Free Kierkegaard by Stephen Backhouse Page A

freedom of the press and, crucially, its sense of self-importance. He argued that the recent political reforms the press had been claiming responsibility for had, in fact, originated from the government. The presentation was hailed as a success from many quarters. Ostermann was impressed by the “brilliant dialectic and wit” Søren showed at puncturing his arguments, but he did not bother to engage further with the dilettante. Ostermann recognised that Søren was not a serious political sparring partner. “I knew [he] had only a slight interest in the reality of the matter.” Søren seems to have chosen the position for largely polemical, rhetorical reasons, but in any case he continued the attack in the newspapers for the next few months under the pseudonym “B.” These pieces were also feted and after a bit of speculation in the student press, Søren was “outed” as the true source.
    As a result, Søren garnered a reputation amongst Copenhagen’s literati. The circle was led by Johan Ludvig Heiberg and his wife, Joanna, an actress and celebrated beauty. A leading light of what would come to be known as Denmark’s “Golden Age,” it was J. L. Heiberg who was one of the first to introduce Hegel to the Copenhagen scene. He was also an accomplished playwright and dramatic theorist who aligned his aesthetics with Hegelian systematics. Heiberg was the editor of The Flying Post and other literary journals. His attention could make or break careers, and he knew it. It is not hard to imagine young Søren’s beating heart and trembling fingers as he cracked the seal on the invitation to his first Heiberg soiree.

    A view of old Copenhagen
    Søren was a hit. He soon gained a reputation for his quick mind and witty repartee. Kierkegaard would go on to become a regular fixture at the salon parties, which included luminaries of the age such as the scientist H. C. Ørsted, Hans Christian Andersen, Møller, and Martensen. Søren seemed to be taking to this world like a duck to water. Yet the journals of this time reveal the furious paddling going on just under the surface. In one entry Søren likens himself to a two-faced Janus: “with one face I laugh, with the other I cry.” “ People understand me so little that they do not even understand my laments over their not understanding me,” he wrote after one such soiree. And after another:
I have just now come from a gathering where I was the life and soul of the party; witticisms flowed out of my mouth; everybody laughed, admired me—but I left, yes, the dash ought to be as long as the radii of the earth’s orbit———–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––and wanted to shoot myself.

    The public could see the comparison between Søren and his brother Peter, his relationship with his father, his spending habits, odd ways, desultory studies, sharp wit, polemical manner, impressive friends. They saw a cocky young gentleman with little practical sense, too much spare time, too much money, and a lot of unfocused talent. And they saw rightly. What no one could know, however, was that Søren saw it too.
    Søren began keeping a journal in 1833 and would continue to fill pages of volumes until his death in 1855. It is not a conventional diary by any means and rarely mentions the sort of daily events that other people tend to include in their log books. Most of the journal entries are undated. Some read like rough drafts of essays or written psychological experiments tracing the implications of this or that supposition. Some entries are rough-and-ready fragments; others are carefully edited with the full realisation that they would one day be read by others. The tone of the entries from the early stage of Søren’s life are introspective, demonstrating a high level of self-awareness and insight into what