Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard
his faith: it seemed to him the most glorious fate to be remembered
as the Father of Faith, and a most enviable lot to be possessed of
that faith, even if no one knew it.
The man we speak of was no learned exegetist, he did not even
understand Hebrew--who knows but a knowledge of Hebrew might have
helped him to understand readily both the story and Abraham.
I
And God tempted Abraham and said unto him: take Isaac, thine
only son, whom thou lovest and go to the land Moriah and sacrifice
him there on a mountain which I shall show thee.[1]
It was in the early morning, Abraham arose betimes and had his
asses saddled. He departed from his tent, and Isaac with him;
but Sarah looked out of the window after them until they were
out of sight. Silently they rode for three days; but on the fourth
morning Abraham said not a word but lifted up his eyes and beheld
Mount Moriah in the distance. He left his servants behind and,
leading Isaac by the hand, he approached the mountain. But Abraham
said to himself: "I shall surely conceal from Isaac whither he is
going." He stood still, he laid his hand on Isaac's head to bless
him, and Isaac bowed down to receive his blessing. And Abraham's
aspect was fatherly, his glance was mild, his speech admonishing.
But Isaac understood him not, his soul would not rise to him; he
embraced Abraham's knees, he besought him at his feet, he begged
for his young life, for his beautiful hopes, he recalled the joy
in Abraham's house when he was born, he reminded him of the sorrow
and the loneliness that would be after him. Then did Abraham raise
up the youth and lead him by his hand, and his words were full of
consolation and admonishment. But Isaac understood him not. He
ascended Mount Moriah, but Isaac understood him not. Then Abraham
averted his face for a moment; but when Isaac looked again, his
father's countenance was changed, his glance wild, his aspect
terrible, he seized Isaac and threw him to the ground and said:
"Thou foolish lad, believest thou I am thy father? An idol-worshipper
am I. Believest thou it is God's command? Nay, but my pleasure."
Then Isaac trembled and cried out in his fear: "God in heaven,
have pity on me, God of Abraham, show mercy to me, I have no
father on earth, be thou then my father!" But Abraham said softly
to himself: "Father in heaven, I thank thee. Better is it that
he believes me inhuman than that he should lose his faith in thee."
When the child is to be weaned, his mother blackens her breast;
for it were a pity if her breast should look sweet to him when he
is not to have it. Then the child believes that her breast has
changed; but his mother is ever the same, her glance is full of love
and as tender as ever. Happy he who needed not worse means to wean
his child!
II
It was in the early morning. Abraham arose betimes and embraced
Sarah, the bride of his old age. And Sarah kissed Isaac who had
taken the shame from her--Isaac, her pride, her hope for all
coming generations. Then the twain rode silently along their way,
and Abraham's glance was fastened on the ground before him; until
on the fourth day, when he lifted up his eyes and beheld Mount
Moriah in the distance; but then his eyes again sought the ground.
Without a word he put the fagots in order and bound Isaac, and
without a word he unsheathed his knife. Then he beheld the ram God
had chosen, and sacrificed him, and wended his way home.... From
that day on Abraham, grew old. He could not forget that God had
required this of him. Isaac flourished as before; but Abraham's
eye was darkened, he saw happiness no more.
When the child has grown and is to be weaned, his mother will in
maidenly fashion conceal her breast. Then the child has a mother
no longer. Happy the child who lost not his mother in any other sense!
III
It was in the early morning. Abraham arose betimes; he kissed Sarah,
the young mother, and Sarah kissed Isaac, her joy, her delight for
all times. And Abraham rode on his way, lost in thought--he was
thinking of Hagar and her son whom he had driven out into the
wilderness. He ascended Mount Moriah and he drew the knife.
It was a calm evening when Abraham rode out alone, and he rode to
Mount Moriah. There he cast himself down on his face and prayed to
God to forgive him his sin in that he had been about to sacrifice
his son Isaac, and in that the father had forgotten his duty toward
his son. And yet oftener he rode on his lonely way, but he found
no rest. He could not grasp that it was a sin that he had wanted to
sacrifice to God his most precious possession, him for whom he would
most gladly have died many times. But, if it was a sin, if he had
not loved Isaac thus, then could he not grasp the possibility that
he could be forgiven: for what sin more terrible?
When the child is to be weaned, the mother is not without sorrow
that she and her child are to be separated more and more, that the
child who had first lain under her heart, and afterwards at any
rate rested at her breast, is to be so near to her no more. So
they sorrow together for that brief while. Happy he who kept his
child so near to him and needed not to sorrow more!
IV
It was in the early morning. All was ready for the journey in
the house of Abraham. He bade farewell to Sarah; and Eliezer,
his faithful servant, accompanied him along the way for a little
while. They rode together in peace, Abraham and Isaac, until
they came to Mount Moriah. And Abraham prepared everything for
the sacrifice, calmly and mildly; but when his father turned
aside in order to unsheathe his knife, Isaac saw that Abraham's
left hand was knit in despair and that a trembling shook his
frame--but Abraham drew forth the knife.
Then they returned home again, and Sarah hastened to meet them;
but Isaac had lost his faith. No one in all the world ever said
a word about this, nor did Isaac speak to any man concerning
what he had seen, and Abraham suspected not that any one had seen it.
When the child is to be weaned, his mother has the stronger food
ready lest the child perish. Happy he who has in readiness this
stronger food!
Thus, and in many similar ways, thought the man whom I have mentioned
about this event. And every time he returned, after a pilgrimage to
Mount Moriah, he sank down in weariness, folding his hands and saying:
"No one, in truth, was great as was Abraham, and who can understand
him?"
A PANEGYRIC ON ABRAHAM
If a consciousness of the eternal were not implanted in man; if
the basis of all that exists were but a confusedly fermenting
element which, convulsed by obscure passions, produced all, both
the great and the insignificant; if under everything there lay
a bottomless void never to be filled--what else were life but
despair? If it were thus, and if there were no sacred bonds
between man and man; if one generation arose after another, as
in the forest the leaves of one season succeed the leaves of
another, or like the songs of birds which are taken up one after
another; if the generations of man passed through the world like
a ship passing through the sea and the wind over the desert--a
fruitless and a vain thing; if eternal oblivion were ever greedily
watching for its prey and there existed no power strong enough to
wrest it from its clutches--how empty were life then, and how
dismal! And therefore it is not thus; but, just as God created
man and woman, he likewise called into being the hero and the
poet or orator. The latter cannot perform the deeds of the hero--he
can only admire and love him and rejoice in him. And yet he
also is happy and not less so; for the hero is, as it were, his
better self with which he has fallen in love, and he is glad he
is not himself the hero, so that his love can express itself in
admiration.
The poet is the genius of memory, and does nothing but recall
what has been done, can do nothing but admire what has been
done. He adds nothing of his own, but he is jealous of what
has been entrusted to him. He obeys the choice of his own heart;
but once he has found what he has been seeking, he visits every
man's door with his song and with his speech, so that all may
admire the hero as he does, and be proud of the hero as he is.
This is his achievement, his humble work, this is his faithful
service in the house of the hero. If thus, faithful to his love,
he battles day and night against the guile of oblivion which
wishes to lure the hero from him, then has he accomplished his
task, then is he gathered to his hero who loves him as faithfully;
for the poet is at it were the hero's better self, unsubstantial,
to be sure, like a mere memory, but also transfigured as is a
memory. Therefore shall no one be forgotten who has done great
deeds; and even if there be delay, even if the cloud of misunderstanding
obscure the hero from our vision, still his lover will come some
time; and the more time has passed, the more faithfully will he
cleave to him.
No, no one shall be forgotten who was great in this world. But
each hero was great in his own way, and each one was eminent in
proportion to the great things he loved. For he who loved himself
became great through himself, and he who loved others became great
through his devotion, but he who loved God became greater than
all of these. Everyone of them shall be remembered, but each one
became great in proportion to his trust. One became great by hoping
for the possible; another, by hoping for the eternal; but he who
hoped for the impossible, he became greater than all of these.
Every one shall be remembered; but each one was great in proportion
to the power with which he strove. For he who strove with the
world became great by overcoming himself; but he who strove with
God, he became the greatest of them all. Thus there have been
struggles in the world, man against man, one against a thousand;
but he who struggled with God, he became greatest of them all.
Thus there was fighting on this earth, and there was he who conquered
everything by his strength, and there was he who conquered God by
his weakness. There was he who, trusting in himself, gained all;
and there was he who, trusting in his strength sacrificed everything;
but he who believed in God was greater than all of these. There was
he who was great through his strength, and he who was great through
his wisdom, and he who was great through his hopes, and he who was
great through his love; but Abraham was greater than all of
these--great through the strength whose power is weakness, great
through the wisdom whose secret is folly, great through the hope
whose expression is madness, great through the love which is hatred
of one's self.
Through the urging of his faith Abraham left the land of his
forefathers and became a stranger in the land of promise. Ke left
one thing behind and took one thing along: he left his worldly
wisdom behind and took with him faith. For else he would not have
left the land of his fathers, but would have thought it an unreasonable
demand. Through his faith he came to be a stranger in the land of
promise, where there was nothing to remind him of all that had been
dear to him, but where everything by its newness tempted his soul
to longing. And yet was he God's chosen, he in whom the Lord was
well pleased! Indeed, had he been one cast off, one thrust out of
God's mercy, then might he have comprehended it; but now it seemed
like a mockery of him and of his faith. There have been others who
lived in exile from the fatherland which they loved. They are not
forgotten, nor is the song of lament forgotten in which they
mournfully sought and found what they had lost. Of Abraham there
exists no song of lamentation. It is human to complain, it is