An Open Letter
AN OPEN LETTER [XIII 436]
PROMPTED BY A REFERENCE TO ME BY DR. RUDELBACH136
The reference is on page 70 [of Dr. Rudelbach’s Om det borgerlige Ægteskab].
The text reads: “Surely the deepest and highest interest of the Church in our day is . . . . . to become emancipated particularly from what is rightly called habitual and state Christianity.”
The footnote reads: “This is the same point that one of our outstanding contemporary writers, Søren Kierkegaard, has sought to inculcate, to impress, and, as Luther says, to drive home to all those who will listen.”
Then the text continues immediately with the following sentence: “But for this emancipation civil marriage is an important, perhaps indispensable, instrument, a necessary link in the marshaling of all the measures that signify and condition the ushering in of religious freedom.”
Consequently, all those numerous, qualitatively different [XIII 437] pseudonymous works all the way from Either/Or, and, in addition, all my variegated upbuilding works, all these are packed together under one heading and called: Søren Kierkegaard.137
But now to the statement itself. The idiom “It is just a half-truth” fits it fairly accurately—that is, the first half, taken literally, is true, and the second half is false.*
I am a hater of “habitual Christianity.” This is true. I hate habitual Christianity in whatever form it appears. I would like particular notice to be made of this “in whatever form,” for habitual Christianity can indeed have many forms. And if there were no other choice, if the choice were only between the sort of habitual Christianity that is a secular-minded thoughtlessness that nonchalantly goes on living in the illusion of being Christian, perhaps without ever having any impression of Christianity, and the kind of habitual Christianity that is found in the sects, the enthusiasts, the superorthodox, the schismatics138—if worse came to worst, I would choose the first. The first kind has still taken Christianity in vain only in a thoughtless and negative way, if on the whole it may be judged even that rigorously. The second kind has taken Christianity in vain perhaps out of spiritual pride, but in any case in a positive way. One could almost be tempted to smile at the first kind, because there is hope; the second makes one shudder. But, as stated, it is true that I am a hater of habitual Christianity. Therefore, I can have no objection if our learned theologian, Dr. Rudelbach, says something like this; on the contrary, I would even thank him for it, all the more since I became acquainted with this man in my father’s house and am convinced that he is genuinely well disposed toward me. Nor do I object if in the future Dr. R. privately includes me in his prayers, that I may unto the end maintain this hatred of all [XIII 438] habitual Christianity, which I trust and hope Dr. R. also will keep, even though I perhaps am aware of forms of habitual Christianity that have come less to his attention. The only thing I wish in this matter is that in the future he would not associate that misleading term “emancipation” with my efforts, and the only thing I might fear is that, after I have said this myself, it will become a literary cliché to write that I am a hater of all habitual Christianity.
Now to the second half of the statement. I am supposed to have taken a position against “state Christianity.” Yes, this Søren Kierkegaard’s whole intention is supposed to be to attack established Christianity—more specifically, to fight for the emancipation of the Church from the state, or at least “to inculcate, to impress, to drive this home.”
In Ursin’s Arithmetic,139 which was used in my school days, a reward was offered to anyone who could find a miscalculation in the book. I also promise a reward to anyone who can point out in these numerous books a single proposal for external change, or the slightest suggestion of such a proposal, or even anything that in the remotest way even for the most nearsighted person at the greatest distance could resemble an intimation of such a proposal or of a belief that the problem is lodged in externalities, that external change is what is needed, that external change is what will help us.
In proportion to the capacities granted to me and also with various self-sacrifices, I have diligently and honestly worked for the inward deepening of Christianity in myself and in others insofar as they are willing to be influenced. But simply because I have from the beginning understood Christianity to be inwardness and my task to be the inward deepening of Christianity, I have overscrupulously seen to it that not a passage, not a sentence, not a line, not a word, not a letter has slipped in suggesting a proposal for external change or suggesting a belief that the problem is lodged in externalities, that external change is what is needed, that external change is what will help us.
There is nothing about which I have greater misgivings than about all that even slightly tastes of this disastrous confusion of politics and Christianity, a confusion that can very [XIII 439] easily bring about a new kind and mode of Church reformation, a reverse reformation that in the name of reformation puts something new and worse in place of something old and better, although it is still supposed to be an honest-to-goodness reformation, which is then celebrated by illuminating the entire city.
Christianity is inwardness, inward deepening. If at a given time the forms under which one has to live are not the most perfect, if they can be improved, in God’s name do so. But essentially Christianity is inwardness. Just as man’s advantage over animals is to be able to live in any climate, so also Christianity’s perfection, simply because it is inwardness, is to be able to live, according to its vigor, under the most imperfect conditions and forms, if such be the case. Politics is the external system, this Tantalus-like140 busyness about external change.
It is apparent from his latest work that Dr. R. believes that Christianity and the Church are to be saved by “the free institutions.” If this faith in the saving power of politically achieved free institutions belongs to true Christianity, then I am no Christian, or, even worse, I am a regular child of Satan, because, frankly, I am indeed suspicious of these politically achieved free institutions, especially of their saving, renewing power. Such is my Christianity [Christendom], or so Christian-dumb [Christendum] am I, who, incidentally, have had nothing to do with “Church” and “state”—this is much too immense for me. Altogether different prophets are needed for this, or, quite simply, this task ought to be entrusted to those who are regularly appointed and trained for such things. I have not fought for the emancipation of “the Church” any more than I have fought for the emancipation of Greenland commerce, of women, of the Jews, or of anyone else. With my sights upon “the single individual,” aiming at inward deepening in Christianity in “the single individual,” with the weapons of the spirit, simply and solely with the weapons of the spirit, I have, as an individual, consistently fought to make the single individual aware of the “illusion” and to alert him against letting himself be deceived by it. Just as I regard it as an illusion for someone to imagine that it is external conditions and forms that hinder him in becoming a Christian, so is it also the same illusion if someone imagines that external conditions and forms will help him to become a Christian.
I can understand why a politician counts on free institutions [XIII 440] as an aid to the state, for politics is externality, which by its very nature has no life in itself but must borrow it from the forms, hence this faith in forms. But that Christianity, which has life in itself, is supposed to be aided by the free institutions—this, according to my understanding, is a complete misconception of Christianity, which, where it is true in true inwardness, is infinitely higher and infinitely freer than all institutions, constitutions, etc. Christianity will not be helped from the outside by institutions and constitutions, and least of all if these are not won through suffering by martyrs in the old-fashioned Christian way but are won in a social and amicable political way, by elections or by a lottery of numbers. On the contrary, to be aided in this way is the downfall of Christianity. Christianity is victorious inwardness. This is what should be worked for, that this victorious inwardness may be in every person, if possible, that “the single individual” may become more and more truly a Christian. This is what should be done: self-concern must be awakened in “the single individual,” the self-concern that infinitely gives him something other to think about than external forms, the self-concern that is transmuted under a higher influence into that victorious inwardness when it has turned a person inward in this way, although the self-concern still remains to protect him against becoming externalized again. Therefore, personally concerned, wounded by ideals, and yet unspeakably joyful and grateful for this fact, I have fought for the ideals against “the illusions” in order to awaken this self-concern in “the single individual” by means of the vision of the ideals.
The difference between Dr. R. and me is quite obvious; this difference I must assert most definitely. There is also another obvious difference between us that I wish to stress. Dr. R. possesses amazing learning; as far as I know, he is probably the most learned man in Denmark, and in my opinion we all ought to be happy to have such a learned man among us. On the other hand, in learning and scholarship I am, especially by comparison, a poor bungler who knows enough arithmetic for household use. But I cannot remain silent about an appreciatory—and such an extravagantly appreciatory—asseveration of the significance of my activity as an author. I am really afraid that, brief though it is, it might manage, “as Luther says, to drive home” this misunderstanding “to all those who will listen.” And I have considered it my present duty precisely at this time to oppose—something that otherwise would hardly have occurred to me, and somewhat more specifically than would otherwise have occurred to me—to [XIII 441] oppose this misunderstanding, and also to keep any particular party, perhaps misled by Dr. R.’s words, from “the habit” of automatically enrolling me in the party.
S. KIERKEGAARD
Permit me to add the following, lest what I say be misunderstood, as if it were my view that Christianity consists purely and simply of putting up with everything in regard to external forms, without doing anything at all, as if Christianity did not know very well what is to be done—if worse comes to worst. But my entire activity as an author has had nothing to do with such an eventuality. I have only provided, poetically, what may be called an existential-corrective to the established order, oriented toward inward deepening in “the single individual”—that is, I am positive that I have never directed one word against the teaching and the organization of the established order, but I have worked to make this teaching more and more the truth in “the single individual.” And in order to prevent any misunderstanding, I have aimed polemically throughout this whole undertaking at “the crowd,” the numerical, also at the besetting sin of our time, self-appointed reformation and the falsifications along this line.
In Acts141 we read: We ought to obey God rather than men. There are situations, therefore, in which an established order can be of such a nature that the Christian ought not put up with it, ought not say that Christianity means precisely this indifference to the external.
But now let us see how the apostles did not act, for everyone pretty well knows how those venerable ones did act.
The apostles did not go around talking among themselves, saying: “It is intolerable that the Sanhedrin makes preaching the Word punishable; it is a matter of conscience. What should we do about it? Should we not form a group and send an appeal to the Sanhedrin—or should we take it up at a synodical meeting? It is just possible that by combining with those who otherwise are our enemies we can manage a majority vote so that we can obtain freedom of conscience to proclaim the Word.” Good Lord! Forgive me, venerable sirs, [XIII 442] forgive me for having to speak this way. It was necessary.
On the contrary, how did they act?—for no doubt a good many have forgotten. Essentially, “the apostle” is a solitary man. Among apostles there is no party solidarity, not even theoretically; one apostle does not look at another apostle to see what he should do; each one is personally bound to God as a single individual. Thus the apostle confers and consults with God and with his conscience. Thereafter he opens the door, as it were, the door of his solitary inclosure, and goes, mir nichts und dir nichts [without asking anyone’s leave], with God out into the streets—in order to proclaim the Word. Suppose that someone meets him and says: Do you know that the Sanhedrin has stipulated flogging as punishment for preaching the Word? The apostle replies: Well, if the Sanhedrin has done that, then I shall be flogged. The next day the Sanhedrin imposes the death penalty. The apostle answers: Well, if the Sanhedrin has done that, then I shall be executed. He lets the established order stand—not a word, not a syllable, not a letter directed toward an external change, not the fleetingest thought in his head, not a blink of the eyelid, not a flicker of the countenance in this direction. “No,” says the apostle, “just let the established order stand unshakably firm, for by the help of God it also stands unshakably firm that today I am flogged and tomorrow executed or—it amounts to the same thing—that today I proclaim the Word and tomorrow, Amen.” Thank you, thank you, that you acted in this way. If you had acted as modern Christians do, Christianity would never have entered the world!
And here a Christian memento. Christianity within “Christendom” properly means: in self-concern an indifference to externals. But if someone collides with the established order in such a way that he could imagine it to be a question of conscience—good God, a question of conscience!—and he dares to say it, then he has to be a solitary person in order to strive through suffering, in order to choose martyrdom. Conscience and a matter of conscience can be represented only through action by a solitary person and in character, by action,* [XIII 443] not by prompting a discussion that is concluded by voting—this is eternally certain and is rooted in the nature of the case. Everything that is partisan and wants to function as a party, perhaps even by intrigue—if it wants to appeal to “conscience” against an established order—is guilty of an untruth.
If it is a matter of conscience, it must be fought out in this way. If it is not a matter of conscience, then it becomes something entirely different. Christianity means precisely this: in self-concern to develop an indifference toward externals. However, if there is some change or other that a weaker person might desire (for, understood in this way, the stronger [XIII 444] person is the very one who in self-concern has the greatest indifference), he then expresses this desire by saying, I could wish—but he does not speak of a matter of conscience, and he shudders at the thought that this should become “a habit” for him. This is my understanding, for I am a hater of “habitual Christianity.”