The Weaver Reads reviewed Either/Or by Søren Kierkegaard
Doubt, Despair, and Commitment
4 stars
This book took far longer to complete than I anticipated. It had been on my to-read list for quite some time, but I picked it up at the beginning of the year when I saw a post on Reddit asking users what books might help "cure" their depression--someone recommended Either/Or, and I decided it was time to pick it up.
Cure my depression, it did not. However, it did force me to think seriously about my own life.
Kierkegaard frames his book as an outside, pseudonymous editor. He claims that he found the texts contained within this book; we intelligent readers know that it was he who wrote them.
The text ultimately takes place from two perspectives. The first volume, "Either," is very much a treatment of aesthetics, and it comes from the perspective of a man who lives his life only for enjoyment. Today we might call him a …
This book took far longer to complete than I anticipated. It had been on my to-read list for quite some time, but I picked it up at the beginning of the year when I saw a post on Reddit asking users what books might help "cure" their depression--someone recommended Either/Or, and I decided it was time to pick it up.
Cure my depression, it did not. However, it did force me to think seriously about my own life.
Kierkegaard frames his book as an outside, pseudonymous editor. He claims that he found the texts contained within this book; we intelligent readers know that it was he who wrote them.
The text ultimately takes place from two perspectives. The first volume, "Either," is very much a treatment of aesthetics, and it comes from the perspective of a man who lives his life only for enjoyment. Today we might call him a gourmand, or perhaps even a "fuck boy." But, he really isn't interested in sex at all--what really consumes him is sentimentality as a way to overcome boredom. A lot of the text in this section is a philosophical examination of various different art forms, although Mozart's "Don Juan" perhaps gets the most space. The final section of volume 1 is the viewpoint of a man named Johannes, as he pursues his romantic interest, Cordelia. As soon as he has her, he loses interest and moves on to the next thing.
The second volume, "Or," is from the perspective of a Judge Vilhelm, and is largely made up of two long letters to Johannes, followed by a sermon by another individual. Vilhelm's first letter is about commitment, especially to marriage, while the second is about doubt and despair.
We readers know that everything in here was written by Kierkegaard, so he's trying to tell us something. He plays with dialectics here, the post-Hegelian that he is. On one side is the "aesthetic" life, epitomized by Johannes. On the other side is the "ethical" life, epitomized by Judge Vilhelm. Both sides collide here, and it's up to the reader to tease out the contradictions in each of their perspectives, although I'm not sure that I'm quite well trained enough in dialectics to be able to do this effectively.
But, I did learn a lot reading the book. For one, I went into it thinking that I'd have more in common with Judge Vilhelm, as I have little trouble with commitment, and didn't believe that aesthetics were important to me. Kierkegaard disabused me of that notion, and I think that he himself may have also identified with Johannes for a large part of his life.
You see, one thing I struggle a lot with is despair. Kierkegaard makes the argument (as Vilhelm) that despair is the result of not being who you are, and that the way out of despair is by committing to something beyond yourself. This needs some further elaboration.
I think I speak for a lot of us when I say we often try on different hats, different roles, and so on. This is the aesthetic life: "I could be either a doctor or a lawyer, it makes no difference to me." Then, the aesthetic tries on the role, finds it doesn't suit him/her, and backs out, opting for the next thing. The ethical life, on the other hand, requires committing to one thing. It is the statement that I will be a doctor, without ifs or buts about it.
Interestingly, Kierkegaard gives a lot of time discussing "ifs." One aspect of s/he who despairs--i.e. me--is that it is self-imposed by various conditional statements. For instance, I often say, "I would be happy if only I had large sums of money" or "I would be happy if only I had more time to pursue my interests" or "I would be happy if only the world was not as it is." Kierkegaard says that this is a sure way into despair. We are setting standards far too high, imposing conditionals that are beyond ourselves. Happiness requires conditions imposed on oneself, not the outside world. For example, "if I engaged closer with my community, then I would be happy." The structure of the sentence is totally changed.
I think a lot of what's written here is echoed in modern psychotherapy. For instance, living in a way not in line with our deeper values and desires is a form of fragmentation (which a Jungian psychoanalyst might say requires individuation, other therapists might say require living according to one's values, etc.). Transforming the conditionals, on the other hand, is a classic technique in cognitive behavioral therapy, which in turn has its roots in the Stoic tradition.
So much of this should be self-evident, but it isn't always so. We can see these things clearly in other people, but it's remarkably different to see them in ourselves. It's true, my own despair comes from not knowing how to live my life, so I think my way through all kinds of different possibilities, none of which seem appealing enough. It's to the point that it feels like there's no way out--that I will be in this eternal state of circling forever. But, what's needed here is what we might call (but Kierkegaard does not) a "leap of faith." Of course the ground might be shaky, but it doesn't matter. It's the leap itself that matters. This requires action, instead of interminable rumination.
As a final comment, there's an interesting section in the "Either" volume where the author comments on the difference between "pain" and "sorrow." He argued that "pain" is something experienced by everybody; normally you feel it and let it go. But, "sorrow" on the other hand, emerges when we think about our pain over and over and over again, on an unending loop. He speaks a bit about Sophocles's Antigone here, and how sorrow did not affect the ancients as much as it does we moderns, because free will demands that we are fully responsible for our own actions--by believing in fate, the ancient Greeks did not have to worry nearly as much about "regret" as we do. There's something powerfully Nietzschean about this insight: eternal recurrence and amor fati as a way out of despair.
I'm so glad I read this. I might have been more like Judge Vilhelm at one point--as I worked on my Ph.D. dissertation--but I no longer think I am. Since leaving my program, I don't know what to commit to. But, I suppose, it doesn't matter. It's not the thing in itself that's important, but the commitment.