Note: Frequent references and allusions will be made to the following book: Concluding Unscientific Postscript, by Søren Kierkegaard, translated by David F. Swenson, completed after his death and provided with Introduction and Notes by Walter Lowrie, published by Princeton University Press, 1941. ISBN 0-691-01960-6 (paperback edition).
No work can have a reception more in accord with the philosophy of Kierkegaard than the work entitled Nothing. Hesitant and reserved as I am in claiming to articulate anything of Kierkegaard’s philosophy accurately, without endlessly hinting and alluding and teasing the reader, I dare nevertheless affirm with confidence that the book Nothing, which is so small I hesitate to call it a book, will exceed even Kierkegaard’s Philosophical Fragments in one respect, Nothing can never create any sensation, not even as much as Kierkegaard’s Philosophical Fragments, because there is nothing in it. As a scholastic maxim puts it, "Nihil ex nihilo fit." However, this will not necessarily prevent it becoming the centre of great controversy. Many a work has been the centre of controversy in Philosophy without ever being read. In these days of fast communication it is not surprising that academic philosophers should become infected with journalistic breathlessness, so that a vast army of word processors should await news of something to discuss. Just as when J.R. was shot in the soap series Dallas, his shooting was reported on news programmes, so might not a fictitious philosophic work become the subject of many reviews and commentaries? Or think of the words that began as spurious entries in 19th Century dictionaries – might not a book begin as a bibliographic entry and never actually be written?
Thus the work Nothing will never be noticed, and even if it should become associated with the shedding of ink or blood, it will not be responsible for any of it. Any fuss or fury will depend entirely on reviewers and the lack of diligence of thesis markers, mediated to all by this its preface.
The work Nothing is a wordless eulogy in praise of Kierkegaard, the climax of a torchlight procession of which this Preface forms the beginning by heralding the book's non-arrival. Would such praise vex him, would he consider it to encroach upon his liberty? Surely not, for by his own words, ‘… it is not the negative which constitutes an encroachment, but the positive.’ (Concluding Unscientific Postscript, p. 5.) How could that which is nothing impose an obligation? But, I hear you ask, how could it offer him praise? By being the fulfilment of Kierkegaard’s own philosophy: Nothing is a logical (or should I say paradoxical?) development of his own work, Philosophical Fragments. Put like that, the claim may seem to be a complete rejection of his philosophy, the opposite extreme to praise, particularly when one considers the centrality Kierkegaard gave to Philosophical Fragments in his philosophy. But just as Philosophical Fragments had to have its Concluding Unscientific Postscript, a work much longer than itself, so Nothing has to have its Opening Existential Preface. And while Nothing has no words in it, there may yet be much to say about it.
DIVISIONS OF THIS PREFACE
Dedication
Reason for the dedication
Divisions of this preface
Introduction of this preface
THE EXTERNAL PROBLEM CONCERNING
THE TRUTH OF KIERKEGAARD'S PHILOSOPHY
Introductory Remarks
Chapter I. The Scholarly Approaches
$1. The Historical Approach
$2. The Academy
$3. The Analytic Approach
Chapter II. A Philosophic Approach
BOOK TWO
THE INTERNAL PROBLEM
THE RELATION OF THIS PREFACE TO Nothing
THE PROBLEM OF EXPOUNDING EXISTENTIALISM AS A THEORY
PART ONE
SOMETHING ABOUT KIERKEGAARD
Chapter I. An Expression of Gratitude
Chapter II. Theses Possibly or Actually Attributable to Kierkegaard
PART TWO
HOW Nothing MUST BE QUALIFIED IN ORDER THAT THE PROBLEM MAY EXIST FOR THIS PREFACE
Chapter I. The Task of Becoming Prefatory to Nothing
Chapter II. The Negative Truth, Emptiness; Truth is Nothing
Chapter III. Real or Conventional Nothing – the Negative discussion
Chapter IV. The Problem of Nothing: How can a Lasting Explanation be Based on Nothing?
Note: I have so far only composed up to the end of Book One Chapter I together with a very rough draft of Book One Chapter II and a few scribbled notes referring to later parts of the proposed work. I may resume composing the rest of the Preface, but I welcome others to continue it with or without my help. Any continuation may suggest modifications to the headings as given above.
You will perhaps be puzzled, dear reader, that, although Kierkegaard’s Philosophical Fragments has a sequel, Concluding Unscientific Postscript, anyone should attempt a further sequel 150 years later. To suggest such a possibility would appear to betray a gross misunderstanding of Kierkegaard’s intentions in those works, or else not a suggestion to be taken seriously. It is like the serialization of a story on television or radio that becomes so popular that the scriptwriter is persuaded to extend it to a second series, despite the completeness of the original story. For another scriptwriter then to write a third series must surely reduce it to being a soap series. The promise of a sequel, of a next episode, may evoke excitement, but its fulfilment only disappoint.
According to its title, the Postscript is to be concluding, so how can it have a sequel? And Kierkegaard claims that the Postscript itself is to be taken as a postscript to his Fragments rather than as a sequel, going so far as to declare, "Essentially, there is no sequel." (Concluding Unscientific Postscript, p.14.) But in heralding the work entitled Nothing as a sequel to Kierkegaard’s Fragments I am not deviating in any way from the sentiments of Kierkegaard, for its title correctly describes its contents. The work may be said to be written, but only in the sense that any content that it can have has already been given to it. A preface, unlike an introduction, is never treated as an integral part of the work to which it relates, and is usually concerned with matters relating to the particular circumstances of the composition and production of the work. This preface is no exception on either count. Firstly, the fact that you see words written here does not contradict what I have just asserted about Nothing. Secondly, Nothing is not something which can be described as composed or produced in the ordinary way, but needs a preface just to exist, – ex-sistere – to stand out, to be referable to. Hence we can call such a preface an existential preface. It invests Nothing with the status of a written work just as the displaying facilities of the Tate Gallery, London, invested a pile of bricks with the status of a work of art.
Such being the nature of the work Nothing, discussion of the problem it poses, and the way it fulfills Kierkegaard’s philosophy, has to be relegated to its preface. This preface might have been brought to bear on investing Kierkegaard’s philosophy in its historical costume. All honour to learning and scholarship, all praise to those who can control the material detail of Kierkegaard’s works, organizing it with the authority of historical understanding, with the reliability that comes from careful reading of his works in the original Danish. But our primary concern here is with how his philosophy can be related to our discussion of it. If the presentation of this relation fails to be made clear, while exceptional learning and great acumen are expended upon the details, it becomes only increasingly difficult for anyone to be at home in Kierkegaard’s philosophy.
No discussion or written work can act as a quantitative approach to engagement in a philosophy: for either it succeeds in engaging in that philosophy, in which case its whole approach was an engagement in that philosophy; or it fails, in which case it misrepresents the insights of that philosophy. Bearing this in mind I hope that you will appreciate that, even as I discuss the problem of relating to Kierkegaard’s philosophy, I am endeavouring to keep the manner of the discussion open to the possibility of being revealed as engaged in his philosophy throughout, however critical I may be of him. My task is further compounded, in that a genuine involvement in Kierkegaard’s philosophy requires effort, for if the dialectic is to continue we must have something to say, and so we find ourselves opposing him in the same way that this Preface opposes the very work it prefaces. We proceed like someone overhearing one side of a telephone conversation who must make a speculative reconstruction of what is being said at the other end.
I shall therefore approach Kierkegaard’s works as a new Regine Olsen, the one for whom he wrote. He asks to be allowed to develop his ideas in a connected manner; and I gladly consent, remembering how it was when I was still engaged to him. His works are powerfully written, showing a great understanding of the human passions; he makes effective use of the imagination for purposes of delineation; and he commands the resources of ridicule and leading questions for use in the critical moment of decision. I read his works, and feel myself embraced by his thought. I lose myself in engrossed attention, my admiration filling me with feminine (1840s style – i.e. submissive) devotion; I feel my heart beat; my mind is aroused. Now Kierkegaard brings to bear all his resources of earnestness and pathos: he bids every objection keep silent on the grounds of having brought me (the reader) to the point of final judgement, when he can ask if I dare deny in sincerity after what I have read what only the most ignorant and erring wretch could deny. And then, in a gentler tone, he adds an admonition not to yield to another, explaining that it is not the temptation but the yielding to it which is so terrible. He tries to comfort me with edifying discourses, as a mother reassures her child with tender caresses. But I put the book down with a heavy heart and turn to a true comforter (the one who married me, metaphorically speaking). The problem of responding to Kierkegaard, of two-way communication between us, is not even presented, much less consummated; I do not wish to block out the force of his eloquence, but only to participate in his philosophy, if only to say "yes, Søren," like a disciple of Socrates in some of Plato’s dialogues, contributing nothing more than, "Yes, Socrates", "Very true, Socrates," and the like.
I shall refrain from coming to any conclusion about Kierkegaard’s philosophy, except in so far as one could describe the work Nothing as such. I begin the study of his works, hoping that the labour will bear fruit. I plunge into the reading, and I often find myself astonished by his ideas; admiration holds me captive, and I yield to a superior mind. I read and read and understand in part; but above all I set my hope upon finding the place where I can come in. And I finish the book, but I am no nearer to knowing how I can contribute. I can imagine Regine being that maiden who had "but a single wish, to be loved by the beloved" (Concluding Unscientific Postscript, page 17), that is, by Søren, and so I too seek to have but a single wish, to be pregnant with the thought of Kierkegaard. But all I can give birth to is Nothing.
Kierkegaard portrays the systematic philosopher as saying, "Not until we have reached the end of our exposition will everything become clear." (Concluding Unscientific Postscript, page 16.) Nothing could be clearer than Nothing. While I make no claims that this Preface is in anyway complete, this should not concern my readers. A preface, unlike an introduction, is in no way an integral part of the work to which it is prefatory, as I have already pointed out above. And besides, if the work Nothing is incomplete, lacking something, it is only as a result of having a title and preface raising expectations of some content, and this I have tried to avoid doing. If opening up Nothing leads to things going into it, then they go into it as into a black hole – Nothing remains Nothing, though with increasing mass (gravity, seriousness) and hence increasing attractiveness.
THE EXTERNAL PROBLEM CONCERNING
THE TRUTH OF KIERKEGAARD’S PHILOSOPHY
INTRODUCTORY REMARKS
Kierkegaard’s philosophy, as viewed from outside it, is a res in scripto posita 1, its truth is the truth of certain statements, those found in his philosophic works. If we maintain this external viewpoint, then either we must leave ourselves out of the discussion of his philosophy, since we do not come across ourselves as part of the subject matter; or we must count ourselves in as among the speculative philosophers whom he castigates so mercilessly that our external viewpoint is maintained as a matter of course. The truth in this context may mean, first, historical truth; second, philosophic truth. Viewed as historical, the truth of Kierkegaard’s works must be determined through a critical examination (form criticism, textual analysis) of the various sources, and so forth; in short, his works placed in their immediate cultural context in the same manner that historical truth generally is determined. When the question of the philosophic truth is raised, the aim is to determine the relation of Kierkegaard’s texts thus historically given and verified, to Being.
But this does not necessarily mean that the question of the present work’s own relation to Being is raised, the truth of appropriation and assimilation. [truth as exposition, as how it is grasped.] The philosophic commentary is indeed concerned with truth; but it is not directly concerned with its own relation to truth. Far be it from a philosophic commentary to be so concerned with its own importance. The philosophic commentary seems to be in one or other of two situations.
Either it presupposes the truth of Kierkegaard’s words, and of its own relation to his philosophy, completely immersed in Kierkegaard’s philosophy and therefore concerned throughout in re-expressing it, in clarifying what Kierkegaard meant; in which case all other philosophies are wrong or redundant and every reference to another philosophy may readily come to constitute a distraction.
Or the commentary stands outside his philosophy in order to pass judgement on it – and hence cannot participate in his philosophy, in the articulation of its truth. Interpretation and criticism must be mutually opposed unless the commentary reflects on itself. Hence the consideration to be developed in Chapter II – the problem (the truth of Kierkegaard) cannot in this manner decisively arise; which means that it does not arise at all, since decisiveness is of the essence of the problem. (The two sides cannot even be related by taking the external indirect view, so that the either/or does not make itself visible. Only self-reference can maintain the dialectical tension.)
The critical work will merely multiply the digressions and confusions the more it delves into Kierkegaard’s works. As for the relation of the work to the truth of Kierkegaard’s philosophy when it claims to have it, the assumption is that if only the truth of Kierkegaard’s philosophy is brought to light, its articulation is a relatively unimportant matter, something which follows as a matter of course. And in any case the precise wording of the individual work is in the last analysis a matter of indifference.
1 'A thing located in writing' – there is no connotation of motion into writing, though no denial of such motion either.
When the philosophy of Kierkegaard is viewed historically, it becomes necessary to know what exactly Kierkegaard wrote and what he meant. His philosophy may be called Existentialism so as to broaden the historical phenomenon under view, but this proceeding has always been particularly controversial in dealing with those labelled "Existentialists", since it is a hallmark of their thought to stress the individual over the type, and this clearly true of Kierkegaard himself. As regards its own contribution to the issues discussed by Kierkegaard, a historical approach can only ever be as an aid to approach the original texts, and can never itself be an engagement in the discussions. Such an approach to a philosophy, when viewed as a basis for participation, must be inadequate – a miss is as good as a mile. Kierkegaard’s works become core texts with endless levels of commentary on them, like Mishnah round the Torah. But Kierkegaard’s philosophy can never come to rest in any finite work, concerned as it is with being dialectical.
When one raises the question of what is and what is not Kierkegaard’s philosophy, his works at once present themselves as documents of decisive significance and it becomes necessary to make sure of the texts historically and critically.
A historical account of Kierkegaard's philosophy posits a number of things: the relative philosophic importance of the individual books, their directness or playfulness of style, their coherence, their consistency, their breadth and their thoroughness.
One sometimes hears philosophers speak with contempt of the labour of criticism devoted to ancient and medieval writings; one hears them foolishly deride the learned scholar’s careful scrutiny of the most insignificant detail, which is (echoing Kierkegaard) precisely the glory of the scholar, namely, to consider nothing insignificant that bears upon the given subject matter. No, philological scholarship is within its rights, and the present author respects it as much as Kierkegaard did. But the scholarly philosophic commentary makes no such clear and definite impression upon Philosophy; its entire procedure suffers from a certain ambiguity. It constantly seems as if some commentary were suddenly about to yield a philosophic result, issue in something relevant to Philosophy. Here lies the difficulty. When a new commentary of one of Plato’s dialogues, for example, is published, the scholarly apparatus used being held in beautiful subservience to the spirit of the text; when ingenuity and familiarity with the period, gained through formidable industry, combine in preparing a clear way for the meaning through the obscure maze of readings then it is quite safe to yield oneself in whole-hearted admiration. For then nothing follows except the wholly admirable result that an ancient writing has now through the scholar’s skill and competence received its most accurate possible form. But by no means should I now take it that nothing further needs to be said, as if Plato intended his dialogues to end all dialogue. The scholarly commentary no more engages in Philosophy than Apollodorus does in the Symposium.
Thus scholarly commentary can become a distraction from Philosophy, from reflecting on what one is doing, by giving the illusion of doing Philosophy in virtue of discussing philosophic works and concepts. All scholarly commentary seeks to become more and more objective. Systematic historical research does indeed deserve to be called a science, and is arguably more certain of progress than is Physics. But when, in the case of Kierkegaard’s philosophy, a scholarly commentator starts talking about Kierkegaard’s philosophic system, we must watch out that we do not confuse such talk with engagement in Kierkegaard’s own discussion about philosophic systems. The scholar has postponed the decision to participate in Kierkegaard’s philosophy till after the result of the learned enquiry into Kierkegaard’s works, whence it will follow directly. That is to say, the problem does not arise; the scholarly task has directed attention away from it. True, the scholar may recognize a contradiction between the claim that Kierkegaard has a system and Kierkegaard’s attack on systems, but these belong to quite separate discourses for the scholar, a separation of a meta-level from the level it is meta-level to. The scholar has renounced dialectic in order to become objective, and hence renounces participation in Philosophy. Kierkegaard’s philosophy only appears in the scholarly commentary in quotation marks. Kierkegaard himself provides powerful descriptions of the dangers of scholarship, and these dangers can haunt the study of his works as much as those of Hegel’s or the Bible. Participation in Philosophy does not result from such historical or philological studies of philosophic works, which can never do more than provide aids to reading the original work, and participation in Philosophy must involve more than reading. While a philosopher can benefit from the results of such scholarship, care must be taken to maintain its transparency no matter how great its weight, for if it becomes opaque it becomes a barrier to Philosophy, cutting the philosopher adrift from the original work.
The more the historico-philological approach is pursued, the less is it affected by its own results. The scholar maintains aloofness, displaying an applauded heroism. Indeed that scholar serves Philosophy best who is least engaged in doing Philosophy. Before the days of printing all books had to be copied by hand. Those who copied without trying to make sense of what they were copying preserved the text more faithfully for posterity than those who sought to correct previous copying errors. It was not that the former made less mistakes, but that their errors were easier to spot and correct. (Ancient texts evolved like species.) How noble indeed it is to spend one’s whole life copying that which one is certain is worthy of being read, but which one does not read oneself. Unless there is underlying the foolish hope that by merely preserving and propagating the text one will come to possess the riches within it.
Whoever wishes to do Philosophy finds it easier to acquire a definite involvement in Philosophy and not just an illusion of involvement, in a world where explanations are unsatisfactory but inexhaustible riches beckon, than in a settled consensus where further explanation seems unnecessary or unlikely.
For whose sake does the scholar argue that Kierkegaard had a philosophic system, a theory of everything? Kierkegaard would himself regard such a scholar as his enemy. I doubt if Regine was ever ashamed or embarrassed about her relationship with Kierkegaard, certainly not enough to feel the need to establish that there was something remarkable about him. Likewise, I am not here concerned with arguing that Kierkegaard had something to say and trying to specify its content (indeed I have already stated that its philosophic content amounts to that of Nothing), the concern that leads to systematization, but with responding to him.
The scholar feels no decision as necessary with regard to the subject matter of the works being annotated. This is the weakness of scholarship; the scholar cannot even argue that the content of Kierkegaard’s philosophy does not amount to Nothing, for scholarly modesty does not allow recognition of being addressed by Kierkegaard – "Kierkegaard may be saying something to others, even other scholars," the scholar cries, "but not to me." So the scholar can never irrevocably decide what Kierkegaard meant. There may be many results in the scholarly sense – about biographical details, or identifying contemporary allusions, or whatever – but there is no decisive philosophic result anywhere. This is quite as it should be, since philosophic decisiveness inheres in responding to the original work alone, and not a translation of it, nor some introduction or preface to it.
(Note that for the scholar, the movement is entirely in the scholarly endeavour – Kierkegaard’s philosophy may be considered to have undergone development in his lifetime, but this is merely an extra dimension to an essentially static picture being approximated to.)
Some people argue that the visible presence of academic institutions is the final arbiter in philosophic debate, and hence also defines the philosophic teaching of Kierkegaard.
Let it be a word, a proposition, a book, a person, a fellowship, a science, or whatever you please: as soon as it is proposed to make it serve as a limit, in such a way that the limit is not itself again in question, we are no longer doing philosophy. There always lurks some such concern in a person, at the same time indolent and anxious, a wish to lay hold of something so fixed that it can exclude all philosophic dialectic: but this desire is an expression of cowardice. Kierkegaard’s philosophy becomes dialectical whenever I attempt to appropriate it; and the most firm resolve to reject it also becomes dialectical. As soon as I take the dialectic away, I have ceased to be engaged in Philosophy, and attempt to cheat his philosophy of each moment’s strenuous re-acquisition of that which has once been acquired. It is still one of the surest ways to get on in academic philosophy to be passionate about one single philosopher or a single issue. Single-mindedness is rare because it is not easy to maintain with sincerity in Philosophy. It is ludicrous in so far as it attaches itself to a mistaken object, but single-mindedness itself should be respected, in so far as it is not just a gimic to get by in the academic world.
Just as in the preceding section it was the historico-philological approach which was to decide what is Kierkegaard’s philosophy and what is not, so now it is the academic institutions that together serve as the certain objective recourse. More specifically, it is the people with academic posts in the Philosophy Departments of Universities, whose consensus is maintained by the publication of Philosophy journals and the holding of Philosophy conferences.
First it is clear that this way of dealing with the problem is naive and unreflective, as if truth only has to stand fast in order for people to be ready and willing en masse to attach themselves to it. There is no suspicion that the point is precisely the relation of their words to it. If philosophic truth is dialectical, it is a self-referring transformation of a discussion; it is not just an immediate direct (transparent) access to something through the words. A science is always directed outward, toward something over against it, in endeavour toward the objective. The movement of dialectic is a self-referring, and the truth is the discourse's transformation in itself.
The first dialectical difficulty with Kierkegaard’s works is that they are historical documents: so that as soon as we make them our standard for determining what his philosophy is, there begins an introductory approximation-process, and then we are involved in a parenthesis with no conclusion. This difficulty with philosophic works as documents belonging to the past appears now to be obviated in the case of the academic institutions, which exist in the present. Recourse to an academic consensus eliminates all the proving and demonstrating that is necessary in connection with philosophic works because they are something past, while the academic institutions exist as a present reality. To demand proof that there is an academic conception of Philosophy is nonsense, like asking a living person to prove that that same person exists. (The reason for this is that existence itself is superior to any demonstration for existence, and hence it is in the given case stupid to ask for proof. Conversely, the inference from essence to existence is a leap.)
So then the academic institutions exist; and from their consensus as something present, as contemporaneous with the enquiry into the concept of Philosophy (by which there is secured for the problem the equality of contemporaneity), one may learn what is essential to Philosophy; for this is what the academic institutions endorse.
After it has been asserted of the academic institutions that they exist, and that one may learn from them what Philosophy is, it is further asserted of these institutions, that the enterprise they see as Philosophy is the same enterprise that they have always seen as Philosophy, right back to the High Middle Ages. Thus Philosophy is more than a present division of the academic syllabus. Indeed, when some activity is said to be philosophy, the claim implies that it is part of an enterprise stretching back to the original Academy of Plato and beyond even that, and thus involves a historicity in quite the same sense as we have had with the historico-philological approach to defining Philosophy (and hence Kierkegaard's philosophy). The only historical factuality which is superior to proof is contemporaneous existence; every determination of pastness requires proof. Thus if someone were to say to another; prove that you exist, the other will answer quite properly that the demand is nonsense. But if the other then adds: "I who now exist had an existence over four hundred years ago as essentially the same person," the first person now has a right to say: "Here a proof is needed." It would be very difficult to prove any institutional continuity between the schools of Ancient Greece and modern universities.
The moment we make use of the living word to urge the continued existence of academic institutions through past centuries, the issue is brought back to precisely the same point where it was in the historico-philological approach. Sometimes an illusion will momentarily prevail. By suddenly shifting the plan of campaign, when one is at the same time fortunate enough to have no one attack the new line of defence, one may be so overcome with one’s cleverness as to believe that all is now well. But let the academic consensus definition endure attack as the historico-philological approach has had to endure it: what then? Then we shall here again consistently find that an introductory historiological discipline (that is, a systematic enquiry into the history of something) becomes necessary; for every other procedure would nullify the academic consensus itself, and transfer the problem to the realm of philosophic debate where it properly belongs. This discipline would have the task of proving that there is at least an institutional form of overlapping continuity, as in Wittgenstein’s example of a rope in which no one thread runs through the whole length of it, i.e. the whole history of Philosophy.2
In this way the approximation-process again begins; all philosophy is put into quotation marks, and no amount of discussion in such a vein will remove them again, since our concern is only to establish the precise content within the quotation.
The advantage of the academic definition was supposed to consist in its supposed elimination of the need to re-present the past, thus avoiding the need for mediation by a historiological enquiry. But this merit immediately vanishes as soon as the more specific determinations of defining by reference to academic institutions make their appearance.
It is impossible in the case of historiological problems to reach a decision so certain that no doubt could disturb it. The problem ought to be put in terms of the discussion’s own relation to Philosophy – what value does defining the concept of Philosophy have in Philosophy? A philosophy misunderstands its own nature when it seeks assurance outside itself, abandoning its self-determination.
If one accentuates the fact of having a doctorate or lectureship in determining if someone is a philosopher, and measures the philosophic importance of a philosophic work in terms of the status of the author, or how many other books and articles on Philosophy the author has written and had published, or how many citations are made of the work in books and articles written by others, then clearly the content has ceased to have any direct bearing on its reception – and even a fictitious work, or an empty work like Nothing, has a chance of acquiring the greatest importance in Philosophy.
If an author’s credentials are needed for a philosophic work to be philosophic, then they must be demonstrated in the work itself. Otherwise their establishment can only be approximated to by the methods of historians, copyright enforcers, thesis checkers, and the like. If the academicist definition of Philosophy (that which we are discussing)3 were genuinely believed, then there would be no need to debate the subject matter of philosophic works, and the fiercest debates might turn on forensic evidence, or the opinion of a handwriting expert, like in a court of law. One would expect, for instance, a philosophic work to show remarkable manifestations of concern over how to ensure that it will achieve academic recognition. The academicist definition is only offered because the need is felt to have something to cling to, and so prevent the dialectic from dissolving itself. Often people can be so zealous at applying dialectic, that when it comes to applying it to itself they need to find some cutting off point, some magical trick to terminate the debate. Few have the courage of Descartes to let go in the confidence of resolving a problem by taking it to its extreme.
2 Wittgenstein, Part I, $67, in Philosophical Investigations, trans. G. E. M. Anscombe, 3rd ed. (1953; reprint, Oxford: Blackwell, 1978), page 32.
3 I do not call it ‘academic definition of Philosophy’ since it is not necesarily the way that academics would want to define Philosophy, and one of the best defences I have seen of it was not written by an academic (J. L. Thomas). On the other hand, it is not a way of defining Philosophy which necessarily confines Philosophy to what goes on within academic institutions. All that is required for the academicist label is the belief that recognition by academic institutions is definitive.
The problem is posed as follows: ‘Let the truth of Kierkegaard’s philosophy only be made clear and certain, and there need be no fear that I shall not prove myself ready and willing to accept it, and to accept it as a matter of course.’ The difficulty is, that the truth of Kierkegaard’s philosophy has, in consequence of its paradoxical form, something in common with the nettle: one merely succeeds in stinging oneself, when one seeks thus to lay hold of it without further ado. Or rather – for since this is an intellectual relationship, the stinging can be understood only metaphorically – one does not lay hold of it at all; one grasps its truth so objectively as to remain outside it. Nothing can be added to his philosophy.
No argument of the kind asked for can really make any sense of Kierkegaard’s philosophy, for at the very outset it transforms its truth into a hypothesis. And a hypothesis may become more probable by maintaining itself against objections for a long time, but it does not on that account become an eternal truth, adequately decisive for the future of Philosophy.
The present work neither affirms nor denies the truth of Kierkegaard’s philosophy, but is concerned solely for its relation to it, which is a problem because there is no direct or immediate way for anyone to participate in Kierkegaard’s philosophy except by having nothing to say.