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Concluding Unscientific Postscript
Kierkegaard's Concluding Unscientific Postscript is a classic of existential literature. It concludes the first and richest phase of Kierkegaard's pseudonymous authorship and is the text that philosophers look to first when attempting to define Kierkegaard's own philosophy. Familiar Kierkegaardian themes are introduced in the work, including truth as subjectivity, indirect communication, the leap, and the impossibility of forming a philosophical system for human existence. The Postscript sums up the aims of the preceding pseudonymous works and opens the way to the next part of Kierkegaard's increasingly tempestuous life: it can thus be seen as a cornerstone of his philosophical thought. This volume offers the work in a new and accessible translation by Alastair Hannay, together with an introduction that sets the work in its philosophical and historical contexts.
608 pages, Paperback
First published February 28, 1846
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About the author
Søren Kierkegaard
1,112 books6,315 followersSøren Aabye Kierkegaard was a prolific 19th century Danish philosopher and theologian. Kierkegaard strongly criticised both the Hegelianism of his time and what he saw as the empty formalities of the Church of Denmark. Much of his work deals with religious themes such as faith in God, the institution of the Christian Church, Christian ethics and theology, and the emotions and feelings of individuals when faced with life choices. His early work was written under various pseudonyms who present their own distinctive viewpoints in a complex dialogue.
Kierkegaard left the task of discovering the meaning of his works to the reader, because "the task must be made difficult, for only the difficult inspires the noble-hearted". Scholars have interpreted Kierkegaard variously as an existentialist, neo-orthodoxist, postmodernist, humanist, and individualist.
Crossing the boundaries of philosophy, theology, psychology, and literature, he is an influential figure in contemporary thought.
Kierkegaard left the task of discovering the meaning of his works to the reader, because "the task must be made difficult, for only the difficult inspires the noble-hearted". Scholars have interpreted Kierkegaard variously as an existentialist, neo-orthodoxist, postmodernist, humanist, and individualist.
Crossing the boundaries of philosophy, theology, psychology, and literature, he is an influential figure in contemporary thought.
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Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews
September 18, 2022
Zou voor een naschrift van 800 pg's de boodschap bondiger gebracht kunnen zijn? Waarschijnlijk wel. Zijn voetnoten van 6 pg's over het wezen van de humor noodzakelijk? Zeer zeker.
December 17, 2018
Concluding Unscientific Postscript can be considered as both the essence and the extended lecture of philosophy and theology of Søren Kierkegaard; the work simultaneously captures the most important ideas of his existentali thought and constitutes a specific epilogue to a previous writing by a Danish philosopher, Philosophical Fragments. It is advisable, then, to treat and analyze these works complementarily.
Suffice to say, Søren Kierkegaard, was one of the first modern existentialist thinkers, atlhough to say that he founded a fully-shaped, indepedent philosophical system, is an abuse; existentialism as separate philosophical movement emerged in the 20th century under auspices of Husserl's phenomenology.
In accordance with the spirit of existentialism, nothing is imposed upon an individual; we are all confronted with an ubearable necessity of making our own choices, either within a binary alternative (Kierkegaard's position) or among many possible alternatives (20th century's thinkers). We all face the ultimate principle, spelled out by Jean-Paul Sartre: man is condemned to be free, which is both the blessing and the curse, contradictorily as it might at first seem. Existentialism does not limit freedom or autonomy, it provides us with a referential framework, sketches our situation, and then the burden of deciding rests entirely upon our shoulders: either-or. There are no other, intermediate means.
Kierkegaard believes - and it is a belief verging on certainty - that absolute majority of people in the world err, but he is ready to understand and justify it. He then depicts our condition, shocks us with the image of it, and shows us a way out; we no longer can justify our wrongdoings. His attitude is amplified by a direct contact with a reader; the philosopher talks to each of us individually (This emphasis of individualisation is also present in the Hegelian Left - L. Feuerbach, M. Stirner et al.)
His philosophy and theology are focused on transition from an impersonal confession (from theorizing about someone's misdeed in abstracto) to a platform of specified human interrelationships. Kierkegaard's books serve as a vessel and are important insofar as they help a man achieve a certain, personal breakthrough in the self.
This individuation of the self, as opposed to externalization of the self in abstracto, in the collective, corresponds with Kierkegaard's insistence on subjectified experience. In this frame of reference, subjectivity can mean different - but not mutually exclusive - things. It means a rejection of objectified determinants in a subjectified life. It means being responsible for the process of autocreation, that is, the absolutization of man's freedom and, consequentially, being responsible for and facing consequences of our actions. It also means opposition to the system as a whole: its reification, hierarchy, dogmatism and institutionality.
It does not, however, mean that Kierkegaard rejects the existence of objective norms. In order to be binding, they have to be internalized by the subject and become a part of the self. Therefore, the philosopher does not ignore, nor does he deny, the science, abstraction, or the logic of objectivity. He states that cognition and knowledge only provide us only with a basis of possible choices that we do not necessarily have to pick. In this decision-making process - that is almost never about the facts but always about the value - lay elements of objective (knowledge), intersubjective (axiological truths) and subjective (emotions) provenance. Hence, by not questioning (or discarding) objective truths about the man, exitential thought encompasses our internal realm. Kierkegaard's teachings, then, are not anti-science for they transcend the science. His ideas are more personalized and do not have any pretension to be universal.
This emphasis on individuality and subjectivity in his writings is opposed to "Christianity" that distorted the original message of Christ. Just like Jesus, the philosopher appears as both the teacher and the revolutionary. He wants to destroy a hierarchy that the institutionalized Church established. His attempts are not nihilistic or anarchistic; he exemplifies vices of the Church - e.g. continous change of doctrine, alliance with the state, forsaking Christ's teachings - and presents an alternative: existential faith.
What really strikes in Kierkegaard's teachings is their almost universal applicability, which can be recognized by believers and non-believers. Despite his deep faith, he was far from religious extremism or pro-zaelotism; he believed that faith should have an individuated character, and that every externalization of it contradicts its very essence. Also, he was a vehement critic of the Church, fighting its fanatic dogmatism and self-grandiosity. Kierkegaard was also ready to admit that it is impossible to give an objective proof for the existence of God; every externalized testimony about God can as well be fake. For him, God exists in people's minds, in a sphere of subjectivity. In other words, if a person chooses to believe in God, the image of God resides only within that person.
Suffice to say, Søren Kierkegaard, was one of the first modern existentialist thinkers, atlhough to say that he founded a fully-shaped, indepedent philosophical system, is an abuse; existentialism as separate philosophical movement emerged in the 20th century under auspices of Husserl's phenomenology.
In accordance with the spirit of existentialism, nothing is imposed upon an individual; we are all confronted with an ubearable necessity of making our own choices, either within a binary alternative (Kierkegaard's position) or among many possible alternatives (20th century's thinkers). We all face the ultimate principle, spelled out by Jean-Paul Sartre: man is condemned to be free, which is both the blessing and the curse, contradictorily as it might at first seem. Existentialism does not limit freedom or autonomy, it provides us with a referential framework, sketches our situation, and then the burden of deciding rests entirely upon our shoulders: either-or. There are no other, intermediate means.
Kierkegaard believes - and it is a belief verging on certainty - that absolute majority of people in the world err, but he is ready to understand and justify it. He then depicts our condition, shocks us with the image of it, and shows us a way out; we no longer can justify our wrongdoings. His attitude is amplified by a direct contact with a reader; the philosopher talks to each of us individually (This emphasis of individualisation is also present in the Hegelian Left - L. Feuerbach, M. Stirner et al.)
His philosophy and theology are focused on transition from an impersonal confession (from theorizing about someone's misdeed in abstracto) to a platform of specified human interrelationships. Kierkegaard's books serve as a vessel and are important insofar as they help a man achieve a certain, personal breakthrough in the self.
This individuation of the self, as opposed to externalization of the self in abstracto, in the collective, corresponds with Kierkegaard's insistence on subjectified experience. In this frame of reference, subjectivity can mean different - but not mutually exclusive - things. It means a rejection of objectified determinants in a subjectified life. It means being responsible for the process of autocreation, that is, the absolutization of man's freedom and, consequentially, being responsible for and facing consequences of our actions. It also means opposition to the system as a whole: its reification, hierarchy, dogmatism and institutionality.
It does not, however, mean that Kierkegaard rejects the existence of objective norms. In order to be binding, they have to be internalized by the subject and become a part of the self. Therefore, the philosopher does not ignore, nor does he deny, the science, abstraction, or the logic of objectivity. He states that cognition and knowledge only provide us only with a basis of possible choices that we do not necessarily have to pick. In this decision-making process - that is almost never about the facts but always about the value - lay elements of objective (knowledge), intersubjective (axiological truths) and subjective (emotions) provenance. Hence, by not questioning (or discarding) objective truths about the man, exitential thought encompasses our internal realm. Kierkegaard's teachings, then, are not anti-science for they transcend the science. His ideas are more personalized and do not have any pretension to be universal.
This emphasis on individuality and subjectivity in his writings is opposed to "Christianity" that distorted the original message of Christ. Just like Jesus, the philosopher appears as both the teacher and the revolutionary. He wants to destroy a hierarchy that the institutionalized Church established. His attempts are not nihilistic or anarchistic; he exemplifies vices of the Church - e.g. continous change of doctrine, alliance with the state, forsaking Christ's teachings - and presents an alternative: existential faith.
What really strikes in Kierkegaard's teachings is their almost universal applicability, which can be recognized by believers and non-believers. Despite his deep faith, he was far from religious extremism or pro-zaelotism; he believed that faith should have an individuated character, and that every externalization of it contradicts its very essence. Also, he was a vehement critic of the Church, fighting its fanatic dogmatism and self-grandiosity. Kierkegaard was also ready to admit that it is impossible to give an objective proof for the existence of God; every externalized testimony about God can as well be fake. For him, God exists in people's minds, in a sphere of subjectivity. In other words, if a person chooses to believe in God, the image of God resides only within that person.
December 3, 2016
This mighty, sprawling, overwrought, overwritten, dense, hilarious, repetitive, footnote-friendly, editor-averse, seemingly endless, lovingly over-the-top work, where 'Magister Kierkegaard', aka Johannes Climacus, confesses to his often outrageous pseudonyms ('the author of the author or authors... (my) personal reality is an embarrassment'), extols monumental though unknowable 'inward passion', describes the indescribable ('existence'), contrasts two forms of religiosity ('immanence' v. 'transcendence') whereby the latter cannot 'think the paradox' of 'God-becoming-human' thus giving the acolyte what 'objective certainty' cannot give, commissions spies - and a few 'dilettantes' - to espy the lack of 'religiosity' of church-goers in Copenhagen's Deer Park following a Sunday sermon, reminds that the true believer is 'incognito' even to himself, harboring a secret passion that secrets itself into a lulling, interminable subjective labyrinth, that passion is akin to being atop a race-horse at full gallop, that guilt is actually a profound form of happiness and 'sin-consciousness' is deeply transformative, existentially...
And, there is the weighty 'what' v. 'how' issue of 'wigs':
'It is said to have chanced in England that a man was attacked on the highway by a robber who had made himself unrecognizable by wearing a big wig. He falls upon the traveler, seizes him by the throat and shouts, “Your purse!” He gets the purse and keeps it but the wig he throws away. A poor man comes along the same road, puts it on and arrives at the next town where the traveler has already denounced the crime, is arrested, is recognized by the traveler who takes his oath that he is the man. By chance the robber is present in the court-room, sees the misunderstanding, turns to the judge and says, “It seems to me that the traveler has regard rather to the wig than to the man,” and he asks permission to make a trial. He puts the wig on, seizes the traveler by the throat, crying, “Your purse!”—and the traveler recognizes the robber and offers to swear to it—the only trouble is that already he has taken an oath. So it is, in one way or another, with every man who has a “what” and is not attentive to the “how”: he swears, he takes his oath, he runs errands, he ventures life and blood, and he is executed—all on account of the wig.'
And, there is the weighty 'what' v. 'how' issue of 'wigs':
'It is said to have chanced in England that a man was attacked on the highway by a robber who had made himself unrecognizable by wearing a big wig. He falls upon the traveler, seizes him by the throat and shouts, “Your purse!” He gets the purse and keeps it but the wig he throws away. A poor man comes along the same road, puts it on and arrives at the next town where the traveler has already denounced the crime, is arrested, is recognized by the traveler who takes his oath that he is the man. By chance the robber is present in the court-room, sees the misunderstanding, turns to the judge and says, “It seems to me that the traveler has regard rather to the wig than to the man,” and he asks permission to make a trial. He puts the wig on, seizes the traveler by the throat, crying, “Your purse!”—and the traveler recognizes the robber and offers to swear to it—the only trouble is that already he has taken an oath. So it is, in one way or another, with every man who has a “what” and is not attentive to the “how”: he swears, he takes his oath, he runs errands, he ventures life and blood, and he is executed—all on account of the wig.'
December 12, 2010
"[...]a superfluity of results[..]"
I love Soren's attitude towards objectivity. It takes, as he admits, a store of humor to contend with any great dialectician--and I would say that all dialecticians (the professional and the dilettante)is, in his heart, a comedian. Kierkegaard's great advantage is his sincerity, because what could be a greater virtue in the art of uncertainty? I will ammend that, because dialectics are not really the art of uncertainty, but of reconciling uncertainty with certainty while not sacrificing either--and sincerity is required if the formula for a synthesis is to have any elegance. Elegance..this brings to mind the bastardization of that term by supporters of the Analytic school, the heroes of objectivity--In Concluding Unscientific Postscript, objectivity is kindly torn to pieces with a smile, and elegance is shown to be a thing of intuition--but I digress and tbph I am trying to quit my partisan stance against objectivity and the Analytic school, though it is hard when all of the Analtyic fanboys on /lit/ are so impossibly dull that trolling loses its fun, like jacking off too much.
I love Soren's attitude towards objectivity. It takes, as he admits, a store of humor to contend with any great dialectician--and I would say that all dialecticians (the professional and the dilettante)is, in his heart, a comedian. Kierkegaard's great advantage is his sincerity, because what could be a greater virtue in the art of uncertainty? I will ammend that, because dialectics are not really the art of uncertainty, but of reconciling uncertainty with certainty while not sacrificing either--and sincerity is required if the formula for a synthesis is to have any elegance. Elegance..this brings to mind the bastardization of that term by supporters of the Analytic school, the heroes of objectivity--In Concluding Unscientific Postscript, objectivity is kindly torn to pieces with a smile, and elegance is shown to be a thing of intuition--but I digress and tbph I am trying to quit my partisan stance against objectivity and the Analytic school, though it is hard when all of the Analtyic fanboys on /lit/ are so impossibly dull that trolling loses its fun, like jacking off too much.
April 24, 2025
Biggest yapper in Denmark, good lord. Why this had to be 500+ pages, I know not. He belabors his points so much, even though, like Schopenhauer, he has but one thought to express—namely, that subjectivity is truth. Some interesting stuff here and there about existing, but it gets lost in the rhetorical chaff.
January 21, 2019
Before formally beginning my thoroughly subjective (!) review, I'd like to state the following:
1) Out of respect for Søren Kierkegaard's wishes, I will attribute everything to Johannes Climacus. This gesture is not a sign of credulous acceptance towards K's obfuscation and trace-wiping – I merely have not given the manoeuvre much thought as of yet. And until I've made it clear to myself, I shall refrain from bandying a philosopher's name!
2) This will not be an objective review (meaning that it doesn't attempt to summarise the book at all, or make some of its points more understandable by way of me processing them approachably) neither is it a parody of the writing style of Climacus. It is merely inspired by the wealth of wisdom this work of art had to offer.
3) I'd like to make a request for the potential reader of this review: don't attempt to summarise it. Not because it couldn't be done, but because it would miss the point. Just like I think it would be pointless to attempt to summarise Concluding Unscientific Postscript to Philosophical Fragments.
4) Should I find the need to quote this work, I will use Finnish quotes, leaving them untranslated. The rationale for this is that it was the joint enterprise of Mssrs. Kierkegaard and Lehtinen that earned this book its place in my "Ascension" shelf.
5) This review is not pretentious. It may be asinine, nonsensical, flabbergasting and all that rot (which I strongly believe to be the case), but it is not intended to impress anyone in any way. Nor does it attempt to show myself in any other light than the one that occasionally lands on me during my daily constitutionals.
6) If something here doesn't make sense, or if there are typos or solecisms, only I am to blame. My aim is not to tell the reader that "my text is like myself - fallible" or that "this is what I truly feel, you just don't understand". I wanted to keep the review subjective, but since I'm writing on a public page, it wouldn't hold water to assert that I'm only doing it for myself.
The Postscript to Personal Fragments
Time to rise and shine! The deadly routine, whose inimical machinations are of such deliberate dimensions that it would make a strongman reel upon contemplation, has crowed its morning chant once more – but how beautiful it is; that, by unplugging the auriculars, one could feel: "It is a call-to-arms for the painter to paint!"
The toilette, in its crippling dullness, does not disconnect the soul from its carnal vessel. The toilette does not rule out the beating of the heart, the sensitive cargo of the veins, the magical illusions of the eyes, the buzzing in the ears, the pressure of the sinuses, the tactility of your body hair (how do they find the johns so irresistible!), the maniac-masquerading, errant tic... Do not blame the toilette!
The cold wind that howleth outside, the passers-by with their inanities ("Siis vittu mää sanoisin sil niinku joku sata kertaa et, vitu daiju..." [...] "... ja siis, niinku oikeesti mietittynä, tulos tai ulos. Se on ihan faktuaalinen juttu. Tost prokkiksest..." [...] "*gibberish, outlandish vocal exercises, presumably about bread*" [...] "Voooooi kun se on kasvanu. EllänlällänellänNIIIIIIH, voiii..." [...] "'ttu huara tuu tänne saatana ulvomaan, 'ttu ku sssäätänä tekis mielu vittu..." ad futurum), the fruit of modern technology with their particoloured prostitution (truly owning a fortune on their backs – the sheets require constant changing, but the whore can simply lounge its life away!), the haunting consensuses of the ordinary folks hanging above the world like the contents of Damocles' weapon cabinet, the past mingling with the future – memory copulating with prescience –
"You're the only one with passion. You lack passion, but when it comes, it's for your eyes, ears, hands, feet only. You lack passion, and will never get it – sadly, so sadly you look around and smile ruefully at the passionate people: "Enjoy it while you can." You don't need fucking passion, what is it anyway? Just a jerking, animalistic feeling that can be written off as a whim that needs to be controlled in a civilised society. We all have passion – I'm passionate about my work... oh, I'm passionate about my life now! Heh, what folly – passion is, by definition, short-lived, and should remain that way – nobody can attain it. Just like happiness. What bollocks. Passion is a curse word, worse than 'fuck', yet it's distributed to such extent in colloquial conversations that one would think the whole world is founded on an execration. (You know what's behind all this thinking, don't you?)"
"I'm happy now – because I've seen people happy like me. I'm wise now – but I might need to let X check that I'm right. I'm in love now – Proust fell in love just like this, and even the pain is present! I'm bleeding tired of everything – "but hey, we can't all be happy and chipper all the time, give yourself a break". I've found a perfect balance in my life – because I felt good reading Joyce, Dostoyevsky, Camus, Kierkegaard and the lot. I've managed to reach the truth – after all, these wise people told me so. I don't have to take life so seriously – I mean, we all need a laugh every now and then, right? (This is tragic. But at the same time, utterly hilarious!)"
What it took? No, I'm not that optimistic. What it took for now? A very fine and complex position in relation to Climacus. Not too far in – I would fain caress his imaginary hips, drink in every word with a lover's gullibility. Not too far out – he lays himself bare with reserve, why should I treat him like someone else? I want to be kept at an arm's length, yet I can not help nodding. But it can be compensated by nodding volitionally – not out of habit, nor kindness, nor subterfuge. Let him talk, but I want to judge for myself, retreat to my quiet corner (him being still rooted to the same spot), turn it over in the noggin, and then return to my mirror-Johannes. When he mocks, I place myself behind him, next to him, and before him – laughing at them, him, and myself.
But ho! Check yourself! Don't lose yourself, no matter how well you've situated yourself in this psychological playground of yours. Pray, get excited, feel inspired, express indignation, feel shame, and be confounded, but don't forget that you're still you.
Remember your precarious position, this fine and complex position. He is not willing to come to light, nor does he talk about the things you're trying to internalise – perchance. It is up to you to decide whether there's anything for you. Yes, it's bloody stupid and threadbare, let it be so. It took a bloody stupid and threadbare book to show your own tomfoolery and the frantic toing-and-froing of your soi-disant "Proust-loving" brain. Perhaps it's a loop and you are reborn at the end of every cycle... or perhaps you'll simply get bashed to death with a brick tomorrow and the gods will have a merry time that day. Lopuksi päädytään aina koomiseen käsitykseen ilmiöstä.
You're a pendulum who is bound to stop sooner or later. And then what? Bugger all – how could I know?
You're a pendulum, and your existence is a game of roulette. You can keep your eye on the latter, and you should – just don't start hoping for the ball to land on the right slot. You should be looking at the ball and see, that it doesn't remain static. HA! What a lark! What twaddle! A moving ball static? (Tragic. Brilliantly hilarious!)
Consider now: you walk with a bent head, and you miss the sunshine. You like sunshine, but you've seen it already.
Or perhaps another scenario is in order. You've been working for 40 years (You're one to talk, you frigging humanist - freshly hatched and already squawking like a seagull!). You've been going to the same office day after day, doing the same tasks. Tomorrow will be just the same – I know, since I've done it so many times before. (Tragic. But ever-so-brilliantly hilarious!)
But it cannot be done! No one can do it for so long! Fatigue, pain, sorrow, ennui... all are built to break you! Don't be a fool.
But why should one avoid those things?
Well, in mortal pain...
Alas, here one must confess – mine is not an existence to be built on such mighty deliberations.
------
Ihminen voi haluta ilmaista itseään, mutta ei voi koskaan käyttää suoraa ilmaisumuotoa, sillä se edellyttää tuloksia ja valmiiksi saamista.
Amen.
Jatkuva pyrkimys on eksistoivan subjektin eettisen elämännäkemyksen ilmaisu.
Selah or somesuch thing.
Intohimo on juuri subjektiivisuutta, mutta objektiivisesti ottaen sitä ei ole olemassa.
Hear hear!
Innokkaalle ei siis pitäisi tapahtua niin kuin rauhattomalle, joka saa elämänsä valmiiksi ennen kuin elämä hänet; sillä ihmisen elämäntehtävä on elää.
Anyone with a proper sense of solemnity (and a smidgen of Finnish skills) would find this the optimal place to end the review. And anyone with sense in general would have ended their read-through ages ago. Ergo, forward!
Jos kirjoittaja on vakavissaan siinä, mitä hän sanoo, niin hän pitää vakavuuden ennen muuta itsellään, ja jos vastaanottaja käsittää sanotun vakavuuden, käsittää hän sen ennen muuta itsensä kautta.
But, perhaps the most relatable of all:
Vetoan rehellisyyteen, joka puolestaan lohduttaa minua ja varustaa minut epätavallisella koomisuuden tajulla ja tietyllä kyvyllä tehdä naurettavaksi se, mikä naurettavaa on.
The review is drawing to an end. I feel a dull ache at the left side of my neck, and the periphery of my eyes is pulsating out the signal of sleep. My head is throbbing with gentle pain, and the sinuses have never ceased to exert their pressure. The heart (whose beat, as a hypochondriac, I so love to avoid) continues to message me of its dialectical and crucial rôle in my existence – so forcefully, that my extremities feel it, but this is only natural. Thankfully, the flatulence is gone, but my prostate is slowly urging me to start moving by emitting faint, crescent-shaped sensations thorax-wards. The arms continue to pulse with the heart, always keeping the option for a neuro-disease open for consideration. My ears detect many sounds: the urging humming of my laptop, the frosty croaking of the fridge, the vibrations of inanimate object(ion)s at the moment of an impact (caused by the animate neighbours), the gloomy hrumming of a cold, Monday evening, and, most importantly, the blood-pressure dominated tinnitus – the overture to oneself.
I'm a temple of sensational sensations. I'm a cathedral of thoughtful thoughts. I am the Alpha and Omega.
1) Out of respect for Søren Kierkegaard's wishes, I will attribute everything to Johannes Climacus. This gesture is not a sign of credulous acceptance towards K's obfuscation and trace-wiping – I merely have not given the manoeuvre much thought as of yet. And until I've made it clear to myself, I shall refrain from bandying a philosopher's name!
2) This will not be an objective review (meaning that it doesn't attempt to summarise the book at all, or make some of its points more understandable by way of me processing them approachably) neither is it a parody of the writing style of Climacus. It is merely inspired by the wealth of wisdom this work of art had to offer.
3) I'd like to make a request for the potential reader of this review: don't attempt to summarise it. Not because it couldn't be done, but because it would miss the point. Just like I think it would be pointless to attempt to summarise Concluding Unscientific Postscript to Philosophical Fragments.
4) Should I find the need to quote this work, I will use Finnish quotes, leaving them untranslated. The rationale for this is that it was the joint enterprise of Mssrs. Kierkegaard and Lehtinen that earned this book its place in my "Ascension" shelf.
5) This review is not pretentious. It may be asinine, nonsensical, flabbergasting and all that rot (which I strongly believe to be the case), but it is not intended to impress anyone in any way. Nor does it attempt to show myself in any other light than the one that occasionally lands on me during my daily constitutionals.
6) If something here doesn't make sense, or if there are typos or solecisms, only I am to blame. My aim is not to tell the reader that "my text is like myself - fallible" or that "this is what I truly feel, you just don't understand". I wanted to keep the review subjective, but since I'm writing on a public page, it wouldn't hold water to assert that I'm only doing it for myself.
The Postscript to Personal Fragments
Time to rise and shine! The deadly routine, whose inimical machinations are of such deliberate dimensions that it would make a strongman reel upon contemplation, has crowed its morning chant once more – but how beautiful it is; that, by unplugging the auriculars, one could feel: "It is a call-to-arms for the painter to paint!"
The toilette, in its crippling dullness, does not disconnect the soul from its carnal vessel. The toilette does not rule out the beating of the heart, the sensitive cargo of the veins, the magical illusions of the eyes, the buzzing in the ears, the pressure of the sinuses, the tactility of your body hair (how do they find the johns so irresistible!), the maniac-masquerading, errant tic... Do not blame the toilette!
The cold wind that howleth outside, the passers-by with their inanities ("Siis vittu mää sanoisin sil niinku joku sata kertaa et, vitu daiju..." [...] "... ja siis, niinku oikeesti mietittynä, tulos tai ulos. Se on ihan faktuaalinen juttu. Tost prokkiksest..." [...] "*gibberish, outlandish vocal exercises, presumably about bread*" [...] "Voooooi kun se on kasvanu. EllänlällänellänNIIIIIIH, voiii..." [...] "'ttu huara tuu tänne saatana ulvomaan, 'ttu ku sssäätänä tekis mielu vittu..." ad futurum), the fruit of modern technology with their particoloured prostitution (truly owning a fortune on their backs – the sheets require constant changing, but the whore can simply lounge its life away!), the haunting consensuses of the ordinary folks hanging above the world like the contents of Damocles' weapon cabinet, the past mingling with the future – memory copulating with prescience –
"You're the only one with passion. You lack passion, but when it comes, it's for your eyes, ears, hands, feet only. You lack passion, and will never get it – sadly, so sadly you look around and smile ruefully at the passionate people: "Enjoy it while you can." You don't need fucking passion, what is it anyway? Just a jerking, animalistic feeling that can be written off as a whim that needs to be controlled in a civilised society. We all have passion – I'm passionate about my work... oh, I'm passionate about my life now! Heh, what folly – passion is, by definition, short-lived, and should remain that way – nobody can attain it. Just like happiness. What bollocks. Passion is a curse word, worse than 'fuck', yet it's distributed to such extent in colloquial conversations that one would think the whole world is founded on an execration. (You know what's behind all this thinking, don't you?)"
"I'm happy now – because I've seen people happy like me. I'm wise now – but I might need to let X check that I'm right. I'm in love now – Proust fell in love just like this, and even the pain is present! I'm bleeding tired of everything – "but hey, we can't all be happy and chipper all the time, give yourself a break". I've found a perfect balance in my life – because I felt good reading Joyce, Dostoyevsky, Camus, Kierkegaard and the lot. I've managed to reach the truth – after all, these wise people told me so. I don't have to take life so seriously – I mean, we all need a laugh every now and then, right? (This is tragic. But at the same time, utterly hilarious!)"
What it took? No, I'm not that optimistic. What it took for now? A very fine and complex position in relation to Climacus. Not too far in – I would fain caress his imaginary hips, drink in every word with a lover's gullibility. Not too far out – he lays himself bare with reserve, why should I treat him like someone else? I want to be kept at an arm's length, yet I can not help nodding. But it can be compensated by nodding volitionally – not out of habit, nor kindness, nor subterfuge. Let him talk, but I want to judge for myself, retreat to my quiet corner (him being still rooted to the same spot), turn it over in the noggin, and then return to my mirror-Johannes. When he mocks, I place myself behind him, next to him, and before him – laughing at them, him, and myself.
But ho! Check yourself! Don't lose yourself, no matter how well you've situated yourself in this psychological playground of yours. Pray, get excited, feel inspired, express indignation, feel shame, and be confounded, but don't forget that you're still you.
Remember your precarious position, this fine and complex position. He is not willing to come to light, nor does he talk about the things you're trying to internalise – perchance. It is up to you to decide whether there's anything for you. Yes, it's bloody stupid and threadbare, let it be so. It took a bloody stupid and threadbare book to show your own tomfoolery and the frantic toing-and-froing of your soi-disant "Proust-loving" brain. Perhaps it's a loop and you are reborn at the end of every cycle... or perhaps you'll simply get bashed to death with a brick tomorrow and the gods will have a merry time that day. Lopuksi päädytään aina koomiseen käsitykseen ilmiöstä.
You're a pendulum who is bound to stop sooner or later. And then what? Bugger all – how could I know?
You're a pendulum, and your existence is a game of roulette. You can keep your eye on the latter, and you should – just don't start hoping for the ball to land on the right slot. You should be looking at the ball and see, that it doesn't remain static. HA! What a lark! What twaddle! A moving ball static? (Tragic. Brilliantly hilarious!)
Consider now: you walk with a bent head, and you miss the sunshine. You like sunshine, but you've seen it already.
Or perhaps another scenario is in order. You've been working for 40 years (You're one to talk, you frigging humanist - freshly hatched and already squawking like a seagull!). You've been going to the same office day after day, doing the same tasks. Tomorrow will be just the same – I know, since I've done it so many times before. (Tragic. But ever-so-brilliantly hilarious!)
But it cannot be done! No one can do it for so long! Fatigue, pain, sorrow, ennui... all are built to break you! Don't be a fool.
But why should one avoid those things?
Well, in mortal pain...
Alas, here one must confess – mine is not an existence to be built on such mighty deliberations.
------
Ihminen voi haluta ilmaista itseään, mutta ei voi koskaan käyttää suoraa ilmaisumuotoa, sillä se edellyttää tuloksia ja valmiiksi saamista.
Amen.
Jatkuva pyrkimys on eksistoivan subjektin eettisen elämännäkemyksen ilmaisu.
Selah or somesuch thing.
Intohimo on juuri subjektiivisuutta, mutta objektiivisesti ottaen sitä ei ole olemassa.
Hear hear!
Innokkaalle ei siis pitäisi tapahtua niin kuin rauhattomalle, joka saa elämänsä valmiiksi ennen kuin elämä hänet; sillä ihmisen elämäntehtävä on elää.
Anyone with a proper sense of solemnity (and a smidgen of Finnish skills) would find this the optimal place to end the review. And anyone with sense in general would have ended their read-through ages ago. Ergo, forward!
Jos kirjoittaja on vakavissaan siinä, mitä hän sanoo, niin hän pitää vakavuuden ennen muuta itsellään, ja jos vastaanottaja käsittää sanotun vakavuuden, käsittää hän sen ennen muuta itsensä kautta.
But, perhaps the most relatable of all:
Vetoan rehellisyyteen, joka puolestaan lohduttaa minua ja varustaa minut epätavallisella koomisuuden tajulla ja tietyllä kyvyllä tehdä naurettavaksi se, mikä naurettavaa on.
The review is drawing to an end. I feel a dull ache at the left side of my neck, and the periphery of my eyes is pulsating out the signal of sleep. My head is throbbing with gentle pain, and the sinuses have never ceased to exert their pressure. The heart (whose beat, as a hypochondriac, I so love to avoid) continues to message me of its dialectical and crucial rôle in my existence – so forcefully, that my extremities feel it, but this is only natural. Thankfully, the flatulence is gone, but my prostate is slowly urging me to start moving by emitting faint, crescent-shaped sensations thorax-wards. The arms continue to pulse with the heart, always keeping the option for a neuro-disease open for consideration. My ears detect many sounds: the urging humming of my laptop, the frosty croaking of the fridge, the vibrations of inanimate object(ion)s at the moment of an impact (caused by the animate neighbours), the gloomy hrumming of a cold, Monday evening, and, most importantly, the blood-pressure dominated tinnitus – the overture to oneself.
I'm a temple of sensational sensations. I'm a cathedral of thoughtful thoughts. I am the Alpha and Omega.
September 13, 2017
This book is mostly known through its central claim that "truth is subjectivity". How it is so, however, is far from clear.
We shall begin by dismissing the common accusation on Kierkegaard of "subjectivism". He does not mean that anyone can create whatever he likes and then claim it to be the truth. For sure, Kierkegaard does say that truth involves, even necessarily, a degree of "objective uncertainty", namely that, objectively speaking, that which one believes to be the truth may well turn out to be mistaken. Yet this is not the point Kierkegaard is making here. What he is claiming, rather, is that truth lies not so much in the content of a proposition as can be observed objectively (the "what"), than in the way one approaches that proposition (the "how"): does he dare to risk being objectively uncertain, or even wrong, so as to cling to the proposition? Without this passion in risking, a truth would be indifferent, and would not make sense anyway, despite its being certainly true.
Put otherwise, for Kierkegaard truth lies in subjectivity, or more precisely in one's relation to what is true. The subjective cannot be conceived as a receptacle of beliefs and thus reduced to part of the objective; instead, subjectivity is virtually empty: it is but a pole to which the relations cling. The affinity to Heidegger's account of truth as a-lethia is evident here.
Moreover, Kierkegaard expresses an uncompromising distrust in language, especially conceptual or speculative language. Everyone must has his own truth, and is the only judge of his truth. Superficially, one in truth is indistinguishable from another outside. It is equally futile to attempt to "convey" the truth, unless the receiver, in a totally individual process, makes the truth his own.
This is especially relevant regarding religion. Behind Kierkegaard's ironic attack on the vanity and hypocrisy of modern Christians, there is a conviction that Christianity cannot be confined to a doctrine. For a doctrine is necessarily universal, and hence does not suffice for one's individual transition. The Christian faith lies rather in the leap in the face of absurdity, in the "offense" it makes to common sense. And this faith is more a movement than a state, more a repetitive effort than a possession that can be achieved once and for all.
Everything comes to a particular, historical faith-event, that God has come into time and into this world. However, as modern men we are too distracted and too disparate in life to accept this truth. We have already entered the age of the universal, and nothing can simply be reversed. Interestingly, instead of monastery life (a withdrawal from the Present Age), Kierkegaard recommends living humanly as we are, being aware of our limits, and face up to the guilt we thus call upon ourselves before God. This attitude is commendable because, at least, in it one no longer dodges what one really is - a finite existence, and hence sins much less than those who do.
There are a bunch of moments that are reminiscent of Hegel. For example, the interest in the paradox that "the eternal truth has come into being in time", and its relevance to personal responsibility, are properly Hegelian. The characterization of the impossible relationship between spiritual beings and of the consequence that "one of the parties has ceased to be spirit" is quite close to what Hegel says in his famous account of the master-slave relationship in Phenomenology of Spirit . However, Kierkegaard is not always candid on his debt to Hegel. Hegel is for him usually a straw-man on which he targets his attack on speculative systems. Kierkegaard is brilliant in emphasizing the subjective in the Hegelian legacy, but sometimes he goes so far that he forgets that the system is also dynamic and, embodied as a historical community, bears values that are at once irreducible to the Kierkegaardian individual.
We shall begin by dismissing the common accusation on Kierkegaard of "subjectivism". He does not mean that anyone can create whatever he likes and then claim it to be the truth. For sure, Kierkegaard does say that truth involves, even necessarily, a degree of "objective uncertainty", namely that, objectively speaking, that which one believes to be the truth may well turn out to be mistaken. Yet this is not the point Kierkegaard is making here. What he is claiming, rather, is that truth lies not so much in the content of a proposition as can be observed objectively (the "what"), than in the way one approaches that proposition (the "how"): does he dare to risk being objectively uncertain, or even wrong, so as to cling to the proposition? Without this passion in risking, a truth would be indifferent, and would not make sense anyway, despite its being certainly true.
Put otherwise, for Kierkegaard truth lies in subjectivity, or more precisely in one's relation to what is true. The subjective cannot be conceived as a receptacle of beliefs and thus reduced to part of the objective; instead, subjectivity is virtually empty: it is but a pole to which the relations cling. The affinity to Heidegger's account of truth as a-lethia is evident here.
Moreover, Kierkegaard expresses an uncompromising distrust in language, especially conceptual or speculative language. Everyone must has his own truth, and is the only judge of his truth. Superficially, one in truth is indistinguishable from another outside. It is equally futile to attempt to "convey" the truth, unless the receiver, in a totally individual process, makes the truth his own.
This is especially relevant regarding religion. Behind Kierkegaard's ironic attack on the vanity and hypocrisy of modern Christians, there is a conviction that Christianity cannot be confined to a doctrine. For a doctrine is necessarily universal, and hence does not suffice for one's individual transition. The Christian faith lies rather in the leap in the face of absurdity, in the "offense" it makes to common sense. And this faith is more a movement than a state, more a repetitive effort than a possession that can be achieved once and for all.
Everything comes to a particular, historical faith-event, that God has come into time and into this world. However, as modern men we are too distracted and too disparate in life to accept this truth. We have already entered the age of the universal, and nothing can simply be reversed. Interestingly, instead of monastery life (a withdrawal from the Present Age), Kierkegaard recommends living humanly as we are, being aware of our limits, and face up to the guilt we thus call upon ourselves before God. This attitude is commendable because, at least, in it one no longer dodges what one really is - a finite existence, and hence sins much less than those who do.
There are a bunch of moments that are reminiscent of Hegel. For example, the interest in the paradox that "the eternal truth has come into being in time", and its relevance to personal responsibility, are properly Hegelian. The characterization of the impossible relationship between spiritual beings and of the consequence that "one of the parties has ceased to be spirit" is quite close to what Hegel says in his famous account of the master-slave relationship in Phenomenology of Spirit . However, Kierkegaard is not always candid on his debt to Hegel. Hegel is for him usually a straw-man on which he targets his attack on speculative systems. Kierkegaard is brilliant in emphasizing the subjective in the Hegelian legacy, but sometimes he goes so far that he forgets that the system is also dynamic and, embodied as a historical community, bears values that are at once irreducible to the Kierkegaardian individual.
September 6, 2022
It took an appropriately long time to work through this. I find his conclusions problematically dualistic and modern, but I can't really fault him for that since that is the only water available to him to swim in. The notion of determining the "what" of someone based on the "how" of their existence does resonate with me.
June 17, 2022
Despite not being able to fathom what he is writing about, I find myself compelled to read several more books by this author.
August 31, 2023
*sigh* no one cares, let it go.
October 30, 2013
An absolutely masterful exposition of the subject's relation to the religious. Although Johannes Climacus himself seems to completely lack faith, this seems to describe the limit of dispassionate interestedness.
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