Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

Book 12

  1. Amis, Martin — London Fields (471 pages)
  2. Morpurgo, Michael — War Horse (182 pages)
  3. Winterson, Jeanette — Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit (177 pages)
  4. Robinson, Bruce — Paranoia in the Launderette (43 pages)
  5. Carter, Angela — Heroes and Villains (152 pages)
  6. Burroughs, Edgar Rice — A Princess of Mars (209 pages)
  7. Hill, Susan — The Woman in Black (152 pages)
  8. Fowler, Karen Joy — Sarah Canary (293 pages)
  9. Rennison, Nick — 100 Must-Read Prize Winning Novels (174 pages)
  10. Beresford, David — Ten Men Dead (426 pages)
  11. Freedland, Jonathan — Bring Home the Revolution: The Case for a British Republic (245 pages)
  12. Kierkegaard, Søren — Fear and Trembling (150 pages)
Page count

I don't think I've read any serious philosophy since I studied at Amherst, and I've had a hankering for it for a while. The idea of reading Kierkegaard appealed to me because his philosophy has a Christian slant to it — he's a Christian existentialist — how fitting that his surname means "church garden"! — and beyond that I was completely unfamiliar with him.

I have to admit that I struggled to understand Kierkegaard's arguments, but I think that by the end I achieved a reasonable grasp.

In Fear and Trembling Kierkegaard uses the Biblical story of Abraham and Isaac at Moriah to examine the concept of faith. His concern seems to be that people take the idea of faith too lightly, that upon examination faith is an impossible proposition.

For example, Kierkegaard expresses dismay at the way Abraham's sacrifice is often treated in contemporary sermons, as if the idea of sacrificing one's only son were easy or something to be rewarded. Thus, Kierkegaard emphasizes the pain and anguish Abraham must have suffered. After waiting all those decades for Isaac to be born — Isaac, his only son, miracle son of his old age born to his barren wife and through whom God's promise of countless progeny would be fulfilled — Abraham is supposed to kill him? Not just offer him up for God to swoop down and take, but actually plunge the knife into him? He can't tell anyone what he is intending to do (for nobody would understand him) and he has to contemplate all of this during an arduous three-day walk to Mount Moriah, not knowing God will intervene at the last and offer a ram in Issac's place? The usual emphasis on the end of the story seems to Kierkegaard too facile, too dismissive of Abraham's ordeal and what it means for Abraham to have faith.

And Kierkegaard also objects to the common acceptance that Abraham's actions were good. After all, not knowing the outcome, Abraham's intentions cannot be construed in an ethical context as anything but murderous. If there were some greater universal good (or oracular proclamation) Abraham was satisfying, if any thing in society's eyes could justify Isaac's death, then the story of Abraham becomes merely the story of the tragic hero, no different from Agamemnon and Iphigenia. Only by acknowledging that Abraham's intention to kill Isaac is ethically and morally indefensible can Abraham be considered as acting on faith. So, Abraham is a murderer.

Which, of course, is not Abraham's legacy, because there is something above the universal (that is, above the ethical). Faith requires both a resignation to the universal (for example, that killing Isaac is ethically unjustifiable), and a conviction that one's action is correct. This, of course, is a contradiction, for how can an action be correct if it cannot be mediated by the universal. Therefore, there must be something above the universal, some singular absolute, so that the "knight of faith" places himself, the individual, not in relation to the universal but above the universal in absolute relation to the absolute. This is rationally and ethically absurd. Faith requires a movement which is intrinsically paradoxical. An act of faith requires that the ethical be suspended for a higher purpose, that the individual find mediation only in absolute relation to the absolute, and that the individual remain silent, for an explanation of the act cannot be comprehended.

Yeah, it's pretty heady stuff, but I found that Kierkegaard's sense of humour helped get me through. There were times I felt a dense fog descending on my mind as I grappled with all the subtle arguments or the idea that faith requires a movement that is a paradox — or the constant references to Hegel's arguments, of which I am wholly ignorant — and a witty or light-hearted remark would perk me up. And Kierkegaard doesn't come across as preachy or holier-than-thou. Just the opposite, in fact. He claims he cannot understand Abraham, only admire him, and admits that he has not been able to make that movement past the universal, that "leap of faith." And though no human passion is higher than faith, though one can reach nothing further than faith, if one only gets as far as the ethical one will still find that life has plenty of tasks, and as long as one loves these tasks honestly life won't be a waste.


Apr. 23rd, 2012 11:23 pm (UTC)
Re: Faith
"Nor do I think I'm missing much in the way of meaning. I have thought about my beliefs for decades, but belief, in particular, has nothing to do with logic."

This is what you're missing. Nothing in my post mentioned a thing about belief. My post is a review of a philosophical treatise. Philosophy works on logical arguments. There is no room for belief in philosophy. As far as philosophy is concerned, even the self does not exist until it can be proven logically to exist.

And do not confuse faith and belief. They are two completely different things. Kierkegaard's work has nothing to do with belief. It simply delineates what the conditions for faith must be if it indeed exists.

"As soon as I see somebody adding either a null or a universal to an argument, I discard everything they have said."

There is a big difference between adding a paradox and recognizing its existence. You seem to think that Kierkegaard is arguing for the existence of faith and using a paradox as part of his argument. This suggests to me that you did not closely read what I wrote. He is doing no such thing. Rather, he is saying that the idea of faith is logically absurd because it involves a paradox.

"But arguments that ignore logic don't explain anything."

Nobody is making an argument that ignores logic. Just the contrary. You seem to be missing this point, either because you are willfully choosing to ignore it or because you're not reading what I am writing closely enough.

"Kierkegaard may examine the question but he fails to discard it when it becomes meaningless. … But any argument about faith doesn't work except by consensus of the faithful."

On the first point, no, he doesn't fail to discard it at all. He asks, "What must be involved for a movement to be an act of faith?" After close examination, he sees that it involves being in a paradoxical state and therefore determines that faith is rationally meaningless. And he admits that he cannot understand Abraham on that ground and that he isn't sure anyone actually has faith.

As for the latter, faith doesn't work by consensus. If there were any consensus, it would be ethics, or even aesthetics, or maybe belief or theology, but not faith. Faith is a solitary passion in which the individual is placed above any concensus, any mediation with others, in relation to an absolute, which Kierkegaard demonstrates is a paradoxical movement.

One need not agree with Kierkegaard, but his arguments are logically sound. His conclusions about the individual are what makes him an existentialist.

Perhaps your real quibble here is with my reduction of a logical argument that takes 150 pages into a mere few paragraphs. Think of a geometry proof (since philosophy has much in common with geometry): I am summarising the proof, but that is no substitute for the actual proof and will of necessity leave out important steps. Maybe you should read Kierkegaard's thesis yourself. It's available online.

Latest Month

December 2016

Page Summary

Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by Lilia Ahner