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In an early entry in his journals, written when he was still a student,
Kierkegaard gave vent to the dissatisfaction he felt at the prospect
of a life purely devoted to the dispassionate pursuit of knowledge and
understanding. “What good would it do me”, he then asked
himself, “if truth stood before me, cold and naked, not caring
whether I recognized her or not?” Implicit in this question was
an outlook which was to receive mature articulation in much of his subsequent
work, being particularly prominent in his criticisms of detached speculation
of the kind attributable to those he called “systematists and
objective philosophers”. To be sure, and notwithstanding what
has sometimes been supposed, he had no wish to be understood as casting
aspersions on the role played by impersonal or disinterested thinking
in studies comprising scholarly research or the scientific investigation
of nature: such an approach was quite in order when adopted within the
limits set by determinate fields of enquiry. But matters were different
when philosophical attempts were made to extend it in a manner that
purported to transcend all particular viewpoints and interests, this
conception of the philosopher’s task leading to the construction
of metaphysical theories which sought to comprehend every aspect of
human thought and experience within the disengaged perspective of objective
contemplation. Kierkegaard considered Hegel to be the foremost contemporary
representative of the latter ambition, the famous system to which it
had given rise being in his opinion fundamentally misconceived.
[In reference to the readings on the Paradox of Faith,]
Kierkegaard was certainly not alone in suggesting that writers who tried
to justify religious belief on cognitive grounds were more confused
about its true nature than some of their sceptically minded critics
and to that extent posed a greater threat to it; indeed, Kant himself
had virtually implied as much when he spoke of denying knowledge to
make room for faith, as opposed to seeking to give religious convictions
a theoretical foundation that could only prove illusory. The question
arose, however, of what positive account should be given of such faith,
and here Kierkegaard’s position set him apart from many thinkers
who shared his negative attitude towards the feasibility of providing
objective demonstrations. As he made amply clear, the religion that
crucially concerned him was Christianity, and far from playing down
the intellectual obstacles this ostensibly presented he went out of
his way to stress the particular problems it raised. Both its official
representatives and its academic apologists might have entertained the
hope of making it rationally acceptable to a believer, but in doing
so they showed themselves to be the victims of a fundamental misapprehension.
From an objective point of view, neither knowledge nor even understanding
was possible here, the proper path of the Christian follower lying in
the direction, not of objectivity, but of its opposite. It was only
by ‘becoming subjective’ that the import of Christianity
could be grasped and meaningfully appropriated by the individual. Faith,
Kierkegaard insisted, ‘inheres in subjectivity’; as such
it was in essence a matter of single-minded resolve and inward dedication
rather than of spectatorial or contemplative detachment, of passion
rather than of reflection. That was not to say, though, that it amounted
to a primitive or easy option. On the contrary, faith in the sense in
question could only be achieved or realized in the course of a person’s
life at great cost and with the utmost difficulty.
Kierkegaard’s stress on the gap separating faith from reason,
which it could need divine assistance to surmount, was reflected in
the controversial account he offered of religious truth; this likewise
received a subjective interpretation. Thus in [these passages
on subjectivity] he contrasted two distinct ways of conceiving
of truth, one treating it as a matter of a belief’s corresponding
to what it purported to be about and the other as essentially pertaining
to the particular manner or spirit in which a belief was held. And it
was to the second of these conceptions that he ostensibly referred when
he declared that ‘subjectivity is the truth’, genuineness
of feeling and depth of inner conviction being the decisive criterion
from a religious point of view. Admittedly he has sometimes been criticized
here for a tendency to shift from construing religious truth along the
above lines to doing so in terms of the objective alternative, with
the questionable implication that sheer intensity of subjective acceptance
was sufficient to authenticate the independent reality of what was believed.
But however that may be, it is arguable that in this context –
as is often the case elsewhere – his prime concerns were conceptual
and phenomenological in character, rather than epistemic or justificatory.
Kierkegaard’s central aim was to assign Christianity to its proper
sphere, freeing it from what he considered to be traditional misconceptions
as well as from the falsifying metaphysical theories to which there
had more recently been attempts to assimilate it. If that meant confronting
what he himself called ‘a crucifixion of the understanding’,
the only appropriate response from the standpoint in question lay in
a passionate commitment to the necessarily paradoxical and mysterious
content of the Christian religion, together with a complementary resolve
to emulate in practice the paradigmatic life of its founder.