The Necessity of Form

The Necessity of Form
Expressive arts therapy in the light of the work of K.E. Løgstrup
by Majken Jacoby

We seldom fully realize how narrow and puritanical our picture of the world is. Even the language we share can for some mean walls so tall and solid, that only madness can get one over to the other side. By chance I discovered a small ignored hole in the wall: the arts.

Arne Haugen Sørensen


Beauty tends to come unexpectedly. It sneaks up on us and takes us by surprise. Certainly we take pleasure in anticipation of the beauty of, say, the Echo Aria from Bach’s Christmas Oratorio heard many times before, and in that case we know exactly what to expect. Not always, though, do we succeed in really listening to it; but if we do, it is as if we hear it for the first time. We are surprised anew.
At times very little takes us by surprise, more often than not when we long the most for it. Nothing much affects us. Things and events around us reach us only like an indifferent echo from a distance. No aria anymore, beauty has gone.
Life is lonely without surprises. The lines of communication to others and the world seem weakened, maybe even cut off, or ‘ligated’, as K.E. Løgstrup calls it with an expression from medicine. The blood stream has been blocked. No blood flows.
How, then - and from where does beauty come into our lives? What is the connection between aesthetics - that which has to do with the beautiful - and the feeling of being cut off?

A heretical question: are we, because of our therapeutic training and in spite of our artistic training, sometimes stuck in the notion that what counts is what is ‘inside’ - where depth resides - and that the ‘outside’, the surface, is of less value? As my parents told me when I discontentedly stared into the mirror: beauty comes from within.
Of course we know that form cannot be separated from content - but don’t we do it now and again in our work, thereby running the risk that the artistic work imperceptibly becomes an article for use only, a tool for a therapeutic effect, accidentally acquired by means of paper and crayons, drums and movement - beauty or no beauty?
Nothing is wrong with useful articles and tools, and are not therapeutic effects and insights exactly what we go for? Does ‘the beautiful’ - whatever it might be - belong mainly in art schools and not necessarily in therapy?
Beauty or no beauty - it just does not change the fact that art stops being art if it doesn’t relate to aesthetics one way or the other. That is also true when we deal with art created with limited skills.
* * *

The Danish philosopher and theologian K.E.Løgstrup had no relation to therapy whatsoever, and he was not too impressed by psychology - what he knew of it - and its explanations of human nature. He was, however, intensely concerned with the arts and what he called ‘the two world interpretations’: the poetic (aesthetic) and the ethical.
In what way do the arts affect us, he asked. What is the relation between the ethical and the aesthetic - is there a possible mutual reciprocity? If so, how does it manifest itself in our lives?

Human nature has a sensory basis - this is the background of his thinking. It is in its root aesthetic (aesthetic = what has to do with the senses). Through our senses we are irremediably intertwined with the world around us. This fact, Løgstrup says, is what our basic condition springs from. All interpretations of the world must be seen on this background:

... as our body lives on its daily bread, so our soul lives daily in its receptiveness and energy on the surrounding world... It is a kind of nourishment of the soul that we know nothing about, because we consume it every single moment of the day.

Løgstrup was a professor of ethics for many years - he died in 1981 - and he repeatedly discussed the connection between ethics and the arts in his writings, among others in The Ethical Demand, his best known work which I will come back to. In order to follow his thinking, an introduction to a few of his key concepts might be helpful.
Løgstrup was a phenomenologist and he proceeds accordingly: what is it, he asks, that reveals and characterizes our lives? What are the attitudes and patterns, expressions and actions that are uniquely human? He is looking for something essential, un-changeable. In his search he comes upon the phenomena he calls the sovereign life utterances, phenomena that essentially stay the same at all times. Trust is an example: until otherwise proved we trust the next person. Not only do we trust him, but we also trust his word until we are lied to, which is what Løgstrup calls the openness of speech.

To start with we believe each other’s words, to start with we trust each other. This might be strange, but it comes with being human. It would be contrary to life itself to behave differently. We simply would not be able to live. Our lives would become distorted if we in advance met each other with an attitude of mistrust, expecting the other person to steal and lie, to simulate and deceive.

Compassion, hope, indignation, love, sorrow are other examples. He calls them sovereign - and sometimes spontaneous - in order to show that although they manifest themselves in the individual person they go beyond him, beyond time and place, history and society. They occur everywhere. They originate directly from human nature in its interwoven-ness with the world.
The sovereign life utterances appear without ulterior motives, just because we are alive. They are unconditional. As soon as considerations of the purpose of an act or a feeling surface, as soon as thoughts about reason, wisdom or profit make us hesitate, the compassion or trust has gone, is not spontaneous and unconditional anymore: reasons are stated and conditions stipulated.

As a contrast to the sovereign life utterances, Løgstrup sets up different kinds of ‘utterances’: the revolving feelings, feelings such as hate, jealousy and envy. Instead of reaching out, they revolve around themselves and the person who is possessed by them. The revolving feelings confine while the sovereign life utterances open. The latter make us vulnerable. They themselves can get distorted - trust becomes mistrust for example - but they are inextinguishable. They always manifest again: if not in me then in somebody else.

Let me go back to the fact that human nature has a sensory basis: our senses, Løgstrup maintains, seeing, hearing, touch, etc., are an actual entry to the world, not only a mirroring of ourselves. There is something out there, and our senses create a bridge to it and intertwine us with all that is around us. How Løgstrup writes about it is a long way away from positivistic or behavioristic definitions of sensing. A positivist might argue that sovereign life utterances, such as compassion or indignation, cannot be shown empirically and, furthermore, to call these utterances sovereign has nothing to do with the sensory experience itself; it is our reaction to it, we give it a value that does not belong to the sensory experience, but to us ourselves.
No, Løgstrup answers, this is not so; we cannot distinguish between a sensory experience that tells us how the world is and a feeling reaction to it that belongs only to ourselves. There is no naked sensing. The reddish color of sand, the glittering of water, the accumulating clouds and you, my neighbor, always evoke something more; the sensory experience is tuned, connected to a feeling, an atmosphere, and furthermore, the tuned sensory experience - the impression - carries a recognition/realization (Erkenntnis).
Not because we add to it - we certainly do that too - but because the sensing being (we) and the sensed (the world) basically are of the same stuff.
This goes unnoticed, like our daily bread: “It is unconscious to us, also for the reason that it is due solely to the fact that the things exist without (us having) any thoughts of their usefulness.”
In order for us to become aware of this inherent recognition it needs to be articulated. The artistic work, Løgstrup says, is always an attempt to articulate the experience of this sensed tuned-ness, to give it form and shape. This articulation in turn affects us. We come closer to ourselves and the world.
The art work is the result of a more and more precise articulation of what is. We are informed and we understand through everyday language; everyday language, however, as well as scientific language, does not catch the tuned quality of the sensing, its feeling-value. Alone, as a description of reality they are “insufficient”. They are without enigma. A “sufficient” description can only be given by the work of art, the whole intention of which is to articulate what is contained in the tuned-ness. This happens by means of the artistic media which through their sense quality themselves are tuned.
Ole Jensen, a Løgstrup scholar, formulates it like this: “In their articulation of the tuned world-access, the arts differ from philosophy in that the artistic articulation of the tuned-ness itself is
tuned. The arts have the tuned-ness as form and as content at the same time.”

The materials - the clay, the sound of the flute, the color blue - become our teachers. They offer an invitation to be shaped according to their kind and essence. If the art work ‘works’, it is because we have listened to the inherent possibilities of the media. We shape the clay; and the art work points to us who made it, and at the same time, points beyond us.

As the clay is our medium, we are the ‘medium’ of the sovereign life utterances , so to speak. We don’t create them, Løgstrup says, rather they create us. Like the art work they arrive through us and they need to be uttered by us - and like the art work they do not tell us how. They shape us and our relations to each other. They constitute our urge to articulate the tuned sensing in the work of art.
The sovereign life utterances are given to us as a gift; and this “lies close to a religious interpretation”, Løgstrup states, thereby pointing to a third ‘world interpretation’: the religious.
The sovereign life utterances are bigger than humanity. Through them we come alive, as we one day will die. Creation and annihilation are our foundation. We are created as we one day will be annihilated. What is given to us as a gift lies at the root of our being alive, our creativity. And it points to a creator.
Our creativity springs from being created.

* * *

In The Ethical Demand Løgstrup begins by pointing to the fact that we are exposed through the sovereign life utterances - hope, trust, indignation - not by choice but by necessity:

Trust is not up to us. It is given. Above our heads our lives are created in such a way that we can live only if each person exposes himself in trust, shown or wished-for, thus giving more - or less - of himself into the hands of the other.

This image of holding something of the life of another person in one’s hands runs like a root metaphor through the book, and
Løgstrup returns to it many times. From this exposed-ness springs an “... unspoken, almost anonymous demand of us to take care of the life placed in our hands by trust.”
Trust, however, does not always come easily, just as it can be difficult to follow the demand. We would really like to, but we are not able to. We get in our own way as we get in others’, and somehow we become doubly exposed.
This is where social rules and norms have their place, because what is most alive - exposed - cannot, according to Løgstrup, survive formlessness; it needs a “bound expression”.
On the other hand, conventional rules such as “love thy neighbor” have little to do with the ethical demand, even though they sometimes seem to. But since the demand asks of us something that we cannot always give, and since we are not creative at all given times - within the arts or within our relations - we need to adopt conventional or ritualized form. By a kind of neutrality, resorting to no man’s land, we avoid the tough alternative: either to take care of or to neglect and maybe destroy that of the life of another that we hold in our hands.

Løgstrup arrives at the following qualities of the ethical demand: it is silent, hidden, unspoken, and one-sided: it can only be given, not ordered, it is radical: I alone decide unselfishly what serves the other best. We will, Løgstrup says, always fall short of it. We can not fulfill it, it is un-fulfillable.

What are we to do with this un-fulfillable ethical demand? What does it have to do with the arts? With expressive arts therapy? Might we not just as well leave it alone in our too frail human-ness?
A decision to follow the ethical demand does not help us in the confrontations and conflicts to which we have no solutions. On what authority do I lean when I act towards you the way I do? The question of whether my acting is unselfish or is based upon motives which have little to do with what is best for you, may rightly be asked - but who can answer? All authority lies in the actual experiencing of what I do - or not do - towards you. To use the demand as a justification or a measuring rod leads almost unerringly to abuse of power such as: I know what is best for you. Philosophies and ideologies, then, with just one more moral code of ‘ways’ and built-in solutions to ‘a good life’ take over.
The ethical demand “almost anonymously” tells us just this: to take care of life. It does not tell us what or how to do it. It offers no advice, gives no practical hints, lays down no rules or guide-lines as to what in a specific case is asked of us; the actual shaping of ‘taking care of life’ is entirely our concern.
To follow the demand, then, means that each and every act must spring out of the requests of an ever changing and challenging here-and-now; I must be there for it. This calls for an unselfish presence at all times, and that surpasses our ability.
It is a demand for love.
Yes, Løgstrup says, those are our conditions.

And where love never was, the (ethical) demand cannot bring it forth. What is asked of us is nothing less than love being created by the mere fact that the life of another human being is in my hands, without this person in any way belonging to my existence. ... The one-sided demand is lost on us.

We are, nevertheless, left with the decision placed on us by the ethical demand. It does not disappear because we cannot follow it. On the contrary; it outlines a field of tension arising from the fact that our life is given to us, while we behave as if we were its master.
The ethical demand throws a special and indispensable light on our lives. We do everything to relativize the hold it has on us, and as a rule we succeed. But we pay a price:

If the individual takes himself into consideration at the expense of the next person, he lives ... as if he had called himself into life and was the sovereign of his own life. If he on the other hand cares for the life of the other person, he lives his life in the receiving of it. Avoiding the decision and avoiding the act can only be done by turning himself into the evil god of the other person.

As much as we want the freedom to take over our own existence and shape our lives independently - and who does not want that? - our freedom of action and creative power goes only as far as we do not forget who we are: not half-gods, not self-reliant beings, but beings who are inescapably dependent on the surrounding world and “given life as a gift”.

* * *

How, then, do the ethical and the poetical realms, the two interpretations of the world, relate? What do the ethical demand and the arts have to say to each other?
Reading Løgstrup one is struck by his parallel use of language and metaphor when he talks about and describes the ethical and poetic realities: both demand a “bound expression”, both “throw a special and indispensable light upon our lives”.
We “bind” the expression of our actions - spontaneously in the sovereign life utterances or through the conventions of rules and norms - in order to take care of what is alive and thus exposed. Un-bound, un-shaped, what is alive between us and in us will perish; we will become deformed.
The same goes for the poetical: it “binds” expression in imagery and metaphor, in sound and rhythm - thereby becoming a work of art - in order to take care of and capture what cannot be said differently without losing precision; un-bound, what wanted to be said is lost, it remains hidden in the impression. And, as Løgstrup says: “The greater the sensitivity and intensity, the more precise the articulation needs to be ...”

Usually we keep a certain distance to the world but not when we are in the grip of the poetical. Then we fall into poetic openness, making the world unforeseen and present; beautiful.
Does beauty have something to do with the longing to be spoken to by the fullness of reality - and for a while feel at home in this world? Does it have to do with the longing to speak of it all, also that which cannot be said and therefore turning to the arts which offer “a sufficient description”?
Certain experiences can only be captured through poetic expression. Everyday language and scientific language are, of course, indispensable, but in their different ways they are reductive in so far as they do not catch the tuned-ness.
Beauty, however, is never the aim of the poetical. If it were, we would get stuck in aestheticising - beauty for beauty’s sake. Nobody and nothing would then be addressed, and again we would lose our connection to the world, we would cut our roots.

Beauty arrives, almost as a side-effect, but a totally indispensably one, because “... beauty comes forth and discloses the truth that is obscured by triviality in its lack of precision and presence.”.
Beauty and truth come together.

The ethical as well as the poetic realities “throw light upon our lives” and both “point to the contradiction we live in” . The poetic experience opens the world, brings it close to us, in a way which everyday, trivial, living is unable to. Trivial living, according to Løgstrup, is life lived from a distance; truth is not disclosed but ‘veiled’. This is the contradiction which the poetic experience, as well as the ethical, throws light upon. In everyday life we are informed, but “...the poetical - as opposed to ‘understanding’ - does not inform, but calls forth a world.”

Triviality discloses our ignorance. We are disconnected, senselessly revolving around ourselves, because “triviality is the number one enemy of the sensuous.”
To talk of triviality is also to talk of an ethical category, Løgstrup says. What we experience poetically is denied by our own existence: we live trivially confined while we open ourselves to an un-trivial presence through the arts. This tension between the trivial confinement of everyday life and the un-trivial presence in poetic openness is not only unavoidable but also necessary; it belongs to life, and - this is Løgstup’s point - it constitutes our personality.
We are shaped through this conflict.

Thus the arts shape us, but they are not in our - or any - service. If this was not the case, they would eventually deform us according to what, or who, they served, no matter how benign the purpose at first it might seem.
In poetic openness we come closer to life than we do in everyday living; and “almost anonymously” life itself bids us - through the sovereign life utterances - to take care of the life we hold in our hands.
From this experience stems the ethical demand; the ethical gains perspective by the poetically experienced. The ethical interpretation of the world “ ... stems from the poetically experienced itself.“
Through poetic experience we become aware of what we hold in our hands, aware of its beauty.

Beauty lies at the root of our existence. We can only stay alive by staying exposed and vulnerable. No final statements can be given; we are obliged to live and act in uncertainty. Forgetting that means calling for a fundamentalistic attitude that is contrary to life itself - contrary to beauty.
Beauty has no practical use: it never tell us what to do. It carries no directions of action, but forces us to go beyond the useful, encounter the unexpected, and become aware of the unsolvable riddle of our existence. We lose mastery in the presence of beauty, because there is no mastery to hold on to. The mastery is one of being there and acting. But how? Old notions of “depth” and “surface” crumble. We are thrown into helplessness - and that is a relief. It touches us, and “ ... the person who is touched is not alone.”
The blood flows again.
Beauty binds us to the world. It tells us that we really are here, finally, even if ‘being here’ means living with pain, sorrow, insecurity, confusion and helplessness as well. However, in Løgstrup’s words,

- it is not something foreign that breaks into (man’s) customary and familiar world from the outside. But the world, nature, and the things surrounding him and with which he is entangled by the bearings of his senses and mind ... become present in a new and different way.

Our approach to beauty, at times groping, may have to do with the fact that it leaves us, in Løgstrup’s sense, exposed - although we know well that the new that we long for, which sometimes seems so far away, may find its way into our lives precisely by beauty, a beauty that is restricted neither to a certain content nor form, a beauty which emerges when experience is interpreted in the art work with presence and precision, touching us. The special field of tension that belongs to our profession - humanity and art in a therapy context - challenges us to care for both.
We cannot master life. We can only live it. Sometimes we are surprised. And sometimes it happens that what was stuck gets un-stuck.
Did it happen through a touch of beauty?

* * *

Why concern oneself with the writings of Løgstrup in a book about the foundations of expressive arts therapy?
Løgstrup, a professor of ethics and a theologian, may seem far away from the attempt to encircle the field of our profession, theoretically and philosophically, not to mention the many questions of a concrete and practical nature that pertain to a normal working day.
Because of his distance from the usual discourse of the field, however, his thinking may act for us as a thought-provoking sounding board. During the last twenty years, expressive arts therapy has expanded dramatically, and this calls for ongoing research into its philosophical foundations and a continued discourse concerning its essential nature.
I believe Løgstrup is of interest here. His engagement with the poetic and ethical ‘world interpretations’ without any direct relation to therapy may, as a foreign voice, help expressive arts therapy to hear its own in the choir of the therapeutically-schooled voices of our day.

Let me sum up Løgstrup’s basic position: human being has a sensory, aesthetic, basis. What comes to us through our senses, what impresses us is value-laden. It has a bodily-anchored emotionality. It ties us together with everything around us. Out of this fact springs the ethical demand to take care of what we, through this interdependence, hold in our hands of the life of the person next to us.
What we experience through this sensory, aesthetic opening to the world wants to be ‘articulated’, given form, in the work of art. It is not we who want. It, the impression, wants to be ‘articulated’. The inclination to shape artistically comes with being human. It presses itself upon us, so to speak, with a realization that escapes us until shaped in artistic form. This realization can never be expressed fully by everyday language, as art cannot be in the service of a specific purpose without weakening or distorting its message. The artistic expression cannot be replaced by something else.

Not only are our senses a door to the world, they constitute our being alive and our ablility to understand: in our nature sensing - feeling -understanding go hand in hand.
The artistic work is always sensory. It has ‘body’, no matter which arts discipline we are dealing with. For example music, so ephemeral, has structure and shape as has any art work, and through the performing of it it unfolds and gains ‘substance’. For us to hear it we need to mobilize our sensing-feeling-understanding, ‘structure-sensitive’ bodies.
Thus being thrown into presence is one of the precondition of therapy. Whether we are in the role of the artist or the audience, the client or the therapist, we are challenged to become present ”in a new and different way,” different from inconsequentiality and triviality. The sensory experience of now, the bodily anchored emotions and thoughts echo into the sensory experience of then - as it does into a not yet experienced, but only dreamed of, later.

The art work is specific and ‘singular’ as Løgstrup states, one of a kind; at the same time it taps into universal experience and embodies a multiplicity of possible meanings. By engaging ourselves in the singularity of the artistic work some of these may become clear to us. It does not make sense to talk about “tree” or “sky”; you must look at the sky in my picture. Look at its shape, what is next to it, its color - not blue but red-yellow-purple: is it the sky of a winter morning or does it tell of catastrophes and terror? Bombs and burning fires or birds and quiet, early awakening? Is it the red night sky of the metropolis hectically teeming with activity, or the sun setting over the barren desert? Where are we? What is going on? Who is talking?

Through its sensory qualities the art work forces us to consider our basis, and doubly so; it demands our sensing - feeling - understanding presence to find its form - we must be there ‘in person’ - at the same time as it gives body and anchoring to the messages embedded in it and which, who knows how, is grasped by us. However abstract its form and language may be, it pulls us away from abstractions and generalisations and down into the flesh and blood of experience.
The danger of the bodiless abstraction is exactly this, that it belongs to nobody in particular. Often it becomes rule-like and norm-setting. The rule or norm may even be one that has my sympathy, but in so far as it is not an individual, personal realisation it lacks the necessary anchoring in actual, concrete experience; it stands on ‘nothing in particular’, provides thus ‘nothing in particular’ to understand from.
In the specific, singular, work of art the phenomena of our experience, our peculiarity, stay grounded. Ideas and world views do not live a life of their own - as ‘opinions’ or airy superstructures - but they reside in and spring from an actuality in which I participate.

What Løgstrup demonstrates to us, phenomenologically, is the close, unbreakable tie between sensing, feeling and understanding - embedded in, Løgstrup might say, that which goes beyond our understanding. The tuned sensing carries a realization which unfolds in the articulation of the art work. What already is given in the sensing - but which escapes us until given a form - may now speak to us in a way which we can understand.
The circle is complete.

* * *

Artist and art work are partners in an exchange. They are ‘equals’ as partners are. Both need our care; to stay in the exchange instead of forcing the work our way is the challenge of this partnership and this is also where the “new and different” may become visible. New aspects of the world may appear on the scene just by the changing of form, aspects which previously were not clear to us. Through an artistic ‘staging’ of the senses, as Gregersen and Køppe say, the arts bring into play universal feelings and ideas.

The artist Per Kirkeby, painter and poet, tells about looking at paintings: “One stands there, has a conversation with something in the picture. With paintings one can converse about the real things - death and love and all the really big things.”
To be our partners in an exchange, our conversation partners, the arts need to be separate from us, out there on stage, approached and addressed as bodies in their own right. They need space and so do we, a space large enough for us to be able to look away; we can only see what is in front of us if it is possible to look at something else. We need distance, spacially and emotionally, in order to come close and grasp it. This was, I think, what the Swiss writer Friedrich Dürrenmatt had in mind when he in an essay called Kunst (Art) wrote that, “(a)ny art work needs a distance to its content.”
In History of Ideas by Gregersen and Køppe we find the same thought. Art constitutes “... a place where the creation of a fictive world, that is an imaginative world, greatly contributes to throwing new light upon the ‘real world’ ... it secures and establishes a place outside the world, from where the world can be observed and commented on.” (My italics.)

The raw materials of the arts - color, sound, space, matter, time, etc. - are not created by us; as artists we subject ourselves to them. They bring tidings from a world with which we are intertwined; we learn from that which is not us and from that which we freely can look away from. The ‘not-us’ quality of the arts and the art media help us to become aware of who we are, or are not, and that we are: the art work “... gives us a possibility to experience that we exist.”

This tension between what is us and what is not us - but with which we are “entangled by the bearings of our senses”- creates thus a basis for staying alive and well; if this is overlooked or disregarded we become misshapen and deformed. Our being formed, our formation, depends on keeping intact the separateness of the person and the art work - they ‘are’ not each other but, as we have seen, ‘of the same stuff’: intertwined yet separate.
The aesthetic urge, born when we were born, the potential to shape experience in such a way that it starts to talk and tell us what can not be told differently, is built into our being as a gift. Like other gifts we do not always know what to do with it. All the same, the poetic world interpretation, ‘held’ and made possible by the picture, dance, music, theatre, poetry, film, architecture, sculpture, performance and all the rest, is a way of bridging the gap of isolation and hopelessness that we sometimes fall into. It is a way of coming to our senses, feeling our being in the world and searching for its possible meaning.
The artistic reality is filled with contrasts and opposites and we have only touched on some of them. Acknowledging this complexity, however, provides us with
a frame of reference that equals a psychological and physical reality just as complex. The many-layered artistic awareness is part of what “shapes the character and constitutes the personality” of expressive arts therapy - to adapt a formulation of Løgstrup’s.

* * *

All the way through the writings of Løgstrup are carried by the contrast of life and death, the tension between creation and annihilation - against which we are helpless. Everything we do has this as its ground. Life is given to us for an unknown period of time, and together with it comes a demand to take care of what we, often unwillingly, hold in our hands of the life of the person next to us.
This demand, as we have seen, always surpasses our abilities. To put it aside and ignore it, however, is to play into the hands of deformation and annihilation: taking care of, then, means to give form and body to whatever is present in our lives. Formlessness equals neglect; the forming may be difficult, perhaps even impossible, but to refuse its demand on us is “contrary to life”.
The care-taking may happen through the artistic media in the art work or in the therapeutic encounter with the other person; in essence the demand is the same - ethical as well as aethetic.
This is the necessity of form.
However uncertain we may be - and uncertainty belongs to our basic condition -, when the search for form is governed by the urge of searching for the ‘right’ form - between you and me, between artist and art work - ethics and aesthetics merge. They come together into the act of articulation.
Thus the act of articulation becomes an act of care - for the life placed in our hands, for the beauty that at times shines on us, a care that is at the core of expressive arts therapy.
Let me give the last word to Løgstrup, philosopher of ethics and aesthetics who, I suspect, found psychology somewhat trivial:
Philosophy can - at best - make an understanding clear.
Poetry can make it present.


References:
Dürrenmatt, F. (1989)
Denkanstösse (Impulses to Thought) . Zürich: Diogenes

Gregersen, F. and Køppe, S. eds. (1994)
Idehistorie. Ideer og strømninger i det 2o. århundrede.
(Ideas and Trends in the 20th Century). Copenhagen: Amanda.

Hauge, H. (1992)
K.E. Løgstrup. En moderne profet (K.E. Løgstrup. A Modern Prophet).
Århus: Spektrum

Jensen, O. (1994)
Sårbar usårlighed. Løgstrup og religionens genkomst i filosofien
(Vulnerable Invulnerability. Løgstrup and the Return of Religion in Philosophy.) Copenhagen: Gyldendal.

Kirkeby, P. (1994)
Interview in Agenda no. 37. Århus: Bladgruppen Ajour.

Løgstrup, K.E. (1956, 1991)
Den etiske fordring.(The Ethical Demand.). Copenhagen: Gyldendal

Løgstrup, K.E. (1983)
Kunst og erkendelse. Metafysik II (Art and Realisation. Metaphysics II). Copenhagen: Gyldendal.

Løgstrup, K.E. (1978)
Skabelse og tilintetgørelse. Religionsfilosofiske betragtninger. Metafysik IV.
(Creation and annihilation. Reflections on religious philosophy. Metaphysics IV.) Copenhagen: Gyldendal.
Sørensen, A. Haugen (1995)
Ord på vejen. (Words On The Way)
From the exhibition catalogue of the Museum of Sophienholm,
Lyngby: Museum of Sophienholm.