This entry is the first in a
series of four, on the great Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard (1813-1855).
There were only two entries originally. Having just two entries may be
justified by the dual significance of Kierkegaard as, on the one hand, the
first “existentialist” philosopher, preoccupied with the philosophy of
living, and, on the other hand, as an extraordinary religious philosopher,
developing the concept of a leap of faith, and questioning the
role of the Christian Church in Church-friendly societies. But having just two
such entries would have required a great elaboration within each of them, which
in their present form they do not have. I guess what they are right now are the
kernels of future entries, to be developed when I have extra time for it. After
the original structure was already in place, however, I saw the need to add a
third entry, which is second in the current sequence. Its absolute
necessity will be seen as soon as the reader gets to it immediately after this
one. And then, of course, a fourth entry was added, unpretentiously titled Kierkegaardian Maxims, which title
obviously speaks for itself.
…Yes,--- and one more thing. My
first three entries’ titles in this series are actually the titles of Kierkegaard’s
major works, this one dealing with ways of living, the second one reformulating
the term “truth,” while the third one finally introducing the
all-important religious theme.
***
If you ask an authentic Russian Intelligent
to name ten greatest philosophers who ever lived, Kierkegaard will most
likely be among them. And yet, my good friend Bertrand Russell never even
mentions him in his History of Western Philosophy. Why such an
incredible, and certainly intentional, oversight?
There are actually several
explanations. Kierkegaard is not an “academic” philosopher in the conventional
sense of the word. He is probably very hard to figure out, in all his
profundity. As Russell’s brilliant friend and colleague Ludwig Wittgenstein
said (and I would not suspect him here of being disingenuous, or coy): “Kierkegaard is far too deep for me, anyhow. He bewilders me
without working the good effects, which he would in deeper souls.” There
is perhaps a similar argument, which Russell would be making in this case, too.
And then, of course, the strange fate of Kierkegaard’s masterpieces in the
English-speaking countries: Either…Or had not even been translated into
English by the time Russell published his History of Western Philosophy (although
some other works of his had been).
Kierkegaard’s unusualness hides
in the fact that in his works different “library shelves” merge
into one. He is to be found on the crossroads of philosophy, theology,
psychology, belles lettres, etc. No wonder that he wrote a virtual
warning concerning his legacy: “Once you label me,
you negate me.”
This is very close to my heart,
as I remember from my personal experience a conversation with the United
Nations Secretariat’s Personnel Chief Bob Webb who asked me, wondering about my
diverse qualifications, which box exactly I might fit in, to which I
instantly replied that I do not want to be put into any box. Not a very smart
answer for a prospective United Nations bureaucrat, but I got the job anyway,
probably, on the wings of my perceived eccentricity.
In all accounts of Kierkegaard’s
legacy, prominently featured is a major contributing factor to his peculiar sense
of anxiety and angst. He himself writes about it quite prominently.
His father, a devout Christian, all his life had been sorely troubled by one
particular event in his youth when in the midst of personal despair he had
cursed God. His sense of guilt had expanded into a sense of a family blight and
doom, which would pass on to the son in a vivid impression.
***
Part II of this entry will be
posted tomorrow.
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