*Fear and Trembling
Fear and Trembling -Soren Kerkegaard
It is important for Abraham to have never given up the finitude of wanting his son alive. This is the dialectical nature of faith, to not only believe in God, but to fear him, not only to believe in life after death, but to live in this life before death. It is absurd for God to have asked Abraham to sacrifice his only son, but Abraham traveled three days journey to complete the act. It is absurd for God to then allow Abraham to sacrifice a ram instead of his son, but Abraham rejoiced. If he had not faith, the Joy at gaining a son, instead of having to kill him, would have been incomplete.
Problema One: Abraham’s action, that of meaning to kill his son, was not ethical, it was beyond ethics. The ethics were “teleologically suspended.” Kierkegaard carefully makes the distinction between the pagan (faithless) tragic hero, who suspends his own will for the upholding of a greater ethic and Abraham (the knight (father) of faith), who acts by a purely personal virtue. “He does it for God’s sake… and for his own sake in order to be able to produce the proof” of his faith, because that is what God demands of him. The tragic hero upholds a virtue outside of himself, and so for him we can weep, and laud. But the knight of faith goes beyond virtue, and, his action is absurd. For God is beyond our rationale. “When a person sets out on the tragic hero’s admittedly hard path there are many who could lend him advice; but he who walks the narrow path of faith no one can advise, no one understand.”
Probelma Two: Is there an absolute duty to God? The answer is in the koan-like aphorism: “the knight of faith is kept in constant tension.” Tension? What tension is there in perfect faith? Is not faith the opposite of tension, unsurety, of quavering? Is not faith the pillar holding man to God? What then is there of tension? The common quip to “build on rock” could be extrapolated to build on the deepest, hardest rock, deeper, still, all the way digging to the center of the earth, where the rock has become so adamant that it has turned to fire, which is the essence of rock. Flame. With faith the same. The essence of faith lies in its tension. Its question.
Problema Three: The story of Abraham extends far beyond a genre. Into the absurd. Kierkegaard asks if it was ethical for Abraham not to tell his wife, his servant, or his son what he was going to Moriah to do. It was neither ethical, nor unethical, because even if Abraham tried to explain or expiate himself, he could not. He spoke a language not of men, but of Faith. He spoke in tongues. “Aesthetics can well understand that I sacrifice myself, but not that I should sacrifice another for my own sake,” which is exactly what Abraham did. Yet, to put it lightly, it perturbed him. When Isaac asked where the lamb was, Abraham broke his silence and answered, “My son, God will provide himself a lamb for a burnt offering.” He said this because he truly believed it. He had faith that either, as happened, a ram would replace his son, or, if he went through and killed his son God would restore him. This is not a self-sacrifice, or, in Kierkegaard’s words, “infinite resignation,” rather, it is faithfully and resolutely holding onto the self-employ, or self-will, that he doesn’t want to kill his son. The tragic hero would resign himself, sacrifice his will and murder his son for the “greater” good. Abraham, the knight of faith, does greater than “greater”, he maintains his will unto God. Proof of this is his clarity of acceptance of, first, the ram, and second and most importantly, his son. This is what hits me the most. In pure faith, he is filled with Joy not to have to sacrifice Isaac. This rejoicing is not a test of faith, it is not a result, but it is an indelible mark. If he had not perfect faith, there would be guilt, or doubt, or even, simply, hesitation. I don’t mean hesitation to lift the knife, which there obviously wasn’t… but the hesitation that there wasn’t to take back his son.
Kierkegaard maintains that “faith is the highest passion.” It is what each generation is born without and only a few of each generation achieve. Yet faith is only and the only stepping stone for something far greater. Love. Call it ascension. Christ ascended not in faith, not even because of faith, (though without it he would never even have been killed) but in love. He ascended not in passion, but only after passing all passion. Faith, simply, is not a shovel. It is not a tool at all. It is not the anvil or the hammer. It may be the blacksmith. (A blacksmith because a blacksmith is not useful, it is of no use to the gardener. You can’t dig with a blacksmith, but, nor can you dig without a blacksmith) And love, then, are the tools that the blacksmith makes. It is also every tool that he doesn’t make. And even every tool that he couldn’t make. (Imagine three-spaded shovels, hoes that do the hoing, scissors with ball and socket hinges) Love is the anvil and it is the bread that powers the blacksmith’s arm and the wine that he drinks with his wife. It is the fire and it is the bellows. It is the steel and it is the ingot and it is the mold. It is the coup de grace of the blacksmith’s sword. It is the death groan and the weeping widow and the orphaned child and the revolution and the lily in the field and this one mis-cropped wishing great things into metallurgy. Oh, Soul!
“I can swim in life, but for this mysterious floating I am too heavy.”
“and yet it is only the knight of faith who is happy, only he is heir apparent to the finite.”
It is important for Abraham to have never given up the finitude of wanting his son alive. This is the dialectical nature of faith, to not only believe in God, but to fear him, not only to believe in life after death, but to live in this life before death. It is absurd for God to have asked Abraham to sacrifice his only son, but Abraham traveled three days journey to complete the act. It is absurd for God to then allow Abraham to sacrifice a ram instead of his son, but Abraham rejoiced. If he had not faith, the Joy at gaining a son, instead of having to kill him, would have been incomplete.
Problema One: Abraham’s action, that of meaning to kill his son, was not ethical, it was beyond ethics. The ethics were “teleologically suspended.” Kierkegaard carefully makes the distinction between the pagan (faithless) tragic hero, who suspends his own will for the upholding of a greater ethic and Abraham (the knight (father) of faith), who acts by a purely personal virtue. “He does it for God’s sake… and for his own sake in order to be able to produce the proof” of his faith, because that is what God demands of him. The tragic hero upholds a virtue outside of himself, and so for him we can weep, and laud. But the knight of faith goes beyond virtue, and, his action is absurd. For God is beyond our rationale. “When a person sets out on the tragic hero’s admittedly hard path there are many who could lend him advice; but he who walks the narrow path of faith no one can advise, no one understand.”
Probelma Two: Is there an absolute duty to God? The answer is in the koan-like aphorism: “the knight of faith is kept in constant tension.” Tension? What tension is there in perfect faith? Is not faith the opposite of tension, unsurety, of quavering? Is not faith the pillar holding man to God? What then is there of tension? The common quip to “build on rock” could be extrapolated to build on the deepest, hardest rock, deeper, still, all the way digging to the center of the earth, where the rock has become so adamant that it has turned to fire, which is the essence of rock. Flame. With faith the same. The essence of faith lies in its tension. Its question.
Problema Three: The story of Abraham extends far beyond a genre. Into the absurd. Kierkegaard asks if it was ethical for Abraham not to tell his wife, his servant, or his son what he was going to Moriah to do. It was neither ethical, nor unethical, because even if Abraham tried to explain or expiate himself, he could not. He spoke a language not of men, but of Faith. He spoke in tongues. “Aesthetics can well understand that I sacrifice myself, but not that I should sacrifice another for my own sake,” which is exactly what Abraham did. Yet, to put it lightly, it perturbed him. When Isaac asked where the lamb was, Abraham broke his silence and answered, “My son, God will provide himself a lamb for a burnt offering.” He said this because he truly believed it. He had faith that either, as happened, a ram would replace his son, or, if he went through and killed his son God would restore him. This is not a self-sacrifice, or, in Kierkegaard’s words, “infinite resignation,” rather, it is faithfully and resolutely holding onto the self-employ, or self-will, that he doesn’t want to kill his son. The tragic hero would resign himself, sacrifice his will and murder his son for the “greater” good. Abraham, the knight of faith, does greater than “greater”, he maintains his will unto God. Proof of this is his clarity of acceptance of, first, the ram, and second and most importantly, his son. This is what hits me the most. In pure faith, he is filled with Joy not to have to sacrifice Isaac. This rejoicing is not a test of faith, it is not a result, but it is an indelible mark. If he had not perfect faith, there would be guilt, or doubt, or even, simply, hesitation. I don’t mean hesitation to lift the knife, which there obviously wasn’t… but the hesitation that there wasn’t to take back his son.
Kierkegaard maintains that “faith is the highest passion.” It is what each generation is born without and only a few of each generation achieve. Yet faith is only and the only stepping stone for something far greater. Love. Call it ascension. Christ ascended not in faith, not even because of faith, (though without it he would never even have been killed) but in love. He ascended not in passion, but only after passing all passion. Faith, simply, is not a shovel. It is not a tool at all. It is not the anvil or the hammer. It may be the blacksmith. (A blacksmith because a blacksmith is not useful, it is of no use to the gardener. You can’t dig with a blacksmith, but, nor can you dig without a blacksmith) And love, then, are the tools that the blacksmith makes. It is also every tool that he doesn’t make. And even every tool that he couldn’t make. (Imagine three-spaded shovels, hoes that do the hoing, scissors with ball and socket hinges) Love is the anvil and it is the bread that powers the blacksmith’s arm and the wine that he drinks with his wife. It is the fire and it is the bellows. It is the steel and it is the ingot and it is the mold. It is the coup de grace of the blacksmith’s sword. It is the death groan and the weeping widow and the orphaned child and the revolution and the lily in the field and this one mis-cropped wishing great things into metallurgy. Oh, Soul!
“I can swim in life, but for this mysterious floating I am too heavy.”
“and yet it is only the knight of faith who is happy, only he is heir apparent to the finite.”
posted by JohnWashington at 2:21 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home