Life Must Be Understood Backwards — But Lived Forwards

 

Life Must Be Understood Backwards — But Lived Forwards

This illustration is made in co-operation with OpenAI/ChatGPT from a photo taken by my father. I am five years old here, fishing in the Adirondacks Mountains, Up-State New York,

Opening

“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”
— Søren Kierkegaard

I find myself returning to this sentence these days.

Not as an abstract philosophical idea—but as something lived.

I am writing a book of memories. My memories.
And I ask myself, quietly: Why?

I do not have a clear answer.
I simply feel the need to do it.

Perhaps it is because time has opened up.
Perhaps because, with age, the past comes closer.
Or perhaps because I sense that memory is fragile—and that what is not written may slowly disappear.

Some memories come gently. Others carry weight.
But they all seem to ask for attention.

Looking for Meaning

Kierkegaard’s words touch something in me.

If I want to understand my life, I must look backwards.
But I cannot live there.

Life insists on moving forward.

And that is the tension.

I read. I search. I try to find where Kierkegaard actually wrote this.
Not just the quote—but the source.

It turns out the sentence we often use is incomplete.

In his journals from 1843, he writes something more demanding:

It is true that life must be understood backwards.
But we forget that it must be lived forwards.
And the more one reflects on this, the clearer it becomes that life can never fully be understood—because we are never able to stand still long enough to truly look back.

This changes something.

Understanding is always incomplete.
Because life does not pause.

What Are We Looking For?

When we turn to the past—what do we actually seek?

Do we look for explanations?
For someone to blame?
For confirmation of what we already believe?

Or do we look for something else—
traces of care, moments of closeness, signs of meaning?

Our intention matters.

It shapes what we see.

Between Past and Future

The past cannot be relived.
The future cannot be known.

And yet, we often try to live in one of them.

Kierkegaard warns against this.
And here, I also think of Martin Heidegger—
and his idea of being present, here and now.

Life happens in the moment.

Not in memory. Not in anticipation.

A Simple Image

As I write, an image keeps returning to me.

I am sitting in a rowboat.

The boat moves forward.
But my gaze is turned backwards.

I see where I have been.
The landscape shifts as I move.

And slowly, something becomes clearer—not everything, but enough.

Enough to know where I am.

And perhaps enough to choose a direction.

A Quiet Ending

Maybe this is what Kierkegaard was pointing toward:

We never fully understand life.
But we can come closer.

Not by stopping.
But by moving—while remembering.

And so I continue writing.

One memory at a time.

References (APA)

Kierkegaard, S. (2000). Søren Kierkegaards Skrifter (Vol. 18). Copenhagen: GAD.

Kierkegaard, S. (1962). Journals and Papers (H. V. Hong & E. H. Hong, Eds. & Trans.). Indiana University Press.

Heidegger, M. (1962). Being and Time (J. Macquarrie & E. Robinson, Trans.). Blackwell.

This illustration is made by Open AI/ChatGPT in co-operation with me, from a photo taken by my wife. The lake is Vegår, in Southern Norway (Vegårshei/Agder). I am 70 years old here, still reflecting over life backwards, but living my life forwards.

The text is mine and OpenAI/ChatGPT has created the illustrations.