentioned earlier, Judge William does not distinguish between happiness and ethics, and expectation of eternal salvation plays no role in his reflections. 52 See, for example, “The Gospel of Suffering,” Fear and Trembling, and Practice in Christianity. 53 SKS 7, 396 / CUP1, 432. There is some form of ethical suffering, but it relates to guilt, rather than to persecution and renunciation (SKS 3, 227 / EO2, 237). 54 SKS 7, 392 / CUP1, 431. 55 SKS 11, 142 / SUD, 25. 56 SKS 4, 144 / FT, 50. 57 SKS 11, 158 / SUD, 43: “If a man is presumably happy, imagines himself to be happy, although considered in the light of truth he is unhappy, he is usually far from wanting to be wrenched out of his error.” 58 SKS 11, 142 / SUD, 25. 49 50

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As is well known, Kierkegaard regards despair as sin.59 The contrary of despair is to be found in faith,60 and being cured of despair by faith “is Christian blessedness [Salighed].”61 Faith reinforces the human spirit so that it may bear the heaviest yoke of suffering as a light burden62 and allow us to enjoy, in the present moment,63 the expectation of eternal happiness. But at the same time, faith in Christ opens the door to enjoyment of the “infinite happiness [Lykke] of love.”64 This religious love built on faith is not just a happy love, but is actually, according to Kierkegaard, “the only happy love.”65 What makes this love happy is, in the first place, the fact that it is secure against any change, because this religious love is not just a fleeting passion but a commandment that applies at all times: “only when it is a duty to love, only then is love…eternally and happily secured against despair.”66 But even though Kierkegaard insists that religious love is happy because it is a duty, it is important to recognize that this is a religious duty whose final foundation is the loving relationship with God. Without this clear reference to God’s love, such a duty to love would be merely ethical in character. In fact, Kierkegaard goes beyond the category of duty to tell us how those who love God spend their time silently thanking God, and in so doing come to understand God, just as God comes to understand them. With respect to this loving relationship, Kierkegaard concludes: “So happy is the person’s love with which he loves God.”67 See also Anxiety; Despair; Duty; Ethics; Gratitude; Mood/Emotion/Feeling; Passion/ Pathos; Stages; Suffering.

SKS 11, 191 / SUD, 77. SKS 11, 164 / SUD, 49. 61 SKS 11, 131 / SUD, 15. 62 SKS 8, 337 / UD, 237. 63 SKS 5, 256ff. / EUD, 259ff. 64 SKS 10 305, / CD, 284. 65 SKS 10, 305 / CD, 284: “There certainly is no perfectly happy love except that with which a person loves God.” 66 SKS 9, 36 / WL, 29. 67 SKS 10, 305 / CD, 284. 59 60

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Hero Sean Anthony Turchin

Hero (Helt—noun) The Danish noun Helt is derived from the Middle Low German helt and corresponds to the High German Held. Its lexical meaning in Danish is a brave and courageous warrior; one who invests his or her life for a lofty or higher cause, thus acting in an admirable manner that excels all others. It can also refer to the protagonist in a play or poem or to a person who distinguishes himself or herself above all others, thereby becoming a prototype.1 The most frequent uses of the concept of the hero occur in the first pseudonymous authorship, particularly in Stages on Life’s Way, Fear and Trembling, Either/Or, and the Concluding Unscientific Postscript, though there are occasional references in the journals and papers as late as 1852. In Either/Or, Part One, Kierkegaard’s pseudonymous editor, Victor Eremita, presents a discussion of the concept of the hero in terms of the “tragic” in both modern and ancient drama. But more than this, the concept of the hero serves to outline “how the characteristic feature of the tragic in ancient drama is incorporated in the tragic in modern drama in such a way that what is truly tragic will become apparent.”2 According to the aesthete in Either/Or, Part One, an important distinction between ancient and modern tragedy consists in “the different nature of tragic guilt.”3 In Greek tragedy the hero’s guilt is “intermediate between action and suffering,”4 whereas in modern tragedy the more subjectively reflective the individual, “the more ethical guilt becomes.”5 If the hero has no guilt, by virtue of fate or circumstance determining all his actions, there can be no tragedy. Nor is there any tragedy if the hero is absolutely guilty, for then there is no collision between fate or circumstance and individual responsibility. Tragedy requires the collision between substantial determinants (such as the state, the family, or fate) and individual action, but whereas Aristotle requires that the latter be the result of the hero’s error, modern tragedy requires it to be the result of the individual’s ethical guilt.6 In modern tragic drama the downfall of the hero is depicted in terms of the action he has chosen, yet “the Ordborg over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 7, columns 1128–30. 2 SKS 2, 140 / EO1, 140. 3 SKS 2, 143 / EO1, 144. 4 Ibid. 5 Ibid. 6 Ibid. 1

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hero’s downfall is not really suffering but is a deed.”7 If the hero in modern tragic drama is solely responsible for his deed, he “becomes bad, evil actually becomes the tragic subject, but evil has no esthetic interest.”8 On the other hand, in Greek tragedy the “hero’s downfall…is not a result solely of his action but is also a suffering.”9 He is compared to “an individual whose unfortunate childhood had played such havoc with him that these impressions caused his downfall.”10 Another way of seeing this distinction is to regard the ancient Greek tragic hero as struggling with his past, whereas the modern tragic hero is in danger of being regarded (“Pelagianly”)11 as wholly self-constituting and therefore lacking a history. In Either/Or, Part Two, the concept of the hero denotes the individual who is the focus of the narrative or story. In this context, heroism will be decided with regard to how the hero chooses to define his existence in either aesthetic categories or ethical categories. Thus, he serves as a test case with respect “to what extent the ethical view deprives us of any beauty, or whether it does not rather give everything a higher beauty.”12 Judge William notes that the hero he has in mind “in a certain sense is just like everyone else and in another sense is concrete in himself.”13 Like all people, our hero must be concerned about the means for living—food, clothing, shelter etc. In this context, the hero of the story is faced with two ways of living, ethically or aesthetically. He is confronted by an aesthete, who maintains that the money is basically the answer to all of life’s problems.14 But for the hero of this story, this answer is unsatisfactory because he has no money.15 But the ethicist offers our hero something different with regard to how he should live: “What the ethicist can teach him is that there is a calling for every human being and, when our hero has found his, that he is to choose it ethically.”16 Thus in the end, “our hero has found what he was looking for, a work from which he can live,”17 in short, a calling. In the end, our hero is satisfied to claim his working for a living as an expression of this ethical task, and, as such, he delights to participate in it.18 In this context, one may wonder as to why our hero deserves the term “hero.” For most, a hero is one who does something extraordinary, something courageous as in conquering kingdoms and subduing foes.19 However, “suppose that it takes great courage to do the ordinary, and the person who shows great courage is indeed a hero.”20 Thus, our hero is so not because of what he does, such as in accomplishing SKS 2, 143 / EO1, 143. SKS 2, 144 / EO1, 144. SKS 2, 143 / EO1, 143. 10 SKS 2, 144 / EO1, 144. 11 SKS 2, 143 / EO1, 144. 12 SKS 3, 263 / EO2, 277. 13 Ibid. 14 Ibid. 15 SKS 3, 263–4 / EO2, 277–8. 16 SKS 3, 276 / EO2, 291–2. 17 SKS 3, 277 / EO2, 293. 18 SKS 3, 281 / EO2, 297. 19 SKS 3, 282 / EO2, 298. 20 Ibid. 9 7 8

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extraordinary feats, but is so in how he does something; in this case it is simply taking the courage to be responsible, to attain the ethical.21 In Fear and Trembling, Kierkegaard’s pseudonym, Johannes de silentio, considers the concept of a “hero of faith”22 in the person of Abraham. But Johannes de silentio believes that Abraham’s status as hero or knight of faith has hitherto not been considered well. In other cases, Johannes de silentio can think his way into the hero, but notes that he cannot think himself into Abraham, “for what is offered me is a paradox.”23 One can relate to the heroic efforts of an individual mainly because such efforts have to do with what is right or ethical—which requires one to strive for what is right according to universal public reason. But the knight of faith is an exception for whom the universal is a temptation and a spiritual trial.24 Abraham “is at no time a tragic hero but is something entirely different, either a murderer or a man of faith.”25 The story of Abraham is most remembered in the context of when God commands him to sacrifice his son Isaac, a command whose execution entails a violation of normal ethical duties. But we know how the story goes: as Abraham raised his knife to kill his son, the angel of the Lord called out to him to stop, and praised his God-fearing faith.26 Thus we praise Abraham as an example of one who exercised complete obedience to God. However, as Johannes de silentio points out, “the ethical as such is the universal, and as the universal it applies to everyone.”27 Thus, it is the task of each single individual to express himself in the universal thereby annulling his or her own singularity.28 To assert oneself above the universal is, according to Johannes de silentio, to sin.29 Abraham, in obeying God’s command to sacrifice Isaac, places the singularity of his God-relationship higher than the universal demands of ethics. The paradox of faith is that the individual, “after being subordinate as the single individual to the universal, now by means of the universal becomes the single individual who as the single individual is superior”30 to the universal by standing “in an absolute relation to the absolute.”31 As Johannes de silentio states, “In ethical terms, Abraham’s relation to Isaac is quite simply this: the father shall love the son more than himself.”32 But what Abraham seeks to carry out does not reflect this universal law. Johannes de silentio concludes that Abraham’s assertion of his singularity as higher than the universal (the ethical) in his willingness to kill his son is nothing Ibid. SKS 4, 145 / FT, 51. 23 SKS 4, 128 / FT, 33. 24 SKS 4, 169 / FT, 78. 25 SKS 4, 151 / FT, 57. 26 Genesis 22:11–12. 27 SKS 4, 148 / FT, 54. 28 Ibid. 29 Ibid. 30 SKS 4, 149–50 / FT, 56. 31 SKS 4, 150 / FT, 56. 32 SKS 4, 151 / FT, 57. 21 22

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less than absurd.33 Johannes de silentio admits that he can understand the tragic hero, who remains within the universal intelligibility of public reason, but not Abraham.34 Moreover, whereas the tragic hero “allows an expression of the ethical to have its τέλος in a higher expression of the ethical....[Abraham] transgressed the ethical altogether and had a higher τέλος outside it, in relation to which he suspended it.”35 Nevertheless, Johannes de silentio concludes that both the tragic hero and the knight of faith are great in two different respects: “the tragic hero is great because of his moral virtue, Abraham is great because of a purely personal virtue.”36 Later, however, Johannes de silentio contends that Abraham’s heroism rests in the fact that “he had faith by virtue of the absurd, for human calculation was out of the question, and it certainly was absurd that God, who required it of him [the sacrificing of Isaac], should in the next moment rescind the requirement.”37 In the end, Johannes de silentio heralds Abraham as “the knight of faith.” Whereas the tragic hero’s strength comes from himself, Abraham’s strength comes from his faith in something absolute beyond himself.38 Ultimately, the difference between the tragic hero and Abraham is as follows: “the tragic hero relinquishes himself in order to express the universal; the knight of faith relinquishes the universal in order to become the single individual.”39 This conception of the hero of faith is also taken up in Stages on Life’s Way, where Kierkegaard’s pseudonym, Frater Taciturnus, presents the difference between the religious hero and the aesthetic hero. To highlight this distinction, Taciturnus considers whether Shakespeare’s fictional character, Hamlet, is an aesthetic hero or one who should be viewed religiously.40 This distinction is most salient with respect to Hamlet’s procrastination over avenging his father’s murder.41 If Hamlet is regarded in purely aesthetic categories, he would have the demonic power to execute any decision and his worries and prevarication would be of no interest. However, if he is regarded in religious categories, his worries and concerns become of great interest, “because they give assurance that he is a religious hero.”42 As a religious hero, Hamlet must be understood not in relation to external events that may or may not present his heroism. Rather, “the religious is in the interior being and therefore misgivings have their essential significance.”43 In sum, if Hamlet is to be considered a religious hero “one must either allow him to have conceived the plan, and then the religious doubts divest him of it, or…give him the demonic power

SKS 4, 150 / FT, 56. SKS 4, 151 / FT, 57. 35 SKS 4, 152 / FT, 59. 36 SKS 4, 153 / FT, 59. 37 SKS 4, 131 / FT, 35–6. 38 SKS 4, 159 / FT, 66. 39 SKS 4, 167 / FT, 75. 40 SKS 6, 419 / SLW, 453. 41 Ibid. 42 SKS 6, 419 / SLW, 454. 43 Ibid. 33 34

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resolutely and masterfully to carry out his plan and then let him collapse into himself and into the religious until he finds peace there.”44 Later, this is why Taciturnus states that the difference between the aesthetic hero and the religious hero is that “the esthetic hero is great by conquering, the religious hero by suffering.”45 But contrary to the merely aesthetic hero, explains Taciturnus, the tragic hero suffers much like the religious hero. According to Taciturnus, “this is what uplifts the spectator while he weeps for the dying one.”46 See also Absurd; Calling; Christ; Comic/Comedy; Common Man; Courage; Despair; Duty; Epic; Exception/Universal; Religious/Religiousness; Teleological Suspension of the Ethical; Tragic/Tragedy.

Ibid. SKS 6, 420 / SLW, 454. 46 SKS 6, 420 / SLW, 455. 44 45

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History Sean Anthony Turchin

History (Historie—noun) From the Greek ἱστορία and Latin historia, the lexical meaning of the Danish word denotes a continuous or systematic account or record about knowledge of the past, with regard to its conditions, circumstances, or development throughout the years. It can also signify an account of important acts, ideas, or events which have shaped the present state of human existence as well as an account or report about both real or fictional people and events.1 The concept of history appears most frequently in The Concept of Anxiety, The Concept of Irony, the Concluding Unscientific Postscript to Philosophical Fragments, and Either/Or. From there it appears minimally in works such as Philosophical Fragments and Practice in Christianity. However, it is in the Postscript, first, and Practice in Christianity, second, where the concept “history” and its adjectival form “historical” (historisk), dominate the discussion within the context of clarifying the nature of Christian history. Like the variations noted in its lexical meaning, throughout Kierkegaard’s corpus the concept of history carries a slightly different meaning depending on the context in which it is used. First, having a history can refer to an account of the development of an idea or concept with regard to its beginning and existence through time, for example, a “history” of the human condition.2 Second, “history” can indicate a hope of attaining a history; this sense refers to the future with regard to both an attaining and continuing of existence.3 Next, the concept of history connotes the need to acquire a fully developed or meaningful existence. This conception of history is seen in Either/Or where Don Juan is described as a “picture that is continually coming into view but does not attain form and consistency, an individual who is continually being formed but is never finished, about whose history one cannot learn except by listening to the noise of the waves.”4 Finally, and most predominately, history can refer to an account of something or someone in the past with regard to its or his existence and/or the significance of his 1 Ordborg over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 8, columns 164–8. 2 Cf. SKS 17, 237, DD:43 / KJN 1, 228; SKS 17, 266, DD:160 / KJN 1, 257; SKS 17, 107, BB:19 / KJN 1, 100. 3 SKS 1, 333 / CI, 300. 4 SKS 2, 97 / EO1, 92.

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or her life, whether it is a historically significant individual like Jesus of Nazareth, a movement such as Christianity, or an event such as the Trojan War.5 In the end, all of these various nuances express a univocal quality of the nature of that which is understood as history, namely, the condition of temporality in which all things have a beginning, a development, and an end.6 Within the context of understanding history as an account concerning the development of an idea or concept throughout time, Kierkegaard maintains that “concepts, just like individuals, have their history and are no more able than they to resist the dominion of time, but in and through it all they nevertheless harbor a kind of homesickness for the place of their birth.”7 Here, it is the condition of temporality that furnishes the contours of what designates that which is historical. However, the concept of history is not always understood within the confines of time. Often, things or individuals are said to have a history but one that is not “historically” based. This sense offers the common use of the concept of history in terms of a fictional story of someone or something in the past or even in terms of a fairy tale.8 For example, Either/Or speaks at length of stories (Historier) that aim to entertain or teach moral lessons, such as Mozart’s The Magic Flute, Goethe’s Clavigo, and Scribe’s The First Love, which tells of the story (Historie) of a love affair between fictional characters.9 On a more historical note, the concept of history is used in the context of an account of figures such as Socrates, Plato, and Jesus of Nazareth.10 But even in the context of what appears to be more historically attested, the study of history (this being another connotation of the concept) is inhibited by virtue of its very nature.11 The problem is “that with regard to the historical the greatest certainty is only an approximation,”12 that is, knowledge limited in accuracy or possibly inexact in its representation. As an enterprise which ruminates on the past, historical (historisk) investigation is hard pressed in seeking to ascertain knowledge that is isolated in time. Thus, as conditioned by time, the very nature of history is inherently developmental concerning its exactness.13 Consequently, ascertaining the certainty of what happened in the past exists as an endeavor for each future generation; history is always being rewritten by means of new investigation. Thus, the innate quality of the continuity of history is easily disrupted by means of historical development.14 Yet history, although ambiguous with 5 Cf. SKS 1, 329 / CI, 295; SKS 2, 56 / EO1, 48; SKS 12, 41 / PC, 27; SKS 17, 246, DD:76 / KJN 1, 237. 6 SKS 1, 357 / CI, 328. 7 SKS 1, 71 / CI, 9. 8 SKS 2, 349 / EO1, 360. Cf. SKS 17, 240, DD:55 / KJN 1, 231; SKS 17, 251, DD:94 / KJN 1, 241. 9 SKS 2, 89 / EO1, 83; SKS 2, 174–5 / EO1, 177; SKS 2, 244 / EO1, 251. Cf. SKS 2, 142 / EO1, 142; SKS 2, 228 / EO1, 234; SKS 2, 237 / EO1, 244; SKS 2, 358–9 / EO1, 370–1; SKS 1, 99 / CI, 38. 10 SKS 1, 151 / CI, 97; SKS 1, 173 / CI, 122; SKS 12, 41 / PC, 27. 11 SKS 17, 200, CC:12 / KJN 1, 191. 12 SKS 7, 30 / CUP1, 23. 13 SKS 1, 120 / CI, 60. 14 SKS 17, 201, CC:12 / KJN 1, 192.

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regard to what knowledge it bequeaths the present, does provide knowledge insofar as this knowledge exists conditioned by time. In order to show the concreteness of its existence, the historical is contrasted with the mystical and metaphysical.15 The mystical, according to Kierkegaard, “is entirely in the power of the presenter. It is his free creation; he can subtract or add accordingly as it seems to him to be beneficial to the listener.”16 But history (historical knowledge) does not allow, for example, a denial of Socrates’ significance, in that history shows us that Socrates was, and is, a significant figure.17 Yet, not much can be known of Socrates’ history. But such ambiguity should be wholly acceptable. In fact, Kierkegaard thinks that those who continually retell the same story (Historie) do so to a fault, inasmuch as the interpretative force emerges to a greater extent with each retelling, the result being the slow decay of whatever objectivity did exist about the historical entity.18 Interestingly, this account of the concept of history, with regard to the nature of its accessibility, is far more generous in contrast to what shall later be discussed of this concept in the minds of Kierkegaard’s pseudonyms Johannes Climacus and AntiClimacus. The overall sense derived from Kierkegaard’s understanding of the concept of history is one that defines and expounds upon the nature of finite existence as one that is temporal. To exist is, for Kierkegaard, to have a history.19 This means that only that which is temporal can be said to have a beginning, an end, and thus an account of that existence, an account of existential development with regard to all its various manifestations.20 If there is no history of an entity or individual, it can be said that it has no existence, or at least has no evidence that it has existed.21 This is why Kierkegaard states that angels have no history because they are not conditioned by time, and thus there is no systematic account of their existence.22 The idea here is one of the propagation or development of the human race which angels obviously lack.23 Thus, the idea of development or progression is one very much interconnected with an understanding of the category of history. If the concept of history has thus far been understood as it relates positively in defining the contours of human existence and knowledge of the development of our existence, it is in the minds of Johannes Climacus and Anti-Climacus that history relates to Christianity in a somewhat destructive sense. In the context of Philosophical Fragments, the Concluding Unscientific Postscript, and Practice in Christianity, the concept of history assumes a sense of historical development or the existence of the results of a historical phenomenon, that is, the evidence of the phenomenon’s beginning and development in relation to SKS 1, 311 / CI, 275. SKS 1, 151 / CI, 97. 17 SKS 1, 173 / CI, 122. 18 SKS 1, 246 / CI, 200. 19 SKS 4, 343 / CA, 37. 20 Cf. SKS 4, 343 / CA, 37; SKS 4, 363 / CA, 59; SKS 4, 368 / CA, 63; SKS 4, 335 / CA, 29; SKS 4, 339 / CA, 33. 21 SKS 4, 337 / CA, 30; SKS 4, 397 / CA, 94. 22 SKS 4, 341 / CA, 34. 23 SKS 4, 352 / CA, 47. 15 16

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both historical events and/or individuals, specifically, Christianity and Jesus Christ.24 This sense implies an overwhelming amount of historical evidence which needs to be examined or investigated. In this light, both Fragments and Postscript consistently seek to examine in what sense Christianity is historical. Indeed, they admit that as a historical phenomenon, Christianity has its beginning in the first century.25 That Christianity assumes a history simply means that it possesses a location in time as well as a development throughout time. But the destructive relation between Christianity and its historicity rests in the nature of its development throughout history. A large amount of historical documentation concerning the development of Christian doctrine exists as well as an account, not only of its beginnings, but also of its development throughout the world in the past two thousand years. Even more, with such a history, Christianity becomes one of the most historically accessible religions in the world with regard to its investigative power. But herein lies the problem. The essence of the Christian faith is the belief that God became man in the historical person of Jesus Christ. Such a belief, however, transcends historical investigation. In light of such a belief, if Christianity has a history, it is then a sacred history, a history uninhibited and ungrounded by the confines of time.26 Approaching Christianity merely as a historical phenomenon can only provide very limited historical significance, according to both Climacus and especially Anti-Climacus. Moreover, both writers think that Christianity’s history, that is, development, says nothing of what is actually central to Christianity, namely, being a Christian. Concerning the concept of history in the thought of Johannes Climacus, it is the very nature of what constitutes history that is problematic for Christianity. An event that is historical is by nature an event in the past. As knowledge isolated in time to the past, historical certainty continually evades investigation insofar as such knowledge “has the ideality of recollection.”27 All historical knowledge, regardless of how thorough the investigation, is only an approximation.28 Therefore, if historical knowledge in general is shrouded in ambiguity, what can be said of Christian history which maintains the converging of the supernatural with the natural? Concerning Christian history, specifically, the road of approximation confuses the absurdity of the Incarnation with a simple historical fact.29 Since the event of God’s coming into time contains the contradiction that what cannot come into time has done so, endeavoring to gather historical certainty about what cannot become historical is also a contradiction.30 For Johannes Climacus, the truths purported by Christianity exist therefore in a realm of uncertainty far more extreme than other historical events. This he believes results from the nature of time with regard to the transition from the possibility of SKS 12, 41 / PC, 27. SKS 12, 76 / PC, 63. 26 SKS 12, 76 / PC, 64. 27 SKS 7, 522 / CUP1, 574. 28 SKS 7, 523 / CUP1, 575. 29 SKS 7, 193 / CUP1, 211. 30 Ibid. 24 25

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existence to the coming into existence. Pondering the idea of God’s coming into existence, Johannes Climacus, in the Fragments, asks, “How is that changed which comes into existence or what is the change of coming into existence?”31 This question is concerned with the certitude of historical knowledge and whether it is indeed as certain as we suppose, since by the term “history” we communicate that it exists as something past, something that has happened. Yet we find ourselves continuing more assuredly in seeking to apprehend what actually happened in days gone by. Since history is something past, its form of existence seems to relate something intrinsically necessary about those events from our present perspective. When something comes into existence a change is presupposed, namely, from non-existence to existence. If a certain object has come into being, then we assume, by this coming into being, that it did not previously exist and, as such, is thus not necessary. As an example Kierkegaard states, “If, in coming into existence, a plan is intrinsically changed, then it is not this plan that comes into existence; but if it comes into existence unchanged, what, then, is the change of coming into existence? This change, then, is not in essence but in being and is from not existing to existing.”32 That something has come into existence is, for Kierkegaard, a movement from possibility to actuality.33 It demonstrates that it has moved from possibility to actuality. But then Kierkegaard asks, “Can the necessary come into existence?”34 When we say that something exists necessarily, we are making a claim about the form of its existence, that is, that it exists outside the conditions of temporality. Anything that comes into existence has demonstrated that it is by definition not necessary and is, therefore, only possible: “For the only thing that cannot come into existence is the necessary, because the necessary is.”35 What Kierkegaard has in mind in regard to this discussion, beyond the remoteness of historical events in general, is the very central Christian claim of the Incarnation, that the eternal has come into existence. If God, who exists necessarily, came into existence, does this not prove that he is indeed not necessary since his coming into existence would prove that he did not previously exist? Building on the inherent problems resulting from Christianity as “history,” Anti-Climacus notes that in his task of investigating the nature of Christian history, specifically the historicity of the God-man, “ ‘history’ is to be understood as profane history, world history, history directly understood in contradistinction to sacred history.”36 This distinction, as is revealed throughout Practice in Christianity, marks a relationship between Practice in Christianity, the Fragments, and the Postscript. Like Climacus, Anti-Climacus understands the idea of history as a concept which implies the conditions of temporality. This means, if something or someone is designated as historical, then it or he is conditioned by time and thus within the confines of historical investigation or rational inquiry; as Anti-Climacus states, SKS 4, 273 / PF, 73. Ibid. 33 SKS 4, 274 / PF, 74. 34 Ibid. 35 Ibid. 36 SKS 12, 38 / PC, 25. 31 32

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“history you can read and hear about as about the past; here you can, if it so pleases you, judge by the outcome.”37 But with regard to the central tenet of Christianity, that God became man, what is available for rational inquiry if such a claim transcends human rationality?38 Stated differently, what can be unearthed about the God-man as a historical figure? That human understanding is unable rationally to unite the concepts God and man results in the understanding becoming offended at its own weakness.39 In the most empirical and rational sense, the notion “that an individual human being is God, that is, claims to be God, is indeed the offence” in an eminent sense,40 because, as Kierkegaard states, it “conflicts with all (human) reason.”41 Only faith, not the understanding, is able to overcome the offense.42 Only faith, whereby the individual enters into the God-relation, is able to come terms with the hidden God in Christ.43 All that the history of Christianity demonstrates with regard to the God-man is that he is beyond historical demonstration.44 Like that of any historically significant individual, the best one can know of Jesus Christ is that he was a great historical individual, nothing more.45 In sum, “history makes Christ into someone else than he is in truth…for about him nothing can be known; he can only be believed.”46 In conclusion, the concept of history can indicate several things such as an account or story of an individual or event in the past, as well as an account of the development of human existence, an idea, or event that has important implications for who we are today. But most importantly, the concept of history within Kierkegaard’s corpus largely denotes what an examination or study of it is unable to do, namely, subsume Christianity under a general sense of history. See also Approximation; Certainty; Christ; Contingency/Possibility; Existence/ Existential; Faith; Holy Spirit; Leap; Paradox; Speculation/Science/Scholarship/ System.

SKS 12, 76 / PC, 64. SKS 12, 40–1 / PC, 26. 39 SKS 11, 199 / SUD, 85. 40 SKS 12, 40 / PC, 26. 41 Ibid. 42 SKS 12, 109 / PC, 101. 43 SKS 12, 145 / PC, 143. 44 SKS 12, 41 / PC, 26. 45 SKS 12, 41 / PC, 27. 46 SKS 12, 40 / PC, 26. 37 38

Holy Spirit Leo Stan

Holy Spirit (Hellig-Aand—noun) Derived from the Old Norse heilagr andi and related to the German der heilige Geist, the Danish Hellig-Aand ultimately stems from the Latin spiritus sanctus, which in its turn is a literal translation of the ancient Greek expression τὸ πνεῦμα τὸ ἅγιον.1 In the Judeo-Christian milieu, the term generically designates a particular side of the divine being, namely, God’s spirit.2 In Christian Trinitarian theology, it exclusively refers to the third person of the Trinity, ontologically inseparable, although functionally distinct, from the Father-Creator and the redemptive Son. The topic of the Holy Spirit surfaces only sporadically and marginally in Kierkegaard’s published works, with the conspicuous exception of For SelfExamination where a full chapter is dedicated to it.3 However, it is important to remember that although not a systematic theologian, Kierkegaard never departs from the basic postulates of the Christian Trinitarian mindset. Together with the numerous references to the fatherly God and the proclamation of Christ as the filial Godman, Kierkegaard’s certitude that the Holy Spirit is indispensable in humankind’s deliverance from sin reconfirms his fairly strict abidance by the Christian doctrine. The particularity of Kierkegaard’s approach, however, resides in the threefold meaningfulness he assigns to the Holy Spirit in the economy of redemption. As already mentioned, the fact that the Holy Spirit is not very prominent in Kierkegaard’s overall soteriology does not mean that it can be dispensed with. Indeed, the Spirit fulfills a few distinct functions in the process of spiritual self-becoming. Here it is worth mentioning that, although he follows the biblical pronouncements and the early theological tradition of Christianity, Kierkegaard tends to prioritize the Spirit’s aid in the spiritual trials of religion. But once again, he does not thereby contradict the classical theology of the triune God. There are in Kierkegaard’s edifying corpus some incidental references to the Spirit, all of which organically belong to the persuasive rhetoric and homiletic teleology of the respective texts. Thus, Kierkegaard finds noteworthy Christ’s imparting of the Holy Spirit to his first generation of disciples;4 Jesus’ replacement Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 7, column 1107. 2 See Isaiah 29:10. 3 SKS 13, 95–108 / FSE, 73–87. 4 SKS 1, 90 / CI, 29. See also John 20:22. 1

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of John’s aquatic purge with the baptism of the fiery Spirit;5 and the good news that the kingdom of God is an unblemished “joy in the Holy Spirit.”6 The first substantial engagement, however, surfaces within a Trinitarian perspective. Kierkegaard views the Holy Spirit, not as a “relatively creaturely principle,”7 but rather as a separate “godly person”8 and “the dispensator of grace.”9 Equally important is that the Holy Ghost is conjointly the “Spirit of Holiness,”10 the “Spirit of Wisdom,”11 and the “Spirit of Truth.”12 Moreover, in order to disconnect it from any pantheistic connotation, Kierkegaard argues that the Holy Ghost cannot and should not be confused with the putative spirit of the age, the spirit of the world, or the spirit of the human race.13 Besides, Kierkegaard is not a stranger to the communitarian dimension. He considers the Holy Spirit “the divine ‘We,’ ”14 capable of relating directly both to the existing individual I and the objective world of creation. In this sense, Kierkegaard seems to agree with his much-despised opponent, Hans Lassen Martensen, whose “Lectures on Speculative Dogmatics” taught him that “as Holy Spirit, God himself is present in his community.”15 From the same volume Kierkegaard retains the idea that “Just as the Church becomes universal through the Holy Spirit, so the Spirit’s activity [Virksomhed] remains an ongoing process of personalization and individuation, which is mediated through the Word and the sacraments.”16 It is in relation to this individualizing capacity that Kierkegaard develops the second most important attribute, namely, the helper or the comforter.17 As shown above, he attributes the same power to Christ, but he never makes the effort to clarify this overlap or to dispel its ambiguity. With this exception, Kierkegaard’s thoughts are quite straightforward. To begin with, in reflecting upon the human need for consolation, Kierkegaard specifies that, “when the sign of the relation to God is suffering, when God’s loving me has its very expression in my having to suffer…then there must be a ‘Spirit’ in order to comfort.”18 Elsewhere, he says that we need the succor of the Holy Ghost because the exemplariness of Christ remains “a requirement which no human being meets.”19 To the witness who testifies to the SKS 5, 271 / EUD, 278. Matthew 3:11. SKS 8, 305 / UD, 210. See also Romans 14:17. 7 SKS 18, 383–4, KK:11 / KJN 2, 349 (my translation). 8 SKS 18, 353, KK:5 / KJN 2, 323 (my translation). This assertion is made in regard to “the most ancient teaching of the Church about the Son of God and the Holy Spirit” (ibid., my translation). 9 SKS 23, 80, NB15:114 / JP 2, 1654. 10 SKS 23, 17, NB15:16 / JP 3, 3445. 11 Ibid. 12 Ibid. 13 SKS 13, 96 / FSE, 74; SKS 18, 383–4, KK:11 / KJN 2, 349–50. 14 SKS 18, 100, FF:128 / JP 2, 1651. 15 SKS 18, 383, KK:11 / KJN 2, 350 (my translation). 16 SKS 18, 383–4, KK:11 / KJN 2, 350 (my translation). 17 SKS 24, 192, NB22:162 / JP 2, 1659; SKS 25, 46, NB26:40 / JP 2, 1661. 18 SKS 25, 46, NB26:40 / JP 2, 1661. 19 SKS 23, 81, NB15:114 / JP 2, 1654. See also SKS 25, 46, NB26:40.a / JP 2, 1661. 5 6

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salvific truth of the God-man in a world which hates and despises him, the Spirit can prove the only (and infinitely) invigorating factor.20 To be more specific, by removing one’s “filthy and foolish and cheating heart,”21 the Holy Spirit strengthens the individual in the ever onerous struggle for redemption.22 In addition, it “effects prayer”23 in the contriving soul; it heals the self of its innate despair;24 it is instrumental in every successful conversion;25 and it is continually willing to help the believer combat any sign of spiritual forgetfulness.26 From Hugo of Saint Victor, Kierkegaard learns that the Holy Spirit is as capable of enlightening and granting prophetic gifts, by means of which the elect comes to see, not solely the future, but also the evil of the world and the human culpability, whose punishment will not be much awaited.27 In a Christic horizon, Kierkegaard adds that it is the merit of the Spirit to have convinced the faithful of Jesus’ righteousness, that is to say, of his unalloyed divinity.28 And yet, the Spirit’s main work in this ceaseless spiritual assistance consists in forging the cardinal virtues of hope, faith, and love in the supplicant’s interiority.29 For Kierkegaard, the individual, regardless of his or her religious dedication, never acquires these qualities on his own. It is always the Spirit that unconditionally, albeit impalpably, gives hope in the darkest night of hopelessness and faith against all understanding.30 Thus, precisely because “Whatever does not proceed from faith is sin,”31 Kierkegaard explains, “the sin against the Holy Spirit becomes acting deliberately against one’s conviction.”32 Similarly, we are told that the Spirit “will convince the world of sin that it did not have faith,”33 and that the very existence of God’s third hypostasis is a matter of passionate belief instead of objective evidence.34 It is important to keep in mind that despite the close proximity between human inwardness and the Spirit, Kierkegaard never loses sight of the latter’s heterogeneous core. A pertinent example of this is that, even if he views the Holy Ghost as the giver

SKS 13, 104–5 / FSE, 84–5. SKS 23, 17–8, NB15:16 / JP 3, 3445. 22 SKS 23, 358, NB19:41 / JP 2, 1285. 23 SKS 17, 270, DD:176 / JP 2, 2257. See also SKS 23, 22, NB15:24 / JP 2, 1653. 24 SKS 20, 287, NB4:2 / KJN 4, 287; SKS 23, 22, NB15:24 / JP 2, 1653. 25 SKS 19, 70, Not1:8 / KJN 3, 65. 26 SKS 17, 268, DD:165.a / KJN 1, 259. See also SKS 18, 337, KK:2 / KJN 2, 308. 27 SKS 23, 22–3, NB15:24 / JP 2, 1653. 28 SKS 21, 118, NB7:78 / JP 2, 1652. 29 1 Corinthians 13:13. 1 Thessalonians 1:2–3. 30 SKS 13, 102–4 / FSE, 81–3. 31 SKS 22, 53, NB11:93 / JP 3, 3194. 32 Ibid. 33 SKS 22, 51, NB11:86 / KJN 6, 47 (my translation). 34 SKS 7, 47–8 / CUP1, 42; SKS 24, 469, NB25:48 / JP 6, 6792. See also SKS 13, 96–7 / FSE, 74–5 where Kierkegaard holds that faith in the Holy Spirit determines the individual to abolish any discrepancy between acts and words. 20 21

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of love,35 Kierkegaard adamantly opposes any attempt to sentimentalize its selfless generosity. In this sense, he writes: In the lives we actually live—insignificant, finite, and secularized—we make each other believe that we pray to a Holy Spirit to stay by us, that it is the Holy Spirit who guides us. No, let us at least be honest and hold the Holy Spirit in honor and say: We are afraid to pray to a Holy Spirit for aid. The matter could become too serious for us if the Holy Spirit actually did come—and help us.36

In a similar vein, Kierkegaard controversially claims that the enormous success of Christianity is actually due to the departure of the Spirit, and “that the very minute the Spirit comes again the whole thing will collapse, or it will be demonstrated that there is not one single Christian.”37 This numinous element becomes much more compelling in the presence of sin.38 Kierkegaard argues—through the voice of Anti-Climacus—that the “sin against the Holy Spirit”39 or “the positive form of being offended,”40 which comes about by dismissing Christianity as untrue or mendacious, represents the highest expression of fallenness. The open transgression against the Holy Spirit can also happen by proudly denying oneself the possibility of forgiveness;41 or by refusing to remember that “to become a Christian…is, humanly speaking, an even greater torment and misery and pain than the greatest human torment, and in addition a crime in the eyes of one’s contemporaries.”42 That said, the much desired comfort of Christianity must be preceded by an uncomfortable practice in self-denial or self-mortification. “The life-giving Spirit,” Kierkegaard states, “is the very one who slays you; the first thing the life-giving Spirit says is that you must enter into death, that you must die to—it is this way in order that you may not take Christianity in vain.”43 And he continues: Therefore, death first; you must first die to every merely earthly hope, to every merely human confidence; you must die to your selfishness, or to the world, because it is only SKS 13, 104 / FSE, 83. SKS 24, 370, NB24:80 / JP 2, 1660. 37 SKS 25, 312–13, NB29:23 / JP 6, 6862. See also SKS 24, 469, NB25:48 / JP 6, 6792. This awe-inspiring component coheres with Kierkegaard’s opposition to the blasphemous wish of the pagan “to buy Holy Spirit with money or…to make money with the help of the Holy Spirit” (SKS 10, 76–7 / CD, 68). The same idea is expressed in SKS 10, 147 / CD, 137 in connection with Acts 8:18–23. 38 For the sharp ontological disparity between “our filth and impurity” and the immaculateness of the Spirit see SKS 23, 17–18, NB15:16 / JP 3, 3445. The unintelligibility, theological or otherwise, of the “sin against the Holy Spirit” is touched upon in SKS 3, 211 / EO2, 220. 39 SKS 11, 236 / SUD, 125. 40 Ibid. The negative form arises through evasion and retreat from God’s merciful offer to redeem selfhood. 41 SKS 23, 66, NB15:94 / JP 4, 4029. 42 SKS 12, 75 / PC, 63. See also SKS 17, 135, BB:42.d / KJN 1, 128. 43 SKS 13, 98 / FSE, 76–7. 35 36

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through your selfishness that the world has power over you; if you are dead to your selfishness, you are also dead to the world.44

In short, the elevation over against this sinful world can be achieved solely by relinquishing one’s capabilities, education, sagacity, and power,45 or more exactly, by dying to immediacy and human understanding.46 Only in this manner can one taste the imperishable life that the Spirit has to offer universally and unconditionally. Far from being “a direct heightening of the natural life in a person,”47 the Holy Spirit— which is “the sustenance in the world of the spirit”48—is the giver of “literally a new life,”49 where joy, gratitude, and agape join hands never to part again. To conclude, the Holy Spirit shares with the other two Trinitarian persons an unending transcendence. However, similarly to Christ, it is also determined by an immediate proximity to humankind. The difference is that the Spirit fills the void left by the Messiah upon his exaltation, while fortifying and comforting all followers until his, yet to be known, second coming. Finally, Kierkegaard underscores the heteronomous character of the Spirit, which can be seen particularly in the warnings against turning the latter’s comfort and infinite selflessness into an occasion for spiritual lethargy, existential conformism, and trite eschatological reassurance. See also Christ; Dogma/Doctrine; God; Grace; Immanence/Transcendence; Immortality; Love; Salvation/Eternal Happiness; Sin; Striving.

46 47 48 49 44 45

SKS 13, 99 / FSE, 77. SKS 13, 107–8 / FSE, 87. SKS 13, 102–3 / FSE, 81–2. SKS 13, 98 / FSE, 76. SKS 18, 27, EE:63 / JP 1, 296. SKS 13, 98 / FSE, 76. See also SKS 13, 96–108 / FSE, 74–87; Acts 2:1–12.

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Hope William McDonald

Hope (Haab—noun; haabe—verb) From the Old Norse hop, Middle Low German hope, corresponding to English “hope.” Its lexical meaning in Danish is a feeling of expectation with respect to something in the future, usually an expectation of something good, right or fortunate. As a qualification of this sense it can mean a trusting confidence in the future, fate or God. It can also mean that to which one binds one’s expectations.1 The most frequent occurrence of the word “hope” is in Works of Love, followed by Upbuilding Discourses in Various Spirits, then Christian Discourses. There is also a sustained discussion of hope in For Self-Examination.2 All these works were published under the name “Søren Kierkegaard” in 1847, 1848, and 1851 respectively. But the most sustained discussions of the concept of hope occur in discussions of expectancy (Forventning). These, too, are found most commonly in publications under Kierkegaard’s own name, especially in the upbuilding discourses from 1843 and 1844. We find extended discussions of expectancy in “The Expectancy of Faith,” “Patience in Expectancy,” and “The Expectancy of an Eternal Salvation.” Not all expectancy is hope, as Kierkegaard acknowledges by defining hope as expectancy of the good, and fear as expectancy of evil.3 Kierkegaard distinguishes two types of hope: (1) On the one hand there is “earthly hope”4 a purely psychological hope, which occurs spontaneously in children and youth. It is an expectancy of earthly goods, and encourages the young to approach life with confidence and joy. This youthful optimism is a gift from God.5 However, this immediate hope is inevitably disappointed. Because it hopes for earthly goods in time, it is subject to the disappointments both of the late arrival and the nonarrival of these expected goods. Immediate hope is easily confounded with desire, wish, longing, and craving,6 since it yearns impatiently for gratifications of the ego. (2) On the other hand there is “eternal hope” or “heavenly hope,”7 which is a steadfast, Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 7, columns 545–8. 2 SKS 13, 103–4 / FSE, 82–3. 3 SKS 9, 249 / WL, 249. 4 SKS 8, 215 / UD, 113. 5 SKS 5, 100 / EUD, 94. 6 Cf. SKS 9, 250 / WL, 250. 7 Cf. SKS 8, 215 / UD, 113. 1

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patient, religious passion,8 and a specification of the spirit.9 It should be noted that not all eternal hope is Christian hope, since two of the prime exemplars for Kierkegaard are Jewish, namely, Abraham and the prophetess Anna. However, all Christian hope is eternal hope and is differentiated from Jewish eternal hope by having Christian love as its subject. With this caveat in mind, in the following discussion “eternal hope” is synonymous with “heavenly hope” and “Christian hope.” “Earthly hope” and “eternal hope” share some structural features: they both expect something good; they are both oriented towards the future; they both require a sense of possibility; and they both serve to sustain optimism. But they are also radically distinguished by the following features: (1) they pertain to different aspects of the human being (psyche and spirit); (2) they have different subjects (ego versus love); (3) they have different objects and different scopes of expectation (some earthly goods versus all ethical-religious goods); (4) they have different concepts of the future (temporal versus eternal); (5) they have different conditions of defeasibility (disappointment due to lateness or non-arrival of goods versus impossibility of disappointment at either lateness or non-arrival); (6) they have different conditions of uptake (earthly hope occurs spontaneously and is attached to the world through desire whereas eternal hope is dialectically acquired through hardship, spiritual trial, and dying to the world); (7) they have different modalities (while they both require possibility, earthly hope is finite, temporal, and uses prudential calculation of probable fulfillment whereas eternal hope is infinite, eternal, and converts possibility into certainty through patiently reaffirmed resolution); (8) they have different possible evaluations (earthly hope can be shamed by non-fulfillment whereas Christian hope can never be ashamed); (9) they have different characteristic attitudes (impatient double-mindedness versus single-minded patience focused through prayer); and (10) they are subsumed under different intentional states (earthly hope is subsumed under desire, eternal hope under love). Each of these differences will be explicated in turn. (1) Aspects: Earthly hope is a feeling in the psyche. It occurs spontaneously in the child and youth, which gives rise to the erroneous idea that youth is the age of hope.10 Eternal hope, on the other hand, is a resolute passion of the spirit, which is acquired dialectically11 and is available to all human beings regardless of their age. (2) Subjects: Earthly hope has the ego as its subject. A particular ego, attached to the world through earthly desires, wishes and longings, hopes for some concrete good for itself, or its own, in this life. Eternal Christian hope has love as its subject,12 where love is understood as Christian, self-sacrificing care for others. Love hopes all things for all people.13 (3) Objects and Scopes: Earthly hope takes as its objects particular worldly goods, typically objects of desires and wishes, such as wealth, fame, and good Cf. SKS 27, 269, Papir 277:2; SKS 5, 213–14 / EUD, 213–14. SKS 9, 179 / WL, 179. 10 SKS 9, 251 / WL, 251. 11 Pap. VI B 53. 12 SKS 9, 258 / WL, 259. 13 SKS 9, 259 / WL, 259. 8 9

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health. The ego hopes these for itself or for specific others with whom it has bonds of self-interested love. The scope of these objects is limited and particular. Eternal hope takes eternal goods as its objects, that is, ethical-religious goods. Love includes all people and all ethical-religious goods in the scope of what it hopes. Kierkegaard sometimes talks as if eternity is the object of Christian hope, but goes on to explicate this as a different way of saying that love hopes all things.14 (4) Future: Hope in both senses is an orientation towards the future. For earthly hope, this future is conceived as the finite temporality of life yet to come. The ego expects hope’s fulfillment within this lifetime. For the Christian, on the other hand, hope is eternal; and when the eternal is grasped within time, hope is expressed as expectancy of the future, understood as possibility. This possibility is taken to be the choice between good and evil, but since eternal hope always takes the good as its object, the duality inherent in future possibility is dissolved.15 Since Christian hope is for eternity, but acquired within time, it “is composed of the eternal and the temporal,”16 which sets it two overlapping tasks: to hope all things (when the task is posed in the form of eternity), and to hope always (when the task is posed in the form of temporality). These two tasks are not to be contrasted, but are to be “united to express the same thing: at every moment always to hope all things.”17 (5) Defeasibility: Earthly hope is impatient, and if it is not fulfilled on time or if it is not fulfilled at all, it is disappointed. Human understanding takes the possibility of disappointment to be a criterion for hope.18 But eternal hope renounces the uncertainty implicit in the possibility of disappointment. Eternal hope is not a whimsical feeling, but a constantly renewed resolve always to expect the good. Since its expectation is eternal, there is no time limit on the fulfillment of the hope, so it can never be disappointed by late fulfillment. Similarly, eternal hope can never be disappointed because it does not expect the fulfillment in time. (6) Uptake: Earthly hope is immediate, spontaneous, and attached to the world. It is lost through hardship and disappointment. Eternal hope, on the other hand, is dialectical and is only won through spiritual trial and adversity when all earthly desires have been abandoned.19 When all earthly hope has been lost, hardship procures the possibility of eternal hope, which can be realized by making the decision always to expect the good.20 If a person patiently renews this decision in every moment, by always expecting the good for all, he or she forms a disposition which becomes a second nature. This “new hope,” which is the “hope against hope,” is only found when one has died to the world and died to the understanding.21 That is, the decision always to expect the good for all, whatever happens in the world, is only sustainable if one has let go of all attachment to the world and to sagacious SKS 9, 248 / WL, 248. SKS 9, 249 / WL, 249–50. 16 SKS 9, 249 / WL, 249. 17 Ibid. 18 SKS 5, 29–30 / EUD, 20–1. 19 SKS 5, 101 / EUD, 95. 20 SKS 8, 215 / UD, 113. 21 SKS 13, 103 / FSE, 82. 14 15

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calculations of probable outcomes for earthly hopes. Therefore this new hope is regarded as “lunacy” by the understanding.22 (7) Modalities: While both types of hope require possibility, as the modality of future-orientation, earthly hope is finite, temporal and uses the understanding to calculate the probabilities of hope’s fulfillment and the timeliness of that fulfillment. Earthly hope never acquires certainty, whereas eternal hope is never satisfied with uncertainty.23 Anxiety is the hallmark of uncertainty with respect to an indeterminate future. Earthly hope is therefore characterized by feelings of anxiety about the fulfillment of its hopes. Eternal hope, by contrast, stills anxiety by always choosing the good as its object. It is a self-fulfilling hope which converts mere possibility into certainty by resolving constantly to expect, as certain, “eternal salvation by the grace of God.”24 This is a spiritual certainty, born of faith, since it is ultimately hope in God.25 Eternal hope can always be renewed because it always has a task, and “as long as there is a task there is life, and as long as there is life there is hope.”26 At the very least, even if there is nothing else to do, there is always the task to bear suffering with patience.27 (8) Evaluations: Someone who hopes an earthly hope can be shamed, when his or her calculations of probable or timely fulfillment prove inaccurate. This is the shame of being exposed as imprudent or stupid. Eternal hope can never be shamed in this way, since what it hopes can never definitively happen in time. The only way in which it might apparently be shamed is by what it takes as its object, for example, if one were to hope that God’s vengeance were to fall on someone one hates.28 But this is not eternal hope, since its subject is really hate, and its object is not the good for all. From the point of view of the understanding, eternal hope is a hope whose form is madness,29 but this is not a source of shame. (9) Attitudes: The expectancy of earthly hope is temporal and impatient.30 Impatience causes disappointment even when what is hoped is merely later than expected. The impatience stems from desire, which wants to grasp something worldly one lacks, in the belief that its possession will make one happy or give one pleasure. Eternal hope, on the other hand, is eternally patient. It not only “requires patience, [but] also teaches patience.”31 It is prepared to wait an eternity for the good for all, although since it is love which hopes, it will always express itself in time by working for the good of others. Earthly hope is characterized by double-mindedness, which can only be cured by a single-minded conviction directed towards eternity. “The double-minded person wills to be healed and yet does not will to be healed— that is, he will not be healed eternally. But the temporal healing is uncertain, and the SKS 13, 103–4 / FSE, 83. SKS 5, 183 / EUD, 179. 24 SKS 8, 264 / EUD, 268. 25 Cf. SKS 5, 442 / TD, 71. 26 SKS 8, 375 / UD, 279. 27 SKS 8, 376 / UD, 280. 28 SKS 9, 261 / WL, 262. 29 Cf. SKS 13, 103–4 / FSE, 83. 30 Cf. SKS 2, 372 / EO1, 384. 31 SKS 5, 220 / EUD, 221. 22 23

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distinct mark of his mounting uncertainty is the mounting restlessness in his doublemindedness.”32 Eternal hope overcomes this restless double-mindedness by devotion and prayer, practicing single-minded focus on the eternal.33 Earthly hope, then, is a fortuitous occurrence, whereas eternal hope is a conviction, deliberately formed and maintained by patient practice. (10) Intentional States: Earthly hope is a species of desire, which determines its objects on the basis of what the ego perceives it lacks for its own happiness. It anxiously awaits fulfillment, subject to the vicissitudes of fortune, and it is prey to despair when disappointed frequently or intensely. The ego clings to the world through its expectancy, and at its most optimistic asserts that there is only hope when there is life.34 Eternal hope, however, “is born in death.”35 The decision to choose the eternal good enables one to die to the world, in the sense that all worldly goals are subordinated to the task of imitating Christ in selfless works of love. Without love, faith and hope are “but sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal.”36 Love is the ground of faith and hope, and has the capacity to take on their functions.37 Love takes upon itself the work of hoping for others. It is itself built up by this hope and also hopes to build up others by its works. Because love hopes the good always for all people, it never gives up hope for anyone. If it were to give up hope for another, this would show it does not love in a Christian sense and is in despair.38 If there is less love in a person, there is less of the eternal; if there is less of the eternal, there is less of a sense of possibility; and if there is less possibility, there is less hope for the possibility of the good. But since Christian love “hopes all things” it must constantly refresh its sense of possibility in eternal love.39 At the very least, love brings hope as a gift to others.40 Earthly understanding takes hope for oneself and hope for another to be quite different things, and “love is a third thing by itself” which mediates between them.41 Christian love takes hope for another to be inseparable from hope for oneself, in the sense that “without love, no hope for oneself; with love, hope for all others—and to the same degree one hopes for oneself, to the same degree one hopes for others, since to the same degree one is loving.”42 To summarize, Christian hope is a loving expectancy of all ethical-religious goods for all people always. It is procured dialectically by hardship and suffering, when immediate earthly hope is lost or abandoned, but must be acquired by the individual through passionate resolution of the spirit. This resolute hope is constantly renewed in prayer and devotion, so that it becomes a disposition of character, or a second immediacy. It can never be disappointed and can never be ashamed, since SKS 8, 215 / UD, 113. Cf. SKS 5, 222 / EUD, 223. 34 SKS 8, 204 / UD, 100. 35 Ibid. 36 SKS 5, 127 / EUD, 122. 37 SKS 9, 227 / WL, 225. 38 SKS 9, 254 / WL, 255. 39 SKS 9, 257 / WL, 258. 40 Ibid. 41 SKS 9, 259 / WL, 260. 42 Ibid. 32 33

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it always hopes only the eternally good. It always has a task, which itself provides hope, whether the task be to bring hope as a gift to others or merely to bear suffering with patience. Hope builds up love and is also grounded in love. See also Anxiety; Desire; Dying To/Renunciation; Faith; Immediacy/Reflection; Love; Passion/Pathos; Patience; Salvation; Time/Temporality/Eternity.

Humility Robert B. Puchniak

Humility (Ydmyghed—noun; ydmyge—verb; ydmyg—adjective) The lexical meaning of Ydmyghed is a feeling of lowliness, meekness, or submission in relation to others or to God.1 It is closely related to the word “modesty” (Beskedenhed) and can indicate a servile position or self-abasement. In regard to prayer, its mode is supplication, which acknowledges the need or unworthiness of the petitioner. Its antonym is pride (Stolthed); having one’s pride (or ego) humbled is not unlike humiliation. If, in this sense, a wound is inflicted, then humiliation is also suffering. This subject of humility figures prominently in Kierkegaard’s upbuilding discourses but is also found in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript, The Sickness unto Death, Stages on Life’s Way, as well as the essays Judge for Yourself! and For Self-Examination. Kierkegaard was keenly aware of the differences between a feigned or false humility (abundantly visible in his world, he was convinced) and what he thought to be a genuine humility, especially as expressed in the context of the “God-relationship.” The latter is closely related to the life of an “apostle,” “discipleship,” “becoming a witness for truth,” and the “imitation” of Christ. The former “supposed humility and modesty” (formeentligt ydmygt og beskeedent) amounts to the “pride, conceit” of calling oneself an apostle, without the proper “existence.”2 Those who only pretend to live earnestly with modesty and humility live “a great big lie” (en stor Usandhed).3 In Kierkegaard’s works, humility has an important place in both ethical and religious existence, as one cannot properly commit to Christian faith and practice without it. The biblical figures of John the Baptist and the Apostle Paul are prominent exemplars of genuine humility for Kierkegaard. Living in the first half of the nineteenth century, Kierkegaard regretted that “the knavery and hypocrisy of the preaching in current Christianity” allowed for individuals to seek “a pleasant life in this world” and thus claim to be “far too modest and humble” to become a “witness of the truth.”4 So, instead of aiming for the genuine humility of the apostle, “we aspire to the hypocritical appearance… Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 27, column 1067. 2 SKS 23, 283, NB18:50 / JP 1, 106. 3 SKS 23, 463, NB20:134 / JP 2, 1788. 4 SKS 24, 506, NB25:89 / JP 1, 1087. 1

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that we do not ask to be the extraordinary.”5 Within “Christendom,” Christianity has been “abolished” in favor of “this tedious modesty which thinks that it is worshipping God.”6 It was too easy, Kierkegaard thought, for any person to admit in a “relaxed way: Well, I am unable to practice self-denial,” and then also want “to be praised for humility because we are humble enough to be satisfied with ethical shabbiness.”7 Religious expectations for individual persons were in his view shamefully low. According to Kierkegaard, the way to understand humility in relation to God’s love is to say that one “has no merit at all, that it is a kind of arbitrariness for God simply to throw his love upon him.”8 In one revealing notebook entry, Kierkegaard wrestles with the thought that perfect humility, the complete abnegation of one’s own willfulness, might be unattainable. While reading the Apostle Paul, Kierkegaard writes: I have wondered if the apostle’s words are not to be understood differently, namely: when a person strives to the uttermost to be only an instrument for God [Redskab for Gud] and to the point where in self-denial [Selvfornegtelse] he has no will of his own and is wholly in God’s hands and at his disposition, to the point where he actually is only an instrument, the individual perhaps runs up against a stone wall, something he cannot succeed in conquering unconditionally—and so it was even with the great apostle. This has grieved him inexpressibly; to him it was like infidelity toward God, lack of love.9

The answer to Paul’s anxiety and relief from his spiritual struggle, says Kierkegaard, comes in the form of an answer from Christ: “My grace is sufficient for you” (2 Corinthians 12:9). With this, Paul can be heartened and know that his “limitation is simply an aid to humility.”10 Thus, he understands that to be a humble “instrument” requires the unconditional grace of God. In the upbuilding discourse, “He Must Increase; I Must Decrease” of 1844, Kierkegaard offers a deliberation on the character of John the Baptist, a man of the “Judean desert, far from the vanity that bickers about the place of honor, far from the fickleness that elevates and drags down, celebrates and crucifies.”11 John was someone who did not confuse his role as a “voice crying in the wilderness” for something greater. His was not a place of honor and esteem; he knew that his significance “would be abolished and forgotten,” and that his name would disappear in light of the messiah he foretold.12 John took joy in that humble role; he denied himself. The root of his ability to do so was “self-knowledge,” a rare gift.13 John, in his “unpretentiousness,” understood himself as “only an instrument,” who does not Ibid. SKS 25, 396, NB30:18 / JP 2, 1438. 7 SKS 25, 342, NB29:81 / JP 2, 1802. 8 SKS 20, 403, NB5:74 / JP 2, 1368. 9 SKS 25, 166–7, NB27:55 / JP 2, 1491. 10 Ibid. 11 SKS 5, 271 / EUD, 277. 12 SKS 5, 271 / EUD, 277–8. 13 SKS 5, 270 / EUD, 275–6. 5 6

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know the moment “when he will be put aside” and does not mind this fact because he serves as “one of God’s co-workers.”14 He acted with “humble self-denial.”15 In other upbuilding discourses of the same period Kierkegaard addresses the place of humility in Christian devotion. “Strengthening in the Inner Being” (1843) considers the Apostle Paul, “an insignificant man” (en ubetydelig Mand) who faced imprisonment in Rome, where “there was no one in the enormous city who knew or cared about his existence.”16 Kierkegaard notes that Paul suffered patiently, though he was innocent. Paul’s devotion and piety allowed God to “prepare his soul in humility until it rejoices in God again and is calm in the Lord.”17 The peace and tranquility of the apostle, then, is gained partly through his lack of self-regard. He expects to suffer, yet does not crave personal reward or glory for that suffering. As Kierkegaard writes in another upbuilding discourse, “The Thorn in the Flesh”: “Anyone who seeks comfort or instruction from an apostle quickly sees that an apostle aspires not to the lofty and to the extraordinary but to the humble.”18 Kierkegaard, further, encourages his readers to “venture everything” and resolve only to “trust in God.”19 In the discourse entitled “Against Cowardliness” (1844), he writes of those who venture all “in order to become nothing before God—he will surely give you a spirit of power, of love, and of self-control.”20 The person who can “venture” all will know “freedom like a released prisoner.”21 Humility is also liberating. In “The Esthetic Validity of Marriage” from Either/Or, the pseudonymous author Judge William muses about the basis for marital love, where “the person who loves… has lost himself in another, but in losing and forgetting himself in the other he is open to the other, and in forgetting himself in another he is remembered in the other.”22 Love, then, requires humility, which is, he writes, “a true and helpful and constant disciplinarian whenever anyone wants to measure love with anything else but love.”23 Further, love cannot be governed by concern for the worldly status of the beloved: “Only the person who has become poor in the world has won the true assurance of ownership, and only the person who has lost everything has gained everything.”24 In “Some Reflections on Marriage in Answer to Objections,” found in Stages on Life’s Way, Judge William (here known simply as “a married man”) regards marriage as “the highest telos of individual life” in the ethical stage, something quite different from the act of “falling in love” (an erotic prompting), for it requires a “resolution: to will to marry.”25 This “resolution” demands that an individual “venture boldly,”

SKS 5, 276 / EUD, 281. SKS 5, 278 / EUD, 282. 16 SKS 5, 88 / EUD, 81. 17 SKS 5, 89 / EUD, 81. 18 SKS 5, 328 / EUD, 340. 19 SKS 5, 354 / EUD, 369. 20 Ibid. 21 Ibid. 22 SKS 3, 111 / EO2, 110. 23 ibid. 24 SKS 3, 111–12 / EO2, 111. 25 SKS 6, 97 / SLW, 101–2. 14 15

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to stand “at his beloved’s side.”26 This “concrete” resolution gives the married man’s life “the ideality of humility, meekness and gratitude,” as he has ventured all.27 Knowing he can lose everything, the married man carries a risk every day, “every day the sword of duty hangs over his head.”28 In the Concluding Unscientific Postscript, Johannes Climacus defines humility as “the form of the absolute difference” (den absolute Forskjelligheds Form) between God and man, that is, how love has expressed itself.29 This humility, imitated by the person with faith in the Incarnate Christ, “entirely acknowledges its human lowliness with humble bold confidence before God as the one who certainly knows this better than the person himself.”30 In Climacus’ earlier work, Philosophical Fragments, he wrote of the “descent” that made possible a union of god and man: “In order for unity to be effected, the god must become like this one. He will appear, therefore, as the equal of the lowliest of persons. But the lowliest [den Ringeste] of all is one who must serve others—consequently, the god will appear in the form of a servant [Tjenerens Skikkelse].”31 If the Incarnation perfectly demonstrates humility, then human beings are called to imitate that expression through loving other human beings. In Works of Love, Kierkegaard considers how love “conquers,” that is, “overcomes evil with good,” and gives God the honor (rather than taking honor for oneself).32 He asks his reader to consider “how the loving one behaves.”33 The love of a loving person, says Kierkegaard, can “overcome” an unloving person, and when this is done within “the God-relationship” then “they are both humbled.”34 He continues: The one who loves humbles himself before the good, whose lowly servant he is, and, as he himself admits, in frailty; and the one overcome does not humble himself before the loving one but before the good. But when in a relationship between two people both are humbled, then there of course is nothing humiliating for either one of them. How dexterous love can be, what a jack-of-all-trades!35

SKS 6, 106–7 / SLW, 111–12. Judge William here draws out the distinction between the ethical and the religious: In an “eternal resolution,” the person “relates negatively to the temporal” and thus “becomes solitary.” The married man, by contrast, in resolving to marry, “stands where he was before, in the very same place…and suffers no lack of the eternal, for it is with him in temporality.” Ibid. 27 SKS 6, 100 / SLW, 116–17. 28 SKS 6, 100 / SLW, 117. 29 SKS 7, 446 / CUP1, 492. 30 Ibid. 31 SKS 4, 238 / PF, 31. 32 SKS 9, 327–38 / WL, 331–44 (Chapter VIII of the “Second Series,” entitled “The Victory of the Conciliatory Spirit in Love, Which Wins the One Overcome”). 33 SKS 9, 334 / WL, 339. 34 SKS 9, 335 / WL, 339–40. 35 SKS 9, 335 / WL, 340. 26

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In genuine humility, the one who loves feels no superiority, and the one who is loved feels no humiliation. “Holy modesty,” Kierkegaard writes, “is inseparable from all true love.”36 In The Sickness unto Death, Anti-Climacus includes humility as an essential attribute for anyone able to bear the “offense” of Christianity—the absurd truth that “God comes to the world, allows himself to be born, to suffer, to die.”37 Anyone who lacks “the humble courage [ydmygt Mod] to dare to believe this” will “pass it off as a bagatelle, nonsense, and folly, for it seems it would choke him.”38 Without humility, therefore, faith in Christianity is impossible. Anti-Climacus also considers those who, in wrestling with sin, suffer from a “secret selfishness and pride” that can arise when a person has resisted temptation and “appeared in his own eyes to be better than he actually was.”39 In For Self-Examination, Kierkegaard considers the errors of the Catholic Middle Ages, when faith amounted to gaining merit through works, which Luther corrected by his attention to the importance of faith and the unmerited gift of salvation. Kierkegaard thought the belief that good works could save a person was “foolishness.” Rather, Christianity requires this: “your life should express works as strenuously as possible; then one thing more is required—that you humble yourself and confess [at Du ydmyger Dig og tilstaaer]: But my being saved is nevertheless grace.”40 The very acceptance of the grace of salvation requires humility. In Judge for Yourself! Kierkegaard reminds his readers that “everything essentially Christian” is “first of all its opposite,” opposite, that is, to anything secular.41 He writes, “In just a human view, elevation is only elevation and nothing more; Christianly, it is first of all humiliation,” that to be exalted one must first be humbled.42 Once we have found “rest in grace,” we understand that with the “humiliation” of the faithful “comes the lifting up that blessedly reaches heaven.”43 In a personal vein, Kierkegaard remarked in his notebooks during 1849 that a line from Thomas à Kempis, speaking about Paul, “could be used as a motto sometime,” namely, “Therefore he turned everything over to God, who knows all, and defended himself solely by means of patience and humility.”44 Kierkegaard did feel himself humbled by a variety of personal trials—the Corsair affair and his abruptly terminated engagement to Regine Olsen among them. Kierkegaard was also shaped by the devastating private experiences of the year 1848, a time in which he confesses to have been “shattered” religiously: “God has run me ragged”

SKS 9, 336 / WL, 341. SKS 11, 199 / SUD, 85. 38 SKS 11, 199 / SUD, 85–6. 39 SKS 11, 223–4 / SUD, 111–12. 40 SKS 13, 46 / FSE, 17. 41 SKS 16, 155 / JFY, 98. 42 Ibid. 43 SKS 16, 203 / JFY, 154. 44 SKS 22, 343, NB14:4 / JP 6, 6524. 36 37

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(Gud har løbet mig træt).45 He claims to have been “humbled” under the newly created pseudonym, Anti-Climacus (author of The Sickness unto Death and Practice in Christianity), which he declares to be “higher than my personal existence.”46 Regarding the pseudonym, he wrote, “There perhaps is no one who is permitted to humble himself as deeply under it as I do.”47 In sum, Kierkegaard contends that true humility, in order to be put into practice, requires: (1) self-denial, (2) the resolve to trust God, (3) self-knowledge, and (4) divine grace. In turn, humility makes it possible (1) to suffer patiently, (2) to deepen Christian faith, (3) to experience peace and tranquility, and (4) to love the other. If one is overly troubled by the thought of one’s insignificance or is too preoccupied with worldly status, genuine humility will be impossible. Human beings are called to imitate divine love for humanity, as it was expressed in the humble descent of God in the Incarnation of Christ. See also Apostle; Faith; God; Grace; Imitation; Individual; Inwardness; Love; Pride; Religious; Salvation/Eternal Happiness; Sin; Will.

SKS 22, 265, NB12:196 / JP 6, 6501. During 1848, as Kierkegaard experienced personal financial strain, he wrote “the most perfect and truest thing I have written” (presumably the works of the pseudonym, Anti-Climacus, that is, The Sickness unto Death and Practice in Christianity), and he enjoyed “further religious development” in which he felt divine “Governance” continually guiding him (ibid.). 46 Ibid. 47 Ibid. 45

Humor Alejandro González

Humor (Humor—noun; Humorist—noun; humoristisk—adjective) From Latin humor, “fluid,” “moisture.” This term was first used in the ancient medical theory of the humors, in which it was believed there was a dependency between human health and corporeal fluids. The lexical meaning of humor has changed over time, especially after the Renaissance, when the term began to refer to mood and temper since a humorist was one who was subject to capricious humors. The term “humorist” was then applied to those who affected a particular humor to an extreme degree. Nowadays, the word “humor” is better known as the faculty of the comic, projecting the joyful and sometimes even the ridiculous side of life.1 Apart from a handful of occurrences in The Concept of Irony, Repetition, Fear and Trembling, and Stages on Life’s Way, the word “humor” in Kierkegaard’s published works occurs mainly in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript to Philosophical Fragments by Johannes Climacus. However, it also appears frequently in the journals and papers, especially those written between March 1837 and January 1839. There are also quite a few occurrences between the years 1836 and 1837, and some in the period 1843–45. There are also a handful of uses of Humorist, humoristisk and humoristiske in The Concept of Irony, The Concept of Anxiety, Prefaces, Stages on Life’s Way, Two Ethical-Religious Essays, A Literary Review of Two Ages, and the “Letter to Orla Lehmann” published in Copenhagen’s Flying Post in 1836. Therefore, Johannes Climacus is the pseudonym most prone to handle the concept. Kierkegaard used the concept in his own name most between 1836 and 1839, when he was still a student deeply interested in German Romantic literature. There are also some texts that do not use the word “humor,” but nevertheless deal with the concept. As Johannes Climacus writes: “Magister Kierkegaard’s upbuilding discourses had steadily kept pace with [the pseudonymous books], which to my mind was a hint that he had kept himself posted, and to me it was striking that the four most recent discourses2 have a carefully shaded touch of the humorous.”3

Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 8, columns 645–6. 2 Four Upbuilding Discourses was published August 31, 1844. 3 SKS 7, 245 / CUP1, 270. 1

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I. Humor “Humor is the last stage in existence—inwardness before faith.”4 For Kierkegaard, humor tensions the strings of human subjectivity, confounding and teasing towards a higher existential sphere that surpasses irony. Humor outstrips irony in its skepticism since, whereas irony focuses on human finitude, humor is anchored in a grasp of human sinfulness.5 The journals and papers link humor specifically to Christian religiosity. Kierkegaard underscores this link in the conclusion of his master’s thesis, The Concept of Irony, where he argues that humor is necessary to cope with the exigencies demanded by Christianity.6 “There are three existence-spheres: the esthetic, the ethical, the religious. To these there is a respectively corresponding confinium [border territory]: irony is the confinium between the esthetic and the ethical; humor is the confinium between the ethical and the religious.”7 Irony is encircled by ethical boundaries and hides the moral character of subjectivity behind its mockery and negativity. Humor, on the other hand, restrains itself within the bounds of immanent religion, gesturing towards “the final terminus a quo in the relation to the Christian-religious”8 only as possibility. However, Johannes Climacus makes a distinction between two different kinds of humor by naming them “immature humor” and “humor in equilibrium between the comic and the tragic.”9 Immature humor lacks sufficient reflection and seeks alleviation from “the endless succession of time…in asserting the absurd….But this is immature humor’s counterfeiting of the paradox as an incitement for the arbitrariness of a thick-blooded passion. This immature humor is so far from being religiousness that it is an esthetic subtlety that skips past the ethical.”10 The humor that is in equilibrium between the comic and the tragic, on the other hand, is a “lifedevelopment” that “is the condition for properly embracing Christianity.”11 The relation between immature and mature humor is not the same as the relation between irony and humor. Irony and humor differ by virtue of being thresholds to different existential stages. Immature humor, by contrast, is firmly embedded in the aesthetic sphere and is not at the threshold to anything higher. Irony and humor are almost the same thing because “humor is not essentially different from irony, but is essentially different from Christianity, and essentially is not different from Christianity otherwise than irony is.”12 With this in mind, if humor “is irony carried through to its maximum oscillations,”13 one could think that irony is a sort of lesser SKS 7, 265 / CUP1, 291. Cf. SKS 1, 357 / CI, 329. 6 SKS 1, 352–7 / CI, 324–9. 7 SKS 7, 455 / CUP1, 501–2. 8 SKS 7, 265 / CUP1, 291. 9 Cf. SKS 7, 266 / CUP1, 292. 10 Ibid. 11 Ibid. 12 SKS 7, 246 / CUP1, 271. 13 SKS 17, 234, DD:36 / JP 2, 1699. 4 5

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or meager humor. Kierkegaard remarks precisely that if someone says “that irony and humor are identical, only different in degrees, I will say what Paul says of the relationship of Christianity to Judaism: ‘All is new.’ ”14 Irony and humor are both suitable to the comic, not least because both partake of contradiction.15 That is why the comic “is present in every stage of life (except that the position is different), because where there is life there is contradiction, and wherever there is contradiction, the comic is present.”16 Moreover, irony and humor can co-exist within the one individual, “since both components are contingent on one’s not having compromised with the world.”17 However, this uncompromising stance is reflected differently in irony and humor, with humor not giving “two hoots” for the world, while irony tries to influence the world and ends up being ridiculed by it.18 In his journal, Kierkegaard makes the following note on Stages on Life’s Way: “The religious comes into existence in a demonic approximation (Quidam of the imaginary construction) with humor as its presupposition and its incognito (Frater Taciturnus).”19 Humor can be a guise of the religious, thereby forming a confinium to it, but it is at best immanent religiosity which recollects eternal truth. Even the recollection is done without life-changing conviction. Christianity, by contrast, is a transcendent religion, which takes eternal truth to have a historical point of departure; the Christian then repeatedly grasps this truth with faith and existential passion. Humor lacks this understanding of truth and does not appropriate it “in a decisive way.”20 Humor is always a revocation (of existence into the eternal by recollection backward, of adulthood to childhood, etc., see above), is the backward perspective: Christianity is the direction forward to becoming a Christian and becoming that by continuing to be that. Without standing still there is no humor; the humorist always has ample time, because he has eternity’s amplitude of time behind him. Christianity has no room for sadness: salvation or perdition—salvation ahead of it, perdition behind for everyone who turns around, whatever he sees.21

Humor, then, is a sort of speculation, which conceals the immanent religiosity of paganism with pseudo-Christian categories. “Humor, when it uses Christian categories (sin, forgiveness of sin, atonement, God in time, etc.), is not Christianity but a pagan speculative thought that has come to know all the essentially Christian.”22

SKS 18, 85, FF:46 / JP 2, 1711. Cf. SKS 18, 147, JJ:9 / JP 2, 1737. 16 SKS 7, 465 / CUP1, 513–14. 17 SKS 27, 136, Papir 142 / JP 2, 1671. 18 Cf. Ibid. 19 SKS 18, 243, JJ:326 / JP 5, 5804. 20 SKS 7, 246 / CUP1, 272. 21 SKS 7, 547 / CUP1, 602–3. 22 SKS 7, 246 / CUP1, 272. 14 15

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II. The Humorist The “existing humorist is the closest approximation to the religious person,”23 by virtue of “an essential conception of the suffering in which he is.”24 For the religious person, suffering stands in an essential relation to existence, “whereas, viewed esthetically, suffering stands in an accidental relation to existence.”25 The humorist recognizes that suffering and existence are bound together, “but he does not comprehend the meaning of suffering.”26 For the religious person suffering is an occasion for self-transformation. For the Christian, having his “eternal happiness based on something historical means that…[his] good fortune is distinguished by suffering.”27 Whereas the continuance of suffering is essential to the life of the religious person, the humorist, while recognizing that existence and suffering are coextensive, “revokes the suffering in the form of jest.”28 The humorist “wants to have the absolute without the relative”29 and therefore “fumbles about in the most desperate leaping, always within the most appalling relativity.”30 Humor is like Kierkegaard’s famous binoculars, with one lens capable of magnifying and the other of making smaller the appearance of its object, yet the humorist lacks an absolute perspective from which to evaluate appearances.31 The humorist is thereby like Frater Taciturnus’ Quidam, who sacrificed his love in order to keep it eternally. He left the real, beloved woman for the recollection of her, and herein lay his spiritual illness, namely, a demonic imagination fed by possibilities and ungrounded in the absolute.32 The humorist, like the demoniac, knows how to discover infinite possibility through recollection. “The humorist comprehends the meaning of suffering as inherent in existing, but then he revokes it all, because the explanation lies behind. As a humorist exists, so also does he express himself.”33 Johannes Climacus points out the possibility that humor can be an incognito of religiosity, just as irony can be an incognito for ethics. To the outside observer, then, there are no behavioral criteria for discerning the humorist from the religious person. What distinguishes them is their innermost being, with the religious person “absolutely engaged in his relationship with God.”34 This relationship is characterized by uncertainty: “As soon as uncertainty does not continually keep the religious person hovering in order continually to grasp certitude, as soon as certainty seals with lead, as it were, the religious person—well, then he is naturally about to

SKS 7, 407 / CUP1, 447. Ibid. 25 Ibid. 26 Ibid. 27 SKS 7, 530 / CUP1, 582. 28 SKS 7, 407 / CUP1, 447. 29 Cf. SKS 19, 187, Not5:33 / JP 2, 1722. 30 Ibid. 31 Ibid. 32 Cf. SKS 6, 281 / SLW, 302–3. 33 SKS 7, 408 / CUP1, 449. 34 SKS 7, 461 / CUP1, 508. 23 24

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become part of the mass.”35 The humorist acknowledges that “the religious does not allow direct expression, does not allow recognizable difference, protests against the commensurability of the outer”36 and “joins the conception of God together with something else and brings out the contradiction—but he does not relate himself to God in religious passion (stricte sic dictus [in the strict sense of the word]).”37 “The humorist, like the beast of prey, always walks alone.”38 This mimics the isolation of the religious single individual, but fails to isolate by entering into an absolute relationship with God. Yet this isolation helps distinguish the humorist from the speculative thinker. Like an ironist who is in the majority, a humorist who is in the majority is a mediocre humorist. Yet the speculative thinker, like the man of immediacy, wants to be in the majority—or at least to be intelligible to the majority.39 The humorist recognizes the incommensurable and paradoxical, though like the speculative thinker fails to grasp them decisively. “Speculative thought is not afraid to use expressions of decision; the only thing it fears is thinking something decisive with them.”40 The humorist acknowledges the contradictions in existence— the ephemeral versus the eternal, the human versus the absolute—and this stops the humorist from being a systematic thinker. While the systematic philosopher tries to reduce the world to a single syllogism and believes he can say everything, the humorist “lives in abundance and is therefore sensitive to how much is always left over.”41 Aufheben (to sublate) means simultaneously to annul and preserve, but instead of regarding this as a humorous impossibility, Hegelian speculation regards it as the ultimate intellectual tool for the reconciliation of apparently contradictory ideas. Humor, by contrast, highlights the incommensurability: “There is a simple folk saying that humorously denotes the impossible: to have one’s mouth full of crackers and to whistle at the same time. Speculative thought accomplishes a tour de force somewhat like that by using a word [aufheben] that also denotes the very opposite.”42 Nevertheless, speculative philosophy and humor share an opposition to the Christian idea that there can be a historical point of departure for an eternal happiness, albeit for different reasons and with different attitudes—speculation with the conviction of logic and the humorist “with a sad smile.”43 Therefore, Quidam “who with his understanding sees the comic and who suffers the tragic,”44 Frater Taciturnus, who in the words of Johannes Climacus, “is essentially a humorist,”45 and Johannes Climacus, who affirms, “[I] am myself Cf. SKS 7, 460 / CUP1, 507. SKS 7, 458 / CUP1, 505. 37 Ibid. 38 SKS 18, 108, FF:173 / JP 2, 1719. 39 Cf. SKS 18, 297, JJ:472 / JP 2, 1748. 40 SKS 7, 202 / CUP1, 222. 41 Cf. SKS 17, 235, DD:37 / KJN 1, 226. 42 SKS 7, 203 / CUP1, 222. 43 SKS 7, 245n. / CUP1, 270n. 44 SKS 7, 264 / CUP1, 290. 45 SKS 7, 265 / CUP1, 291. 35 36

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essentially a humorist and, having my life in immanence, am seeking the Christianreligious,”46 are the most representative humorists of the pseudonymous works. III. The Humorous As a mimicry of Christian categories, humor revokes suffering—but with jest rather than with faith in forgiveness of the sinfulness at the root of spiritual suffering. This is a “deceptive turn,”47 a moment of melancholy in the guise of a joke. While the humorist recognizes that life and suffering are essentially yoked, the humorist fails to incorporate suffering into his existence and is thereby unable to recognize the ultimate cause and cure of spiritual suffering.48 Quidam’s sadness, enclosed in a humorous secret, indicates the guilt in which his subjectivity is trapped, but he is unable to attain freedom through repentance. Demonic subjectivity suspends the dialectic of repentance without recognizing the possibility of forgiveness, which would restore its effective relation to the absolute: The humorous appears when one answers the question of Fragments (Can a historical point of departure be given for an eternal happiness?) not with a yes or no of decision but with a sad smile (this is the lyrical in humor), which signifies that both the old man’s seventy years and the almost stillborn infant’s half hour of life are too little to become a decision for an eternity.49

The joke, as a natural expression of humor, is the renunciation of all explanation and a refusal to face up to the consequences of universal spiritual suffering. The joke is no mere protest because, unlike irony, the humorous accepts suffering in spite of not understanding its meaning.50 Tragedy, comedy, humor, and religion all acknowledge contradiction but take different attitudes to it, which in turn evoke different responses: The tragic and the comic are the same inasmuch as both are contradiction, but the tragic is suffering contradiction, and the comic is painless contradiction….The difference between the tragic and the comic consists in the relation of the contradiction to the idea. The comic interpretation produces the contradiction or allows it to become apparent by having in mente [in mind] the way out; therefore the contradiction is painless. The tragic interpretation sees the contradiction and despairs over the way out.51

Humor finds “an equilibrium between the comic and the tragic”52 by having “the comic within itself ”53 at the same time as being “legitimized…[by] its tragic side… [since] it reconciles itself with the pain from which despair wants to withdraw, SKS 7, 410 / CUP1, 451. SKS 7, 407 / CUP1, 447. 48 Ibid. 49 SKS 7, 245n. / CUP1, 270n. 50 Ibid. 51 SKS 7, 465–9 / CUP1, 514–16. 52 SKS 7, 266 / CUP1, 292. 53 SKS 7, 474 / CUP1, 521. 46 47

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although it knows no way out.”54 Hence humor attempts to revoke suffering with jest while continuing to acknowledge it with a sad smile. In this way humor adumbrates religious faith while falling short of it. “Even when humor wants to try its hand at the paradoxes, it is not faith. Humor does not take in the suffering aspect of the paradox or the ethical aspect of faith but only the amusing aspect.”55 Humor thereby fails to affirm its own despair and the causes of despair. Religious faith, on the other hand, requires despair over sin as part of its dialectic,56 even though faith in the forgiveness of sinfulness is the ultimate antidote to despair. Sin is the contradiction, or “infinite qualitative difference,”57 between fallen human nature and the moral perfection of God. Faith despairs of a way out of this contradiction by human means alone, but it embraces a way out by means of divine forgiveness. To summarize, humor is an existential border region between the ethical and the religious, in some respects analogous to irony as the confinium between the aesthetic and ethical spheres. It acknowledges suffering and contradiction and has the capacity to entertain Christian categories as possibilities, but the humorist fails to integrate these into his own life, instead revoking them with jest or containing them in the aesthetic modality of mere possibility. The humorist “levels everything…on the basis of the abstract relationship with God,”58 instead of making an absolute commitment as a concrete individual in faith. Although the religious person can have humor as an incognito, the humorist as such can never reach further than immanent religiosity because he seeks eternal truth only through recollection, fails to embrace his own despair as part of the dialectic of faith, and does not acknowledge in earnest inwardness the possibility of the forgiveness of sins by a transcendent God. See also Aesthetic/Aesthetics; Comic/Comedy; Contradiction; Existence/Existential; Finitude/Infinity; Incognito; Irony; Melancholy; Paradox; Parody; Religious/Religiousness; Silence; Stages; Suffering; Tragic/Tragedy; Understanding/Comprehension; Wit.

56 57 58 54 55

SKS 7, 473 / CUP1, 520. SKS 7, 266 / CUP1, 291. SKS 11, 228n. / SUD, 116n. SKS 11, 237 / SUD, 126. SKS 7, 407n. / CUP1, 448n.

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Hypocrisy Thomas Martin Fauth Hansen

Hypocrisy (Hykleri—noun; hykle—verb; hyklerisk, hyklersk or hykkelsk—adjective; Hykler (masculine, hypocrite)—noun; Hyklerinde (feminine, hypocrite)—noun) From the Old Danish høykle, derived from medieval Low German huchelen and High German heucheln.1 The lexical meaning in Danish of hypocrisy is (1) the act of presenting oneself in word or deed as better than one really is for the sake of ingratiating oneself or gaining an advantage, especially to present oneself as pious when one is not; (2) to praise others with false, stilted, and inappropriate flattery—to use Guldberg’s example, “one usually flatters [smigrer] equals and subordinates— but one is hypocritical [hykler] towards superiors in order to gain illegitimate advantages.”2 Kierkegaard uses different spellings and grammatical variations of the word “hypocrisy” throughout his production, including Hyklerie, hykkelsk, Hykler, Hykleri, Hykleren, hykle, Hyklen, and hyklersk. Kierkegaard also uses other Old Danish words with similar meanings a few times, especially when he defines hypocrisy: Skalk, Øienskalk, skalkagtig, and Skinhellig. The concept of hypocrisy is used throughout Kierkegaard’s production. It is introduced in 1837 in Journal DD3 and used until the year of his death in The Moment and his late journals. Kierkegaard uses “hypocrisy” a few times in the upbuilding writings, mainly in Upbuilding Discourses in Various Spirits and in Three Discourses at the Communion on Fridays. “Hypocrisy” is more frequently used in the pseudonymous works, mainly in Fear and Trembling, The Concept of Anxiety, Stages on Life’s Way, and in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript. Kierkegaard’s most extensive use of “hypocrisy” is in his late journals, notebooks, and papers from 1851 until his death in 1855. In 1855 it is also frequently used in The Moment, especially in numbers 5, 7 and 8, and in What Christ Judges of Official Christianity. Of the total occurrences of the term “hypocrisy” and its variations, the vast majority are found in the above-mentioned production from 1851 to 1855. Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 8, columns 955–8. 2 Christian Molbech, Dansk Ordbog indeholdende det danske Sprogs Stammeord, tilligemed afledede og sammensatte Ord, efter den nuværende Sprogbrug forklarede i deres forskiellige Betydninger, og ved Talemaader og Exempler oplyste af Christian Molbech, vols. 1–2, Copenhagen: Gyldendalske Boghandlings Forlag 1833, vol. 1, p. 481. 3 SKS 17, 241, DD:61 / JP 4, 4401. 1

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Kierkegaard uses the concept of hypocrisy to define and describe the problem of the relation between the interior and the exterior, on the individual and societal levels. (1) At the individual level, hypocrisy is used to define the pitfalls in the process of becoming oneself. This is done by linking hypocrisy to a series of key concepts. (2) At the individual level, Kierkegaard describes different degrees or types of hypocrisy. (3) At the societal level, Kierkegaard uses hypocrisy to describe aspects of his present age, especially in his critique of Christendom in contrast to Christianity. There are, of course, overlaps between (1), (2), and (3). I. The Individual Level: Defining the Pitfalls in Becoming Oneself (a) Irony. Kierkegaard’s first use of “hypocrisy” links it to irony and the moral domain, in a comment in his journal on the Brothers Grimm’s Irische Elfenmärchen (1826).4 Hypocrisy, as well as irony, becomes possible when the innocence or naïveté of the imagination is taken away, when irony is no longer slumbering, but awake, that is, when the imagination resides in a self-conscious individual.5 The Concept of Irony elaborates on the link between hypocrisy and irony.6 Hypocrisy and irony are identical in the respect that both concepts have an exterior that is in contrast to the interior. They differ however, because they belong to different domains. Hypocrisy belongs to the moral domain, whereas irony belongs to the metaphysical domain. The hypocrite always strives to appear good, but is bad. The ironist merely strives to appear different from his interior, by hiding seriousness in jest, for example. He might even appear evil despite being good. Thus the moral definitions that apply when dealing with hypocrisy are too concrete when dealing with irony. In the Concluding Unscientific Postscript hypocrisy and irony are again linked to each other. Both express the contradiction that the exterior does not equal the interior and can be explained as the opposite of what they appear to be.7 (b) Anxiety, Offense, and the Demonic. In The Concept of Anxiety hypocrisy is linked to offense, and both concepts are classified as variations of anxiety for the good (that is, the demonic).8 As with the ironist there is a contrast between the interior and exterior, but here it is not an orchestrated contrast with the purpose of getting nearer to the truth. The demonic individual is defined as a self-enclosed person who lacks interiority, that is, is afraid to become or to reveal himself or herself. Thus the demonic response to the conflict between the inner and outer, in this case through hypocrisy or indignation, is to seal off the interior, seal off the self, seal off the truth. Hence hypocrisy and offense are ways to seal off the self. Hypocrisy’s form is defined as active (masculine), offense’s form as passive (feminine).9 Hypocrisy Irische Elfenmärchen, trans. by J.L.K. and W.K. Grimm, Leipzig: Friederich Fleischer 1826 (from Thomas Crofton Croker’s Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland, vols. 1–3, London: John Murray 1825–28). 5 SKS 17, 241, DD:61 / JP 4, 4401. 6 SKS 1, 294–5 / CI, 255–6. 7 SKS 7, 305 / CUP1, 334. 8 SKS 4, 445 / CA, 144–5. 9 See the draft for The Concept of Anxiety, Pap. V B 60. 4

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begins through an activity, offense through passivity. Hypocrisy is in essence the result of offense turned on oneself, offense in essence is hypocrisy towards oneself.10 Years later, in Journal NB26, hypocrisy is again linked to The Concept of Anxiety, this time to the synthesis, where man is a synthesis of soul and body united in spirit. Man is born with the possibility of becoming a hypocrite, and it is God’s wish to see whether one chooses hypocrisy or truth as one’s element. Hypocrisy enters when the sensuous faculty is substituted in man for spiritual understanding with a different interpretation that seems similar.11 (c) Objectivity. In Journal NB23 and Journal NB24 hypocrisy is linked to objectivity,12 as a way to define and criticize the teachings of Christianity in Kierkegaard’s own age. The teaching of Christianity as objective is hypocrisy, because it places Christianity under false categories and views individual subjectivity as irrelevant. Christianity is transformed into an objective teaching, where the objectivity is the main issue, and thus every existential exertion to become subjective is subdued.13 (d) Double-Mindedness. In Upbuilding Discourses in Various Spirits (“Purity of Heart is to Will One Thing”) hypocrisy is used to define a type of double-mindedness that stands in contrast to purity of heart. Instead of willing one thing, the good, the hypocrite tries to avoid punishment by portraying himself externally as good. Thus hypocrisy is again a way of dealing with a contrast between the interior and the exterior.14 (e) Prosaic Sophistry. As early as Journal DD Kierkegaard defines his present age by contrasting it with the Middle Ages where the understanding of good, evil and sin had a more naïve and melancholy aspect, whereas his present age is defined as a prosaic era filled with trivial, sophistic understanding “in which we are constantly losing in the idea the more we win in actuality,”15 making way for hypocrites and horrible vices. Later in Journal NB25 hypocrisy is again linked to sophistry and Plato’s Sophists. Kierkegaard’s aim is to show that the Sophists were hypocrites hiding a contrast between the interior and exterior and that the official teachings of Christianity are sophistry.16 (f) Truth. In Journal NB27 hypocrisy is linked to the relation between the intensive and the extensive. Religious truth lies in absorption in the intensive. To be occupied with the extensive is sophistry, is sermonizing and as such hypocrisy.17 This is also linked to Kierkegaard’s use of the concepts subjectivity and objectivity.

12 13 14 15 16 17 10 11

SKS 4, 444–5 / CA 8, 144–6. SKS 25, 86–7, NB26:85 / JP 1, 80. SKS 24, 260, NB23:109 / JP 4, 4561. SKS 24, 402, NB24:127 / JP 4, 4565; SKS 24, 421, NB24:154 / JP 4, 4566. SKS 8, 157–8 / UD 15, 44–6. SKS 17, 241, note [a], DD:61 / JP 4, 4402. SKS 24, 463, NB25:42 / JP 4, 4309. SKS 25, 144, NB27:26 / JP 2, 2102.

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II. The Individual Level: Describing Different Levels and Degrees of Hypocrisy (a) Character. In Journal NB25 and Journal NB30 to be a hypocrite is explained as a lack of character, a lack that the priests share. Thus the priests can in Kierkegaard’s view be described as hypocrites without character.18 Along the same lines, the priests are in Journal NB26 called hypocrites by comparing them with actors that love to perform on stage.19 (b) Hypocritical Character Traits in Kierkegaard’s Age: Humility, Modesty, Affectation. In Three Discourses at the Communion on Fridays Kierkegaard distinguishes between two types of hypocrite, inspired by the parable on the Pharisee and the Tax Collector.20 The first type of hypocrite is the most obvious, that is, the proud and vain Pharisee, who deceives himself and tries to deceive God that he is righteous. The second type is a mix of the sincere Tax Collector and the insincere Pharisee from the parable. This hypocrite has the interior of the Pharisee but the exterior of the Tax Collector. He has learned to hide his pride and vanity in the guise of humility.21 In Journal NB24 hypocrisy is linked to Christian affectation, to the false pretence of humility and modesty.22 (c) Two Examples of Hypocrisy: The Poet and the Priest. In The Moment, number 7, the poet is called a hypocrite to the first power, the priest in Christendom a hypocrite to the second power. The poet openly transforms suffering into pleasurable words; the priest does the same, but under the pretence of speaking Christian truth.23 (d) Individuality-Types: Hypocrite-Comical, Mad-Religious. In Stages on Life’s Way hypocrisy is used in contrast to religious truth. But to be a hypocrite in relation to religious matters presupposes a conception of faith. If the individual does not have that, then the individual in question is not a hypocrite, but merely a comical individuality.24 In Fear and Trembling hypocrisy is also linked to the religious sphere,25 to the paradox—here linked to the spectator. The knight of faith, situated between a particular individual and the universal, can from a human perspective be viewed either as a madman, the mildest form, or as a hypocrite. III. The Societal Level: Describing Aspects of the Present Age (a) Describing Protestantism. In Journal NB25, in a passage concerning Catholicism and Protestantism, hypocrisy is linked to Protestantism.26 According to Kierkegaard, both Catholics and Protestants try to free themselves from the demand to imitate Christ. The Catholics use a complex system of intermediaries—for example, one 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 18 19

SKS 24, 493, NB25:75 / JP 3, 3166; SKS 25, 480, NB30:115 / JP 4, 5029. SKS 25, 29, NB26:21 / JP 6, 6807. Luke 18:9–14. SKS 11, 263–4 / WA, 127–8. SKS 24, 407, 410, NB24:132 / JP 2, 2204; SKS 24, 409, NB24:135 / JP 1, 108. SKS 13, 281–4 / M, 225. SKS 6, 222–3 / SLW, 237–8. SKS 4, 167 / FT, 75–6. SKS 24, 508–9, NB25:92 / JP 2, 1913.

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prays to the Virgin Mary, hoping that she will intercede for one with the redeemer. This system of intercession constitutes a distance from the demand to imitate Christ. But at the same time it is an honest and openly declared distance that reveals the difference between the ordinary Catholic and the ideal. The Protestants live a similar distance from the ideal, but call it Christianity and discharge the ideal and the intermediary redeemers by hypocritically proclaiming themselves to be too humble and modest to want the extraordinary. (b) Laws and Grace. In Journal NB33 hypocrisy is divided into hypocrisy with regard to religious laws and hypocrisy with regard to Christian grace. Both are hypocrisy, but the latter is loathsome, because it “make[s] a fool of love.”27 The latter type of hypocrisy is characteristic of Christendom (that is, Kierkegaard’s concept for the official practice of Protestantism in Denmark), and therefore Kierkegaard depicts this caricature of Christianity as the most demoralized of all religions. (c) Describing Christendom. In Journal NB29 hypocrisy is directly linked to Christendom in contrast to Christianity.28 In Journal NB30 hypocrisy is used to demonstrate how false the official practice of Christianity is. By hypocritically claiming to be too humble and modest to seek the extraordinary, the hypocrite keeps the appearance of being a Christian, but rids himself of the Christian demands.29 (d) Profane Truth. In What Christ Judges of Official Christianity and in The Moment, number 8, Kierkegaard says that there is nothing God is against so much as hypocrisy and that it is life’s task to transform oneself, since everyone by nature is a born hypocrite. Yet there is nothing so admired by the world, and by Christendom, as the finest hypocrites. To take part in official Christianity and yet not choose Christian truth is to be a hypocrite—and it is this official hypocrisy that feeds the priests and their families.30 (e) Group-Individual. In Journal NB28 hypocrisy is linked to man’s animal nature, which desires to be part of a group, to run with the pack in contrast to being an individual. Thus practicing hypocrisy is a way of avoiding “the criterion of the individual and the ideal.”31 To summarize, Kierkegaard’s use of the term “hypocrisy” has to do with (1) defining the process of individuation; (2) describing the distance between subjectivity and objectivity and the lack of character and truth in his contemporaries; and (3) describing the same lack on the societal level, especially in the last part of his production, where he mainly focuses on the contrast between Christianity and Christendom. See also Anxiety; Christendom; Demonic; Earnestness; Faith; Inwardness/Inward Deepening; Irony; Objectivity/Subjectivity; Offense; Paradox; Protestantism/ Reformation; Worldliness/Secularism.

29 30 31 27 28

SKS 26, 268, NB33:26 / JP 2, 1500. SKS 25, 369, NB29:106 / JP 3, 3336. SKS 25, 401, NB30:23 / JP 2, 1803. SKS 13, 178–9 / M, 133–5; SKS 13, 361–2 / M, 301–4. SKS 25, 272–3, NB28:71 / JP 3, 2968.

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Identity/Difference Claudine Davidshofer

Identity (Identitet—noun) / Difference (Forskel—noun) The Danish term Identitet derives from the Latin identitas and is also related to the Latin idem (the same), entitas (entity), and identidem (again and again). Its lexical definition is (1) an individual or group which is aware of its personality and individuality; (2) that which gives continuity and unity to something or someone; and (3) that which makes something or someone what it uniquely is, gives it its unique sense of self and individuality.1 Forskel derives from Middle Low German vorschel. Its lexical definition is (1) the way in which two or more things or people are dissimilar; (2) the state or condition of being unlike others, particular or individual; and (3) a separation, divide, or boundary between things or people.2 Although Kierkegaard does not often use the terms identity and difference by name, the related themes of unity/particularity and continuity/variation are found throughout his texts. Identity and difference are discussed most explicitly and extensively in Either/Or, published under the pseudonym Victor Eremita, and in Philosophical Fragments, published under the pseudonym Johannes Climacus. The same general themes can also be found in Repetition, Concluding Unscientific Postscript, and The Sickness unto Death. Identity and difference function existentially, religiously, and metaphysically. Each will be treated in turn. First, in Either/Or, identity and difference have an existential function. In particular, creating and maintaining a personal identity (selfhood or personality) is a difficult task, because it requires a constant balance between the principles of identity and difference. Selfhood is a continual relation between identity and difference, for it combines a sense of personal unity and continuity with the fluctuating particularities of daily life. Identity without difference is empty and meaningless, for it lacks particularity and detail. Difference without identity is chaotic and meaningless, for it lacks continuity and order. The aesthete struggles to maintain this relation between identity and difference, tending to overemphasize either the one or the other, thereby dissolving the relation between the two. Consequently, the aesthete has no personal identity at all. For example, in one instance that Judge William describes, the aesthete overemphasizes identity to the exclusion of difference. The aesthete lives according to the rule: Ordbog over det danske Sprog, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 9, columns 55–6. 2 Ibid., vol. 5, columns 830–2. 1

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“do it or do not do it, you will regret both.”3 The aesthete does not see different options leading to different outcomes in life. He sees them as having an identical outcome with identical existential worth, namely, regret. While it may seem that marrying and not marrying are very different options with very different outcomes, the aesthete annuls this difference by focusing on their outcome, an outcome he sees as identical. Since the outcome is identical, the initial options look identical as well. Marrying ends in regret and not marrying ends in regret; becoming a hairdresser ends in regret and not becoming a hairdresser ends in regret.4 For the aesthete, all seemingly different life options are ultimately identical in existential worth. There is no ultimate difference in life’s possibilities and paths.5 In recognizing identity and not difference, the aesthete annuls the either/or of life, the need to choose the particularities that give meaning to life. A decision requires that the options presented are different possibilities leading to different outcomes. But since the aesthete sees the options as identical, he annuls from the outset the need to make a decision, for he does not see different options between which he must decide. He opts out of life and selfhood, simply allowing life to “decide” the content for him. He does not belong to the content of his own life. Consequently, the aesthete has no personal identity, no selfhood at all.6 As Judge William warns, “there eventually comes a moment where it is no longer a matter of an Either/Or, not because he has chosen, but because he has refrained from it…[b]ecause others have chosen for him—or because he has lost himself.” 7 The aesthete has merely an empty self, a self who observes his life at a distance. In “Rotation of Crops,” however, the aesthete overemphasizes difference, to the exclusion of identity, because he believes continual difference staves off boredom and keeps life entertaining.8 He desires life to be continual difference, so he seeks the “accidental,” the “arbitrary,” and the fleeting details of life.9 He avoids the element of identity by avoiding all long-term commitments. He guards against marriage, friendship, and official posts, for long-term commitments impart and require a kind of identity for life’s accidental content. Long-term commitments order and restrict life’s arbitrariness.10 By emphasizing difference over identity, the aesthete lacks personal identity. The aesthete’s life is mere difference, a mere mess of unordered accidentals. His life has much detail and particularity, but it lacks the identity that could give these details continuity, order, and purpose. The flurry of continual difference is meaningless. Judge William cautions, “Or can you think of anything more appalling than having it all end with the disintegration of your essence into a multiplicity, so that you actually become several…and thus you would have lost what is most inward and holy in a 5 6 7 8 9 3 4



10

SKS 3, 156 / EO2, 159. SKS 3, 161–3 / EO2, 164–6. SKS 2, 155–7 / EO2, 157–9. SKS 3, 160–2 / EO2, 163–5. SKS 3, 161 / EO2, 164. SKS 2, 287–9 / EO1, 299–300. SKS 2, 288 / EO1, 299. SKS 2, 284–7 / EO1, 295–8.

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human being, the binding power of the personality?”11 The aesthete has lost all sense of unity and continuity; his selfhood has disintegrated into unconnected accidentals. Judge William believes, however, that the ethical individual appropriately balances identity and difference. The ethical individual does have a developed personal identity. Unlike the aesthete, the Judge does recognize difference among the options of life. He emphasizes life’s “either/or”12 because he sees particular life options as decidedly different in outcome and existential worth. They are not all identical (and regretful), but rather they are different options with potentially very different outcomes. The ethical individual chooses and owns the different particularities that give his life its detail and rich content.13 The ethical individual also embraces the principle of identity. Judge William explains that the ethical individual brings identity into his life through his everyday long-term commitments, such as marriage, friendships, and jobs. Long-term commitments give identity to life, because they bring order and continuity to the particularities of everyday life. The Judge believes that commitments actually stave off boredom and give heightened meaning and excitement to the accidentals of life. Arbitrary (difference) can only be fully recognized and appreciated against the background of stability (identity).14 The ethical individual has a developed personal identity because he has both a sense of continuity and order and an enjoyment of the accidentals and particularities of life. The ethical individual is able to balance both principles of identity and difference, and to allow the one to reinforce the other. His life has continuity to order the particulars and the particulars to keep the order interesting. Yet, in The Sickness unto Death, Anti-Climacus suggests that the ethical individual can easily lose himself within the crowd, by occupying himself too much with the everyday practices of public, social life. It is rather easy to appear outwardly respectable, but it is much more difficult for the individual to know he has a deeper identity beyond this outward, social self. Anti-Climacus writes that an individual may “seem to be a man, be occupied with temporal matters, marry, have children, be honored and esteemed—and it may not be detected that in a deeper sense he lacks a self….The greatest hazard of all, losing the self, can occur very quietly in the world, as if it were nothing at all.”15 Personal identity—that which makes an individual this unique individual and no other—is only fully achieved when the individual is differentiated from the crowd. Anti-Climacus believes that the individual becomes himself and himself alone “before God.”16 Only he himself knows what it is like to be himself before God. Only he himself knows what it is like to feel the burden and forgiveness of his own personal sin. For Anti-Climacus, personal identity is completed in religious life.17 13 14 15 16 17 11

12

SKS 3, 158 / EO2, 160. SKS 3, 153 / EO2, 158. SKS 3, 155–6, 163–6 / EO2, 157–8, 167–70. SKS 3, 213–17 / EO2, 222–6. SKS 11, 148 / SUD, 32–3. SKS 11, 233 / SUD, 121. SKS 11, 129–30, 148–9, 230–4 / SUD, 13–14, 32–4, 119–23.

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Second, identity and difference function in the religious context. In the Philosophical Fragments, Johannes Climacus explains that the god is “absolutely different” from the human, and the human is “absolutely different” from the god.18 Human spirit is incommensurable with divine spirit, and it is separated from the divine by an infinite chasm. Human thought wishes to know how the god is absolutely different from the human. But absolute difference is absolute difference precisely because it is completely other than and inaccessible to the human. The understanding cannot think the difference, because “it cannot absolutely negate itself.”19 The absolute difference is annulled because the human makes it too similar to the human spirit through which it is thought. The human stands at an impasse. He wants to know the absolute difference, but if it is understood by the human, it ceases to be absolute difference. And if the absolute difference remains absolute difference, it remains altogether inaccessible to the human. The human cannot grasp the difference on his own. The god himself must reveal this difference to the human.20 Climacus explains that the absolute difference must be something for which the human himself is responsible. The difference that the human imposes between himself and the god is sin.21 Though the human himself is responsible for this absolute difference, he is blind to this very difference he has created. The god performs a doubly paradoxical task. He reveals the absolute difference (sin), but he simultaneously offers to annul this absolute difference. He offers to remove man’s sinfulness and allow him to approach closer to the god. Climacus notes, “the same paradox has the duplexity by which it manifests itself as the absolute—negatively, by bringing into prominence the absolute difference of sin and, positively, by wanting to annul this absolute difference in absolute equality.”22 The god both reveals the absolute difference between God and man and offers a closer unity between God and man. In the Concluding Unscientific Postscript, Climacus adds that it is “a presumptuous, giddying thought”23 to consider that the god annuls this difference. It is indeed impossible for the human to understand this paradox, for it is and is meant to be beyond human rationality. Instead, the human should humbly accept by faith that this paradox exists and accept the divine forgiveness that offers to erase sin. Of course, the human will never be identical to the god, for the god is infinite and eternal. The god will always be absolutely different from the human, but now the god is different from the human not because of a difference the human himself has imposed (sin). The human can show his gratitude by cheerfully expressing this natural difference, that is, by cheerfully living out his temporal, finite, human nature as best he can.24

20 21 22 23 24 18 19

SKS 4, 251 / PF, 46. SKS 4, 250 / PF, 45. SKS 4, 249–51 / PF, 44–6. SKS 4, 252 / PF, 47. Cf. SKS 11, 233 / SUD, 121–2. SKS 4, 252 / PF, 47. SKS 7, 446 / CUP1, 492. SKS 7, 445–7 / CUP1, 491–3.

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Finally, brief mention can be made of how identity and difference function in metaphysics. In Repetition, Constantin Constantius claims that repetition is the new central category of modern metaphysics, and that it “explains the relation between the Eleatics and Heraclitus.”25 Put very simply, the Eleatics view reality under the principle of identity, for reality is eternal, static being. Heraclitus views reality under the principle of continual difference, for reality is constant becoming and nothing remains self-identical. The dispute is about whether identity or difference is the underlying metaphysical principle. Repetition is supposed to solve this dispute, so repetition must be some sort of relation between identity and difference. Indeed, the metaphysical structure of repetition can be understood as an interdependence between identity and difference. Repetition is not pure repetition, as a mere duplication, a pure identity of the first and second moments. The two moments cannot be exactly identical, for this would be a pure identity of the two, and not a repetition. Also, the two moments cannot be utterly different. Without an element of identity between the two, the moments would remain entirely separate, and no repetition could be recognized. A repetition is a variation of the first moment in the second moment. It requires the mutual interdependence of identity and difference, because there must be some element of identity between the two moments, so that they are recognized as similar, and yet must maintain some element of difference, so that they are recognized as distinct. Repetition solves the dispute between Heraclitus and the Eleatics, because it does not emphasize either identity or difference, to the exclusion of the other principle. Repetition requires an interdependence between identity and difference. See also Despair; Exception/Universal; Faith; Paradox; Personality; Qualitative Difference; Repetition; Self; Sin.

25



SKS 4, 25 / R, 148.

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Imagination Frances Maughan-Brown

Imagination (Indbildning—noun; Indbildningskraft—noun; Phantasie—noun) Indbildning from the German Einbildung. Its lexical meaning is twofold: first, a capacity to form images of objects that are not presented directly by the senses; and, second, the images or presentations themselves that are the work of this capacity. As a qualification of this second sense it often means a false or harmful conception, a delusion or hallucination.1 Phantasie from the Greek φαντασία, derived from the verb φαντάζειν, meaning to make visible. Like Indbildning, the lexical meaning of Phantasie is twofold: the creative capacity, or the result of the working of the Indbildningskraft, the power of imagination.2 “Imagination” is referred to throughout Kierkegaard’s journals, his signed works, and his pseudonymous works: sometimes it is just mentioned, sometimes it is studied, sometimes the reference comes as a warning of its power, sometimes of its impotence, and once imagination is identified as the capacity for all our capacities— the capacity instar omnium. In this article I will sketch some figures in which we can try to catch the concept, but the way it slithers out of all the determinations is perhaps more interesting than the list of well-justified terms like “capacity” and “medium.” A short passage from Fear and Trembling presents a number of the aspects of the concept very clearly: the passage is not a conceptual analysis but, fittingly, a little imagined picture. Johannes de silentio, Fear and Trembling’s pseudonymous author, says: My memory is a faithful spouse, and my imagination [Phantasi], unlike myself, is a busy little maid who sits all day at her work and in the evening can coax me so charmingly that I have to look at it, even though it is not always landscapes or flowers or SchäferHistorier [pastoral idylls] that she paints. I have seen the terrifying face to face, and I do not flee from it in horror, but I know very well that even though I advance toward it courageously, my courage is still not the courage of faith and is not something to be compared with it.3

Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1927, vol. 9, columns 209–11. 2 Ibid., vol. 4, columns 751–3. The modern orthography is fantasi. 3 SKS 4, 129 / FT, 33. 1

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Imagination’s work is image-making, but not re-creating by memory, not faithfully copying something given.4 Not faithful as a spouse, either, who might be relied on to do only what is fitting (in landscape, say), she charmingly coaxes one out to face the terrifying.5 Imagination exerts her autonomy twice in this picture, first working in secret and then foisting that work upon one; but though she may tempt one out beyond mere prettiness, she cannot bring faith.6 Faith is something that one does in actuality, not something that one presents, or achieves by looking at or reading a presentation. Kierkegaard always conceives of imagination in terms of this limit. One of his most lengthy and direct examinations of imagination appears seven years later in Practice in Christianity. “We shall now imagine [tænke os] a youth,” Kierkegaard writes there under the pseudonym Anti-Climacus, “With his imagination [Indbildningskraft] he perceives some image [Billede] of perfection (ideal)… (…it exists only in the imagination [Indbildningen], that is, in the imagination’s [Indbildningens] infinite distance from actuality…).”7 A person imagines Christ, perfection, but the image is only “in his head” as one might say. This makes it more perfect: the imagination [Indbildningskraften] is in itself more perfect than suffering in actuality. It is timeless, beyond suffering in actuality. It can splendidly depict perfection, has all the magnificent colors to describe it, but, on the other hand, the power of the imagination [Indbildningskraften] cannot depict suffering except in a perfected (idealized), that is, in a mitigated, toned-down, foreshortened, depiction.8

More perfect here means “mitigated,” “toned-down,” and mitigation and toning down mean deceit. The suffering that is part of Christ can never be depicted except in this fashion, so the imagination itself could never bring the youth to faith because he would never be able to imagine anything but a muted and pale suffering. He would always be deceived. The image would never be true, because it would always

4 Here is a gesture towards the Romantic tradition, in which imagination is associated with production, creativity, immorality. David Gouwens argues that Kierkegaard rejects this Romantic concept, in order that imagination can take up its more fundamental work in the ethical, and then eventually in faith. David Gouwens, Kierkegaard’s Dialectic of the Imagination, New York: Peter Lang 1989, pp. 45–82. 5 That imagination can bring one to courage is the ethical dimension that Gouwens and scholars like Jamie Lorentzen and Richard Kearney are particularly interested in (see, for instance, Richard Kearney, The Wake of Imagination, Minneapolis: University of Minneapolis Press 1988, pp. 196–211 and throughout Jamie Lorentzen, Kierkegaard’s Metaphors, Macon, Georgia: Mercer University Press 2001). 6 Jamie Ferreira explores the work of imagination in Kierkegaard’s account of faith, and shows how fundamental imagination would be in the leap, the paradox, the suspension of understanding and the passion of engagement. I do not mean to deny this but only to acknowledge the limit that de silentio struggles with, a limit that even Anti-Climacus, as we shall see, places great importance on. 7 SKS 12, 186 / PC, 186–7. 8 SKS 12, 186 / PC, 186.

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be only an image. Anti-Climacus says it is suffering that eludes the image, we could say the same of joy—for instance, Kierkegaard is interested in the Apostle Paul’s “thorn in the flesh” which is just this incapacity to express, to articulate, to make a picture for our imaginations, of the ecstasy his faith brought him.10 Anti-Climacus continues: 9

No, however great the efforts of imagination [Indbildningskraften] to make this imagined image [Indbildningsbillede] actual, it cannot do it. If it could do that, then with the help of the imagination [sin Indbildningskraft] a person could experience exactly the same as in actuality, could live through it in exactly the same way as if he lived through it in actuality, could learn to know himself as accurately and fundamentally as in the experience of actuality—then there would be no meaning in life.11

The very meaning of life depends on keeping imagination and actuality separate! Johannes de silentio’s depiction of imagination as a busy maid that cannot lead him to faith takes on a new weight now. But Anti-Climacus has another (and a surprising) movement up his sleeve: despite imagination’s inability to properly present suffering, or joy (that is, present it in such a way that it is no longer presentation but actuality), he says imagination can lead a person into faith. The image is indeed a deception— it is not actuality—but by this deception it can lure him, tempt him into faith. “In a certain sense the youth’s imagination has deceived him…it has deceived him into the truth; by means of a deception, it has, as it were, played him into God’s hands.” 12 The picture does not give him faith, but it can draw the youth (and not just his imagination) to the movements of faith. Without forgetting the limits of imagination, the difference between it and actuality which gives meaning to life, Anti-Climacus finds a way for the “busy maid” to do what de silentio thought impossible.13 So imagination may, after all, be “congratulated.”14 Kierkegaard’s concept of imagination retains the ambiguity of these descriptions even when approached from a completely different angle. Anti-Climacus, in his earlier book The Sickness unto Death (this time using the term Phantasie rather than Indbildningskraft) describes imagination as fundamental for the self: imagination is not only the capacity to figure but the capacity for all capacities: The fantastic [phantastiske], of course, is most closely related to the imagination [Phantasien], but the imagination in turn is related to feeling, knowing, and willing; therefore a person can have imaginary [phantastisk] feeling, knowing and willing… Imagination…is the capacity instar omnium [for all capacities]. When all is said 9 This youth has an interesting parallel in the figure of the religious poet, which, for instance, in Concluding Unscientific Postscript Johannes Climacus brands an “awkward position,” not unlike the “tight corner” Anti-Climacus’ imaginative youth is in. SKS 7, 353 / CUP1, 388. See also SKS 24, 474, NB25:55 / JP 2, 1829. 10 See the discourse entitled “The Thorn in the Flesh,” SKS 5, 317 / EUD, 327. 11 SKS 12, 188–9 / PC, 188. 12 SKS 12, 189 / PC, 190. 13 Unless, of course, we read this passage from de silentio as a tricky passage which appeals to the deceptive imagination behind our backs! 14 Ibid.

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Feeling, knowing, and willing, all depend on imagination. The intensity of the self is dependent on the intensity of the imagination. Imagination’s role could not be more extensive, more fundamental for our lives. And yet the initial concern about illusion and deceit is maintained even here: this way of conceiving imagination is introduced in relation to a discussion of the fantastical—that in which a person gets lost and despairs. The task of translation here (as in other passages)16 vouches for the slipperiness of the concept of imagination in Kierkegaard’s work. Phantasie is sometimes translated as fantasy, sometimes as imagination: above we see phantastiske as “fantastic” and phantastisk as “imaginary.” In Practice in Christianity Anti-Climacus changes his terms and uses Indbildning which makes translating somewhat worse: Kierkegaard uses the word Indbildning extensively and mostly it is translated as “fancy,” “illusion,” “delusion”—but often enough, as “imagination.”17 At what point or to what extent can imagination be sure of avoiding the fantastical, can imagination take on its positive aspect of a creative power, or of capacity instar omnium without risking getting lost? As the varying concepts of imagination are traced here it is not always clear when Kierkegaard is drawing the distinction and when he is collapsing it. Nevertheless, here is a list of the ways in which Kierkegaard uses the concept of the imagination.18 Imagination is most often referred to simply as that in a person which figures,19 depicts,20 invents,21 or fabricates,22 while Johannes de silentio’s imagination paints. These uses of the term are not technical, but the conception of imagination as imagemaking carries the sense of a separation from actuality, which is articulated most explicitly in the passage quoted above from Practice in Christianity. SKS 11, 147 / SUD, 30–1. See, for example, SKS 7, 353 / CUP1, 388. 17 See, for instance, SKS 5, 33 / EUD, 25; SKS 5, 192 / EUD, 188; SKS 9, 261 / WL, 262; SKS 9, 373 / WL, 380. 18 A list of some of the chief ways the concept as such is used in Kierkegaard’s works, not, then, an account of all the work or function of the imagination (which is in principle inexhaustible, since the imagination is described by Anti-Climacus as the capacity of all capacities), and also not an exhaustive list of all the instances a term that might reasonably be translated as “imagination” appears, because that might fill all these pages on its own. For another such list, see Gouwens, Kierkegaard’s Dialectic of the Imagination, pp. 3–7. 19 For example, “the figure of anxiety—if the imagination is allowed to form such a figure—is appalling and terrifying to look at” (SKS 4, 399 / CA, 96). 20 For example, “all the wisdom that the most glowing colors of your imagination could depict” (SKS 18, 20, EE:43 / KJN 2, 17). 21 For example, “a philosopher has gradually come to be such a marvelous creature that not even the most prodigal imagination has invented anything quite so fabulous” (SKS 7, 113 / CUP1, 117). 22 For example, “the past could not be undone…not even fabricated for the imagination” (SKS 6, 189 / SLW, 201). 15 16

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Often something is spoken of being for the imagination, rather than a work of it.23 This evokes a sense of imagination as a place or faculty in the mind;24 imagination is often contrasted explicitly with thought or understanding, as if they were two separable parts of the mind—in a journal entry from 1838 Kierkegaard describes the imagination as a “side of the soul.”25 Imagination is not to be neglected for the sake of understanding,26 but neither should it get ahead of itself: the “sides” of the soul must be balanced.27 That is partly because “sicknesses” lodge themselves on certain sides of the soul, for instance in Stages on Life’s Way we read: “What is my sickness? Depression. Where does this sickness have its seat? In the power of the imagination [Indbildningskraften], and possibility is its nourishment.”28 There is a particular kind of despair associated with imagination, a getting lost in possibility.29 But we cannot avoid this risk of becoming lost, which is identified in almost all the characterizations of imagination, since, as Anti-Climacus explains, “in order to become itself [the self] reflects itself in the medium of imagination.”30 Imagination, then, is not just a “side” or a “seat” but a “medium” in which the self becomes itself. But more often when imagination is described as a “medium” it is as a medium for knowledge.31 Having contrasted imagination with understanding, this might seem a little surprising. But as a medium for knowledge imagination, together with understanding, is opposed to existence: All communication of knowledge is in the medium of imagination, the communication of an art less so, inasmuch as it is an execution. But the communication in the ethical can be given only in actuality, in such a way that the communicator or teacher himself exists in it and in the situation of actuality, is himself in the situation of actuality that which he teaches.32 SKS 4, 452 / CA, 152–3; SKS 7, 97 / CUP1, 98; SKS 24, 474, NB25:55 / JP 2, 1829. SKS 19, 358, Not11:36 / KJN 3, 356: en enkelt Aands-evne is translated here as “a particular mental faculty.” 25 SKS 18, 97, FF:113 / KJN 2, 89. 26 Jamie Ferreira gives an interesting account of the work of imagination in the suspension of the understanding—thus, in relation to understanding, imagination is not just another “side of the soul” that needs to be taken care of, but it plays a vital role in the possibility of letting go of the understanding, and so the ability to hold the tension of the paradox which is essential for faith and an offense for the understanding. Jamie Ferreira, Transforming Vision, Oxford: Clarendon Press 1991, pp. 96–113. 27 SKS 7, 318–19 / CUP1, 347–8. Gouwens explains that this is a rejection of both the Romantic overestimation of the imagination and the idealist or Hegelian underestimation of the imagination. See Gouwens, Kierkegaard’s Dialectic of the Imagination, p. 126. 28 SKS 6, 363 / SLW, 391. 29 SKS 11, 153 / SUD, 37. “It is possible to become lost in possibility in all sorts of ways,” Anti-Climacus says, but they can be traced back to a missing “power to obey.” The incompatibility of imagination and obedience is played out in the character of the poet—most dramatically in the discourse on the Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air published two months before The Sickness unto Death. 30 SKS 11, 151 / SUD, 35. 31 Pap. VIII–2 B 83 / JP 5, 651. 32 Pap. VIII–2 B 81 / JP 5, 649. 23 24

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Imagination cannot communicate the ethical because that is only communicated in actuality.33 In this passage Kierkegaard says again and differently what AntiClimacus had said in Practice in Christianity (above): if, just by imagination, a person “could learn to know himself as accurately and fundamentally as in the experience of actuality,” then life would have no meaning. Imagination is a medium of knowledge, but not ethical self-knowledge. Imagination is also conceived of as a capacity—in this guise it is considered to be strongest in youth,34 but is also a gift or talent for some individuals in particular, such as “the poet.” At a certain point in Repetition the character of the young man is declared to have such powers of imagination that he has no need for feminine love!35 But most people lack it entirely,36 and it is certainly dangerous.37 In Works of Love38 Kierkegaard explicitly explores imagination as a power that can be used (“what beautiful use they could make of their imagination”),39 which means of course that it can also be misused.40 It is a conception of the imagination as something to be controlled and kept in the right state (there is hope for every person, for instance, “if he will keep his powers of imagination quiet, undisturbed, and befuddled by unloving passions”).41 But the imagination is not always subject to control—as in this passage from “In Vino Veritas,” describing a carriage ride to a banquet: Even if one does not see and hear it, the imagination [Phantasien] nevertheless involuntarily creates the image of the evening’s cozy, comfortable longing….In this way the summer evening lures forth the idyllic, refreshes even a craving mind with its tranquility, prompts even the fleeting fantasy [Phantasie] to remain with autochthonic homesickness on the earth as the place of one’s origin.42

The summer evening lures the imagination into making an image of “comfortable longing,” the imagination (or its double, the restless fantasy) rests in this homesickness which was the picture it had created, and which it has itself become. The problems of “use” and “misuse” do not intrude on this vignette of an evening’s 33 This is one example in which we find conflicting positions taken by different pseudonyms on the concept of imagination: in Fear and Trembling the ethical is something that can be communicated by imagination, but faith is not: here the ethical cannot be communicated. 34 SKS 12, 186 / PC, 186; SKS 11, 173 / SUD, 59. Kierkegaard writes in a journal from 1844: “when you are a child and have no playthings, you are well taken care of; for then imagination takes care of you” (SKS 18, 203, JJ:197 / KJN 2, 187). 35 SKS 4, 54 / R, 183. 36 SKS 4, 37 / R, 162. The character of the philistine, who crops up all over the place, is the quintessential man-without-imagination. 37 SKS 6, 228 / SLW, 245. 38 Kierkegaard uses Indbildningskraft in these passages, which he tends to do more in the signed works, while he favors Phantasie in the unsigned works. 39 SKS 9, 288–9 / WL, 291–2. 40 SKS 9, 254 / WL, 254: “a wanton misuse of the powers of the imagination.” 41 SKS 9, 256 / WL, 256. 42 SKS 6, 32 / SLW, 26–7 (my emphasis).

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drive—but that is risky, because while we might ask “Who would be so inhuman as not to be able to enjoy the free play of fantasy [Phantasi].”43 Kierkegaard insists directly “but that does not imply that all life should be abandoned to the imaginative intuition. When fantasy alone gains the upper hand in this way, it exhausts and anaesthetizes the soul, robs it of all moral tension, makes life a dream.”44 But it is not so easy to keep a firm rule between spending a dreamy summer evening in romantic nostalgia, and letting the imagination “gain the upper hand.” Contrary to a notion of a capacity over which one has control, imagination emerges now as a kind of autonomous power that does things behind one’s back (here we have de silentio’s busy maid again of course), it tempts and teases and lures a person.45 The passage in Practice in Christianity in which Anti-Climacus suggests the imagination can deceive one into the truth is particularly interesting in this respect. If we allow the imagination to be something that deceives us, certainly it is no longer under control, to be used or misused, in the way it is in Works of Love: it is not even something we necessarily should beat into obedience. It deceives, but it can deceive into the truth. Introducing the idea that the imagination might help the youth through its deception, Anti-Climacus writes a few paragraphs earlier: If the power that governs human life were a seductive power, then at this moment it would mockingly say of this youth: Look, now he is trapped—somewhat as the surrounding world says of him: Look, there is a youth who has let himself be enticed by his imagination to go out too far. But the power that governs human life is love.46

“Loving Governance” says “Good for you!”47 Meanwhile “the world” pities or mocks the youth, thinking he has got himself caught: and indeed the youth has been tempted, he has been deceived, lured into a “tight corner,” Anti-Climacus agrees.48 But Anti-Climacus says this corner may be the truth, or, the seducing power may be the power of love. The deceptive work of the imagination may be exactly what was needed. This luring into actuality is not something that only happens hypothetically: Kierkegaard clearly felt he himself had been subject to the pull. In a journal entry from 1854, discussing the way imagination captures one, he notes: “Johannes V. Müller says that there are two great powers around which all revolves: ideas and women. This is entirely correct and is consistent with what I say here about the significance of the imagination. Women or ideas are what beckon men out into existence.”49 Women and ideas excite the imagination, and imagination is “what providence uses to take men captive in actuality”—then Kierkegaard continues to SKS 1, 326–7 / CI, 292. Ibid. 45 SKS 7, 307–8 / CUP1, 336; SKS 5, 338 / EUD, 350 (and there does not seem to be a strict line between the imagination’s luring a person and a person’s imagination being enticed, say, by tranquil rustic evenings). 46 SKS 12, 188–9 / PC, 189. 47 Ibid. 48 SKS 12, 189 / PC, 190. 49 SKS 25, 470, NB30:104 / JP 2, 1832. 43 44

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explain that in his own case “it was so difficult to get me out and into an interest in ideas that a girl was used as a middle term against me in a very unusual way.”50 And so another way imagination is conceived is as a passion. A passion for a specific girl, in Kierkegaard’s case, and for ideas, but one which Providence uses to “draw one out.” Here the concept, which had separated itself into certain useful distinctions for us, closes back up into ambiguity.51 I will simply add further: as the capacity of all capacities, imagination is our possibility, but it is not just “in the beginning.” In a notebook, in 1846, Kierkegaard writes a creation story. He starts with the unconscious world and imagines the traces of the first spontaneity, he describes the animals and their instincts, and the child, and he ends with imagination: “imagination completes the human being.”52 To summarize, the concept of imagination in Kierkegaard is often (1) merely that in a person which represents or depicts, it can also be (2) a “side of the soul” distinct from understanding, (3) a medium for knowledge, (4) a capacity over which one should try and gain control, or (5) an autonomous power or something used by Providence, and finally (6) imagination is a passion. All of this is described against the distinction of illusion and deception into which imagination, at its most vital and exulted moment, falls, unable to bring a person into faith—except, eventually, as deception. See also Aesthetic/Aesthetics; Anxiety; Art; Contingency/Possibility; Creation; Despair; Freedom; Genius; Irony; Melancholy; Metaphor; Myth; Passion; Poetry; Psychology; Seduction; Suffering; Temptation; Truth.

Ibid. As aesthetic as it gets, passion is also an ethical category and essential to faith. For ethics see Gouwens, Kierkegaard’s Dialectic of the Imagination, particularly pp. 208–10; for faith see Ferreira, Transforming Vision, particularly pp. 19–41 and pp. 114–45. 52 SKS 20, 12, NB:4 / KJN 4, 8. 50 51

Imitation Leo Stan

Imitation (Efterfølgelse—noun) Suggestively enough, the Danish edition of Thomas à Kempis’ De imitatione Christi (1472) is titled Om Christi Efterfølgelse.1 The canonical Dictionary of the Danish Language associates the term Efterfølgelse primarily with the earnest appropriation of a Christian ideal content or goal.2 Apropos of the related noun, Efterfølge, now hardly used, the same source explains it as an effect, result, or consequence, counting Kierkegaard as the only author who ascribes such a causal sense to it.3 The infinitive form (at efterfølge), which is the most common, means—besides to arrive after somebody or to take over someone’s position—to aim at something and to strive for an action in conformity with a given precept or moral principle, but also to take a person as model and subsequently try to emulate him or her.4 Kierkegaard’s approach to imitation is inseparable from his understanding of Christ as the suffering and coevally redemptive exemplar. The works where this topic receives an elaborate treatment are Practice in Christianity,5 For Self-Examination,6 Judge for Yourself!,7 Upbuilding Discourses in Various Spirits,8 and various late newspapers articles. However, the overwhelming majority of Kierkegaard’s reflections on imitation are to be found in his post-1849 journal output. In general, although he argues that Christ’s agony (inner or outer) represents an unreachable climax,9 Kierkegaard also conceives it as spiritually stimulating. Consequently, for him, even if “there is an eternal chasmic abyss between [Christ’s]

1 For an exhaustive analysis of Kierkegaard’s reception of The Imitation of Christ see Joel D.S. Rasmussen, “Thomas à Kempis: Devotio Moderna and Kierkegaard’s Critique of ‘Bourgeois-Philistinism,’ ” in Kierkegaard and the Patristic and Medieval Traditions, ed. by Jon Stewart, Aldershot: Ashgate 2008 (Kierkegaard Research: Sources, Reception and Resources, vol. 4), pp. 289–98. 2 Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 4, columns 140–1. 3 Ibid., columns 138–40. 4 Ibid., column 140. 5 SKS 12, 230–49 / PC, 237–57. 6 SKS 13, 79–92 / FSE, 53–70. 7 SKS 16, 197–254 / JFY, 147–213. 8 SKS 8, 319–30 / UD, 217–29. 9 SKS 11, 254 / WA, 118.

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suffering and the human being’s,”10 following the paragon of Christian existence is and remains imperative. More elaborately put, the appropriation of Christ’s exemplariness entails subjecting oneself freely, individually, gratefully, and joyously to the cruel reaction with which a sinful and corrupt world meets the pursuer of truth.11 When he addresses the savior’s tribulations, Kierkegaard proves infinitely resourceful. Indeed, his depictions in this regard are not just meticulous and frequent, but also provocative and ruthlessly accusatory. Concerning Jesus’ life, what Kierkegaard has to say is either that “instead of going forward in increasing esteem, it goes ever backward in increasing disrepute,”12 or that every single day of it has been “the burial day.”13 Therefore, the Kierkegaardian portrayal of Jesus is replete with expressionistic strokes and gloomy tones. To give just a few examples, Kierkegaard’s attention is endlessly captured by the various ways in which the God-man was “laughed to scorn,”14 “betrayed,”15 “unappreciated and slandered,”16 “jeered at, spat upon.”17 Kierkegaard is equally perceptive in pointing out how the malign powers of this world continually aimed “to mock, scourge, and mistreat [the exemplar].”18 Moreover, time and again he reminds his readers that Christ “was forsaken, despised, persecuted, insulted, he was handed over to death by sinners.”19 Abominably enough, what people have in store for Jesus (who wishes nothing less than to redeem humanity) is just “physical pain and mistreatment,”20 or an “ignominious death.”21 In a nutshell, Christ had to come to terms with the fact that “one of the few who were close to him betrayed him, the few others denied him, and everyone else insulted and mocked him, until finally they nailed him to the cross.”22 Additionally, we must keep in mind that Jesus is subjected to more than external abuse. On Kierkegaard’s account, there is an inward or psychological dimension as well. In this respect, Kierkegaard refers to Christ’s solitude,23 defenselessness,24 and total alienation from worldliness;25 to which one should add the horrific anxiety in

SKS 8, 377 / UD, 281. See also SKS 11, 253 / WA, 117; SKS 13, 86–7 / FSE, 64; SKS 8, 353 / UD, 255. 11 SKS 24, 177–8, NB22:144 / JP 2, 1892; SKS 25, 47, NB26:41 / JP 3, 2438. 12 SKS 12, 65 / PC, 53–4. 13 SKS 12, 172 / PC, 169. 14 SKS 12, 88 / PC, 76. 15 SKS 12, 113 / PC, 104. 16 SKS 13, 89 / FSE, 67. 17 SKS 12, 113 / PC, 104–5. 18 SKS 12, 89 / PC, 78. 19 SKS 8, 332 / UD, 231. 20 SKS 12, 141 / PC, 138. 21 Ibid. See also SKS 10, 266 / CD, 252. 22 SKS 12, 178 / PC, 176. See also SKS 10, 272, 296–7 / CD, 259, 276–7; SKS 13, 82–3 / FSE, 59–60; SKS 16, 209 / JFY, 160; SKS 13, 378 / M, 316. 23 SKS 10, 266 / CD, 252; SKS 12, 141 / PC, 138. 24 SKS 13, 85 / FSE, 63. 25 SKS 16, 209 / JFY, 160–1; SKS 8, 324–5 / UD, 223.

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the garden of Gethsemane, when even the heavenly Father seems to have abandoned him.26 That said, the genuine follower of the exemplary Christ should be willing to be exposed to each and every one of these adversities. Implicitly, this means that after the advent of the paradoxical savior, the individual’s salvific efforts necessarily and inescapably entail the appropriation, imperfect and difficult though it may be, of Jesus’ atrocious abasement.27 In other words, Jesus’ strenuous existence compels fallen humankind to a life of torment and confrontation for the attainment and renewal of faith.28 The Kierkegaardian path to the atonement of sins goes through agony and lacks any trace of heroic triumphalism.29 “Christianity,” we are duly warned, “came into the world as the absolute, not, humanly speaking, for comfort; on the contrary, it continually speaks about how the Christian must suffer or about how a person in order to become and remain a Christian must endure sufferings that he consequently can avoid simply by refraining from becoming a Christian.”30 In this way, suffering for the truth, not only comes to play a pivotal role in the reconciliation with God, but also renders the follower contemporary with the exemplar’s own drama.31 The Christic imitator continually has to interiorize the following (offensive) principle: the more abased, the more blessed. Further, this appropriation is an absolute obligation and must be enacted gratuitously.32 Equally essential is that the duty to imitate the godly exemplar targets the free individual, being conducive to the achievement and perpetuation of spiritual singularity.33 As Kierkegaard writes, the goal of imitation is “to get Christianity moved out of the realm of scientific scholarship and doubt and nonsense (objective) and into the realm of the subjective, where it belongs just as surely as the Savior of the world, our Lord Jesus Christ.”34 At the same time, the mimetic process of individualization will always be existentially challenging. That is because Christ’s personal history remains “a sting in my soul that propels me forward, like an arrow that wounds me.”35 Accordingly, the faithful witness is expected continually to practice kenosis, by means of which one rids oneself of all earthly expectations,36 resists the temptations of comfort,37 runs the danger of social marginalization, public deprecation, and even persecution, not

SKS 13, 86 / FSE, 63; SKS 10, 297 / CD, 277–8; SKS 12, 136 / PC, 132. SKS 24, 383–4, NB24:103 / JP 2, 1903. 28 SKS 16, 252–4 / JFY, 207–9; SKS 12, 238–49 / PC, 245–57. 29 SKS 21, 363–4, NB10:198 / JP 1, 334; SKS 23, 361–2, NB19:47 / JP 2, 1865; SKS 24, 42, NB21:58 / JP 4, 4661; SKS 24, 346–7, NB24:48 / JP 2, 1899. 30 SKS 12, 75 / PC, 63. 31 SKS 13, 349–50 / M, 292. 32 SKS 23, 403–5, NB20:23 / JP 2, 1867; SKS 24, 364–5, NB24:72 / JP 2, 1900. 33 SKS 8, 321–2, 324, 327–8 / UD, 219–20, 223, 226–7; SKS 25, 386–7, NB30:7 / JP 2, 1518; SKS 25, 397–8, NB30:19 / JP 2, 2056. 34 SKS 16, 254 / JFY, 209. 35 SKS 12, 236 / PC, 242. 36 SKS 10, 190 / CD, 179; SKS 14, 155–6 / M, 31–2. 37 SKS 14, 189 / M, 52; SKS 23, 407–8, NB20:28 / JP 2, 1869.

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to mention the “dying to the world, anguish, misery,”38 and sense of abandonment.39 In fact, the inner tension and outer conflicts arising from the world’s antagonism towards Christ’s disciples are, according to Kierkegaard, so demanding that they cannot be borne without divine assistance.40 There are two fundamental implications here. The first is that the imitation of Christ will be constantly shirked by the human race.41 Collective entities like the crowd or the community will obstinately resist the re-enactment of the self-sacrificing stance of the prototype.42 Moreover, Christendom itself does not encourage the mimetic reactualization of Christ’s drama as long as it (vainly) attempts to adjust the task of subjective spiritualization to the secular impersonal essence of the modern establishment.43 The second implication is that Christ uniquely embodies the “prototype of the essential human perfection.”44 So, apart from instituting the mimetic necessity, the exemplar simultaneously reveals the endless need for grace.45 As a result, imitation, although authentic, will always be approximate46 and life-long.47 That is also why the genuine follower remains an irregularity (Irregularitet),48 a fact which in Kierkegaard’s eyes “has been wisely arranged…by God, both in order to tighten human beings properly in the tension of rigorous imitation and humility, and also in order to test and to judge the presumptuousness that wants to copy the prototype summarily.”49 Otherwise stated, no imitator could become in his or her turn a prototype to be emulated by future Christians, thereby competing with the God-man himself.

Pap. XI–3 B 182 / M, Supplement, 567. SKS 8, 367, 376–7 / UD, 270, 280–1. 40 SKS 16, 199, 238 / JFY, 147, 191. 41 SKS 16, 235 / JFY, 188; SKS 23, 423–5, NB20:57 / JP 2, 1872; SKS 24, 40–1, NB21:54 / JP 3, 3018; SKS 24, 170, NB22:128 / JP 2, 1891; SKS 24, 276–7, NB23:144 / JP 2, 1895; SKS 24, 393–4, NB24:115 / JP 2, 1905; SKS 25, 18–19, NB26:10 / JP 2, 1914; SKS 26, 44–5, NB31:60 / JP 2, 1932. 42 SKS 14, 173 / M, 42; SKS 13, 378–9 / M, 316–7; SKS 18, 302, JJ:487 / JP 1, 302; SKS 24, 395, NB24:118 / JP 2, 1906; SKS 25, 386–7, NB30:7 / JP 2, 1518; SKS 25, 491–3, NB30:136 / JP 3, 2974. 43 SKS 24, 47–8, NB21:68 / JP 3, 2528; SKS 24, 186, NB22:151 / JP 2, 1893; SKS 24, 393–4, NB24:115 / JP 2, 1905; SKS 25, 251–2, NB28:48 / JP 2, 1923. 44 SKS 8, 293 / UD, 197. 45 SKS 25, 201–2, NB27:87 / JP 2, 1922; SKS 23, 469–70, NB20:148 / JP 2, 1877; SKS 24, 393–4, NB24:115 / JP 2, 1905; SKS 24, 395, NB24:118 / JP 2, 1906; SKS 24, 483–4, NB25:67 / JP 2, 1909; SKS 25, 201–4, NB27:87 / JP 2, 1922. 46 SKS 21, 363–4, NB10:198 / JP 1, 334. For the extreme difficulties involved in the mimetic behavior see, amongst others, SKS 13, 79–92 / FSE, 57–69; SKS 24, 479–82, NB25:64 / JP 6, 6794; SKS 25, 87–90, NB26:86 / JP 4, 4524; SKS 25, 155–6, NB27:42 / JP 1, 401; SKS 25, 315, NB29:27 / JP 6, 6863; SKS 26, 365–8, NB35:5 / JP 4, 5007. 47 SKS 25, 204, NB27:87 / JP 2, 1922; SKS 24, 393–4, NB24:115 / JP 2, 1905. 48 SKS 25, 203, NB27:87 / JP 2, 1922. 49 Ibid. See also SKS 22, 417, NB14:127 / JP 1, 572; SKS 23, 426, NB20:60 / JP 3, 3455; SKS 23, 403–5, NB20:23 / JP 2, 1867. 38 39

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On the other hand, Christ’s ideality preserves intact the almost unbearable onus of imitation, thereby preventing the latter from being turned into a facile enterprise. Implicitly, then, the claim that one could impeccably follow Jesus, and thus manage to “repeat” his exemplariness, borders on blasphemy. Still, it is important to restate that, though unrepeatable, Christ’s earthly existence establishes imitation as a participatory task. No matter how ideal or heterogeneous, the prototype summons every single individual to imitation and agapeically steps in whenever the disciples’ imperfections gain the upper hand.50 To conclude, in Kierkegaard’s soteriology the sufferings of Christ have a triple teleology. First, they constitute a reminder that humans brutally rejected the salvific truth instead of thankfully receiving it. Second, they summon all disciples to an endless existential mimesis. Third, they are meant to strengthen all future imitators in their dark moments of weakness and despair.51 In addition, the following of Christ bespeaks a personal-dynamic (or existential-processual) understanding of the humandivine relationality,52 plus a view of faith as undergirded by humility,53 simplicity, combativeness, and a limitless obedience.54 Even more, the harsh discipline of faith, whose goal is to battle every affliction, torment, and pain, is based on the individual’s capacity to struggle for salvation55 in spite of the temptations and seeming perpetuity of sin. See also Apostle; Appropriation; Christ; Contemporaneity; Crowd/Public; Dying to/ Renunciation; Existence/Existential; Faith; Grace; Martyrdom/Persecution; Middle Ages; Monasticism; Secularism; Striving; Suffering; Teacher; Witness.

SKS 23, 471, NB20:150 / JP 2, 1878; SKS 24, 67–8, NB21:110 / JP 2, 1882; SKS 24, 95, NB21:156 / JP 2, 1883; SKS 25, 96–7, NB26:97 / JP 2, 1916; SKS 25, 372, NB29:108 / JP 2, 1929; SKS 25, 401, NB30:23 / JP 2, 1803. 51 SKS 16, 199 / JFY, 147. 52 SKS 21, 363–4, NB10:198 / JP 1, 334; SKS 16, 199 / JFY, 147; SKS 23, 301–2, NB18:72 / JP 1, 3571; SKS 23, 466, NB20:139 / JP 2, 1876; SKS 24, 18, NB21:16 / JP 2, 1880; SKS 24, 160, NB22:103 / JP 1, 1062; SKS 25, 17–18, NB26:9 / JP 4, 4313; SKS 25, 415–16, NB30:42 / JP 3, 2805. 53 SKS 12, 47 / PC, 33–4. 54 SKS 8, 353, 360 / UD, 255, 263; SKS 12, 181–2 / PC, 181–2. 55 SKS 24, 131, NB22:51 / JP 2, 1885; SKS 24, 383–4, NB24:103 / JP 2, 1903; SKS 24, 459–60, NB25:35 / JP 2, 1908. 50

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Immanence/Transcendence Leo Stan

Immanence (Immanents—noun; immanent—adjective); Transcendence (Transcendents—noun; transcendent—adjective) The root of the Danish word Immanents lies in the present participle of the (late) Latin verb immanere, to remain, to persist, to dwell in.1 The word Transcendents is derived from tran(s)scendens which is the present participle of the Latin verb, tran(s)scendere, meaning literally to climb beyond but also to surpass or exceed; implicitly, then, transcendence indicates both superiority to and separation from certain boundaries.2 It is generally accepted that immanence covers those aspects, properties, and ruling principles that underlie the surrounding, mainly visible world. From the same philosophical viewpoint, the immanent can refer to the generic realm of being, in contrast to the transcendent, which envisions whatever goes beyond the latter’s purview. In the post-Cartesian and Kantian tradition, immanence describes the sphere of conscious subjectivity, unlike transcendence which characterizes those things or aspects of reality that fall outside the self.3 Theologically, God has often been conceived as more or less transcendent to creation, while the belief in his immanent dwelling within the world undergirds all classical versions of pantheism.4 In general, with the telling exception of the Concluding Unscientific Postscript, Kierkegaard is inclined to use the two terms side by side and always contrastingly. Moreover, in the published works most references are to immanence within a philosophico-religious context. Equally relevant is that, besides sparse mentions between 1843 and 1844, the term “immanent” occurs most often in the Concluding Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, supplement 1992–2005. 2 Ibid., vol. 24, column 370. See also “Transcendent,” The Blackwell Dictionary of Western Philosophy, ed. by Nicholas Bunnin and Jiyuan Yu, Malden: Blackwell Publishing 2004, p. 695. 3 “Immanence,” in The Edinburgh Dictionary of Continental Philosophy, ed. by John Protevi, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press 2005, pp. 303–4. 4 See also the entries on “Immanence” and “Transcendence” from The Cambridge Dictionary of Philosophy, 2nd ed., ed. by Robert Audi, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1999, p. 418, p. 925. For an outline and orienting bibliography regarding the contemporary debate on divine transcendence in relation to such topics as immovability, idealism, and love, see Charles Hartshorne’s entry “Transcendence and Immanence” in Encyclopedia of Religion, vols. 1–14, 2nd ed., ed. by Lindsey Jones, Detroit and New York: Thomson Gale 2005, vol. 13, pp. 9281–6. 1

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Unscientific Postscript. As to transcendence, it gets a similar treatment between 1843 and 1844 but it is completely absent from the Concluding Unscientific Postscript. Both terms resurface, albeit only briefly, in the Two Ethico-Religious Essays. In the diaries the pertinent references appear between 1837 and 1849. Here, though more evenly spread, they remain marginal, particular emphasis being placed on the concept of immanence. The external sources of Kierkegaard’s interpretation of both terms are not easy to pinpoint. Indeed, Kierkegaard is heavily indebted to the Hegelian philosophical mindset of the day.5 But at the same time, he was not unfamiliar with Kant’s particular understanding of transcendence,6 not to mention Schelling’s use of the same concept in the lectures on the philosophy of revelation.7 Moreover, as regards transcendence Kierkegaard is equally sympathetic to the early Christian tradition—exemplified in his eyes by Isidore of Seville8—and the Protestant theological exegesis—via Carl Daub.9 The first major work which triggered a rather substantial discussion of the two terms is Repetition. The context is Constantin Constantius’ obscure claim that “Modern philosophy makes no movement; as a rule it makes only a commotion [Ophævelse], and if it makes any movement at all, it is always within immanence, whereas repetition is and remains a transcendence.”10 Due to Heiberg’s critical reading of this very passage,11 Kierkegaard feels the need to bring further clarity in his journal. Thus, contra Heiberg’s naturalistic position (which reduces repetition to its cosmic occurrences), Kierkegaard stresses first that repetition must be thought in terms of human existence and individuality. Thus, while disagreeing with the importation of movement into logic, Kierkegaard rejects the concept of mediation, which, he specifies, “must be understood in relation to immanence.”12 His explanation is that real movement or change is characteristic solely of free human selves, while Indispensible in this respect is Jon Stewart, Kierkegaard’s Relations to Hegel Reconsidered, New York: Cambridge University Press 2003. 6 See SKS 18, 44–5, EE:118 / JP 2, 2234; SKS 18, 53–4, EE:152 / JP 2, 2269; SKS 19, 135, Not4:9 / KJN 3, 134–6; SKS 19, 137, Not4:10 / KJN 3, 136–8. See also SKS 19, 403, Not13:39 / JP 4, 4319 and SKS 18, 287, JJ:439 / KJN 2, 265 where Kierkegaard uses the concept of immanence in the context of Spinoza’s Ethics. 7 Relevant in this sense are the following journal entries: SKS 19, 327, Not11:18 / KJN 3, 325–6; SKS 19, 342, Not11:26 / KJN 3, 340–1; SKS 19, 326, Not11:17 / KJN 3, 324–5; SKS 19, 332, Not11:20 / KJN 3, 330; SKS 19, 333–4, Not11:21 / KJN 3, 332. 8 See SKS 18, 44–5, EE:118 / JP 2, 2234. 9 See Kierkegaard’s notes from Philipp Marheineke’s lectures based on Carl Daub, System der christlichen Dogmatik, vols. 1–2, ed. by Philipp Konrad Marheineke and Theophor Wilhelm Dittenberger, Berlin: Duncker und Humblot 1841–44. See SKS 19, 250, Not9:1 / KJN 3, 244; SKS 19, 262, Not9:1 / KJN 3, 257f. 10 SKS 4, 56–7 / R, 186. However, Johannes Climacus will contradict Constantius by observing, rather abstrusely, that “Repetition is basically the expression for immanence”(SKS 7, 239 / CUP1, 263). 11 Johan Ludvig Heiberg, “Det astronomiske Aar,” Urania, ed. by Johan Ludvig Heiberg, Copenhagen: H.I. Bing & Söns Forlag 1844 (ASKB U 57), pp. 77–160. The English translation of Heiberg’s critique can be found in R, note 14 pp. 379–82. 12 Pap. IV B 117 / R, Supplement, 308. See also Pap. IV B 118 / R, Supplement, 321. 5

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freedom should be thought only in terms of transcendence due to its causing of non-objectifiable qualitative alterations.13 Consequently, true repetition is contingent upon the living single individual and a range of heterogeneous possibilities which cannot be logically or speculatively inferred from the present state of things.14 Repetition, in brief, is nothing but the utterly new, instituting modes of existence whose incalculable status qualifies them as transcendent.15 Second, and more importantly, repetition also “points toward the religious”16 or “the transcendence of a religious movement”;17 thus it inheres “in the realm of spirit.”18 Kierkegaard argues that repetition transcends the limits of the natural cosmos because of its identity with “eternity”19 or “a religious movement by virtue of the absurd—when the borderline of the wondrous is reached.”20 Therefore, the deeper ambiguity of Repetition is that within its conceptual confines the transcendent signifies not only the autonomous existential sphere of the self, but also the divine absolute.21 To return to the concept of immanence, one can say that after 1843 it gains a much larger philosophical scope, despite suffering from a certain eclectic indistinctness. Specifically, the attribute immanent is used as a qualification for logic,22 science,23 the realm of dialectics,24 “the totality and quality of identity,”25 any progression that contains its own telos,26 the “natural law”27 or order, “the essential likeness”28 between people, the Greek-Platonic concept of recollection,29 the “necessity of cause and effect,”30 Climacus’ category of humor31 and finally, worldliness or finitude in general.32 Pap. IV B 117 / R, Supplement, 312–13. Pap. IV B 117 / R, Supplement, 309–10. See also SKS 4, 324n. / CA, 17n. 15 Pap. IV B 117 / R, Supplement, 309–10, 318. 16 Pap. IV B 117 / R, Supplement, 313. 17 Ibid. 18 Pap. IV B 117 / R, Supplement, 307. 19 Pap. IV B 117 / R, Supplement, 305. 20 Ibid. 21 That is how early and medieval Christian philosophy understood God, which shows that concerning the concept of transcendence Kierkegaard may have been more indebted to classical theology than to Kant’s thought. 22 SKS 4, 336–7 / CA, 30; Pap. IV B 118 / R, Supplement, 321. Elsewhere immanence is equated with thinking in general: see SKS 7, 94 / CUP1, 95 and SKS 11, 98, 104–5 / WA, 94, 101. 23 SKS 4, 355 / CA, 50. 24 SKS 7, 492 / CUP1, 541. 25 SKS 11, 103 / WA, 100. 26 SKS 4, 280 / PF, 80–1. 27 SKS 7, 493 / CUP1, 543. 28 SKS 11, 103 / WA, 99. See also SKS 20, 90, NB:129 / JP 5, 5975. 29 SKS 7, 530–1 / CUP1, 583; SKS 4, 328–9 / CA, 21. 30 SKS 7, 494–5 / CUP1, 544. 31 SKS 7, 245–7, 265, 410 / CUP1, 270–2, 291, 451. 32 See SKS 4, 292 / PF, 95; SKS 4, 338–9 / CA, 32; SKS 7, 486–7, 518 / CUP1, 535–6, 570. 13 14

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Concerning transcendence, The Concept of Anxiety introduces an additional dimension, namely, the soteriological reality of sinfulness. The latter, Haufniensis remarks, “is precisely that transcendence, that discrimen rerum [crisis] in which sin enters into the single individual as the single individual.”33 At the same time, Haufniensis seems inspired by the earlier reflections on Repetition in that he appropriates the idea that logic, whose natural object is being, cannot deal with issues like becoming and movement. That is because “the concept of movement is itself a transcendence that has no place in logic.”34 (With that in mind, it is worth noting that the ambiguity signaled apropos of Repetition is carried over in The Concept of Anxiety.) But Haufniensis takes an additional step by ascribing the concept of existential—that is, transcendence-oriented—movement to ethics.35 This particular idea will be substantially elaborated by Johannes Climacus in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript but, interestingly enough, in terms of immanence instead of transcendence. Briefly put, Climacus tends to ascribe to the immanent all the qualities that Constantius (or Kierkegaard) associated with the transcendent. At the same time, Climacus preserves Constantius’ equation of immanence with the domain of (speculative) rationality. That said, in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript the term “immanence” is employed on two separate, albeit inextricably linked, planes: the existential and the religious. Specifically, immanence appears either as something to be refuted on ethical grounds or as a given whose relative worth requires a paradoxical-fideistic overcoming. The existential aspect is part and parcel of Climacus’ unambiguous attack on anything related to speculation, speculative thought, and objective, purely abstract contemplation.36 Here, the concern is that by prioritizing or overemphasizing the rationalistic, metaphysical, and scientific type of reflexivity—which belongs essentially to the immanent—Climacus’ contemporary thinkers disregard the unique, concrete, discordant, and sovereign nature of every human person. Therefore, the self’s existential-holistic contours are abusively (and unjustifiably) put aside in the speculative philosopher’s quest for objective verities and the dialectical meanderings of the world spirit throughout human history. In this context, the dualism between immanent speculative endeavors—including the ancient Platonic doctrine of recollection—and what could be called existential or ethical transcendence37 cannot be more conspicuous.38

SKS 4, 355 / CA, 50. SKS 4, 320–1 / CA, 13. 35 See SKS 4, 321 / CA, 13–4. 36 However, the picture is further complicated by the fact that in spite of dismissing it as the habitual domain of speculative jocosity, Climacus somewhat positively relegates immanence to the realm of ethics as defined both in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript and Fear and Trembling (which is in itself problematic). For the second point see SKS 7, 233, 238 / CUP1, 256, 262. 37 This expression belongs to me and is meant as a synonym for Climacus’ notion of existence. 38 See in this regard SKS 7, 137–8, 144–6, 188n., 198, 269, 309, 510, 518–19 / CUP1, 147–9, 155–7, 206–7n., 217, 295, 338, 561, 570–1. 33 34

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It is for this very reason that Climacus boldly proclaims that “Christianity is the very opposite of speculation.”39 Moving to its other major meaning in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript, immanence is relegated to the notion of religiousness A, which is centered on inward deepening, guilt-consciousness, and a concordant (or pantheistic) understanding of the eternal.40 Equally important is that Climacus phrases his reasoning in terms of eternity and temporality. Specifically, he emphatically insists on the qualitative difference between, on the one hand, the self’s temporal relation to an immanently understood (or naturally given) eternity and, on the other, the Christian’s fideistic relation to a paradoxical moment in time when the eternal has penetrated the temporal. In other words, Climacus’ overall aim is to distinguish the exclusively immanental structure of religiousness A from the paradoxical, heteronomous, and therefore transcendent nature of religiousness B or true Christianity. Still, it should be kept in mind that in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript immanence does represent a significant, although not necessary, stage on the way to salvation; hence the relative difference from its exclusively negative treatment in view of the abuses of speculative objectivity. In this particular setting immanence designates a proto-religious inwardness, which will be continually subverted by the offensive paradoxes of New Testament Christianity. Thus understood, immanence connotes a kind of natural (or effortlessly received) spirituality, which, notwithstanding its definite place in one’s religious becoming, possesses a dangerous potential when absolutized. Accordingly, even though he qualifies the human faculty of thinking as immanent41 and therefore connatural, Climacus realizes that “human thoughtfulness”42 is able, and indeed eager, to dissolve the subversive crux of Christianity. That happens because eternal happiness is (wrongly) understood as the self’s natural or inevitable future, enabling one to conceive it as a sort of “immanental thought.”43 The problem is, according to Climacus, that an immanencecentered thought makes it virtually impossible to become aware of the actuality and depths of sinfulness; thereby, it completely ignores the risk of eternal unhappiness. In short, Christianity is and remains a salvific religion that hinges on an irreducible belief in divine transcendence44 and the existence of sin.45 The soteriologically informed difference between immanence and transcendence surfaces even more sharply in H.H.’s Two Ethico-Religious Essays. In this pseudonymous book immanence is placed on the side of worldliness, in general, and the human race, in particular, whereas transcendence stands for the irreducibly SKS 7, 246–7 / CUP1, 272. See SKS 7, 484, 508, 509–10, 518–23, 526, 532, 549n. / CUP1, 533, 559, 560–1, 570–6, 579, 585, 605n. 41 SKS 7, 94 / CUP1, 95. 42 SKS 7, 93 / CUP1, 95. The term used by Kierkegaard here is Tænksomhed. 43 SKS 7, 94 / CUP1, 95. 44 The absurdist Christian faith, therefore, entails a break “with the understanding and thinking and immanence” (SKS 7, 517 / CUP1, 569). See also SKS 7, 517n., 532 / CUP1, 569n., 585. The expression “divine transcendence” is mine. 45 SKS 7, 530–1 / CUP1, 583–4. 39 40

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paradoxical core of Christianity.46 In his rather straightforward argument H.H. wishes to draw a sharp distinction between the genius and the apostle. Thus, he states that in contrast to the genius’ immanent originality, which is eventually fully absorbed into (and therefore naturalized by) the universal history of humankind, the apostle’s novelty stems from a distinct heterogeneity (that is, transcendence) that is and remains both unanticipated and forever unforeseeable.47 And given the infinite qualitative difference generated by sin, the proclamation of the genuine witness to the Christian truth is insuperably paradoxical. That is exactly why “[however] long it is proclaimed in the world, it remains essentially just as new…no immanence can assimilate it.”48 See also Absolute; Apostle; Authority; Being/Becoming; Cause/Effect; Creation; Dialectic; Ethics; Existence/Existential; Faith; Freedom; God; Identity/Difference; Immortality; Individual; Inwardness/Inward Deepening; Logic; Mediation/ Sublation; Movement/Motion; Offense; Pantheism; Paradox; Qualitative Difference; Recollection; Religious/Religiousness; Repetition; Sin; Speculation/Science/ Scholarship; Time/Temporality/Eternity; Worldliness/Secularism.

More exactly, for the absolute’s radical difference and exteriority, as well as Christianity’s antagonistic heterogeneity to the world. See, for example, SKS 7, 483n., 523 / CUP1, 531–2n., 576. This also explains Kierkegaard’s firm opposition to radical immanentism from SKS 18, 202, JJ:194 / JP 1, 704. An informed and original discussion of this particular topic can be found in Simon D. Podmore, Kierkegaard and the Self Before God: Anatomy of the Abyss, Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press 2011, especially pp. 1–9, pp. 31–49, pp. 62–7, pp. 168–71, pp. 181–92. 47 SKS 11, 98, 100, 104–5 / WA, 94, 96, 100–1. See also the biographical journal entry in SKS 21, 352, NB10:185 / JP 6, 6388. 48 SKS 11, 99–100 / WA, 95–6. For the sharp divide between the transitoriness of all immanent authorities and the changeless authority of God see SKS 11, 103 / WA, 99–100 and SKS 20, 254, NB3:17 / JP 1, 183. See also SKS 18, 302, JJ:486 / JP 5, 5928, where Kierkegaard alludes to the transcendent (i.e., the new and profoundly transformative) quality of receiving the good news of forgiveness in time. The latter is somewhat confusingly related to the classical doctrine of eschatology which Kierkegaard deems immanent. 46

Immediacy/Reflection Zizhen Liu

Immediacy (Umiddelbarhed—noun; umiddelbar—adjective); Reflection (Reflexion— noun; reflectere—verb) “Immediacy” is the noun corresponding to the adjective “immediate,” which originates from the Latin immediatus, compare the Greek ἄμεσος. The Danish word umiddelbar corresponds to the German unmittelbar. Its lexical meaning in Danish is similar to its meaning in German: it describes a direct relationship between two relata, also rendered in English as “unmediated.”1 This direct relationship can be spatial or temporal. In the history of philosophy this word is used to present a direct relationship, with no intermediaries, between subject and object.2 In philosophy “immediate” can also mean “not mediated”3 or not accessible through a medium. This usage generally pertains to logical, epistemological, and psychological immediacy.4 “Reflection” originates from the late Latin noun reflexio (verb, reflectere), which means a light or image bent back from a mirror. From the Latin, Danish derived Reflexion, German derived Reflexion, and English derived “reflection.” Reflection is thus a concept in optics and became an elemental concept in philosophy after Descartes.5 “Reflection” is used epistemologically to describe the action and direction of thinking in the human mind: to think about or to examine an object again critically.6 In post-Cartesian philosophy immediacy, which is regarded as epistemologically certain, is used to search for or to establish the foundations of scientific knowledge. By contrast, Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi used immediacy and reflection in his critique of Immanuel Kant’s transcendental philosophy to ground truth in the domains of “faith” and “revelation,” which are not mediated by or accessible to science.7 Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 25, column 1119. 2 The Cambridge Dictionary of Philosophy, ed. by Robert Audi, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1996, p. 361. 3 Ibid. 4 Ibid., p. 362. 5 Historisches Wörterbuch der Philosophie, vols. 1–13, ed. by Joachim Ritter and Karlfried Gründner, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft 1971–2003, vol. 8, column 396. 6 Ibid. 7 See Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi, The Main Philosophical Writings and the Novel Allwill, trans. by George di Giovanni, Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press 1994: 1

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Hegel represents immediacy and reflection in a dialectical relation. With this dialectic Hegel establishes the beginning of his logic and discusses the progression from pure being (“the indeterminate immediate”)8 to abstract concepts (philosophical reflection). Pure being, conceived as immediate, is vacuously indeterminate and therefore indistinguishable from nothingness. In order to be distinguished from nothingness, being must be mediated by the concept of nothingness.9 But then it is no longer immediate. This mediated immediacy contains and annuls mediation and immediacy at the same time. This sublation (Aufhebung) of immediacy is also a reflection in which both immediacy and reflection are seen to be moments of the notion—pure knowing.10 This process is one example of the general approach in Hegel’s Science of Logic, which proceeds by positing an immediate category, finding by means of reflection that the category collapses into contradiction, and then discovering a new category whose internal structure mediates or reconciles the terms of the contradiction. Kierkegaard’s dialectical usage of immediacy and reflection is influenced by Hegel’s and can be regarded as a reaction to Hegel’s dialectical mediation. The discussions that are most focused on the relation between immediacy and reflection are found in Either/Or, the Concluding Unscientific Postscript and Stages on Life’s Way, which were published under the pseudonyms Victor Eremita, Johannes Climacus, and Hilarius Bogbinder respectively. There is also considerable discussion of immediacy and reflection in Kierkegaard’s journals and papers, from 1837 to 1854. The most frequent occurrence of the words “immediate” and “immediacy” appears in Stages on Life’s Way, followed by The Concept of Irony, Either/Or, Part Two, then the Concluding Unscientific Postscript. The most frequent occurrence of the word “reflection” is also in Stages on Life’s Way, followed by Either/Or, Part One, and Concluding Unscientific Postscript, then Either/Or, Part Two. The discussions of immediacy and reflection often occur in relation to the difference between the aesthetic stage and the ethical stage of existence. A striking metaphor of this relationship is the comparison of music (immediacy) to language (reflection) in “The Immediate Erotic Stages or the Musical-Erotic” in Either/Or, Part One, where different phases of the immediacy of desire are identified with the figures of the Page, Papageno, and Don Juan from Mozart’s opera Don Giovanni.11 These different phases correspond to degrees of consciousness of desire, though none amounts to consciously reflective desire. They are later contrasted with figures of reflective desire, especially Faust and Johannes the seducer.

“Concerning the Doctrine of Spinoza in Letters to Herr Moses Mendelssohn” (1787), pp. 173–251; “David Hume on Faith” (1787), pp. 253–338; “Preface and also Introduction to the Author’s Collected Philosophical Works” (1815), pp. 537–90. 8 Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Science of Logic, trans. by A.V. Miller, London: George Allen and Unwin 1969, p. 81. 9 Cf. ibid., pp. 83–5. 10 Ibid., p. 60. 11 SKS 2, 64 / EO1, 56–7; SKS 2, 71–3 / EO1, 64–7.

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Kierkegaard emphasizes in the Concluding Unscientific Postscript that subjective reflection is essentially different from objective reflection,12 contra Hegel who tries to mediate their opposition with pure thought.13 Nevertheless, Kierkegaard identifies an exclusive emphasis on objective reflection with the Hegelians of his time and also with the Danish People’s Church.14 Against this Kierkegaard distinguishes faith as “an immediacy that follows reflection,”15 “a new immediacy,”16 “a religious immediacy,”17 or “second immediacy”18 from (first) immediacy. In this context, Kierkegaard discusses the relationship between immediacy and reflection. I. Objective Reflection and Subjective Reflection Both objective and subjective reflection occur in the human being’s spirit. Both reflections may be concerned with truth. However, according to Kierkegaard, they are essentially different in several aspects: (a) they have different presuppositions or different conditions; (b) they have different subjects; (c) they have different attitudes towards eternity and time; (d) they have different views of truth; (e) they have different ways to approach the truth, so that they have different contents and scopes. (a) Presuppositions. Objective reflection presupposes the separation of subject and object, the separation between thinking and being. Subjective reflection starts from the absolute distinction between God and man.19 Only God can give man, who as a sinner is in untruth, the “essential condition”20 to search for truth through subjective reflection. (b) Subjects. A person as a thinker is the subject of objective reflection. That is why understanding human reasoning is valued as the most significant ability of the human being, according to objective reflection. In subjective reflection the existing person is one “who does indeed exist”21 and who is regarded as an existing spirit; this person is also the questioner about the truth in his existence. According to Kierkegaard, the existing person is in relation to God, and he reflects in this relation on himself and on this relation. Therefore he is at the same time in a double-relation: both to the relation to God and to himself.22 This self or spirit with the structure of double-relation is the subject of subjective reflection. In this subject, both cognitive understanding and faith are regarded as significant characteristics of the existing person.

SKS 7, 173–228 / CUP1, 189–251. Hegel, Science of Logic, p. 60. 14 SKS 16, 37–8 / PV, 55–6. 15 SKS 20, 363, NB4:159 / KJN 4, 363; SKS 6, 152 / SLW, 162. 16 SKS 7, 318n. / CUP1, 347n.; Pap. X–6 B 78 / JP 1, 9. 17 SKS 6, 152 / SLW, 162. 18 SKS 4, 172 / FT, 82. 19 SKS 4, 249–50 / PF, 44–5. 20 SKS 4, 223 / PF, 15. 21 SKS 7, 176 / CUP1, 192. 22 SKS 11, 123–4 / SUD, 13–14. 12 13

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(c) Attitudes towards Eternity and Time. A person with objective reflection does not take time into account. In Kierkegaard’s opinion, an objective thinker tries to think from the perspective of eternity,23 which is impossible for him, for the thinker himself is limited by his temporality. An existing person thinks about his existence and takes death as the end of his lifetime in thought.24 He knows clearly that his “existing is a becoming”25 in time. The existing person can only experience or touch eternity in a moment of faith as a passion.26 Another way of putting this distinction is to say that whereas objective reflection takes being to be its object, subjective reflection takes becoming to be its object. Moreover, objective thinking is aligned with logic, which for Kierkegaard deals exclusively in the modality of the eternal present (being) and so is inadequate for treating temporal existence or movement (becoming).27 (d) Views of Truth. Objective reflection views the agreement of thinking with being as the truth.28 Kierkegaard points out that such a truth amounts to tautology in speculative idealism,29 according to which being and thought are ultimately the same. To subjective reflection, on the other hand, truth consists in becoming oneself or in striving to improve oneself in relation to God.30 This is a concrete ethical task of the highest interest to the individual, to be pursued with passion, since upon it rests the possibility of one’s eternal happiness. Objective reflection, on the other hand, is ideally disinterested, dispassionate, and scientific or systematic since it has no bearing on one’s eternal happiness.31 The sort of truth sought by subjective reflection is ethical-religious truth as opposed to scientific truth; therefore, it requires the building up of character and virtue, decision and resolve, rather than giving primacy to empirical data and logical reasoning as does objective reflection. (e) Contents and Scope. Objective reflection is a conceptual movement that remains within thought, for its aim is only the agreement of thinking with being. It denies anything illogical in the world and does not engage a person’s emotions. Subjective reflection, however, is conscious of its limits and admits paradox in existence, whereas objective reflection takes offense at (apparent) paradoxes and seeks to avoid or dissolve them. Subjective reflection regards faith, which is the highest passion in existence, as the way to approach truth. However, the ground for this faith should be prepared by subjective reflection on one’s existence. In this sense Kierkegaard names faith as “an immediacy that follows reflection.”32 Moreover, subjective reflection and objective reflection have different, though overlapping, logical modalities. When objective reflection takes empirical data as its object, it operates in the modality of actuality. When it takes logical form as its object, SKS 7, 176 / CUP1, 192. SKS 7, 153–8 / CUP1, 165–70. 25 SKS 7, 180 / CUP1, 196. 26 SKS 7, 183 / CUP1, 199. 27 Cf. SKS 4, 319–20 / CA, 12–13. 28 SKS 7, 173 / CUP1, 189. 29 SKS 7, 174 / CUP1, 190. 30 SKS 7, 176 / CUP1, 192. 31 Cf. SKS 7, 38–9 / CUP1, 32. 32 SKS 20, 363, NB4:159 / KJN 4, 363. 23 24

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it operates in the modality of necessity. Subjective reflection, on the other hand, operates primarily in the modalities of possibility (when it is considering a course of action) and actuality (when it is considering its history and the circumstances in which it has to act). Subjective reflection, because it is concerned with ethicalreligious truth, is oriented towards acting in freedom, which in logic is opposed to necessity.33 II. First and Second Immediacy By construing faith as an immediacy that follows reflection, Kierkegaard distinguishes faith from both naïve immediacy and from objective reflection. “The first immediacy is the esthetic,”34 while faith as second immediacy is distinguished from objective reflection by being a passion and by taking the paradox of the Christian incarnation on trust rather than seeking to explain it away.35 Faith is, ontologically speaking, a leap or a qualitative change in a person. Secondly, Kierkegaard points out that faith does not exclude or deny the role of thinking in a person’s existence. Thirdly, in faith the person is in a direct, conscious and transparent relation to God and to himself. With immediacy and second immediacy Kierkegaard describes the direct experiences of a person. Both of the described experiences happen in one moment. Both of the immediacies can have love as their form. Although the two immediacies share several similarities, they are also totally different according to Kierkegaard’s arguments. (a) They pertain to different aspects of human beings. Thus, in Kierkegaard’s thought they pertain to different stages of existence. With (first) immediacy, Kierkegaard describes the direct feelings, in the aesthetic stage, of a person’s psyche,36 which encompass ordinary human instincts, emotions, and desires. In this sense, immediacy is initial, accidental, emotional, spontaneous, and unreflective. Second immediacy or new immediacy occurs in a person’s spirit in the religious stage,37 or religiousness B, which means faith is dialectical and reflective,38 but faith is after and beyond reflection so that it is no longer accessible to reflection.39 (b) They have different orientations towards time and eternity. A person with (first) immediacy exists “in the moment,”40 temporally oriented towards his direct feelings. He does not think about either past or future and does not seek eternal happiness but only happiness or enjoyment in the present moment. This person’s existence lacks an eternal dimension. With second immediacy, the person who strives

Cf. SKS 4, 319–20 / CA, 12–13. SKS 4, 172 / FT, 82. 35 SKS 7, 201 / CUP1, 220. 36 SKS 11, 165 / SUD, 51. 37 SKS 6, 152 / SLW, 162. 38 Ibid. 39 SKS 6, 152 / SLW, 163. 40 SKS 3, 179 / EO2, 184. 33 34

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consciously for eternal happiness can grasp past, present, and future in the moment of faith, which is the “fullness of time,”41 the point where eternity and time touch. (c) They have different valuations of hope. With (first) immediacy a person has “earthly hope,”42 which is a purely psychological and spontaneous hope and which is grounded in the concrete good and joy of the person. A person with faith as second immediacy always holds an “eternal hope” or “heavenly hope,”43 which is the religious passion of spirit44 and with which a person pursues eternal happiness. (d) They have different kinds of love as their highest forms. The (first) immediacy regards love as erotic happiness in its highest form. The immediacy after reflection expresses itself with Christian love.45 (e) Kierkegaard describes and uses the two immediacies in different senses. He uses (first) immediacy in epistemological and anthropological senses. The second immediacy, however, is used primarily in Christological, ontological, and existential senses. III. Immediacy and Reflection Generally speaking, immediacy and reflection pertain to different aspects of the human being: immediacy refers to experience, so that emotion and feelings are important for it, while reflection is the cognitive activity of human reasoning, which is why understanding is the most significant character of reflection. They also have different views and attitudes towards time and eternity. For the person in (first) immediacy, there is only temporal feeling; he has no consciousness of the differences between the past, present, and future. He cares for neither the future nor eternity. For the reflective person, time is calculated as linear. He is conscious of the different parts of time and wants to approach eternity through the calculation of time. The person in second immediacy approaches eternity with faith after receiving the condition through the revelation of God. Immediacy belongs to either the aesthetic or religiousness B stages. On the other hand, reflection is central to the activities of the ethical and religiousness A stages. However, both of them relate dialectically to each other. Immediacy and reflection are qualitatively totally different. From the perspective of A in Either/Or, Part One, Kierkegaard compares the relationship between immediacy and reflection with the relationship between music and language respectively. Both the idea and the medium of music (illustrated by Mozart’s Don Giovanni) are abstract and sensuous.46 The idea and medium of language (illustrated in literature by Goethe’s Faust) are concrete and historical.47 A person can understand language, so that he could understand music as reflected in language, but can only feel 43 44 45 46 47 41 42

SKS 4, 226 / PF, 18. SKS 8, 215 / UD, 113. Cf. Ibid. SKS 5, 213–4 / EUD, 213–14. SKS 6, 153–4 / SLW, 163–4. SKS 2, 64 / EO1, 56. SKS 2, 64 / EO1, 57.

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the music immediately.48 “Language, regarded as medium, is the medium absolutely qualified by spirit, and it is therefore the authentic medium of the idea.”49 Music, by contrast, as the medium of the sensuous, “was qualified psychically”50 among the ancient Greeks and manifested as “harmony and consonance.”51 However, the sensuous is later qualified as spirit by being excluded in Christianity, seemingly as sin.52 Its sinfulness, though, is because “the sensuous is momentary…[and] seeks momentary satisfaction,”53 while as romantic love it “manifests itself as immediate by resting exclusively in natural necessity.”54 Love can be rescued from the sensuous by finding “the true eternity in love…by a determination of the will,”55 thereby enabling a higher immediacy of love. In The Sickness unto Death Kierkegaard regards immediacy with “a quantitative reflection” in the immediacy, which gives rise to one of the forms of despair,56 as a phase between the aesthetic stage and ethical stage. In Stages on Life’s Way Frater Taciturnus emphasizes that immediacy comes to an end when it meets an “infinite reflection.”57 In the same work, “a married man” discusses the relation of aesthetic, ethical, and religious stages through the relationship of erotic love (falling in love), marriage, and spiritual love in marriage, respectively. He treats reflective marriage as an analogue of ethics, but although reflection is infinite, it is purely ideal. The new immediacy in marriage is distinguished by the resolve to maintain love, which is done under the imperative of duty.58 Despite the similarities between the new immediacy and the (first) immediacy, new immediacy regards reflection as its presupposition, not as its result; it is beyond reflection and human understanding.59 According to Kierkegaard, this dialectical movement of the three stages aims at the religious lifeview as a new immediacy by which the person comes into a relationship with God.60 Paradoxically, the new immediacy of love in marriage is mediated by a third in the relation, namely, God.61 To summarize, while carrying on a polemic against the Hegelian notions of mediation and sublation, and speculative philosophy, which posits reflective thought as the proper medium for truth, Kierkegaard makes his own use of the concepts of immediacy and reflection. Kierkegaard integrates these concepts into his exemplary figures of the existential stages of the aesthetic, ethical, and religious. Unlike Hegelianism, however, Kierkegaard’s dialectic culminates in the higher immediacy SKS 2, 71–3 / EO1, 64–7. SKS 2, 69 / EO1, 67. 50 SKS 2, 73 / EO1, 62. 51 Ibid. 52 SKS 3, 94 / EO2, 91. 53 SKS 3, 30 / EO2, 21–2. 54 SKS 3, 29 / EO2, 21. 55 SKS 3, 30 / EO2, 22. 56 SKS 11, 172 / SUD, 57. 57 SKS 6, 382 / SLW, 412. 58 SKS 6, 152–3 / SLW, 162–3. 59 Ibid. 60 SKS 6, 153 / SLW, 164. 61 Cf. SKS 3, 61–3 / EO2, 55–8. 48 49

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of Christian faith. This higher immediacy is a passionate resolve to love, which comes after reflection but not as a direct result of it. God gives its condition of possibility, one aspect of which is the paradox of the Christian incarnation that baffles reflective cognition and thereby opens the way for faith. See also Aesthetic/Aesthetics; Anthropology; Desire; Despair; Dialectic; DoubleReflection; Ethics; Existence/Existential; Experience; Faith; Hope; Language; Love; Music; Paradox; Passion/Pathos; Religious/Religiousness; Self; Spirit; Stages; Time/Temporality/Eternity; Truth; Understanding/Comprehension.

Immortality Lee C. Barrett

Immortality (Udødelighed—noun) The word is derived from the Old Danish udødelighet and the Old Norse údauðleikr. The term originally suggested personal survival after death but was later also used to indicate a timeless eternity. It often appears in metaphysical and theological contexts to connote the existence of the soul beyond temporal limitations.1 “Immortality” and its family of related terms occur most frequently in The Concept of Irony, the Concluding Unscientific Postscript, and Christian Discourses. Kierkegaard used a variety of concepts, including immortality, to connote a type or quality of life beyond the succession of discrete moments that characterizes ordinary temporality. Eternity (Evighed), pointing more generally to the transtemporal dimension, and resurrection (Opstandelse), suggesting the transition to non-temporal life, often appear in conjunction with immortality and either reinforce or further specify its meaning.2 These terms, frequently occurring in clusters, serve several different purposes in Kierkegaard’s works. This multivocity has triggered considerable disagreement concerning the issue of their reference, for they could point to a future, post-mortem state of affairs, or they could indicate an elusive quality of this earthly life, or perhaps both. Kierkegaard’s literature exhibits a consistent reluctance to describe the referent of immortality or precisely define the concept. Typical of this reticence is the fact that in his frequent narrations of the drama of Christ, Good Friday receives much more attention and detailed commentary than does Easter. Although Kierkegaard emphasizes the desire for an eternal happiness, “heaven” is seldom described even in the most general terms. But this chaste restraint does not mean that immortality and resurrection were not important to Kierkegaard. Without engaging in ostensive definition, he used the concept in several different ways in differing contexts to pursue multiple rhetorical and pastoral purposes. In doing so, he borrowed language and imagery from several strands of Christian piety and theological reflection, but avoided endorsing any particular metaphysical account of immortality. In fact, he appropriated themes very selectively according to the needs of his particular authorial purpose. Sometimes he wanted to comfort the reader, sometimes encourage the Christian Molbech, Dansk Ordbog indeholdende det danske Sprogs Stammeord, vols. 1–2, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1833, vol. 2, p. 584 (ASKB 1032). 2 For an example of the close association of immortality and the eternal, see SKS 8, 126–7 / UD, 10–11. 1

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reader, sometimes shock the reader into self-responsibility, and sometimes unsettle the reader. Often he attempted to engage in several of these activities simultaneously. Immortality was a matter of significant controversy in Kierkegaard’s day, and Kierkegaard was conversant with these contemporary scholarly and ecclesial disputes. Because claims about the immortality of individuals were usually based on Jesus’ resurrection, many of these debates focused on the historicity and significance of Jesus’ resurrection. The Enlightenment had raised doubts about the reliability of the historical accounts in the Bible because of the obvious narrative discrepancies and flagrant supernaturalism. More disturbingly, some argued that no amount of empirical evidence, no calculation of probability, could demonstrate that Jesus had risen as the savior of humanity. Kierkegaard’s contemporaries debated whether the resurrection was some sort of physical reanimation or a transformation of the human spirit of Jesus. Some proposed that Jesus had been raised in the faith of the early Christians, and some insisted that some extraordinary but unreconstructable event had occurred. Moreover, the immortality of individuals was variously construed as the eternality of the human spirit, the return of the finite into the infinite, the noumenal transcendence of the category of time, or the post-mortem survival of individual consciousness. Like the biblical interpreters who treated “resurrection” as mythic language, Kierkegaard and his pseudonyms sometimes used “immortality” and “eternity” as evocative metaphors to suggest certain passional dynamics that can inform an individual’s earthly life. In Kierkegaard’s pages immortality can connote a variety of possible qualities of present experience, all of them detachable from postmortem survival. One such quality is suggested by Kierkegaard’s analysis of Plato’s discussion of immortality (Udødelighed) in the Phaedo.3 The Platonic Socrates’ exposition of the immortality of the soul essentially identified the concept with the practice of abstraction from the confines of the sensory world while admitting objective uncertainty about an afterlife. Kierkegaard criticized this view as a volatilization of existence, but admitted that such a policy of present disengagement from finitude is a possible existential option. The use of immortality in the Phaedo indicated an attitude of detachment that can be intentionally pursued and come to pervade an individual’s present experience. In a very different way Climacus lauds the self-concerned Socrates for regarding the possibility of immortality as an existential challenge. In the face of death Socrates dared to make his life acceptable to immortality, even though he was objectively uncertain about the existence of immortality.4 Here immortality suggests an individual’s synoptic disposition to take her existence with utter earnestness. This differs from the concern for the eternity (Evighed) that is a characteristic of speculative systems, and from the identification of immortality with the perdurance of the human race. Climacus proposes that “objectively the question of immortality cannot be asked, since immortality is precisely the intensification and highest development



3 4

SKS 1, 122–37 / CI, 62–79. SKS 7, 184–5 / CUP1, 201–2.

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of the developed subjectivity.”5 Consequently, the question of immortality can only be asked in the first person, about one’s own self. Elsewhere Kierkegaard’s ethical pseudonyms describe immortality as the eternal significance of the ethico-religious quality of an individual’s life. From the perspective of Judge William, “I cannot become ethically conscious without becoming conscious of my eternal being,” a task that is the “true demonstration of the immortality of the soul.”6 The respect due the ethical imperative is infinite, and therefore duty can be conceived as eternal. Eternity and immortality in this context suggest the decisiveness of the moment of decision and the earnestness of the choice of a new way of life. Ethical intentionality can give a life unity, coherence, and continuity in the enactment of a singular goal or norm.7 By insisting that this immortality is not to be confused with Hegelian abstract eternity, Kierkegaard was emphasizing the concept’s proper application to the lives of particular individuals.8 The interpretation of immortality in terms of the appropriate mode of subjectivity is not restricted to the discussion of Socratic or ethical pathos, but extends to Christianity as well. In a Christian discourse Kierkegaard contends that immortality, including the theme of judgment, is not a matter for speculation but for action.9 The significance of belief in immortality is identified with the conviction that our lives as a whole are being evaluated. Kierkegaard even proposes that “immortality and judgment are one and the same.”10 The certainty of immortality is collapsed into the assurance that our lives are subject to a sweeping assessment.11 This prospect of an evaluation is not an imaginative projection of a peaceful, congenial immortality that could be tailored to suit the fancies of an individual.12 Rather, the thought of a comprehensive judgment is absolutely daunting, and should induce fear and trembling. In these overtly Christian contexts immortality is the sense of the ultimacy of the distinction between righteous and unrighteous lives. Here talk of immortality does not necessarily signal the expectation of a new type of experience beyond the grave. At other times Kierkegaard uses immortality and resurrection to point to the general dynamic of spiritual regeneration that can occur in this life. For example, Anti-Climacus contends that the true resurrection of Lazarus was not the reanimation of his corpse, but rather was his capacity to rest in the power that posited him.13 Similarly, resurrection is used by Kierkegaard, in his own voice, to symbolize rebirth from sin and damnation and the movement to an absolutely new quality of life.14 Quite frequently immortality and resurrection are linked with the present experience 7 8 9 5 6

12 13 14 10 11

SKS 7, 160 / CUP1, 173. SKS 3, 257 / EO2, 270. SKS 4, 393 / CA, 90. SKS 7, 158–9 / CUP1, 171. SKS 10, 211–21 / CD, 202–13. SKS 10, 214–15 / CD, 205–6. SKS 20, 289, NB4:5 / CD, Supplement, 378. SKS 10, 211–13 / CD, 202–5. SKS 11, 123–5 / SUD, 7–9. SKS 21, 369–70, NB10:207 / JP 3, 2867.

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of coming to have faith in order to underscore faith’s unconditional and enduring worth. In a similar vein, Kierkegaard often uses the concepts immortality and resurrection to indicate one very specific aspect of the transition to the Christian life, the willingness to follow Christ and share his suffering. Alluding to Philippians 3:20 Kierkegaard announces that to know the power of Christ’s resurrection is to share his sufferings.15 Resurrection is said to happen and the eternal to be present whenever anyone decides to suffer for the good and remains constant in that commitment.16 Kierkegaard argues that the biblical assertions that no earthly differences exist in heaven really means that all individuals, no matter what their varying capacities or earthly circumstances may be, have the ability to decide to suffer with Christ now; the possibility of this kind of immortality is available to all. In all these instances immortality is a quality of the imitation of Christ the prototype. Anti-Climacus makes this clear by explaining that the abasement of Christ through his life of selfgiving love is his eternal glorification.17 These passages all suggest that the concepts immortality, eternity, and the resurrected life function to highlight the seriousness of making life-shaping decisions, the crucial importance of the self-ascription of responsibility, the absolute value of trusting in God, the need to die away to sinfulness, and the sublimity of accepting the prospect of Christ-like suffering. These terms, echoing with religious resonances, foster a sense of the urgency of taking life with ultimate seriousness and the blessedness of pursuing a life of faith. Commitment to God, present in every moment, gives an enduring continuity to an individual’s life, making it impervious to the vicissitudes of temporality.18 Such a mode of existence can be called immortal or eternal. In a similar manner Climacus identifies “infinite interest” with “eternal happiness,” suggesting that eternity is a dimension of the pathos that can be attained in one’s earthly life.19 Immortality is an achievement concept, pointing to the attainment of a coherent and goal-directed life. On the other hand, in different contexts Kierkegaard’s use of immortality and resurrection does point to a state beyond death that cannot be reduced without remainder to various depth dimensions of temporal experience. Kierkegaard considered adopting as his epitaph these lines from the Pietist hymn-writer Hans Adolph Brorson (1694–1764): “Then I may rest in bowers of roses and unceasingly, unceasingly speak with my Jesus.”20 The rest in question is clearly not a present experience, nor is the intimate communion with Jesus. In other passages Kierkegaard makes it clear that the glory of the resurrection is not to be collapsed into the pain of crucifixion.21 In some sense glorification is the overcoming of humiliation and therefore must be conceived as future. 17 18 19 20 21 15 16

SKS 10, 233 / CD, 225. SKS 8, 215 / UD, 111. SKS 12, 171 / PC, 167. SKS 8, 126–7 / UD, 10–11. SKS 7, 25–6 / CUP1, 15–17. SKS 28, 66–7, Brev 39 / LD, 26–7, Document XIX. SKS 22, 38, NB11:56 / JP 1, 337.

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Sometimes Kierkegaard affirms quite bluntly the post-mortem nature of the immortality that awaits individuals. For example, he mused, “For the minute I die and leave this world, I will then (as I see it) instantly (so frightfully fast does it happen!), I will then instantly be infinitely far from here, at another place.”22 Kierkegaard exulted that if it seems to grow dark when a true Christian dies it is only because “the sunlight of eternal happiness shines too brightly in his eyes.”23 Even a pseudonym like Vigilius Haufniensis is aware that this anticipated future is not like this present existence, for it does not involve the ongoing history of synthesizing the psychical and physical that characterizes our earthly task.24 Furthermore, Kierkegaard’s upbuilding discourses repeatedly assert that the fulfillment of an expectation of eternal blessedness transcends earthly time.25 We will be “carried away from the world” and the same God who has “led us by the hand through the world” will open his arms “to receive in them the yearning soul.”26 The soul will finally be united to its true beloved, God.27 He assures the believer that “your life will become transparent and clear to you, your estate in blessed understanding with your God and with yourself.”28 The nature of eternal happiness and the significance of the road that the individual has traveled to attain that goal will be fully comprehended “at last.”29 This expectation of the fulfillment of Christian hope includes “a blessed reunion with those whom death took away from you and life separated from you.”30 We will be gathered together with those who are dear to us, and God will ensure that everything is worked out for the best.31 Loved ones will understand one in eternity, even if they had been misunderstood on earth.32 More ominously, Kierkegaard warns that a person is immortal whether she wants to be or not; this future is not an option that can be either accepted or rejected.33 All of these passages point to fulfillment in a trans-mortem state of affairs that involves continuing self-consciousness, the retrospective understanding of earthly life, a more intimate awareness of God, and even the reconstitution of terrestrial relationships. Many of these themes were already adumbrated in Kierkegaard’s discussion of the immortality of the soul in The Concept of Irony. There Kierkegaard had critiqued the Phaedo’s view that the soul is indeterminate and without predicates. Echoing 1 John 3:2 Kierkegaard suggested that we do not know what we shall be beyond death, but we do know that we will not be disembodied or insubstantial. For Kierkegaard the language of the resurrection of the body signals the continuation of

24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 22 23

Pap. X–6 B 232 / JP 6, 6842. SKS 17, 252, DD:99 / JP 1, 712. SKS 4, 366 / CA, 49. SKS 5, 214–16 / EUD, 216. SKS 5, 37 / EUD, 29. SKS 25, 370–2, NB29:107 / JP 3, 2908. SKS 5, 214–16 / EUD, 216. SKS 5, 36–7 / EUD, 28–9. SKS 5, 214–16 / EUD, 216. SKS 19, 216, Not7:42 / JP 2, 1665. SKS 10, 249 / CD, 242–3. SKS 10, 221 / CD, 212.

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a particular, individuated identity.34 Kierkegaard contrasts Platonic non-corporeal immortality with Christian resurrection as a dramatic recreation of the self in its full individuation.35 Of course, Kierkegaard adds that this promise of an individuated post-mortem existence is not an invitation to engage in fantastic speculation about its nature. Although claims about immortality and resurrection are intended to refer to objective states of affairs, appropriating these convictions requires the appropriate forms of pathos. Even when emphasizing the future reference of immortality, Kierkegaard never retracted his claim that this language only makes sense when situated in the context of the right kind of passionate subjectivity. Kierkegaard refused to discuss the nature of immortality or eternal life in a neutral, descriptive mood. Kierkegaard feared that speculative curiosity might distract the individual from the current urgent business of walking the narrow path.36 Accordingly, Climacus insists that the issue of immortality should not be discussed as if it were a matter about which a variety of opinions could be considered and evaluated in a dispassionate attitude.37 Most fundamentally, understanding the trans-temporal reference of immortality presupposes earnestness and self-concern about the quality and direction of one’s own life. The next life is not divorced from the quality of this life in time; there is no absolute Platonic disjunction between the two. Grasping talk about the eternal salvation involves ardently longing for it with vigilance and intense expectancy.38 According to Climacus, what it means to be immortal beyond this life can only be an issue for those who have a hunger for personal continuity.39 Worries about the continuation of the “same life” in eternity can never be a serious, legitimate question for those who have never been the same for a fortnight.40 Those who have not achieved a coherent, enduring self would have nothing to be eternalized. Moreover, this hunger for coherence and continuity must contain a healthy dread of failing to attain it. To preserve the appropriate fear and trembling, Kierkegaard emphatically rejected universalism, the view that salvation is automatically given to all.41 Another crucial dimension of this future-oriented pathos is the expectation of unimaginable joy.42 Funerals should be joyful anticipations of a new type of experience for the deceased.43 The possibility of a joy beyond the confines of earthly existence should encourage a buoyant hope. Most importantly, believing that an eternal life awaits us involves trusting in God’s promises. Maintaining this trust with passionate earnestness is a dimension of true faith in blessed immortality, for Kierkegaard repeatedly exhorts the reader not to lose heart.44 Here Kierkegaard 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 34 35

SKS 1, 166–7 / CI, 74. SKS 1, 127–9 / CI, 68–9. See also SKS 1, 135–6 / CI, 77. SKS 8, 384–98 / UD, 289–305. SKS 7, 157 / CUP1, 171. SKS 5, 255–6 / EUD, 259. SKS 7, 158–63 / CUP1, 171–7. SKS 7, 162 / CUP1, 146. SKS 5, 253–4 / EUD, 256–8. SKS 19, 202, Not6:35 / JP 5, 5476. SKS 25, 370–2, NB29:107 / JP 3, 2908. SKS 5, 255–6 / EUD, 257–9.

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mixes passive and active language to encourage this faith in an eternal happiness, for it is something that should be cultivated by the individual, but it is also something that should awaken the deepest wonder and receptivity. Although eternal life should be an object of profound hope, this pathos is not a selfish desire to extend the pleasures of earthly life indefinitely.45 The longing for immortality is motivated neither by the possibility of a future reward nor by the fear of punishment.46 Our embrace of the present state of humiliation is not inspired by the promise of future compensation. Rather, the prospect of the mutual understanding of the loving God and the loving individual is intrinsically attractive and draws the individual’s heart. Conversely, eternity’s condemnation is not an extrinsically imposed punishment upon a misspent life, but is the unworthy individual’s recognition of his own incompatibility with eternal blessedness, for he would be so unsuited for “heaven’s salvation” that he would be utterly discontent with it.47 This pathos is also not a complacent assurance of guaranteed felicity. The individual should not be certain of immortality, because such certainty would militate against the necessary fear and trembling that serve as the background of genuine faith.48 Consequently, knowledge of immortality is not given to immediate cognition and is not amenable to ordinary procedures of corroboration.49 In fact, the ambiguous nature of the resurrection of Jesus, and the historical uncertainty of its occurrence, are blessings, for they make risk and faith possible. Belief in immortality requires wonder and gratitude in the face of improbability. To conclude, Kierkegaard uses immortality and related concepts in two very different ways. First, immortality is a trope to encourage passionate, self-responsible earnestness about the ethical and religious character of the individual’s own life. As such, the ostensibly futuristic nuances of the concept actually function as symbols for present dimensions of this temporal life. Immortality in this sense connotes a set of possible qualities that can be cultivated in this temporal life. Secondly, immortality does frequently refer to a future hoped-for state of affairs beyond the grave, involving the preservation of individuated existence. Both uses of the concept were necessary for Kierkegaard, for the meaningfulness of the reference requires the presence of the appropriate self-concern. The “what” of immortality requires an appropriate “how.” Kierkegaard refuses to integrate these two different uses through the offices of a doctrinal or metaphysical system but urges the individual to synthesize them through a life of rigorous self-critique, earnest religious striving, and confident and receptive trust and hope. See also Appropriation; Atonement/Reconciliation; Faith; Inwardness/Inward Deepening; Salvation/Eternal Happiness, Time/Temporality/Eternity.

47 48 49 45 46

SKS 10, 214 / CD, 205. SKS 8, 152–70 / UD, 39–60. SKS 5, 253–4 / EUD, 256–8. SKS 10, 219–20 / CD 211–12. SKS 22, 246, NB12:170.a / JP 6, 6496.

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Incognito Martijn Boven

Incognito (Incognito—adverb, noun) The Danish word (Italian incognito, from the Latin incognitus, “unknown”) means to appear in disguise, or to act under an unfamiliar, assumed name (or title) in order to avoid identification.1 As a concept, incognito occurs in several of Kierkegaard’s works, but only becomes a subject of reflection in two: the Concluding Unscientific Postscript to Philosophical Fragments by Johannes Climacus and Practice in Christianity by Anti-Climacus. Both pseudonyms develop the concept from their own perspective and must be understood on their own terms.2 Johannes Climacus treats incognito as a category of existence, defining it as a comic contradiction that creates a disguise in order to hide and protect the inwardness of the existing individual. However, Anti-Climacus treats incognito as a category of communication. He defines it as “a sign of contradiction” that creates a disguise in order to activate and disclose the inwardness of a listener or reader. I. Johannes Climacus and the Incognito as a Category of Existence Johannes Climacus characterizes himself as a humorist who sees it as his task to take away knowledge by presenting it in an unfamiliar form.3 Climacus’ reflection on the incognito is part of this overall strategy. (a) According to him the incognito is made possible by the comic contradiction between the outer (which is only relative) and the inner (which relates to the absolute). This comic contradiction can manifest itself as irony or as humor. (b) Irony provides an incognito for the ethicist. (c) Humor provides an incognito for the religious person. (a) The Comic Contradiction Underlying the Incognito. In a long footnote Climacus criticizes Aristotle’s definition of the comic as “a mistake or deformity not productive of pain or harm to others.”4 In his view this definition lacks reflection because the comic is conceived as something that is present in the situation itself, whereas it should be defined as a relation, namely, “the misrelation of contradiction,

Ordbog over det danske Sprog, vols. 1–28, published by the Society for Danish Language and Literature, Copenhagen: Gyldendal 1918–56, vol. 9, columns 584–5. 2 Cf. SKS 22, 130, NB11:209 / JP 6, 6433. 3 SKS 7, 410 / CUP1, 451; SKS 7, 249 / CUP1, 276. 4 SKS 7, 466 / CUP1, 514. 1

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but painless.”5 Climacus gives various “random examples” to illustrate his point. Imagine a man who is known to walk around in eccentric clothes, but suddenly turns up in formal attire. According to Climacus, this will usually be perceived as comic.6 However, in this case the comic is not present in the situation itself. Those who have never seen the man in question before will not detect anything comic in his way of dressing. Such examples, Climacus argues, show that the comic is never present in the situation as such, but is always the result of a misrelation, in this case, the misrelation between the way the man is usually dressed and the way he is dressed now. Climacus’ two forms of the incognito are made possible by this comic misrelation. For Climacus the misrelation of contradiction can only be perceived as comic if it is painless for the observer (although it is not necessarily painless for the comic figure). The observer perceives the contradiction, but it holds no power over him; he knows that the contradiction is already set right in a higher existence-sphere (even though the comic figure is not aware of this).7 Climacus defines an existence-sphere as higher if it enables the observer to perceive the contradiction and to show him a way out of it. This way out can be realized by joining the qualitative opposites together, without canceling the contrast between them. Climacus defines the religious perspective as higher than the ethical because it shows a way out of the comic contradictions that are encountered within the framework of the ethical. The ethical, in turn, shows the way out of the contradictions of aesthetic immediacy and for that reason supersedes it. The aesthetic at best reveals the contradictions the aesthete is living in, but offers no way out. From this Climacus concludes that a misrelation can only be interpreted as comic if the existence-sphere of the observer is qualitatively higher than the existence-sphere of the comic figure he is observing; in all other cases it becomes a tragic contradiction that signifies despair.8 This also holds for Climacus’ two forms of the incognito. (b) Irony as an Incognito. In his interpretation of the incognito Climacus defines irony as an existence-qualification, rather than as a mode of speech.9 The ironist discovers that all human actions are relative and that it is an illusion to measure the meaning of life in outward qualifications. The ironist can do this because he freed himself from the world of appearances in its entirety. When a nobleman thinks he is superior to the peasant because the day-to-day worries of the peasant are relative to him, he is not an ironist in Climacus’ sense. The superiority of the nobleman remains illusory as long as he does not comprehend that all human endeavors, including his own, are just as relative as the peasant’s.10 To an ironist both the peasant and the nobleman are entangled in a comic contradiction. The ironist discovers this contradiction and knows a way out of it. He knows this because he has made the “movement of infinity” that gives him access to a higher ideal: the infinite requirement Ibid. SKS 7, 466 / CUP1, 516. 7 SKS 7, 472 / CUP1, 520. 8 SKS 7, 467 / CUP1, 516. 9 SKS 7, 456 / CUP1, 503–4. 10 SKS 7, 455 / CUP1, 502. 5 6

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of the ethical. According to Climacus, however, the ironist only uses this absolute ideal to free himself from the trivialities that surround him.11 In this way the ironist differs from the ethicist. The ironist applies the absolute requirement to existence in general to judge all human activities as relative; whereas the ethicist applies it to his own inner existence and acts upon it. Both the ironist and the ethicist realize that they have an absolute responsibility for their own life, but only the ethicist actualizes this responsibility by ethically committing himself to the choices he makes. For the ethicist, Climacus argues, irony becomes an incognito that protects him against the trivialities of immediacy that threaten to undermine his ethical commitment.12 Climacus does not give a clear example of this incognito, but it can be illustrated by contrasting it with hypocrisy, an incognito that in Climacus’ eyes is illegitimate.13 The hypocrite assumes the appearance of someone who strives for the good and the righteous, although in reality he does not. The ethicist, on the other hand, assumes the appearance of someone who does not care about goodness and righteousness, although in truth it is all he cares for. The hypocrite inflates himself with his incognito and appears to be higher than he is, whereas the ethicist deflates himself with his incognito and appears to be lower than he is. According to Climacus, both structures—hypocrisy and irony—express the contradiction that the outer is not the inner, but they do this in completely opposite ways. In hypocrisy the outer prevails over the inner. The hypocrite hides his real nature in order to grasp the ethical as an outward ideal (and not as a personal obligation). For him this ideal lies outside his power because it is defined by the praise of others rather than by his relation to himself. For that reason his expression of the contradiction between inner and outer becomes a sign of despair (that is, it is a tragic contradiction, not a comic one). For Climacus irony as incognito is different; there the inner is joined with the outer, without canceling the contrast between them. The irony hides the real nature of the ethicist; however, the aim of this deception is not to trick the world into believing that he has realized the ideal. On the contrary, he knows that he cannot realize the ideal in external life and thus refrains from trying. He protects his inwardness by keeping his inner ethical passion apart from outer trivialities.14 For that reason the contradiction between inner and outer holds no power over him (that is, it is a comic contradiction, not a tragic one). (c) Humor as an Incognito. According to Climacus, the humorist no longer believes in the ethical attempt to join the relative and the absolute together by inwardly placing his outward life under the infinite requirement of the ethical. The humorist discovers that he is unable to transform his own life and cannot bear the absolute responsibility for it. He does not despair over this insight but resigns himself to it and accepts it as inevitable. Climacus gives a simple example that can clarify the role of humor in this resignation. He pictures a man complaining to a girl about a mutual friend speaking ill of him in his absence. Now suppose, Climacus argues, that the girl replies the following: “Then I must count myself lucky, because he has SKS 7, 454–5 / CUP1, 502–3. SKS 7, 457 / CUP1, 504. 13 Cf. SKS 7, 294 / CUP1, 323. 14 SKS 7, 455–6 / CUP1, 503–4. 11

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completely forgotten me.”15 According to Climacus, there is a hint of humor in this remark. The fact that the girl considers herself to be completely forgotten is sad and signifies suffering. However, the way she expresses this suffering indicates that she is resigned to it; it has no power over her any more. The same holds for the humorist, although for him suffering is not related to a particular misfortune, but becomes an inevitable aspect of life.16 This religious perspective is discovered by the humorist but only realized by the religious person. The humorist levels everything “on the basis of the abstract relationship with God, inasmuch as he does not enter into the relationship with God. It is precisely there that he parries with a jest.”17 Humor first suspends the relativity of reality and then opens up the possibility to regain it. The humorist, however, is not yet able to realize this possibility. This is remedied by the religious person who enters into a concrete relationship with God through faith. The story of Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son is an excellent illustration of this kind of faith. Abraham not only had to accept his son Isaac’s death (the resignation of humor), but he also had to receive him back without despairing over it (faith).18 Like Abraham, the religious person continually has to make a double movement in which he simultaneously relates himself absolutely to the absolute and relatively to the world around him.19 He can only make this double movement by virtue of an incognito. This incognito ensures that the religious person looks outwardly as all others, even though he inwardly differs radically from them.20 If the religious person drops the incognito, this shows that he tries to realize his faith in relation to the relative world around him (for example, by denying himself joy and amusement). In that case he fails to make the double movement and re-enters the sphere of aesthetics. Climacus gives two historical examples to illustrate this aesthetic understanding of religion in which the incognito is dropped: the monastic movement and speculative philosophy. The monastic movement attempted to express the inwardness of faith (which is directed towards the absolute) through a purification of outward existence (which is relative). This constituted a relative relation to the absolute.21 Speculative philosophy did the exact opposite. It presented the absolute as the outcome of a cumulative process that was itself relative. This constituted an absolute relation to relative ends.22 In both cases the qualitative distinction between the relative and the absolute was canceled, demonstrating that the religious was only understood aesthetically. For Climacus the incognito is a necessary, but not sufficient condition for a Christian. It is necessary for joining the absolute and the relative together, without blending the one into the other. It is not sufficient because the incognito of

SKS 7, 501 / CUP1, 552–3. SKS 7, 407–10 / CUP1, 447–51. 17 SKS 7, 407 / CUP1, 448. 18 Cf. SKS 4, 131 / FT, 36; SKS 4, 143 / FT, 49. 19 SKS 7, 370 / CUP1, 407; SKS 7, 458 / CUP1, 505–6. 20 SKS 7, 459–60 / CUP1, 506–7. 21 Cf. SKS 7, 421 / CUP1, 409. 22 Cf. SKS 7, 421 / CUP1, 408. 15 16

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the religious does not prevent the absolute relation to God from becoming a relation to an idol.23 II. Anti-Climacus and the Incognito as a Category of Communication Anti-Climacus claims merely to follow the thought-categories by creating an imaginary construction.24 (a) He interprets the incognito as a strategy of indirect communication that is structured as “a sign of contradiction.” In his view this incognito can take on two qualitatively different forms: (b) the maieutic incognito and (c) the incognito that demands faith. (a) The Sign of Contradiction. For Anti-Climacus the incognito is not just a contradiction but a “sign of contradiction.” Something becomes a sign when it directs attention to itself and is regarded as something different from what it immediately is.25 Such signs make communication possible. Anti-Climacus highlights the involvement of the interpreter in this process. A beacon at sea is a sign for the captain, but not for the passenger who only sees a floating cask. The aim of the beacon is to transfer knowledge about the navigable depth. According to Anti-Climacus, the incognito is a special kind of sign that does not aim to transfer knowledge, but to confront the recipient with a contradiction, forcing him to make a choice that will disclose his own views on the matter.26 This choice either concerns the recipient himself (the maieutic incognito) or the communicator (the incognito that demands faith). (b) The Maieutic Incognito. For Anti-Climacus the aim of the maieutic incognito is to turn the listener away from the communicator, “to turn him inward in order to make him free.”27 The communicator uses an incognito to make himself into an uninvolved bystander, “an absentee, an objective something, a nonperson.”28 This unrecognizable nobody merely presents an imaginary construction that is “a unity of jest and earnestness.”29 It is jest because the communicator is not personally involved in what he is telling; he presents it as a possibility. It is earnestness because the story aims at making the recipient self-active. This can be illustrated with the biblical parable of the rich man that the prophet Nathan uses to confront King David with his crimes. Nathan presents a possible case of injustice to David (jest). 30 David recognizes the injustice and condemns it. However, the aim of Nathan’s story is not to ponder fictional cases but to make David self-active (earnestness). In condemning the rich man, David condemns himself. The story transfers no new knowledge, but it only activates David’s moral framework. Kierkegaard himself employed this

Cf. SKS 7, 483–4 / CUP1, 531–2. Cf. SKS 12, 135–6 / PC, 131; SKS 12, 146 / PC, 142. 25 SKS 12, 130 / PC, 124. 26 SKS 12, 131–2 / PC, 126–7. 27 SKS 12, 146 / PC, 142. 28 SKS 12, 138 / PC, 133. 29 SKS 12, 130 / PC, 125. 30 2 Samuel 12:1–10. 23 24

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maieutic incognito in most, if not all of his works and even used it in his personal life.31 (c) The Incognito that Demands Faith. The incognito that demands faith turns the communicator himself into a sign of contradiction. The incognito is used to create a contradiction between the communicator’s true identity and his immediate appearance. Anti-Climacus illustrates this type of incognito with the story of a man who decides to test whether his beloved really believes him.32 To this end, he adopts the incognito of a libertine and a deceiver, the opposite of what he really is. Does she still believe him even though his behavior seems to contradict his declaration of love? Or does she fail to recognize his incognito and lose her faith in him? Her judgment will disclose if she truly believed him or not. The Christian conception of faith, Anti-Climacus argues, has a similar structure, although it concerns the relation not between two human beings (who are similar) but between God and the existing individual (who differ absolutely). Anti-Climacus tries to understand the meaning of the historical event in which the God appears incognito in the form of a human being: the God-man. The incognito of God creates an indirect relationship between God and the human being. This indirect relationship is necessary, Anti-Climacus argues, because otherwise God would become an idol; a recognizable object that can be identified and known with certainty.33 This idol does not demand faith and therefore differs radically from the Christian conception of the God-man (if it is taken seriously). The God-man is absolutely unrecognizable and cannot be directly known or even identified.34 This does not mean that the God-man goes around unnoticed. He draws attention to himself by doing miracles and saying things like, “I am God; the father and I are one.”35 Statements like these do not give any information about the God-man; they only highlight the contradiction between his claim of being God and his appearance as a lowly human being. This contradiction turns the God-man into an object of faith. It confronts the recipient with a choice that will disclose whether he believes in him—notwithstanding his incognito—or not.36 See also Aesthetic/Aesthetics; Authorship; Comic/Comedy; Ethics; Humor; Hypocrisy; Irony; Religious/Religiousness.

Cf. SKS 21, 351–2, NB10:185 / JP 6, 6388. SKS 12, 145–6 / PC, 141. 33 Cf. SKS 12, 147 / PC, 143. 34 SKS 12, 133 / PC, 127–8. 35 SKS 12, 139 / PC, 134. 36 Ibid. 31 32