It is said that faith is needed in order to
renounce everything. Indeed, one hears what is even more
curious: a person laments that he has lost his faith, and when
a check is made to see where he is on the scale, curiously
enough, he has only reached the point where he is to make
the infinite movement of resignation. Through resignation I
renounce everything. I make this movement all by myself,
and if I do not make it, it is because I am too cowardly and
soft and devoid of enthusiasm and do not feel the significance
of the high dignity assigned to every human being, to be his
own censor, which is far more exalted than to be the censor
general of the whole Roman republic. This movement I make
all by myself, and what I gain thereby is my eternal consciousness in blessed harmony with my love for the eternal
being. By faith I do not renounce anything; on the contrary, by faith I receive everything exactly in the sense in which it
is said that one who has faith like a mustard seed can move
mountains. It takes a purely human courage to renounce
the whole temporal realm in order to gain eternity, but this
I do gain and in all eternity can never renounce—it is a self-contradiction. But it takes a paradoxical and humble courage
to grasp the whole temporal realm now by virtue of the absurd, and this is the courage of faith. By faith Abraham did
not renounce Isaac, but by faith Abraham received Isaac. By
virtue of resignation, that rich young man should have given
away everything, but if he had done so, then the knight of
faith would have said to him: By virtue of the absurd, you
will get every penny back again—believe it! And the formerly rich young man should by no means treat these words
lightly, for if he were to give away his possessions because
he is bored with them, then his resignation would not amount
to much.
Temporality, finitude—that is what it is all about. I can resign everything by my own strength and find peace and rest in the pain; I can put up with everything—even if that dreadful demon, more horrifying than the skeletal one who terrifies men, even if madness held its fool's costume before my eyes and I understood from its face that it was I who should put it on—I can still save my soul as long as my concern that my love of God conquer within me is greater than my concern that I achieve earthly happiness. In his very last moment, a person can still concentrate his whole soul in one single look to heaven, from whence come all good gifts, and this look will be understood by himself and by him whom it seeks to mean that he has been true to his love. Then he will calmly put on the costume. He whose soul lacks this romanticism has sold his soul, whether he gets a kingdom or a wretched piece of silver for it. By my own strength I cannot get the least little thing that belongs to finitude, for I continually use my strength in resigning everything. By my own strength I can give up the princess, and I will not sulk about it but find joy and peace and rest in my pain, but by my own strength I cannot get her back again, for I use all my strength in resigning. On the other hand, by faith, says that marvelous knight, by faith you will get her by virtue of the absurd.
Søren Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling (Hong & Hong, 48-50)
Temporality, finitude—that is what it is all about. I can resign everything by my own strength and find peace and rest in the pain; I can put up with everything—even if that dreadful demon, more horrifying than the skeletal one who terrifies men, even if madness held its fool's costume before my eyes and I understood from its face that it was I who should put it on—I can still save my soul as long as my concern that my love of God conquer within me is greater than my concern that I achieve earthly happiness. In his very last moment, a person can still concentrate his whole soul in one single look to heaven, from whence come all good gifts, and this look will be understood by himself and by him whom it seeks to mean that he has been true to his love. Then he will calmly put on the costume. He whose soul lacks this romanticism has sold his soul, whether he gets a kingdom or a wretched piece of silver for it. By my own strength I cannot get the least little thing that belongs to finitude, for I continually use my strength in resigning everything. By my own strength I can give up the princess, and I will not sulk about it but find joy and peace and rest in my pain, but by my own strength I cannot get her back again, for I use all my strength in resigning. On the other hand, by faith, says that marvelous knight, by faith you will get her by virtue of the absurd.
Søren Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling (Hong & Hong, 48-50)
