After reading, I felt like I had to write things down in order to process it, so this post will be split in half: an in-depth summary and the review.
Summary
Kierkegaard’s Fear and Trembling was largely written as a response to a prevalent philosophical theory at the time expounded by Hegel, who believed that faith belonged to the “life of immediacy.” Someone who lives the life of immediacy grabs at whatever is immediately available in terms of thought or passion, leading a life of unreflective thought. Hegel thought that faith belonged to unreflective thought, and one had to go further into philosophy in order to actualize it and properly put it in perspective. Kierkegaard disagreed. He thought that you could go no further than faith, that it was the highest form and the highest passion in a person’s life. In fact, he thought it beyond the capabilities of human understanding. He also believed that very few people actually had it.
He didn’t define faith as simple belief in God’s existence. Since he believed it beyond the capabilities of human understanding, I’m not sure if he would approve of a simple definition, but he believed that resigning yourself to everything on earth and yet still expecting everything on the strength of the absurd is the true proof of faith. The basis of this resignation is understanding that the good things in life (i.e., Isaac for Abraham) derive their value not from us placing that value on them, but from the Creator Himself. So they ultimately belong to God, and everything earthly should be renounced through “infinite resignation.”
Infinite resignation for Kierkegaard is a required prerequisite to faith. You must renounce everything earthly, even human rationalization, as a precursor to faith. This goes against what it commonly conceptualized, as Alastair Hannay says in his introduction to the book: “what people often mean by ‘faith’ is something much less, something one needs ‘in order to renounce everything’, not something that itself presupposes that one has renounced everything” (18). Without firstly truly understanding what is impossible on this earth and what is universally considered ethical, and then renouncing your commitment to the rational and the ethical life in your duty to God, any belief would either be a self-deception or inadequate.
But resigning yourself to this earth does not mean unhappiness. “In infinite resignation there is peace and repose; anyone who wants it, who has not debased himself by—what is still worse than being too proud—belittling himself, can discipline himself into making this movement, which in its pain reconciles one to existence” (74). And this is why faith is a paradoxical movement: You renounce everything (through infinite resignation), but you still expect everything (through faith), and that’s where you find not only peace, but bliss even on earth. Kierkegaard believed it was much easier to have infinite resignation than it was to have faith, to “repose in the pain of resignation, [not] joy on the strength of the absurd” (79).
Kierkegaard placed Abraham as the father of faith, and used him as the prime example of every point he made about faith. He propounded that 1) there is a suspension of universal ethical norms in pursuit of a higher end goal (and one that is about individual betterment rather than societal), 2) there is an absolute duty to God, which can directly oppose your duty to the universal (your ethical duty), and 3) exhibiting true faith makes you entirely incomprehensible to the rest of the world, and in fact exiles you into insanity.
Abraham’s test in sacrificing Isaac was not how obedient he was, but his faith in that though he sacrifices Isaac, he will nonetheless receive Isaac back. He believed this on the “strength of the absurd,” because there is no human way to rationalize that belief. This interpretation of the story is a bit supported by the Bible, not in the chapter of the sacrifice itself, but a few chapters back, from Genesis 17:18-21 when God promises Abraham that he will bless Isaac (specifically Isaac, not a vague son) and his descendents. So, Abraham had reason to believe God would return Isaac, or else he would be believing in a God who did not keep his promises. Hebrews 11:17-19 also supports this interpretation.
If Abraham had simply believed in God’s existence and was obeying his deity, he would not have had faith. He only exhibited faith when he truly believed God had his best interests in mind and believed that God would return Isaac in some shape or form. And Abraham’s focus in obeying God was not only on deliverance into Heaven, but also in expectation of earthly bliss: “But Abraham had faith, and had faith for this life. Yes, had his faith only been for a future life it would indeed have been easier to cast everything aside in order to hasten out of this world to which he did not belong. But Abraham’s faith was not of that kind, if there is such, for a faith like that is not really faith but only its remotest possibility, a faith that has some inkling of its object at the very edge of the field of vision but remains separated from it by a yawning abyss in which despair plays its pranks” (54).
But that is also not to say that Abraham’s faith was easily come by or a test such as his was accepted without pain and suffering, or “fear and trembling.” For one, he had to contend with the universal, which in this book means the universally accepted understanding of ethical life, which usually requires putting the good of society before yourself. But putting the universal first in a test such as Abraham’s would have been a temptation. Nowhere in the universal is the idea that you can sacrifice someone else for your own relationship with God. When expressed in terms of the universal, an act of faith is simultaneously an act of egoism and devotion. Faith is above morality because you can philosophize about morality, but it’s beyond human comprehension to understand and justify a faith like Abraham’s.
And that’s why faith is entirely an isolating pursuit. Putting the individual first, over the universal, is actually much more difficult than putting the universal first, which is usually considered the end goal over selfishness. But Kierkegaard is not referring to abusing selfish pleasures, but to the hard work of self-actualization, which in terms of faith, is ultimately an eternal reflection on God, not a reflection on yourself. “No person who has learned that to exist as the individual is the most terrifying thing of all will be afraid of saying it is the greatest” (102). There is comfort in acting in ways that is universally considered to be correct. But acting on faith “on the strength of the absurd” makes you entirely unintelligible to the world, which is terrifying, because “to contend with the whole world is a comfort, but to contend with oneself dreadful” (138). When you renounce the universal, you exile yourself. “The tragic hero renounces himself in order to express the universal; the knight of faith renounces the universal in order to be the particular” (103).
Review
Review:
This book of philosophy was incredibly thought-provoking. It made me question my very definition of faith. I can’t say if I agree with everything Kierkegaard said, because I have to guard against my tendency to adopt the nearest ideology of someone I respect, and I respect anyone who can develop a difference of opinion with support to back it up. If I had read Hegel, there’s a chance I would be equally inclined to agree with him. I can say that I think reading this book is very valuable, if just for the purposes of getting you thinking and questioning, even if that leads you to disagreement with Kierkegaard.
I picked this book up because the story of Abraham and Isaac has always puzzled me. I always interpreted it as blind obedience on Abraham’s part; I never considered that Abraham believed he would receive Isaac back. And though it’s hard to admit, I always had to grapple with the unfairness of the request, the unfairness of a God who would require you to sacrifice your own son, the coldness of Abraham to comply. I suppose that is why it was a test perfectly suited for Abraham. Kierkegaard helped me put it into perspective. Abraham understood the test absolutely—though not knowing exactly what would happen, he knew God would somehow set it right.
And I know that my admitting to this prior interpretation reveals a lack of faith in me, and I have to struggle with a feeling of guilt, but per Kierkegaard, faith is a lifelong pursuit. It is not immediately available nor should it be. Which brings me to a question I had when reading: Per Kierkegaard, sin is not the life of immediacy. But is the life of immediacy sinful, in that it cannot be faith, or does Kierkegaard not see a lack of faith as sin, especially after taking the step of infinite resignation?
How is this practically applied? Is faith only possible when accompanied by suffering or through an unimaginable test? People are not often confronted with a request from God to prove faith on the strength of the absurd, so it’s easy to feel like Kierkegaard’s definition of faith isn’t applicable other than hypothetical self-questioning, if I was in Abraham’s position, would I act the same? Or would I fall back on universal ethics?
But ultimately, and ironically, I think Kierkegaard mainly wanted us to philosophize deeply about faith rather than living unreflectively, but in contrast to Hegel, he believes that philosophizing gets you deeper into approaching faith, not that philosophizing gets you further than faith.
In terms of Kierkegaard’s actual writing style, it could be a bit repetitive, but in the way where I enjoyed the rephrasing, because it either brought clarity to a confusing concept or it brought a new perspective. I think some sort of repetition is necessary in philosophy in order to drive the point home. I do think Problemata III could have been 20 pages shorter. That particular section I thought was a bit rambling and boring.
And I did disagree with some of the examples Kierkegaard gave. Jepthah, for example, is a biblical figure I’m not sure I can admire. He made a foolish promise that ruined his daughter’s life. Though I suppose it’s true that if he did not keep his promise to God, he would not have been worthy of our respect. But I still object to the pedestal and the comparison to Abraham’s situation.
I found it interesting that Kierkegaard used examples of classical mythology equally with those from the Bible. Pulling from different religions in order to establish faith principles was an interesting choice, but he ultimately used these stories as foils to Abraham’s faith or as examples of tragic heros vs a “knight of faith.” And I suppose these stories are widely known and useful reference points.
Overall, I’m really glad I read it. It provided possible solutions to questions I had, though it also produced some new ones. Which is par for the course with philosophy.
