An Existential Inquiry: Kierkegaard’s Quest for Meaning

by John Hansen *

Søren Kierkegaard is often thought of as the originator of existentialism – which is the notion that individuals can shape their own significance, objectives, and aspirations by using their freedom. We here explore, through Kierkegaard’s thought, existentialism’s unique way of creating meaning. 

Existentialism is distinguished from other systems of thought in various ways.

• While philosophies championing freedom, such as political liberalism, individual autonomy, and rejection of determinism share many similarities with existentialist thinking, existentialist philosophy commonly explores themes of attendant anguish, apprehension, or disquiet. In its emphasis on total freedom, existentialism differs from philosophies that promote freedom yet fail to examine its existential implications fully.

• While existentialism often speaks of an absurd or chaotic world, it tends to resist nihilism and despair. Rather, it highlights the significance of persevering and taking accountability to transcend the lack of meaning in existence without falling into hopelessness. It centres on the belief that there is always purpose in life, and seeks freedom from life’s absurdities when it meets meaninglessness.

• While existentialists accept that freedom of choice is associated with anxiety and ambiguity – existential anguish often being accentuated as an integral part of human life – they acknowledge that it also allows people to choose their own values and goals. In the view of existentialist philosophers such as Jean-Paul Sartre, all individuals are ultimately responsible for their actions and decisions.

• While existentialist philosophy often portrays the world as uncaring or lacking any predestined intention, those who choose to view their lives as purposeful may question their decisions and goals. In a process of internal reflection, they face their realities and find transcendent wisdom beyond the confines of the finite universe, even though it is often fraught with conflicting forces.

All of these characteristics contribute to a tension, or duality in existentialism – and, as a result, the existentialist must continually strive to reconcile their contradictory existence. On Kierkegaard’s theory, we are constantly in conflict with ourselves and with our societies. Adversity and paradox are inherent to the human condition.

At the same time, opposing aspects of human nature must be reconciled. A major dichotomy which Kierkegaard emphasised was that between the finite and infinite, the transient and the eternal. Based on Kierkegaard's philosophy, disparate forces engage in dialectical interactions. To uncover truth, one must actively grapple with the uncertainties of one’s being.

As a major example, in Fear and Trembling, Kierkegaard depicts Abraham’s unwavering determination to sacrifice his only son, Isaac, as a symbol of the struggle between faith and ethics. Abraham represents both being a father and having unwavering faith in a higher, divine authority at the same time.

As one finds in this pivotal story, Kierkegaard notes that humans try to grasp their existence and find meaning in their lives from their subjective viewpoints – through the exploration of first-person perspectives – among them ethics, principles, and liberties. A key feature of his writing is the importance which he places on the individual’s experience, authenticity, and engagement with existential issues.

The attention Kierkegaard places on the inner life of the individual contrasts with the widespread sentiments of hollowness and anguish in society today. Thus, Kierkegaard’s ideas still matter today – as is witnessed, for example, by a series of articles published in The Guardian in 2010, by Clare Carlisle – one such being titled, “Kierkegaard and the Pursuit of Meaning.” Duality entails an existential conflict that must be accepted for one to discover oneself.

Kierkegaard's systematic questions enable us to discover conflicting forces and go beyond the finite world in a way that cannot be achieved otherwise. His discussion of duality illuminates the fundamental inconsistencies of human nature. The process of existential inquiry evolves from being a purely philosophical journey to being one of faith and uncertainty as a result of introspection.

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* John Hansen received a BA in English from the University of Iowa and an MA in English literature from Oklahoma State University. His work has appeared in Philosophical Investigations, Philological Review, The Summerset Review, One Sentence Poems, Schuylkill Valley Journal, Litro Magazine, Wild Roof Journal, The Banyan Review, Drunk Monkeys, Midway Journal, and elsewhere. He has presented on a variety of topics at The National Institute for Staff and Organizational Development (NISOD), The Conference on College Composition and Communication (CCCC—Regional), The American Comparative Literature Association, The Midwest Conference on British Studies, and others. He is an English Department faculty member at Mohave Community College in Arizona. Read more at johnphansen.com.

Is There a Rational Basis For Human Compassion?

By Thomas Scarborough

Søren Kierkegaard wrote that Immanuel Kant’s moral philosophy was ‘utterly without grace’. It was a fierce condemnation of Kant.

Kant  favoured autonomy—which is defined as the capacity of an agent to act in accordance with objective morality rather than under the influence of desires. Today this is a view which, by and large, drives all of our ethical thinking. The problem, in Kierkegaard’s eyes, was that it lacked compassion. This is true. We place great emphasis on civil rights, the rule of law, social norms, and so on, while compassion is not comfortably accommodated in the scheme. How may it be possible to bridge the gap—rationally? This is the subject of this post.

Ethics is a very human thing. Regardless of the intellectual debate, or the final framing of our ethics private or public, it always originates in the human person. It is, above all, a person's formation of a certain outlook on the world. Aristotle thought of ethics as ‘the golden mean’—the balanced life—where the ‘mean’ is defined as a quality or action which is equally removed from two opposite extremes. Thus ethics represents the achievement of a balance in the human person—between economic and social goals, individual and communal goals, unity and diversity, novelty and tradition, thought and feeling, and so much more. This is our starting point in this post—that it is about balance—of which further discussion would unfortunately deny us room to develop the theme in the available space.

In order to develop the ‘golden mean’, then, it stands to reason that we should weigh a great number of opposites in our minds, not to speak of variations, one against the other. The scope of this is important here: as we do so, we typically have as our goal to balance the world around us, no more and no less. I should say, I have as my goal to balance the world around me—in my own individual mind—so as to develop (I should hope) a balanced outlook on my world. This is true—but it is simplistic. It is a more nuanced view of the process which should help us to open up our ethical thinking to human compassion.

I live in a world of others—tens, thousands, millions, in fact billions of others. As soon as I take these others into account, not merely as numbers, entities, or abstractions, I open up some important considerations. Each of these others carries in their own mind an evaluation of the world—without which my own evaluation of the world cannot be complete. It matters a great deal, not merely that others exist in my world, but that they each arrange the world in their own particular way. Therefore in a sense. we now have uncountable worlds within a world. It is easy to overlook this. These others perceive things, assess things, plan things, and act upon things which are of critical importance to that ‘golden mean’ which Aristotle spoke about. Perhaps this much goes without saying.

However this now introduces a quantum leap of complexity to my task of arranging my world, since now I must combine their world with mine—tens, thousands, even millions of worlds in other people’s minds. Then, too, this all has to do with semiotic codes, which are the means through which others reveal their own arrangement of the world—codes that are all too often all but inscrutable. A smile, a jig, a nod of the head—candles on the table, or a hush in the hallway—President Kennedy's visit to West Berlin, the Bomb under Mururoa, the public appearances or Her Majesty the Queen, and a host of so-called ‘interpretative devices’. In order to have some command of such things, I need to have an intimate ‘feel’ for others.

The existence of others in my world—further, the existence of their worlds within my world, and the ways in which they communicate their worlds with me—means that ethics may often come down to something all too human. I now need to be sensitive to the expressions, gestures, and postures of others, and a great variety of semiotic codes besides—not to speak of the sufferings, desires, and hopes which lie behind them. I need to understand—to borrow a term from the polymath Thomas Browne—‘the motto of our souls’. This represents a rapport which rests to a very large extent on a careful, sensitive reading of the many others involved in my world, whether this involvement is direct or indirectl. Thus we incorporate personal rapport in a rational ethics—which is human compassion.

The Land Rover Problem

By Thomas Scarborough

Imagine that I hold in my hand a single part of a 1958 Land Rover – say, a rear stub axle. Being an open-minded sort of person, I try to fit this part to any which motor parts I may find in the whole world. I continue to fit such parts together until I reach the complete termination of my plan. Not surprisingly, I end up with a 1958 Land Rover, complete in itself. Of course, I say to myself – being an enlightened man – that the appearence of a 1958 Land Rover might well have been pure chance. I therefore start all over again – only to end up with a 1958 Land Rover, again.

I shall call it The Land Rover Problem. It is, in my view, the biggest problem that the 21st century philosopher needs to overcome, before we may create a new metaphysic or total philosophy – a philosophy which describes not merely aspects of reality, but the whole of it. No matter where we start, and no matter how far our search reaches into all of reality, the end result is as pre-determined as the 1958 Land Rover. The problem lies in the method of starting with a single part – or in some cases, ending up with it. We might, after all, disassemble a 1958 Land Rover, to see which of its many parts remains in our hands in the end.

The philosopher-theologian Søren Kierkegaard might have been the first to understand this, when he wrote in Either/Or that ‘people of experience maintain that it is very sensible to start from a principle.' Say, boredom. Thus he demonstrated how one (arbitrary) principle will explain the whole world. Just over a century later, the philosophers Wilhelm Kamlah and Paul Lorenzen wrote that we are 'thoroughly dominated by an unacknowledged metaphysics'. Even before we set out on a metaphysic, they wrote, we already have one. It is in the nature of the parts to deliver the result. More recently, the philosopher Jacques Derrida famously defined the problem as ‘a process of giving [reality] a centre or referring it to a point of presence, a fixed origin’.

How then shall we overcome this problem?

Basically, the trouble lies in the way that we attach the parts one to another – in philosophy, our concepts. We are stuck with a Land Rover model of philosophy. This applies both to moderns and to postmoderns, with the difference that postmoderns, while they do not have a way out, are more acutely aware of the problem: ultimately, no matter where we start, and no matter how far our search reaches into all of reality, our thoughts deliver relatively useless constructions – complete in themselves, yet like the 1958 Land Rover, giving us little indication as to their real scope or merit.

Logically, there is only one way of escape, and no other. Instead of constructing philosophies by attaching concept to concept, we may stand back, as it were, to view all the concepts in the world from a distance. Imagine that we scatter every conceivable motor part of every make and model – the 1958 Land Rover, the 1961 Beetle, the 2005 Mustang, the 2008 Roadster, and of many thousands of assemblages more, over a practically infinite expanse. If then we could recognise any patterns or insights here, in this expanse – call them meta-features – we may discover another way of seeing things.

What might we then see?

Of course, we would see that no assemblage is ultimate. The 1958 Land Rover, as an example, would merely be one possible construction among many. We would recognise, too, that if we were to build only a 1958 Land Rover, we would exclude every other assemblage – or to apply this to philosophy, every competing metaphysic. These are core insights of postmodernism. Yet we would see far more than this. Once we have grasped that we are dealing with an innumerable totality of parts – which is concepts – we shall no longer be satisfied with a self-centred or parochial view of the world, but shall think expansively and holistically. Nor shall we interpret our world from a narrow point of view: ethnic, religious, ideological, economic, or scientific, among many more. We shall reject the narrow view.

Further, instead of standing self-importantly beside a 1958 Land Rover, we shall see that our construction, in the context of an innumerable totality of parts – which is concepts – is very limited. A practical infinity of concepts lies beyond our power to explain, and beyond our control. This has obvious consequences. There will always be things without number which lie beyond our own arrangement of concepts, which set a limit to our powers. Therefore any ideas of progress, advancement, development, even utopia, open the door to hubris, and failure. Similarly, we shall recognise that, to overcome our finitude, we shall (impossibly) need infinite control. This drives totalising urges: totalitarianism, fundamentalism, and over-legislation, to give but a few examples – which have led to damaged lives and disasters without number.

Much more may be said, but the point is this: on the basis of the meta-features of the totality of parts, it is possible to reach definite conclusions about the most important things in life. There is a way forward for philosophy, if we will only abandon the Land Rover model, step back, view our world as an infinite expanse of concepts, and see what we may discern through this.