20th century existentialismmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

I was attracted to Kierkegaard because out of all the famous existentialists he seems to be the most well-adjusted and happy, and I was curious to see how he squared his spirituality with his existentialism. Making my way slowly through this collection, I did occasionally find interesting little nuggets of wisdom and turns of phrase, but for the most part I found the ideas scattered and maddeningly impenetrable. While some musings seem to have stood the test of time, others seem hopelessly outdated. Maybe classical philosophy just isn't for me.

This guy is funny.

IT. IS. DONE.

I think I have the courage to doubt everything; I think I have the courage to fight everything.

How barren is my soul and thought, and yet incessantly tormented by vacuous, rapturous and agonizing birth pangs! Is my spirit to be forever tongue-tied? Must I always babble? What I need is a voice as penetrating as the glance of Lynceus, terrifying as the sigh of the giants, persistent as a sound of nature, mocking as a frost-chilled gust of wind, malicious as Echo’s callous scorn, with a compass from the deepest bass to the most melting chest-notes, modulating from the whisper of gentle holiness to the violent fury of rage. That is what I need to get air, to give expression to what is on my mind, to stir the bowels of my wrath and of my sympathy.

Let others complain that our age is evil; my complaint is that it is paltry. For it is without passion. People’s thoughts are thin and flimsy as lace, they themselves are as pitiable as lacemakers. The thoughts in their hearts are too paltry to be sinful. For a worm it might be considered a sin to harbour such thoughts, but not for the human being shaped in the image of God. Their desires are stodgy and sluggish, their passions sleepy. They do their duty, these hucksters, but like the Jews, they let themselves clip the coin just a little; they think that however well the good Lord keeps His books, they can still get away with cheating Him a little. Fie upon them! That’s why my soul always reverts to the Old Testament and to Shakespeare. There at least one feels that it’s human beings talking. There people hate, people love, people murder their enemy and curse his descendants through all generations, there people sin.

I lack altogether patience to live. I cannot see the grass grow, but since I cannot I don’t feel at all inclined to. My views are the fleeting observations of a travelling scholar rushing through life in the greatest haste. People say the good Lord fills the stomach before the eyes. I haven’t noticed; my eyes have had enough and I am weary of everything, and yet I hunger.

I struggle in vain. My foot slips. My life is still a poet’s existence. What could be more unhappy? I am chosen; fate laughs at me when it suddenly shows me how everything I do to resist becomes an element in such an existence.

Is there anything that could divert me? Yes, if I caught sight of a fidelity that stood every trial, an enthusiasm that sustained everything, a faith that moved mountains;