Fear and Trembling: Problema 3 Summary & Analysis

Johannes writes that, as the universal, the ethical is also the “disclosed.”. When a person conceals anything, they are sinning and can only rectify it by becoming more open. For this reason, unless Johannes can establish that there are situations in which the individual (as a being higher than the universal) can ethically justify concealment, then Abraham can be rightly condemned for not telling Sarah, Eleazar, and Isaac about God’s demand. Johannes proposes to look at the question in an aesthetic way, especially in the category of the interesting. To become interesting is a “fateful privilege,” but one that involves a lot of personal pain. Because the interesting serves as the border between the aesthetic and the ethical, this examination will constantly refer to ethics while trying to invoke an aesthetic feeling from the reader.  

In drama (both Greek and modern), concealment creates tension while recognition helps resolve the tension. In Greek drama, Fate conceals things (maybe a son murders his father but doesn’t learn it was his father until later), but in modern drama both concealment and revelation are the hero’s responsibility. If what the hero hides is silly, then the drama is a comedy; if an idea is concealed, the drama is likely a tragedy. For the purposes of this investigation, Johannes says he will deal exclusively with the tragic, such as when two lovers are nearly separated because they each conceal their love for one another. In drama, a third party (maybe a housekeeper) would reveal the secret, the lovers would talk, and in the end they are united as heroes. Ethics, however, would condemn both for concealing anything because ethics doesn’t consider feelings or experience when passing judgment.

Aesthetics asks for concealment and rewards it, but ethics punishes concealment because it demands disclosure. Sometimes aesthetics calls for disclosure, though. For instance, Agamemnon had to keep his grief over having to sacrifice Iphigenia quiet because he’s the hero, but aesthetics demands that somehow the other characters find out why Agamemnon must do this terrible deed. So, a servant reveals everything, and everyone understands. Ethics makes no allowances for third-party interventions and coincidences, though. Agamemnon becomes an ethical tragic hero by telling Iphigenia what will happen to her himself. Still, there are times when people achieve greatness through keeping a secret. Johannes argues that silence can be both divine (communion between divinity and the individual) or demonic (as a lure that gets stronger the longer a person is silent).

Johannes says that before he returns to Abraham’s story, he will examine some other poetic figures. He starts with the story of a bridegroom who was scared by an augur who predicted that misfortune would befall him if he got married. The man loved his fiancée but worried about what the misfortune would be. He had three choices: say nothing, get married, and risk both misfortune and the bride’s anger if she learns the truth; say nothing, don’t get married, and face the bride’s family’s anger; or tell everyone about the prediction. Ethics requires him to speak, although aesthetics would prefer that he stay silent. The man has these options because the augur’s words can be understood by anyone—the man can speak about them to anyone. If the words had come privately from God, the man wouldn’t be able to speak intelligibly to anyone and so must be silent.

The story of the bridegroom had to do with the divine, and now Johannes will share a similar story that has to do with the demonic: Agnete and the Merman. The Merman is a seducer who lures innocent women to the ocean and then drags them in when they bend over the water. The Merman successfully lures Agnete to the sea, but just as he’s about to drag her into the depths she looks at him with eyes full of trust; the Merman is unable to drag her into the ocean and so he brings her back to her house and says he just wanted her to see how beautiful the ocean was. Johannes now takes control of the story and declares that Agnete’s innocence has destroyed the seducer in Merman—he will never seduce again and must decide between repenting of his sinful past by himself or with Agnete.

Johannes says that if the Merman chooses to repent alone, he’s choosing to be a concealer; on the other hand, if he chooses to be with Agnete, then he’ll have to disclose himself. Agnete will be unhappy if he chooses the former because she loves him; the Merman will be unhappy because he has genuine passion for Agnete. This is the demonic side of repentance—it tells the Merman that it’s a good thing for him to be tormented. The Merman can even try to make Agnete hate him to ease the separation—he can mock and belittle her but telling her the truth won’t be enough to destroy her love. This option is a lot like the paradox of faith in that the Merman would be trying to be the particular that’s higher than the universal. However, the Merman can speak, so he can also be a tragic hero.

The Merman can save himself from the demonic in two ways: stay hidden and hope the divine will save Agnete or be saved by marrying Agnete. Johannes says it’s important for him to point out that through sin the individual can be higher than the universal (the demonic paradox). Johannes believes that any ethics that ignores sin is useless, and it goes beyond itself if it tries to determine sin. Johannes then states that he can understand the previous two stories, but they don’t help him understand Abraham because Abraham didn’t become the particular through sin. Any analogy with Abraham must involve an individual who accomplishes the universal, thus repeating the paradox. The Merman must either become a demon or be lost to the world if he’s silent, but only aesthetics believes he can be saved through marrying Agnete. If he disclosed himself, he’d be the greatest man Johannes knows. 

The Merman uses all his strength making the movement of repentance and so he can’t make the next movement “on the strength of the absurd.” However, some people don’t have the requisite passion to make either movement; they are the ones who have given up on really living. Johannes remarks that very few people enter monasteries, but this doesn’t mean that the majority of people are greater than those who do enter monasteries. In fact, Johannes is impressed by people who can dedicate so much of their lives to exploring every secret thought and dark corner of their mind. In society, few people consider and even avoid those thoughts. Furthermore, a person who moves into a monastery is just one movement away from the absurd.

Johannes moves on to a story from the Book of Tobit, but he modifies it somewhat for his examination. Tobias wants to marry a beautiful woman named Sarah, but Sarah knows that a demon will kill anyone she marries on their wedding night. It is tragic, but Sarah goes through with the wedding and, that night, Tobias proposes they pray to God for mercy. In an aside, Johannes notes that most poets would select Tobias as the hero, but Johannes believes Sarah is the real hero for letting Tobias risk himself to marry her. A man in the same situation would hide away and succumb to the demonic. Johannes uses Shakespeare’s Richard III as an example of someone who was set aside from the universal from birth due to physical deformity; his anger over this led to Richard III turning to the demonic through contempt for humanity.

Johannes writes that Faust also tried to save the universal by his silence. Most people see Faust as a “doubter” and seducer, but Johannes sees Faust as a doubter with a deeply sympathetic nature. However, at some point Faust realizes that spirit sustains life, although he firmly believes the spirit doesn’t really exist. However, because Faust is sympathetic and loves life himself, he keeps quiet about his realizations and his doubt. Faust knows that if he shares his discovery (the spirit doesn’t exist) then everything will devolve into confusion and despair. Ethics condemns this silence, but if he stands in absolute relation to the absolute then his silence can be justified (although his doubt will become guilt because he’ll enter the paradox). Additionally, passages in the Bible show that sometimes it’s better to conceal—even Jesus recommends that people should clean their face to hide the fact that they’re fasting.

Johannes turns his attention back to Abraham, who didn’t tell Sarah, Eleazar, or Isaac about God’s command to sacrifice Isaac. Aesthetics says that it’s okay to be silent if silence saves someone else. For obvious reasons, this can’t be applied to Abraham’s story—Abraham is actually an outrage, aesthetically speaking. Aesthetics might understand a person’s decision to sacrifice themselves, but not one person sacrificing another for their own sake. Ethics demands disclosure, which is why ethics loves the tragic hero (who acts for the universal and is disclosed somehow). Abraham, however, remains silent and does nothing for the universal. Unless the individual can stand in absolute relation to the absolute, ethics reigns supreme and Abraham is neither an aesthetic nor a tragic hero. 

Abraham’s anguish and distress are rooted in the fact that he can’t speak and be understood, that he must be silent. This is because no universal terms can help anyone understand that Abraham must sacrifice Isaac because he loves him and because God has given him a trial. This is something a tragic hero can’t understand, in part because they’ve given counterarguments the chance to be heard (such as Agamemnon letting Iphigenia and others talk to him about the sacrifice he must make). Abraham can’t do this—his family would ask him why he would sacrifice Isaac if he could just as easily choose not to, and if Abraham looks to them for comfort, they will think he’s a hypocrite. There is simply no way for Abraham to speak without compromising his identity as a faithful man. 

Although Abraham can’t speak, he is simultaneously making the movement of faith, which tells him that Isaac won’t really be lost. This comforts Abraham in his silence. In fact, the only thing Abraham reportedly says to Isaac is that God will provide the lamb (this in response to Isaac’s question about where the lamb they are sacrificing is). Johannes says he will explore Abraham’s last words, which gives his story more depth. There is some debate over whether a tragic hero should make any final statement before their sacrifice (Johannes believes Agamemnon might have cheapened his sacrifice if he insisted on saying something at the last second), but it seems appropriate in cases where the hero’s life tends towards the spiritual—final words in this case would help immortalize the hero.

Abraham has to be very careful in his choice of words—he shouldn’t tell a lie, but if he tries to share the bare truth then he risks tumbling back into the universal and transforming the situation into total temptation. Abraham’s words are a form of irony because even though words come out of his mouth, he doesn’t say anything. However, his words do show that Abraham is constantly making the double movement of infinite resignation and faith. Johannes believes this becomes more obvious because Abraham knew what would happen on Mount Moriah—Abraham will sacrifice Isaac. If Abraham didn’t know that, then he wouldn’t have made the movement of infinite resignation and then he wouldn’t even amount to a tragic hero.

Johannes says that he can understand Abraham, but he lacks the courage to speak or act like Abraham did. While people admire the tragic hero, they are baffled by Abraham. However, Abraham doesn’t need praise or tears—he loses sight of his own suffering in his deep, abiding love for God. Johannes concludes that there really is a paradox and a person can stand in absolute relation to the absolute, or Abraham should be condemned.