Now the story of Abraham shows him [Kierkegaard], more clearly than ever, the contrast between two kinds of religious life, distinguished by very different attitudes to the world.
The sacrificial part of Abraham’s movement dragged out in the arduous journey up Mount Moriah and climaxing in the unthinkable binding of Isaac, the heart-stopping flash of a knife – is perceived by some people to be the summit of the God-relationship. Kierkegaard admires the ‘monastic movement’ of withdrawal from the world, rarely attempted in this modern age where religious passion is no longer valued as it used to be. He calls those who live like this ‘knights of resignation’, in contrast to the successful figures in Danish public life who are appointed Knights of the Order of the Dannebrog by the king. While these worldly knights enjoy secular prestige, the knights of resignation stand apart from the world, spiritually elevated and remote.
Yet something higher still lies beyond them, a paradoxical peak that can be reached only by descending. Having renounced everything for the sake of God, Abraham made a further movement, returning to the world, embracing finitude, and living contentedly with his earthly gifts. Walking down the mountain with his son Isaac beside him, he was not just a knight of resignation, but a ‘knight of faith’. For Kierkegaard, Abraham exemplifies a way of being human in the world that neither withdraws like a hermit or a monk, nor conforms to conventional bourgeois values. The ‘guiding star’ of Abraham belongs to a paradoxical constellation: a faith that is lived in the world, yet defies worldly expectations.
Kierkegaard imagines the movements of this faith as the light, graceful leaps of a ballet dancer – repeated again and again, each time a little different, and as arduous to perform as they are delightful to watch. The soul’s dance expresses its longing for God, for eternity, for an unknown infinity. Most people are ‘wallflowers’ who do not take part in this dance; the knights of resignation ‘are dancers, and possess elevation’ – but when they land, they falter, showing that they cannot be at home in the world.
A knight of faith, however, lands as easily as he leapt, ‘transforming the leap of life into a walk’. He makes existence look so easy that there is nothing to tell him apart from the most unreflective, spiritless person who, immersed in everyday concerns, sees no significance in life beyond its immediate satisfactions and disappointments. The knight of faith’s relationship to God is entirely inward, hidden from public view. A divine grace sustains each step of his journey through the world, but he receives 6 this gift secretly, in silence.
Philosopher of the Heart Claire Carlisle
