The painter Edvard Munch effectively captures the overwhelming anxiety and pain experienced by the figure depicted in his famous artwork, The Scream. The origin and motives behind this eternal scream remain unknown to us. Perhaps it is the feeling of terror, fear, and anxiety that imbues this painting with its powerful impact. The individual screaming asserts his existence, rebelling against the notion of being nothing in this world. Numerous works of art and literature contain fragments of existential philosophy, and some may even be considered pioneering in their expressions of this philosophy. Take, for example, Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s narrative text, Notes from Underground. While it is highly regarded as a literary work, one cannot claim that it fully encompasses the entirety of existential philosophy or its ideas. The task of a literary text is not to explicitly convey philosophical thought. An intriguing observation can be made by reading Søren Kierkegaard’s diaries. Within them, he alternates between poetic musings and reflections on the philosophical texts he encounters. He uses a peculiar, poetic language to discuss himself, reminiscent of the woman who proclaimed to the great storyteller Hans Christian Andersen that an ominous star had emerged in the literary sky, a book so diabolically captivating that once its spell is cast, one cannot help but return to its pages with insatiable hunger. This book evokes a sense of nausea that can only be attributed to the work of a troubled soul! This Danish woman was expressing her opinion on the first volume of Søren Kierkegaard’s Either/Or, which opens with this definition articulated by the fictional character A from an aesthetic perspective:
“Who is a poet? A poet is a man burdened with unhappiness, concealing profound regrets within his heart. His lips remain sealed, but if groans and sighs were to escape, they would be perceived as sweet music. They share a fate akin to those slowly tormented within the bull of Phalaris, their cries unheard by the tyrant, causing him no pain. Instead, their cries are perceived as music. People gather around the poet, urging him to sing once more, not realizing that their request is a plea for new pains to torment the poet’s soul, and for his lips to remain closed as before, as the poet’s screams would only frighten them. They yearn for the music, for its sweetness. Critics approach the poet and exclaim, “That’s it! That’s how the masters of aesthetics say you should sing.” The critic resembles the poet in poetry, yet lacks the sorrow in his heart and the music upon his lips. Therefore, I declare that I would rather be a pig herder in Amagerbro, understood by the pigs, than a poet who remains misunderstood by humanity.”
Søren Kierkegaard is a poet, despite not having written a single poem — a remarkable poet at that. His multi-faceted genius manifests itself in the captivating diversity of his writing style. An aesthete, he can eloquently express himself using sweet and persuasive language accompanied by a melancholic melody. Yet, in another moment, he transforms into a professor of ethics, seized by tremors of passion. Through this transformation, he launches fierce and forceful attacks against the church.
It is indeed possible to talk about Søren Kierkegaard as a poet and literary creator, but his work goes beyond expressing existential anxiety in the same way as Dostoyevsky’s literature. He is mainly a philosopher and pioneer of philosophy, transforming his own life, which resembles great novels, into existential philosophy. Existentialism does not solely revolve around Kierkegaard, although he is acknowledged as one of its greatest pioneers. This philosophical trend extends throughout history and gained momentum in the 20th century through figures like Martin Heidegger and Jean-Paul Sartre. In his book Existentialism, Rev. John Macquarrie highlights that this philosophy is more of a method of philosophizing than a singular philosophy. It leads individuals who employ it to a wide range of differing opinions about the world and human life within it. This method starts from the perspective of human beings rather than nature. It focuses on the self rather than the subject, encompassing the self as the initiator of action, containing within it the center of emotions and conscience. Feelings, emotions, and reactions were often viewed with suspicion in philosophical discourse. As rational thinking, philosophy aimed to transcend fleeting desires and passions. Philosophers sought a dispassionate understanding of things, often avoiding emotions. If emotions and conscience were allowed in philosophy, it was to subject them to rational scrutiny, not as a recognized source of philosophical truth. Some philosophers admired the comprehensive and direct understanding that came with acknowledging the role of emotions. With the rise of existentialism, the issue of feelings and their relationship to philosophy resurfaced. Feelings came to be seen as a pathway through which philosophical truths can be reached. They are not seen as opposed to reason and thought, but rather as a source of insight, holding a place within the totality of human existence. They carry a personal record of one’s existence in the world. However, it is important to note that existentialism is not solely a philosophy of feelings, despite the appearance of irrationality at its core. It places a strong emphasis on the challenges associated with immediate concrete existence, such as freedom, responsibility, and decision-making. This emphasis stems from the recognition that human beings distinguish themselves from other beings through their exercise of freedom and their ability to shape their own future.
Søren Kierkegaard was born into a family of seven members, with the provider of the family being fifty-six years old and the mother being forty-five years old. The story and life of his elderly father had the most profound impact on Kierkegaard’s life. Michael Kierkegaard, the philosopher’s father, experienced his youth as a cattle herder on the Jutland plains. He endured a life of poverty and destitution, surrounded by a community whose members wished they had never been born, as Moravian preachers and priests bombarded the population with countless sermons heralding an imminent religious revival. Amidst this state of poverty and overwhelming guilt, an undisclosed event occurred, which the father kept concealed for many years. Subsequently, he relocated to Copenhagen to work alongside one of his relatives. There, he rapidly advanced in his career, achieving remarkable success to the extent that he retired at the age of forty and enjoyed a life of opulence and leisure. Michael harbored a somber and pessimistic perspective on life, which permeated the household where he raised his children with strict religious devotion, particularly emphasizing the suffering of Christ. He wrestled with moments of profound doubt, fleeting episodes of depression, and instances of despair and sin, to the extent that it was rumored he never smiled after moving to Copenhagen. Søren Kierkegaard reflects on these experiences in his diaries, stating:
“Since childhood and throughout my life, I have been gripped by an overwhelming depression. The only solace, as far as I can recall, was the knowledge that no one would discover the extent of my misery. I have never truly felt like a man, not even as a child or a youth. If I may attempt to articulate it, I would say that my upbringing was profoundly disturbed, and even in my early years, I was burdened by impressions that mirrored the melancholy that consumed my father. I was a child raised in an unsettling manner, as if I were already an aged and somber man.”
Within the depths of this pervasive darkness, Søren Kierkegaard existed. He not only inherited the profound aspects of his father’s personality and depression but also absorbed his dialectical mindset and intense emotional imagination. Biographies recount a peculiar mode of communication and dialogue between father and son. They would wander the room for hours, engaging in conversations about imaginary individuals, describing houses, trees, and events that made a mystery surrounding the reasons behind their inclusion in this ever-shifting narrative. Their voices would lower, as if the rumbling wheels of passing carriages sought to drown out their words. Certain critics and biographers of Kierkegaard attribute these moments of dialectical dialogue as the source of the elusive nature found in some of Kierkegaard’s characters, like Johannes d Silentio and Johannes the Deceived. Others attribute Kierkegaard’s unique poetic prowess in his texts to these dialectical exchanges, where his talent flourished, refining his psychological acumen and fostering a profound self-awareness. Kierkegaard’s poetic potency would not have ascended to such influential heights without these polemical interactions.
At the tender age of twenty-two, young Søren Kierkegaard was profoundly impacted by a series of events that shattered his ability to focus. Uncertainty enveloped him as he grappled with the enigmatic truth behind the tragic deaths that befell his family members. Despite his prior academic achievements, excelling in high school and embarking on studies in theology, literature, and philosophy, he found himself unable to sustain his concentration. He made a resolute decision to embark on a journey akin to a spiritual pilgrimage, seeking solace and inner tranquility at a coastal summer retreat. Reflecting upon these, he confides in his diary:
“What I really lack is to see what I should do, not what I should know, except that some understanding should precede all action. What I lack is to understand myself, to see what God wants me to do; what I lack is to find a true truth that belongs to me alone, to find the idea for which I can live and die. What purpose does it serve to seek out what is commonly known as absolute truth, to diligently explore various philosophical systems only to uncover their inherent contradictions? What value would there be in constructing a comprehensive theory of governance, merging all its intricate details into a singular entity, if it creates a world in which I do not truly exist, but only held up to the view of others? What good is it to comprehend the essence of Christianity if it lacks a profound personal significance, failing to penetrate the depths of my own life? What benefit would the truth bring if it stood before me, bare and exposed, indifferent to whether I recognize it, evoking fear rather than instilling a comforting faith within me? I do not deny the importance of understanding, for it enables meaningful interactions with others, but this understanding must be integrated into my own life. I have come to realize that this is the utmost priority for me, the longing of my soul, just like the thirst of the African desert for water. It is what I lack, leaving me standing alone, like a person who has furnished a house with all the necessary items but has yet to find a beloved companion with whom to share the joys and sorrows of life.”
While this text serves as an exemplary manifesto for the existentialist movement, it simultaneously offers a comprehensive portrayal of Søren Kierkegaard’s life. In addition, it also encapsulates a central theme in existential philosophy: action. Kierkegaard posits that true human existence cannot attain concreteness and fulfillment without active engagement. Action is not a mere fulfillment of duty; it is a deeply personal endeavor that encompasses the entirety of one’s being. It involves overwhelming thoughts, emotions, and internal decisions. Without these elements, there would be nothing deserving of the label ‘action.’ Kierkegaard penned this text at the tender age of twenty-two, just before the occurrence of the ‘Great Earthquake,’ a profound turning point in his life. There exists no biography or book about Kierkegaard that fails to address these enigmatic words penned in his diaries, known as ‘The Great Earthquake’:
“Then occurred that great earthquake, that overwhelming revolution, a new and undeniable law of interpretation was thrust upon me, altering the perception of all events. I came to realize that the extensive lifespan of my father, which I had once deemed a divine blessing, was instead a curse. I understood that the intellectual gifts bestowed upon our family only served to sow discord and tear us apart. The suffocating silence of death enveloped me as I witnessed my father, that melancholic figure destined to outlive us all, bearing the weight of a cross that towered above the grave of his shattered aspirations. A sense of collective guilt seemed to permeate our entire family, as if God’s punishment loomed over us. We appeared destined to vanish under the mighty hand of divine retribution, condemned to be erased like a failed endeavor. Amidst this bleakness, I occasionally find solace in the notion that my father bore this heavy burden, providing us with the solace of religion by baptizing us, anticipating a better world that awaited us, even if we were fated to perish under the punishment that the Jews, had perpetually wished upon their foes—the annihilation of our memory, leaving no trace of our existence.”
Kierkegaard’s family originally consisted of seven members, but by the end of 1834, only the father, the younger Søren, and the eldest son, Peter, remained. These mysterious deaths deeply affected Kierkegaard, leading him to interpret them as a sign of an eternal curse looming over his family. He believed a grave sin caused his siblings to perish before reaching thirty-four. Researchers have identified two significant incidents that shed light on the underlying causes of this profound earthquake in Kierkegaard’s life. The first incident revolves around the father, who, as a young shepherd on the plains of Jutland, experienced a state of merciless discipline under the Moravian preachers. Amid poverty, deprivation, and the confines of a narrow-minded existence, he found himself ascending one of the mountains and uttering blasphemous words towards the sky. This haunting experience left him engulfed in a persistent depression, anticipating the impending arrival of divine punishment. Strangely, instead of befalling the father who committed the sin, the punishment seemed to afflict the entire family. This notion gripped him, and he sought redemption by ensuring that his youngest son, Søren, became a clergyman. This act provided him some solace, and amidst his newfound wealth, the old father immersed himself in the writings of German philosophers while caring for his family. However, the deaths of his fifth son, followed by the eldest daughter, rekindled the old father’s fears. Even at the age of eighty-two, he could not escape the weight of this burden, as noted by Søren in his diary. The second incident revolves around the stepmother, Søren’s mother, whom he rarely mentioned despite the extensive pages found within his voluminous diary. After the death of Michael Kierkegaard’s first wife, he married his servant, who soon gave birth to her first son after a mere five months of marriage. The great earthquake, which marks the first transformative event in Kierkegaard’s life, is not solely focused on defining sin but rather on Søren’s belief that death constantly surrounds him and that he, too, will not surpass the age of thirty-four. It is as if life’s joys were embraced with love only to be suddenly exposed. For a young man who grew up in a dark environment and inherited his father’s profound depression, Søren lived for two years after the great earthquake, which were described as the most turbulent years marked by intense fluctuations between excitement and severe depression. These years comprised the aesthetic stage within Kierkegaard’s three stages of existence: the aesthetic stage, the ethical stage, and the religious stage.
In the final stage of this philosopher’s life, a formidable challenge arose, threatening the established order. The scale of this battle may seem imbalanced, given the magnitude of the confrontation between the individual and society. However, Kierkegaard, who had faith in himself, wielded his pen in this struggle. To gain insight into the social and religious climate of Denmark during that period, one can turn to the stories of the great storyteller Hans Christian Andersen. In some of his tales, Andersen depicts this scene: “The sun’s radiant rays illuminated the scene as the resonant sound of church bells beckoned the congregation to assemble. Adorned in their finest attire, they congregated at the church, clutching their prayer books against their bodies, eager to listen to the priest’s sermon.” This portrayal evokes an image of a serene city in northern Europe, living in peace and harmony, supported by the state’s benevolence towards the church and its commitment to preserving religious practices. However, Søren Kierkegaard disrupted this tranquility with his ceaseless writing, which exploded with a fervor unmatched by any other, particularly during the eulogy of Reverend Mynster. At this eulogy, the late pastor’s successor, Martensen, praised the deceased clergyman, referring to him as a witness to the truth. These seemingly innocuous words were all Kierkegaard needed to ignite a maelstrom and engage in a monumental battle against the official church. It was an individual’s struggle against a collective group that enjoyed the support of both the state and society. The catalyst for this storm was the phrase ‘witness to the truth.’ Kierkegaard wrote:
“The witness to the truth is a man whose life is marked by internal conflicts, fear, trembling, trials, misfortunes, and moral anguish. The witness to the truth is a man who bears witness to the truth while enduring poverty, humiliation, and degradation. He continues to bear witness to the truth even as the eyes of the world fixate upon them, and he faces the disdain and hatred of others. The one who stands as a witness to the truth is a martyr.”
Søren Kierkegaard had a personal connection to the late bishop, as he was related to his father. However, Kierkegaard did not agree with the characterization of the late bishop as a witness to the truth. In response, he launched a fierce attack on the official church through a magazine he published called Now. This publication consisted of nine highly provocative issues, each serving as an explosive critique aimed at what Kierkegaard saw as the falsification of true Christianity by the church. In Denmark, the Lutheran Church held the position of the official church, with the clergy enjoying economic benefits and secure employment provided by the state. Kierkegaard rejected the notion of government guarantees for the clergy and the state’s control over the church. He believed that seeking such guarantees compromised the core teachings of Christ. According to Kierkegaard, the late bishop did not endure suffering for the sake of faith, and therefore, in the philosopher’s view, had succumbed to worldly pleasures. Critics of Kierkegaard labeled his religious perspective as extreme and harsh. Engaging in dialogue with him seemed like an exercise in imagination, for it often appeared that he awaited any response only to launch a more vehement attack. His fame reached its zenith when he published an article titled “What Do I Want?” in response to criticism. In this article, he asserted that all he desired was honesty and sincerity, dismissing other concerns as insignificant. If loyalty meant rebelling against Christianity, Kierkegaard stated that he would gladly align himself with such a group, as his sole desire was honesty, and he would participate in any movement founded on loyalty. Kierkegaard’s critical stance on religion did not possess explicit political or social dimensions. However, his uncompromising stance paved the way for a wave of social revolutionaries who regarded the church as a tool employed by the privileged classes to keep the working class submissive and obedient. Following the publication of the ninth issue of his magazine Now, he collapsed on the street, much like Nietzsche, despite retaining his full sanity.
My Relationship with Her: Regine Olsen
Søren Kierkegaard never wrote a novel during his lifetime. However, his relationship with Regine Olsen became a significant narrative in existential philosophical thought. One of Kierkegaard’s admirers even described Regine Olsen as more important than the discovery of America. This raises the question of how a young girl could have such a profound impact on the mind of a philosopher who was deeply immersed in the aesthetic stage of his life. In a similar vein, Beatrice Portinari served as Dante Alighieri’s muse in the Divine Comedy, guiding him towards heavenly domains. Despite never having had a direct conversation with her, Dante entrusted his entire genius to this woman, whose significance in the history of literature would have remained unknown had he not written about her in The New Life and the Comedy. Regine Olsen, like Beatrice, exerts a similar influence, igniting the brilliance of the melancholic and reclusive Søren Kierkegaard.
He was consumed by a certainty that he was destined to experience a tragic fate. At a social gathering, he encountered her—the young woman of merely eighteen years old. Her life unfolded in a tranquil and unassuming manner, much like the rest of the population depicted in Hans Christian Andersen’s stories. Innocent and naive, she possessed limited knowledge of theology and intellectual thought, having only her Bible, which she carried with her to church every Sunday. Is it not assumed that an eighteen-year-old girl and a twenty-six-year-old boy inhabit the same temporal reality? Søren Kierkegaard asserts otherwise. For her, time flows differently than for him. She was a young dreamer, yearning for the same things her peers desired: a loving marriage to a government employee who provides financial stability and social standing, all within the framework of devout faith. He became completely enamored with her love, surrendering himself entirely. He was the solitary thinker burdened by a past that he could not forsake and refused to disavow, for he believed it to be a path ordained by God. He visited her frequently, engaging in conversations at her home and attending parties within that aristocratic society. The sweetness of his speech and his distinctive poetry captivated her. To her, he appeared as nothing less than a lover who was prepared to make sacrifices on her behalf. However, what eluded her perception was the somber and melancholic depths that resided within her lover’s soul.
He employed captivating tactics to ensnare her affection: he would wait for her on the streets as she made her way to her music lessons, send her books, and write words for her to read. He even sent her papers adorned with musical notes for her to play. The culmination of these intense actions led to her acceptance of him as her fiancé and future husband. Marriage necessitates honesty and openness between the two individuals involved, with each party sharing the deepest recesses of their hearts and souls. The question, however, is not whether she can handle what he has to reveal to her, but rather if this isolated thinker can expose her to the dangers lying within his own soul. Would he allow her, innocent and untainted by guilt, to share in the volcanic eruption brewing within him? From their very first encounter, he believed in her, convinced that it was the guiding hand of God that had led him to this point, to meet his spiritual guide who would accompany him on the path he so desired.
The life Kierkegaard led and the tumultuous earthquake that surrounded him from all sides shook the very foundations of his existence. He found himself destined for a life of misery. Despite being entrenched in the aesthetic stage, he believed he carried a religious message, though its precise form had yet to fully manifest. This message compelled him to remain isolated and detached, seeing only one path ahead. In the intoxicating throes of love, which eventually came to an end after their engagement was announced, his mind awakened to its true nature. It confronted the depths of his soul and the sentiments he held towards Regine. A conventional, legal union might lead him down a different path, diverging from the trajectory he had envisioned for himself. The culmination of this introspective analysis yielded a message that sent scandalous shockwaves through society:
“In the East, sending a silk thread means a decision to execute the addressee, and here sending a ring means a decision to execute the one who sends it!”
He returned the wedding ring to her, thereby destroying the relationship in which he had been a central figure. He cited an inner voice, the voice of the Lord, as mentioned in his diary, urging him to set her free. Regine, bewildered and unable to comprehend the situation, was unaware of the profound inner tragedy unfolding within the young man’s melancholic mind. In an attempt to restore the relationship to its former state, she sent him heartfelt letters, pleading that he would fulfill her request, even going so far as to claim that she would die if he did not comply. This scandal became the subject of jokes and conversations within society. Criticism was directed towards Kierkegaard for the way in which he ended the relationship, with one editor of the satirical newspaper The Corsair mocking the controversy by announcing the end of his own engagement. Kierkegaard, in his diaries, spoke about the reasons that compelled him to take such actions, including the fear that revealing himself fully would involve Regine in terrifying revelations, such as his complex relationship with his father and the darkness that clouded his perspective. Two years after the engagement was broken off, Regine married her former lover. Upon returning the ring, Søren Kierkegaard’s literary talents erupted with unparalleled brilliance. Within that year, he completed his doctoral dissertation, On the Concept of Irony with Continual Reference to Socrates, embarking on a prolific writing career. His works emerged in rapid succession, characterized by the sheer magnitude of their ideas and their unconventional presentation over a short time. Most significantly, through writing, he found solace and a remedy for the depression that plagued him. Writing became his only solution, allowing him to express and document all the thoughts swirling within him. What is Regine’s role in all that? Throughout his texts, including his diaries, dialectics, and philosophy, the presence of Regine looms large. In works like Fear and Trembling, which is considered one of Kierkegaard’s most renowned texts, Regine’s influence permeates the entire narrative from beginning to end.
Fear and Trembling
Kierkegaard wrote in his journal about Fear and Trembling:
“When I die, Fear and Trembling alone will make me an immortal writer. People will read the book and translate it into foreign languages. Readers will be awed by the intense emotion it carries.”
Who would investigate the origin of thought and its determinants in a book like Fear and Trembling, where various elements such as poetry, philosophy, religion, short stories, biography, and myths converge with remarkable artistic flair! When Kierkegaard returned from Berlin, his mind worked on a miraculous journey of successive works. These works, published under fictitious names, are collectively known as anonymous works. This approach aligns with the theory of indirect communication, wherein Kierkegaard, the original writer, seeks to present multiple perspectives through different characters, granting readers the freedom to choose and contemplate, rendering himself a modern Socrates. Sometimes, two books are released simultaneously or even on the same day. Despite his physical frailty, thoughts cascade upon him in a peculiar and intense manner. He writes without the need for inspiration, only relying on God’s providence to shield him from the unrestricted flow of thoughts.
Fear and Trembling is a philosophical book that requires familiarity with certain concepts and terms. However, it goes beyond mere abstract thought, seamlessly blending the author’s feelings and emotions. The author emerges as a skilled storyteller, rivaling masters of the short story. Then, the poet within him surfaces, unleashing a burst of lyrical poetry that captivates readers unlike any other. Just as poets like John Milton took pride in Paradise Lost and Dante Alighieri in the Divine Comedy, the author takes pride in his poetic discourse about an exceptional personality. Additionally, he assumes the role of a philosopher, seeking an idea that can elucidate his entire life. The private and public realms converge, offering the advantage of distinguishing between them. However, the reader remains unaware of the recluse in his office, who conveys a unique message through characters from religious heritage, mythology, and Greek tragedies, without revealing any hints about himself. In autobiographical works, authors often make their presence known, yet in this philosophical book, the author remains concealed under the name Johannes de Silentio, with Kierkegaard describing him as a stage of existence. Nevertheless, the author’s essence becomes increasingly apparent, particularly upon the third reading.
Kierkegaard’s readers and critics often inquire about the significance of Fear and Trembling. Is there a secret known only to the writer, or does the text contain a hidden message that diligent readers may decipher? The book is neither a detective novel, where the mystery is unraveled, nor a cryptic text. The author wrote with clarity. However, the peculiarity lies in the fact that this secret message is directed towards Regine Olsen, without explicitly mentioning her name or making any reference to her. It is not uncommon for an author to include a muse who inspires their work, but it is astonishing for Regine to occupy such a central position in this particular book, given the profound thoughts it conveys. For the reader who is captivated by the book’s ideas, there is ample opportunity to explore topics of beauty, morality, religion, and the characters employed by Kierkegaard. However, true comprehension necessitates an understanding of Regine Olsen. Furthermore, this book encapsulates the tragic essence of the author’s life and sets the course for his future endeavors. Consequently, it is unsurprising that the author regards this work as his most comprehensive achievement from an aesthetic standpoint, even amidst the publication of influential works like Either/Or.
Johannes de Silentio begins the book with a quote from Hamann, which strengthens the notion of a concealed message within the text: “What Tarquinius Superbus spoke to the poppies in his garden was understood by the son, though the messenger did not understand it.”
The origins of this quote trace back to ancient Rome. It recounts the story of Tarquinius’ son, who, through his cunning, managed to gain the trust of the people of Gabi. Seeking guidance on the next course of action to solidify this trust, the son sent a letter to his father. In response, Father Tarquinius, recognizing the gravity of his reply, refrained from providing a direct response. Instead, he accompanied the messenger to the garden and proceeded to cut down tall trees. The messenger returned to the son, relaying that there was no explicit response but describing the act of tree-cutting performed by his father. The son astutely interpreted the message: he needed to remove the heads of the noble individuals in the city, and he carried out this action accordingly.
In the opening introduction of the book, we encounter a child who was captivated by the story of the Prophet Abraham in his early years. He pondered how Abraham faced the test imposed by God and how he maintained his faith throughout. As the child grew into a young man, his fascination with the story intensified. However, as he matured further, he found himself unable to grasp its meaning. A sense of incomprehensibility surrounded the story, leading him to eventually forget it entirely. Instead, he held onto one wish and desire: to be present at that crucial moment in Abraham’s life, to witness the Prophet whom God had blessed, and to behold Abraham’s gaze as he climbed the mountain with his son, obeying God’s command. The opening introduction concludes with Kierkegaard’s narrative brilliance showcased through four manuscript stories depicting the journey of Prophet Abraham and his son Isaac to Mount Moriah. These manuscripts draw from the Book of Genesis: “And it came to pass after these things, that God did tempt Abraham, and said unto him, Abraham: and he said, Behold, here I am. And he said, Take now thy son, thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get thee into the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee of.”
While the beginnings of the manuscripts rely are drawn from the biblical text, Kierkegaard ventures beyond it, seeking to depict various interpretations that touch upon the profound significance of faith within the story of Abraham. In these manuscripts, Kierkegaard exhibits an artistic style of modernist writing that was ahead of its time. The four manuscripts consist of short stories intertwined with references to Abraham’s narrative, while four additional independent texts are also included. However, despite their distinctiveness, they share an invisible bond. When reading a story, it is expected that the ending would provide a conclusion to the story’s ideas and clarify the fate of the protagonist. It would be absurd for a storyteller to deviate completely from the story and discuss unrelated topics in the final lines. Did Kierkegaard do this? No. Each of the four manuscripts has its own ending, which revolves around the return of Abraham and Isaac. These endings can be viewed as standalone texts. Yet, Kierkegaard adds four other texts that provide an aesthetic and human connection to the story.
The narratives concerning Abraham commence with the break of dawn as he bids farewell to his wife Sarah and sets off with his son Isaac to sacrifice him. According to Christian tradition, this biographical account spans three days. Kierkegaard includes only one instance of dialogue between the Prophet Abraham and his son, aiming to portray the inner sentiments of sorrow and anxiety. One of the beautiful aspects of Kierkegaard’s depiction in these four texts is the portrayal of Abraham’s emotional state through his gaze upon the mountain. His eyes, after a journey spanning days that symbolize thousands of years, reflect immeasurable anguish. Abraham’s silence and submission to the command of his Lord—to sacrifice the most precious thing he possesses on earth—eliminates the need for extensive dialogue in these texts. The journey itself, the departure of the father and son, the mountain, and the sands, all serve as an inherent dialogue. The journey awaits the moment when Abraham draws the knife to sacrifice his son, Isaac. As previously mentioned, each of the four texts presents a different treatment, culminating in the Prophet’s return home with his son. After the conclusion of each story, Kierkegaard includes four separate lines that are distinct from the narrative of Abraham, yet intricately connected to it on a human and organic level. These lines describe a moment that often goes unnoticed, a moment of profound human emotion: when a child ceases to suckle from their mother’s breast. It is a scene that encapsulates exquisite beauty—a tender child cradled by their mother, nourished through breastfeeding. The mother embraces the child with her entire being, and the child clings to her, seeking solace and refuge as if paradise itself were nestled within the mother’s bosom. However, there comes a decisive moment when this fusion between mother and child ceases.
“When the time comes to wean the child, the mother smears her breast with a dark substance to make it less enticing and attractive to the child who can no longer reach it. The child perceives the change in appearance of the breast, but the mother remains unchanged. Her gaze continues to be filled with love and compassion, just as before. It is fortunate for both the mother and child if they can navigate the weaning process without resorting to intimidating or distressing methods.”
Kierkegaard skillfully continues to depict images that symbolize the inevitable separation between mother and child. In the second manuscript, the mother is portrayed as a virgin, concealing her breast. The child no longer finds the familiar connection with his mother, and it is indeed fortunate if a child does not experience the loss of their mother in any other way. Among the manuscripts, I particularly liked the third one. It captures the sorrow felt by both the woman and the child during the moment of separation. As the child reaches the age of weaning, the mother experiences a profound sadness, realizing that their bond will be further diminished. The child, who once found solace and shelter beneath the mother’s heart, will no longer be intimately close in the same way. They weep together during this period of mourning, and it is fortunate if someone has cherished the child’s closeness and never caused him sadness.
Now, why did I describe the author as ahead of his time? There is much discussion surrounding certain authors and their works being hailed as modern and innovative, particularly in the twentieth century. However, Kierkegaard preceded them in this aspect through his four manuscripts, each of which concludes with two different endings. What struck me, and something I only truly grasped upon my third reading, is that by the end of reading all four manuscripts, the texts merge into a single manuscript where the author, Johannes de Silentio, contemplates the story of Abraham, the mother, and the child. The prominent presence of Abraham, the journey with Isaac, and the profound human bond between mother and child isolates Johannes de Silentio, who had initially been present in the text but then strangely disappears. However, he reappears each time he returns home after his journey around Mount Moriah, clasping his hands and uttering the following words:
There is no one as great as Abraham! Who can truly comprehend his greatness?
In the pursuit of this question, Kierkegaard emerges as a poet, delivering a conclusive discourse on the glorification of Abraham. Who declared that a poem must adhere to meter, or else be labeled as prose poetry? Within this chapter, Kierkegaard displays his poetic brilliance in exalting Abraham. One can sense the poet’s fervor when he encounters a subject that he has yet to explore, a subject that allows him to compose a poem immortalizing life, unveiling its secrets and love. The poet seeks a hero to immortalize within his verses. At the mention of the hero, the poet traverses history alongside him, as it is recounted. However, in this instance, the poet is not extolling a hero; rather, he extols a remarkable man who finds naught but astonishment when he gazes upon the pages of his own existence. When contemplating the poetic presence of prophets in literature, my mind immediately turns to the renowned novel, Moby Dick, penned by the great novelist Herman Melville. It is during the scene where the aged preacher Father Mapple gathers the sailors before their voyage and delivers a speech on faith, drawing from the story of the Prophet Jonah and his time within the belly of the whale. Melville’s oration is grand and awe-inspiring. Yet, as I reflect upon this imagery, I find that Kierkegaard’s book houses that very speech. Johannes commences his discourse by posing inquiries: If the human soul lacks an immortal sentiment, if there exists no vibrant bond that unites humanity, and if generations come and go like falling autumn leaves in an unchanging cycle of time… if the human race traverses the world akin to a passing vessel upon the sea, what then would life be like? What if an eternal oblivion were to seek its prey, and there existed no force capable of rescuing one from this oblivion? Life would be hollow and restless! Forgetting may not erase those who achieved greatness in this world, yet, as Kierkegaard suggests, these great individuals differ among themselves. Each one possesses their own unique greatness, as great as I desire. Some love themselves and attain greatness through self-love, while others bestow their love upon others, achieving greatness through selfless devotion. However, the greatest of all is the one who loves God.
Every great person is forever etched in human memory, inextricably intertwined with their expectations. Some anticipate what is attainable and, in doing so, achieve greatness. Others set their sights on the eternal and, thus, attain greatness. However, it is those who shatter the barriers of the impossible and the irrational who ascend to the pinnacle of greatness. According to Kierkegaard, every great person is connected to that which he strives for: one may wage a battle against the world and achieve greatness upon conquering it, while another may engage in an inner struggle and attain greatness by triumphing over himself. Yet, the one who fights for the sake of God becomes the greatest of them all.
Kierkegaard embarks on a historical narrative recounting the lives of Abraham and Sarah. However, within this text, there is no continuous narrative flow. It intermittently pauses and resumes, taking fragments of the Prophet’s life and using them as a springboard for glorification. Yet, this poetic imagery fades when Abraham receives the divine command to sacrifice his son. At that very moment, Ibrahim’s entire struggle becomes concentrated, for who would conceive of removing the walking stick from the hands of the venerable old man? Who dares to ask this esteemed elder to break his own staff? Abraham was the chosen old man of God, and it was God who decreed this trial. Abraham was a believer, resolute and unwavering. According to Kierkegaard, if Abraham had harbored doubts, his actions would have been magnificent! Abraham only acts in a manner that is grand and illustrious. There, on that mountain, stood the great old man Ibrahim, brimming with hope… a hope that was solitary! He remained unyielding to doubt, never looking to the right or left. He knew that it was God who had requested this sacrifice, and he understood it to be the most severe test he could face. He was filled with the certainty that no sacrifice could be too demanding if it was required by God. And so, he raised the knife! What strength emanated from Abraham’s arm? Who raised his right hand? That very hand which had bestowed blessings upon the child—the hand that acted without hesitation or pause. Kierkegaard concludes this discourse with a final lyrical expression, couched in poetic language, which subsequently fades away, giving way to the voice of the thinker.
Oh Abraham! O venerable father! As you descend from the mountain to your abode, no song is needed to extol your praises. You have gained everything and retained your child. God did not take him from you, but rather, in your tent, you sat with Him, adorned with joy, as if you were seated in the boundless realm of eternal eternity. Abraham! O revered father! Countless years have elapsed since those days. You do not require a belated admirer to rescue your memory from the clutches of oblivion. All the languages of the earth invoke your memory, and yet… you bestow upon your admirer a reward more glorious than any other human being: you bless them in your embrace, captivating their eyes and heart with your miracle. Oh Abraham! O revered father! O second father of the human race! You bore the weight of that profound sentiment, which transcended the fearful struggle against the forces of creation and the revolution of elements, in order to wrestle with God. You were the first to experience that supreme sentiment, that pure manifestation of the divine. Forgive those who speak of you, who extol your name, for they do so in a manner that fails to truly capture your greatness. They may speak briefly of you, yet they shall never forget that you waited a hundred years to unexpectedly receive a son, and that you raised the knife before ultimately sparing Isaac. They will forever remember that you did not falter in your faith!
In the second introduction, Johannes de Silentio engages in introspection, contemplating his own state of mind, the prevailing philosophy of his era, and the subjects he wishes to delve into. The central theme of his reflection is faith, which he regards as a profound human emotion that deeply shapes existence. When it comes to dissecting faith, he deems Abraham as an ideal character for examination. However, Kierkegaard acknowledges a difficulty that he himself finds challenging to confront—the nature of Abraham’s faith. The story of Abraham, present in the three major religions, is often perceived as glorious when approached with a simplistic understanding. But Kierkegaard ponders how many individuals have been disturbed by Abraham’s story. While it is typically hailed as remarkable and exemplary, he questions whether people consider the fact that troubled souls, in the depths of their anxieties, might be driven to replicate Abraham’s actions. Can one speak of Abraham without risking that a distressed individual may feel compelled to emulate him? Kierkegaard suggests that if faith becomes the all-consuming focus of an individual, then discussing it without danger is possible in the current era, which tends to overlook discussions on faith. Through faith alone, one can achieve what Abraham achieved. Johannes de Silentio describes himself as a rigorous thinker who has not yet attained faith. He finds progress in this regard to be challenging. More precisely, he finds himself in the religious stage, which precedes the complete realization of faith according to Kierkegaard’s stages. Johannes has devoted significant time to comprehending Hegelian philosophy and believes he has grasped it. However, there may be certain passages that elude his understanding despite his sincere efforts. Nevertheless, he dares to accuse Hegel himself of lacking clarity. Yet, when he contemplates Abraham, he feels utterly overwhelmed and crushed! This is because, as he explains, he perceives the immense paradox at the core of Abraham’s life in every moment. His thoughts become paralyzed, unable to make even the slightest progress. He attempts to still every muscle, hoping to gain clarity, but instead finds himself immobilized, saying, “And in this moment, I feel paralyzed!”
In the introduction, Johannes de Silentio states, “My soul perceives all that is noble and great in this world. With humble conviction that the hero is fighting for my cause, I contemplate myself within the heroic soul. But I cannot find myself within Abraham. I do not mean to belittle faith; on the contrary, I recognize it as the loftiest of endeavors. Philosophy strays from honesty when it substitutes something else for faith. Philosophy must first understand itself, comprehend what it has to offer, not exclude anything, and not deceive people by deeming something of no value. I am not acquainted with life’s complexities and perils. I confront it with audacity. I am unfamiliar with horror! I envisioned horror in my mind, and I could not escape from it. Yet, I acknowledge that my courage is not the courage of faith. I am unable to make gestures of faith. However, I am convinced that God is love. When this notion illuminates my consciousness, I experience an indescribable happiness. And when it fades, I yearn for it more intensely than a lover longs for his beloved.”
Kierkegaard explores dialectical conclusions derived from the story of Abraham, emphasizing the significance of faith as a fundamental human emotion that shapes everyday existence. The first concept he highlights is the notion of a unique relationship with God, characterized by the complete abandonment of any external mediation. This intimate connection with the Absolute is to be maintained by the individual as an individual, devoid of external influences. The second concept is that of infinite submission, which is an essential and necessary movement. It requires relinquishing reliance on rational calculations. Faith cannot manifest without this boundless submission. This act of surrender entails forsaking all finite goods for the sake of a higher purpose. Through this infinite surrender, the cup of life is emptied of its profound sorrow. The one who undergoes this surrender experiences the pain that arises from abstaining from everything. By abstaining infinitely, the individual eventually reclaims and seizes everything through the absurd. The third concept relates to the commentary on the moral domain. To provide clarity, it is necessary to delve into the second concept more deeply. This aspect serves as a central focal point in the book, and by understanding it, one can unravel the book’s secrets and comprehend its hidden message.
The first problem discussed is titled ‘Is there a teleological suspension of the ethical?’ According to Kierkegaard, the ethical, understood in its universal sense, applies to every individual at all times and in any place. It is internally stable and self-contained, lacking any external goal. It encompasses everything that exists outside of itself. Therefore, the moral task of the individual is to consistently align themselves with this universal totality. In more extreme cases, the individual may find themselves in a position of confrontation with this totality, leading to the commission of sin. Reconciliation between the individual and the totality can only occur by acknowledging this fact. If we accept Kierkegaard’s understanding of morality as universal and the individual’s self-assertion as potentially conflicting with this universality, the question arises: Is there a possibility for a teleological suspension of morality? In other words, is there a conceivable scenario in which morality can be temporarily set aside for a higher purpose? What justifications could be put forth for such a suspension, and what consequences might arise from the cancellation of the universal?
If the relationship between the partial individual and the whole is characterized by the constant expression of the partial in the whole, finding its purpose within it, then a teleological suspension of the whole would result in a contradictory situation. Such a suspension would entail a tremendous and terrifying loss. Kierkegaard argues that there are cases where what is relinquished is not lost but rather preserved entirely within the higher goal it seeks to attain. While Kierkegaard accepts Hegel’s discussion of the total and the particular within this relationship, he rejects Hegel’s perspective when faith enters the equation. According to Kierkegaard, Hegel is fundamentally mistaken in this regard. The position of faith introduces the paradox: the partial is deemed higher than the total. The individual, having experienced the totality, isolates himself as partial because he considers himself superior to the totality. He becomes not a follower, but someone to be followed. In the absolute relationship with the Absolute, the individual must be partial above the total. If Abraham were to remain within the total, he would occupy an average position. The story of Abraham embodies this teleological commentary on the moral. If Abraham were precisely as Kierkegaard envisions him, he would not become great but rather a hero of grand epics and tragedies. Kierkegaard can understand the tragic hero fully, but based on his perspective, he would be unable to comprehend Abraham and would only be left astonished before him. Perhaps it would be helpful to provide examples to elucidate the difference between someone who lives within the totality and someone who transcends it.
Following King Menelaus’s declaration of war against Troy, his brother Agamemnon was tasked with leading the Greek military campaign. However, the Greek fleet was unable to set sail due to persistent unfavorable winds, delaying their departure for several days. To appease the gods and allow the expedition to proceed, Agamemnon is required to sacrifice his own daughter, Iphigenia. This presents a complex situation involving a father’s relationship with his daughter. If this were a private matter, Agamemnon might be compelled to perform a grand tragic act, such as sacrificing himself. However, the context in this case involves the fate of an entire state and nation engaged in a conflict with another nation. Agamemnon faces the difficult decision of sacrificing one person, his daughter, for the sake of the greater good of the nation. A similar story involving the same character is that of Brutus, although the action was different. Kierkegaard recounts a story about Brutus who, as consul of Rome, discovered that his sons were involved in a conspiracy to restore a king who had been expelled by Rome. Upon learning of their involvement, Brutus ordered the execution of his own sons who were involved in the conspiracy. When Brutus and Agamemnon, in the throes of personal anguish, chose to act for a cause larger than themselves, who truly grasped the depth of their sacrifice? Agamemnon’s reputation will soar among his people, his legacy forever intertwined with the arduous sacrifices he made for the greater good. These figures embody the essence of tragic heroes, their deeds rooted in the bedrock of morality, not venturing beyond its boundaries.
However, the situation with Abraham is indeed distinct from the other examples. Abraham transcended the realm of morality entirely, as he had an end that lay outside the moral totality. As a result, he suspended what was considered morally right. The tragic hero’s greatness stems from their pure moral virtue, and Abraham’s greatness, too, arises from the very pure personal virtue he possessed. The question then arises: Why did Abraham take such actions? Agamemnon did it for the sake of his nation, and Brutus did it for the sake of justice. But who was Abraham acting for? He acted for the sake of God and for himself. God requested this act as evidence of Abraham’s faith, and Abraham carried it out in order to present this evidence before God. The act was expressed through testing and trial. Kierkegaard emphasizes that when discussing this test and trial, one must acknowledge the anxiety, sorrow, and irony inherent in the event itself. The human aspect of the character involved must be made clear and evident. In this regard, Kierkegaard also touches upon the biography of the venerated Lady Mary, opening the door to sadness and anxiety through which he explores her story. According to Kierkegaard, sorrow and anxiety are absent when discussing her, as her pregnancy was marked by anxiety and sadness. The angel who announced the birth of Christ came solely to her, not anyone else. The blessing that came from God carried an element of sadness, which may not have been explicitly mentioned in the Bible but is clearly stated in the Quranic text: “And the pangs of childbirth drove her unto the trunk of the palm-tree. She said: Oh, would that I had died ere this and had become a thing of naught, forgotten!”
In Reverend John Macquarrie’s book, Existentialism, there is an examination of this unsettling suspension of morality. Macquarrie views this suspension initially as a clash of consciences. The first conscience is the one that reflects the overall moral framework. This conscience is set aside under the authority of the second conscience, which is the command of God and represents the deepest inner aspects of the individual. Apart from the story of Prophet Abraham, the problem with this teleological suspension of morality, as presented by Kierkegaard, is that it is deemed acceptable and inevitable and is believed to proceed from any conscience that has embraced the universal. The inherent risk lies in the absence of an individual conscience capable of articulating purity, a purity that embodies and reflects the entirety. By appealing to a deeper subjective matter that requires the suspension of morality, does this not open the door to the most reprehensible forms of human behavior?
Kierkegaard’s challenge with this suspension of morality lies in his desire to confront the conflicts that he personally faced. He believed that he had a conflict within his own conscience, and in order to move forward, he felt the need to resolve this conflict in a manner similar to how Abraham resolved his own dilemma. In Kierkegaard’s case, the conflict he refers to is his relationship with Regine Olsen, whom he was engaged to marry. Kierkegaard recognized his moral obligation to marry Regine and understood the gravity of that commitment. However, he made the decision to break off the engagement, placing his individual conscience and what he perceived as the will of God, emanating from his inner spiritual self, above the broader moral principle. He did so with the intention of achieving his own sense of self.
Reverend McCurry raises an important question: Was Kierkegaard justified in pursuing a higher calling, or was it simply a selfish act? If every person believed they could abandon their familiar moral responsibilities in favor of pursuing his true, authentic selves, it would inevitably lead to a state of moral chaos.
Since Regine Olsen was mentioned earlier, it opens the door to discussing the structure of the book, its classification, and its underlying message. The intellectual book, in essence, takes the form of a biography. The writer’s biography is shaped by an established intellectual framework. If the writer’s inner self is intertwined within this biography, the writer’s individual voice, represented by the ‘I,’ emerges. Kierkegaard’s brilliance lies in his utilization of the story of the Prophet Abraham to convey faith and the paradox that, according to his description, encapsulates its essence. He employs epics, legends, and poems as vehicles of expression. However, all these images serve as mere symbols of his own ‘self’—the very person who carries out the act of sacrifice based on his belief, and who seeks various paths to reconcile the pain of existence and attain the state that the knight of faith achieves: the captivating character that enthralls him. Each symbol employed in Fear and Trembling, every example provided, is drawn from Kierkegaard’s personal history. He employs imagery and narratives that involve himself and Regine, thus showcasing the most artistic expression through this remarkable literary concealment. In the introductory section of the book, he presents the example of a man who loves a princess. This man desires to immortalize and eternally capture the essence of love. To achieve this immortality and eternity, he must renounce her—more precisely, he must undertake the movement that precedes faith: the endless surrender. He must relinquish her entirely. If he were to consider returning to her, it would only be through the irrational. That princess is none other than Regine herself. In each of the three sections of the book, Kierkegaard narrates the story of his life with Regine and his journey of surrender through the aforementioned imagery.
In the third problem, Kierkegaard engages in a dialectical examination of concealment’s role in aesthetics and ethics, highlighting the distinction between aesthetic concealment and paradox. Here, he also shares aspects of his own biography. Drawing from the story of the tragic hero Agamemnon in Euripides’ play Iphigenia, Kierkegaard explores the conflicting demands placed on Agamemnon as he must sacrifice his daughter, Iphigenia. Aesthetics dictates that Agamemnon maintain silence, as it is a gesture of respect towards women. It is deemed inappropriate for a hero burdened with such a weighty task to seek solace from others. He must bear it personally and subjectively. To fulfill his heroism, he must face harrowing trials and withstand the allure of Iphigenia’s tears. Conversely, ethics calls for transparency—concealment has no place, and the aesthetic concept contradicts itself when put into action. Everything must be revealed. If Agamemnon possesses the courage to inform Iphigenia of her fate, he becomes a beloved son with unimpeachable morals. By substituting Kierkegaard’s own persona for that of Agamemnon, and Regine for Iphigenia, when confronted with the realization of the impossibility of marriage, Kierkegaard faces a dilemma: Should he remain silent and proceed with the marriage? Doing so would amount to deceiving Regine, as their relationship necessitates openness and honesty. He would not have to endure the burden of silence. Alternatively, should he remain silent and abstain from marriage? This decision plunges him into an atmosphere of ambiguity, encompassing both the mistreatment of Regine and the truth of their love. Does he disclose everything within himself? If he does, it results in a failed love story—a tragic tale that culminates in disaster. However, Kierkegaard identifies a paradox in this situation. While aesthetics champions an imaginary courage rooted in silence, ethics relentlessly pressures and torments, demanding disclosure. It is at this juncture that the religious dimension emerges, as Kierkegaard asserts that religion is the sole force capable of liberating the aesthete from their moral conflict, according to his perspective.
One of the most profound existential analyses in Kierkegaard’s Fear and Trembling revolves around the symbol of the merman and Agnes. The merman serves as a seducer, attempting to ensnare Agnes and entice her towards him. With his persuasive words and charm, he successfully taps into Agnes’ hidden emotions. Agnes discovers in the merman everything she has been seeking, the depths of her desires. She willingly follows him, walking in his wake. The merman lifts Agnes high, and she clasps her hands around his neck, fully surrendering herself to his strength. Standing at the edge of the sea, poised to terminate his prey, the merman is met with Agnes’ gaze. In that moment, Agnes does not experience doubt, nor does she revel in her good fortune or apparent pleasure. Instead, she looks at the merman with profound faith and absolute humility, akin to a beautiful flower, embracing the belief that she possesses such qualities. What unfolds next? The roaring sea falls silent, its tumultuous sound fading away. The natural forces from which the merman draws his power abandon him at this critical juncture. Overwhelmed by the power of Agnes’ innocence, the merman crumbles. He retreats, offering an explanation that he had only intended to show her the calm sea. The merman’s desperation intensifies, realizing that while he possesses the ability to seduce Agnes and countless others like her, he has been defeated by Agnes’ triumph. Kierkegaard humanizes the merman by imbuing him with a sense of humanity through the outcomes that unfold in his life. This opens the door for him to become a hero, as his actions become a form of reconciliation. The presence of Agnes saves him, dismantling the delusion that had controlled him. Who is the merman? The merman is none other than Kierkegaard himself. What does the terrifying nature from which the merman derives his strength represent? It symbolizes Kierkegaard’s melancholy and personal history. And who is Agnes? Agnes represents Regine Olsen herself. It is for her that Kierkegaard embarks on his endless submission, and it is because of her and for her sake that he wrote the book Fear and Trembling.
Dar Al-Mada recently released Søren Kierkegaard: A Biography, written by Joakim Garff and translated by Abdul-Ilah Al-Nuaimi. This publication holds prominence among the works dedicated to Kierkegaard. The author, a theology researcher affiliated with the Søren Kierkegaard Center for Studies at the University of Copenhagen, reviews Kierkegaard’s life, ideas, and writings.
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