Summary: Fear and Trembling (page 2)

This story, drawn from the Book of Genesis—the first book of the Bible—is presented in several different ways in the chapter entitled 'Attunement', as though the author struggled to understand its meaning, or could hardly believe what he was hearing, and tried to penetrate its mysteries by returning to it again and again.

In summary: God promises Abraham that he will have a great multitude of descendants. But the years pass without any birth being announced. Abraham does not lose heart, however, and keeps the faith: he trusts in the divine promise. When he reaches the venerable age of ninety-nine, God appears to him again and renews the promise.

A son is born—Isaac—and it is a great happiness for Abraham: the fruit of a long wait. But God then asks him to travel for three days and sacrifice him on the top of Mount Moriah. It is devastating news for Abraham, for Isaac is what he holds most dear. Yet he accepts, and undertakes the journey, his son at his side, unaware of what is unfolding.

When he reaches the appointed place, he raises the knife, ready for the sacrifice; but God stays his hand, praises him, blesses him, and once again promises him a great multitude of descendants.

This story raises countless questions and is therefore a rewarding object of study for the thinker; there is something deeply fascinating about it. However much one turns it over and over, its logic—so obvious at first—ends up slipping from our grasp. We understand it less and less¹: that is what constitutes its mystery.

This probably comes from the fact that it is built on a paradox, which we might sum up as follows. Abraham is presented to us as a model, a spiritual figure to follow—and therefore to imitate. He embodies a pure faith, an absolute love of God that goes so far as to sacrifice to Him what he holds most precious: his child. But one might equally regard Abraham as simply a murderer—and of the worst kind: an infanticide. From that point of view, he is anything but a model.

The heart recoils, thought becomes confused, and a kind of vertigo takes hold of us when faced with the diametrically opposed conclusions to which these two readings lead. Which is correct? What are we to make of the story of Abraham—what lesson should we draw from it? And how can this story plunge us into such bewilderment? What is at stake within it?

These are the questions Kierkegaard grapples with. They allow him to explore that singular phenomenon we call faith, and lead him to original conclusions, both theologically and philosophically.

Faith… It is indeed the driving force behind Abraham, the foundation of his behaviour, his actions, his thoughts. Kierkegaard traces its origins:

It was by faith that Abraham left the land of his fathers and became a stranger in the promised land. He left behind one thing—his earthly understanding—and took up another—faith; otherwise, thinking of the absurdity of the journey, he would not have set out. It was by faith that he lived as a stranger in the promised land, where nothing reminded him of what he loved.

It is this exceptional faith that enables him to spend those long years waiting for a child without losing heart, trusting in the divine promise: Abraham believed and held fast to the promise, which he would have renounced had he wavered. It is this same faith, time and again, that allows him to reach such a venerable age: Abraham believed; therefore he remained young; for the one who always hopes for the best grows old through disappointments, and the one who always expects the worst is worn out early, but the one who believes preserves an eternal youth.

Finally, we come to the ordeal of Isaac's sacrifice. Here too Abraham believed and did not doubt; he believed the absurd. Had he doubted, he would have acted differently; he would have performed a great and magnificent deed—such as sacrificing himself. In that case the world would have admired him, and his name would not have been forgotten; but it is one thing to be admired, and another to be the star that guides and saves the anguished.

Had he doubted, then he would have returned home; everything would have remained as before; he would have had Sarah beside him, he would have kept Isaac—and yet what a change! For his retreat would have been a flight, his deliverance a matter of chance, his reward confusion, and his future perhaps perdition. Then he would have borne witness neither to his faith nor to the grace of God, but would have shown how difficult it is to climb Mount Moriah.

Thus it is by faith that Abraham rises above other men, reaching a plane inaccessible even to heroes:

There were men who were great through their energy, their wisdom, their hope, or their love; but Abraham was greatest of all—great through an energy whose strength is weakness, great through a wisdom whose secret is folly, great through a hope whose form is madness, great through a love that is self-hatred.

¹ Our translation. The references for the quotations are available in the book Kierkegaard: A Close Reading