Works of Love · First Series II.B
You Shall Love the Neighbour
Du skal elske Næsten
Before you read Editorial introduction
This discourse asks who the neighbour is. Kierkegaard’s answer removes every privileged boundary: the neighbour is every human being, not because differences disappear, but because all stand in equality before God.
Neighbour-love is therefore an ethical task rather than a preference for a particular kind of person. God stands as the middle term, preventing love from becoming a closed alliance between an “I” and another “I”.
Read the English translation
The ¶ numbers are this edition’s passage references. A number may mark a short statement or several paragraphs. Existing numbers are retained to keep links and citations stable. Why the numbering varies.
For it is Christian love that discovers and knows that “the neighbour” exists, which is the same as knowing that everyone is the neighbour. If love were not a duty, the concept “neighbour” would not exist either. Only when one loves the neighbour is the selfishness of preference rooted out and eternity’s equality preserved.
The objection has often been raised against Christianity, though in different ways, in different moods, with different passion and intention, that it displaces erotic love and friendship. Then people have wanted to defend Christianity, and to that end have appealed to its teaching that one shall love God with all one’s heart and the neighbour as oneself. When the dispute is conducted in that way, it is fairly indifferent whether people quarrel or agree, since fighting in the air and agreement in the air are equally meaningless.
Rather, one must try to make the point of dispute quite clear, so that in defending Christianity one can calmly concede that Christianity has thrust erotic love and friendship from the throne: the love of drive and inclination, preference. In their place it sets the love of spirit, love for “the neighbour”, a love that in earnest and truth is inwardly more tender than erotic love is in union, and more faithful in sincerity than the most famous friendship is in solidarity.
One must make it clear that the praise of erotic love and friendship belongs to paganism, and that “the poet” properly belongs to paganism because his task belongs to it. Then, with conviction’s assured spirit, one can give Christianity what belongs to Christianity: love for the neighbour, a love of which there is not even an intimation in paganism.
It is better to separate and divide rightly, and if possible prompt the single individual to choose, than to confuse and mix together and thereby prevent the single individual from gaining a definite impression of which is which. Above all, one should rather refrain from defending Christianity than consciously or unconsciously try to claim everything for it, including what is not Christian.
Anyone who considers this matter with insight and seriousness will easily see that the point of dispute must be put like this: shall erotic love and friendship be love’s highest form, or shall this love be deposed? Erotic love and friendship belong to passion; and all passion, whether it attacks or defends itself, fights in only one way: either-or. “Either I exist and am the highest, or I do not exist at all; either everything or nothing.”
The bungling and confusing approach, which is just as much against paganism and “the poet” as against Christianity, arises when the defence comes down to this: that Christianity admittedly teaches a higher love, but also commends erotic love and friendship. To speak this way betrays two things: that the speaker has neither the poet’s spirit nor Christianity’s.
In matters of spirit one cannot, if one wants to avoid speaking badly, speak like a shopkeeper who has a best grade of goods but also a middle grade, which he can recommend as almost just as good. If it is certain that Christianity teaches love of God and neighbour as true love, then it is also certain that, just as it has cast down every “height that raises itself against the knowledge of God” and taken every thought captive in obedience, it has also cast down erotic love and friendship.
If Christianity were such a bungled and confused discourse as many a defence of it, often worse than any attack, tries to make it, would it not be strange that the whole New Testament contains not a single word about erotic love in the sense in which “the poet” sings it and paganism deified it? Would it not be strange that the whole New Testament contains not a single word about friendship in the sense in which “the poet” sings it and paganism cultivated it?
Let “the poet”, insofar as he understands himself as poet, search through what the New Testament teaches about erotic love, and he will be brought to despair because he will not find a single word that could inspire him. If some so-called poet nevertheless found a word he used, this would be a lying use, a transgression, because instead of respecting Christianity he steals a precious word and perverts it in use. Let “the poet” search the New Testament for words about friendship that could please him, and he will search in vain to the point of despair. But let a Christian who wants to love the neighbour search; truly, he will not search in vain. He will find one word stronger and more authoritative than another, fit to kindle this love in him and preserve him in this love.
“The poet” will search in vain. But is the poet, then, not a Christian? We have not said this, nor do we say it. We say only that insofar as he is poet, he is not Christian. Yet a distinction must be made, for there are also devotional poets. They do not sing erotic love and friendship; their songs praise God and concern faith, hope, and love. Nor do they sing love in the sense in which “the poet” sings erotic love, for love of the neighbour does not want to be sung; it wants to be fulfilled.
Even if nothing else prevented “the poet” from singing love of the neighbour, this would already be enough: beside every word in the holy books there stands, in invisible writing, a mark that disturbs him, for it says, “Go and do accordingly.” Does that sound like a poet’s summons, calling him to sing?
The devotional poet is therefore a special case. But of the worldly poet it holds that, insofar as he is poet, he is not Christian. And it is the worldly poet we ordinarily mean by “the poet”. That “the poet” lives in Christendom does not change the matter. Whether he is Christian is not for us to decide; but insofar as he is “the poet”, he is not Christian.
It may seem that since Christendom has existed so long, it must have penetrated every relation and all of us. But this is a deception of the senses. Christianity’s long existence does not mean that we have lived so long, or have been Christians so long. Precisely the poet’s existence in Christendom, and the place allowed him, is a serious reminder of how much has already been admitted and how easily we imagine ourselves far ahead of ourselves. Attacks of coarseness and envy upon the poet are surely no Christian objection to his existence.
While the proclamation of what is Christian is sometimes heard sparingly, everyone listens to “the poet”, admires him, learns from him, and is enchanted by him. While one quickly forgets what the priest has said, how precisely and how long one remembers what the poet has said, especially what he has said with the actor’s help.
The point is not that one should perhaps use force to get rid of the poet; that would yield only a new deception of the senses. What would it help if there were no poet, when so many people in Christendom still rested in the understanding of existence over which “the poet” presides, and so many still longed for “the poet”? Nor is the Christian required, in blind and unwise zeal, to bring himself to the point where he can no longer bear to read a poet, any more than he is forbidden to eat ordinary food with others or required to live shut away from other human beings.
No, the Christian must understand everything differently from the non-Christian; he must understand himself in knowing how to distinguish. A human being could not live every moment exclusively in the highest Christian conceptions, any more than he could live on no food except that served at the Lord’s table.
So let “the poet” exist; let the individual poet be admired as he deserves, if he truly is a poet. But let the single individual in Christendom also test his Christian conviction by this trial: how he relates to “the poet”, what he thinks of the poet, how he reads him, and how he admires him. Such matters are almost never discussed in these times. This deliberation may seem to many neither Christian nor serious enough precisely because it speaks about subjects that occupy people during the six days of the week and, even on the seventh, perhaps for more hours than devotional things do.
Yet we trust ourselves to know how, and especially what, should be discussed in these times. We have been well instructed and trained in Christianity from childhood, and in mature life have devoted our days and our best powers to this service, though we always repeat that our discourse is “without authority”. We are all baptised and instructed in Christianity, so the question is not one of spreading Christianity. Far be it from us to judge someone who calls himself a Christian and declare that he is not; nor is the task here to confess Christ in opposition to non-Christians.
What is useful and necessary is that the single individual should attend carefully and self-consciously to himself and, if possible, help others, as one human being can help another, for God is the true helper, to become Christians in a deeper and deeper sense.
“Christendom”, used as a general name for an entire people, is a heading that easily says too much and therefore easily leads the single individual to believe too much about himself. It is customary, at least elsewhere, for signs beside the highways to indicate where the road leads. A sign may tell you, at the very moment you set out, that the road leads to the distant place which is your destination. Have you therefore reached it? So too with the sign “Christendom”. It gives the direction, but are you therefore at the goal, or even always on the way? Is it progress along the road if, once a week for one hour, you go as though along that road, while for six days you live within entirely different conceptions and make no attempt to understand how the two can hang together?
Is it really serious to conceal the true connection of things and relations, and then speak with the utmost seriousness about the most serious thing, which ought to be carried out into the confusion, while its relation to that confusion is left unexplained out of sheer seriousness? Who has the harder task: the teacher who presents the serious as though it were a vision suspended far from daily life, or the learner who must apply it? Concealing the serious is a deception; but is it not equally dangerous to state it under circumstances, and present it in a light, wholly unlike the reality of daily life?
If worldly life, with its splendour, distractions, and enchantments, can capture and ensnare a human being in so many ways, what is serious: to keep silent about the worldly in church out of sheer seriousness, or to speak seriously about it there and, if possible, strengthen people against its dangers? Could it really be impossible to speak about the worldly in a solemn and truly serious way? And if it were impossible, would it follow that devotional discourse should pass it over in silence? Ah, no: it would follow only that devotional discourse should forbid it with the utmost solemnity.
So we will test Christian conviction on “the poet”. What does “the poet” teach about erotic love and friendship? The question here is not about this or that particular poet, but about “the poet” insofar as he is faithful to himself and to his task as poet. If a so-called poet has lost faith in the poetic validity of erotic love and friendship, and has put something else in their place, he is not a poet. Perhaps what he substitutes is not Christian either; perhaps the whole thing is bungling.
Erotic love is grounded in a drive which, transfigured into inclination, has its highest and, poetically speaking, its sole unconditional expression in this: there is only one beloved in the whole world, and this one occurrence of erotic love is love, is everything; the second time, nothing. Ordinarily the proverb says, “Once is no time.” Here, by contrast, once is unconditionally everything, and the second time is unconditionally the downfall of everything.
This is poetry, and its unconditional emphasis falls upon passion’s highest pitch: to be or not to be. To love a second time is not also to love; for poetry it is an abomination. If a so-called poet tries to persuade us that erotic love can be repeated in the same person, or busies himself with clever follies that supposedly dissolve passion’s mystery into prudence’s “why”, he is not a poet. Nor is what he puts in place of poetry Christian.
Christian love teaches one to love all human beings, unconditionally all. Just as unconditionally and strongly as erotic love strains towards there being only one beloved, Christian love strains with equal force in the opposite direction. If in relation to Christian love one makes an exception of a single person whom one will not love, such love is not “also Christian love”; it is unconditionally not Christian love.
Yet this is roughly the confusion in so-called Christendom. The poets loosen erotic love’s passion: they give way, slacken passion’s tension, and make a concession by adding more, supposing that a person can fall in love several times and thus have several beloveds. Christian love also gives way: people slacken eternity’s tension and suppose that loving quite a number of people is Christian love. In this way both the poetic and the Christian have been confused, and what replaces them is neither poetic nor Christian.
Passion always has this unconditional character: it excludes the third; the third is confusion. To love without passion is impossible. The opposition between erotic love and Christian love is therefore passion’s only possible eternal difference; no other can be conceived. Anyone who thinks he can understand his life simultaneously through “the poet” and through Christianity, combining the two explanations so that his life makes sense, is in error.
“The poet” and Christianity explain precisely the opposite. “The poet” deifies inclination and, because he always thinks only of erotic love, is entirely right to call commanded love the greatest folly and most unreasonable speech. Christianity, because it always thinks only of Christian love, is surely also entirely right to thrust inclination from the throne and set this “shall” in its place.
“The poet” and Christianity explain precisely the opposite, or more exactly, “the poet” really explains nothing. He explains erotic love and friendship in riddles; he explains them as riddles. Christianity, however, explains love eternally. It is therefore impossible to live by both explanations at once, for the greatest possible opposition between two explanations is surely that one is no explanation and the other is the explanation.
Erotic love and friendship, as the poet understands them, contain no ethical task. They are happiness. Poetically understood, and the poet certainly understands happiness excellently, it is the highest happiness to fall in love and find this one beloved; it is happiness, almost as great, to find this one friend. The task can at most be to be properly grateful for one’s happiness. But finding the beloved or this friend can never become something one is required to do. It cannot be done, as the poet again understands excellently. The task therefore depends upon happiness giving one the task, which is precisely to say that, ethically understood, there is no task.
When, by contrast, one shall love “the neighbour”, there is the task, the ethical task, which is the origin of all tasks. Precisely because what is Christian is truly ethical, it shortens deliberation, cuts away lengthy introductions, removes all intervening waiting, and exempts one from every waste of time. What is Christian is immediately at the task because it carries the task with it.
The world conducts a great dispute about what should be called the highest. Yet whatever different thing receives the name, it is astonishing how many lengthy preliminaries are involved in grasping it. Christianity immediately teaches a person the shortest way to find the highest: shut your door and pray to God, for God is surely the highest.
When a person goes out into the world to seek the beloved or the friend, he may go for a long time and in vain, may wander the world and in vain. Christianity, however, never lets a person take even one single step in vain. The door you closed to pray to God: when you open it and go out, the first person you meet is “the neighbour”, whom you shall love.
How remarkable. A curious and superstitious girl may try to discover her future fate and see her future husband. Deceptive cleverness persuades her that, after doing this and that, she will recognise him as the first person she sees on a certain day. Is “the neighbour” really so hard to see, unless one prevents oneself from seeing him? Christianity has made it eternally impossible to mistake him. In the whole world no one is more certain or easier to recognise than “the neighbour”. You can never confuse him with anyone else, for “the neighbour” is all human beings.
If you take some other person for the neighbour, the identification itself cannot be wrong, since that other person too is the neighbour. The mistake lies in your refusal to understand who the neighbour is. If in the dark you save someone’s life, supposing him to be your friend, but he was your neighbour, this is no mistake. The mistake would be to save only your friend. If your friend complains that you have mistakenly done for the neighbour what he thought you would do only for him, remain calm: your friend is the one who is mistaken.
The point of dispute between “the poet” and Christianity can therefore be stated exactly: erotic love and friendship are preference and the passion of preference; Christian love is the love of self-denial, for which this “shall” gives surety. To weaken either passion is to create confusion. The boundlessness of passionate preference consists in excluding everyone but one single person. The boundlessness of self-denial consists in giving itself without excluding a single person.
At other times, when people were serious about understanding the Christian in life, they thought Christianity objected to erotic love because it is grounded in a drive. They thought that Christianity, as spirit, had set division between flesh and spirit and therefore hated erotic love as sensuousness. But this was a misunderstanding, an overwrought spirituality.
It is easy to show that Christianity is far from irrationally setting the sensuous against a person himself by teaching such overstrain. Does Paul not say that it is better to marry than to burn? Precisely because Christianity is truly spirit, it understands by “the sensuous” something other than what is ordinarily called sensuous. It no more wished to condemn a drive that a person did not give himself than it wished to forbid people to eat and drink.
By the sensuous, the fleshly, Christianity means the selfish. There can be no conflict between spirit and flesh unless a rebellious spirit stands on the side of flesh for spirit to contend with. There can be no conflict between spirit and a stone, or between spirit and a tree. The selfish, then, is the sensuous.
This is precisely why Christianity is suspicious of erotic love and friendship: preference in passion, or passionate preference, is really another form of self-love. Paganism never dreamed of this. Since paganism had no intimation of self-denial’s love for the neighbour, whom one “shall” love, it divided matters like this: self-love is detestable because it is self-love, but erotic love and friendship, which are passionate preference, are love. Christianity, which has revealed what love is, divides differently: self-love and passionate preference are essentially one; love for the neighbour is love.
Christianity asks: is loving the beloved really to love? And it adds, “Do not the pagans do the same?” Is loving the friend really to love? “Do not the pagans do the same?” It is therefore a misunderstanding to suppose that Christianity differs from paganism merely because Christians love the beloved and the friend more faithfully and tenderly. Does paganism not provide examples of erotic love and friendship so perfect that “the poet” looks back to them in order to learn?
But no one in paganism loved “the neighbour”; no one had an intimation that he existed. What paganism, in contrast with self-love, called love was preference. If passionate preference is essentially another form of self-love, then here again one sees the truth of the venerable fathers’ saying that “paganism’s virtues are glittering vices”.
It must now be shown that passionate preference is another form of self-love, and that self-denial’s love, by contrast, loves “the neighbour”, whom one shall love. Just as selfishly as self-love closes itself around this one “self”, and thereby is self-love, so erotic love’s passionate preference closes itself around this one beloved, and friendship’s passionate preference around this one friend.
The beloved and the friend are therefore called, remarkably and profoundly enough, the other self, the other I. The neighbour, however, is the other “you”, or more exactly, the third term of equality. The other self, the other I: but where does self-love lie? It lies in the I, in the self. Should self-love not also lurk in loving the other I, the other self? One need not be a great student of human nature to follow this clue towards troubling discoveries about others and humbling discoveries about oneself in erotic love and friendship.
The fire in self-love is self-ignition: the I sets itself alight. But in erotic love and friendship, poetically understood, there is also self-ignition. It is true that jealousy is said to appear only sometimes, and then as something pathological; but it does not follow that jealousy is not always present at the ground of erotic love and friendship. Try it: place “the neighbour”, whom one shall love, as a middle term between lover and beloved; place “the neighbour” as a middle term between friend and friend, and you will immediately see jealousy.
The neighbour is precisely self-denial’s middle term. The neighbour steps between the self-loving I and I, and also between the I of erotic love or friendship and the other I. Paganism and “the poet” could see that it is self-love when a faithless person wants to be rid of the beloved or desert the friend. But only Christianity sees that the devotion with which the lover gives himself to this one person, indeed holds fast to him, is also self-love. How can devotion and boundless self-surrender be self-love? When it is devotion to the other I, the other self.
Let a poet describe what erotic love must be like in a person if he is to call it erotic love. He will mention many things, but then add: “There must be admiration; the lover must admire the beloved.” The neighbour, by contrast, has never been presented as an object of admiration. Christianity has never taught that one shall admire the neighbour; one shall love him. In the relation of erotic love there must therefore be admiration, and the stronger and more vehement it is, the better, says the poet.
To admire another human being is certainly not self-love. But to be loved by the one person admired above all others: does this relation not return selfishly into the I that loves its other I? So too with friendship. To admire another person is not self-love; but to be this one admired person’s only friend: does this relation not return troublingly into the I from which we began? Is this not directly the danger of self-love: to have a single object of admiration when that one admired person in turn makes you the sole object of his erotic love or friendship?
To love the neighbour, by contrast, is self-denial’s love. Self-denial drives out all preference just as it drives out all self-love; otherwise self-denial too would make a distinction and harbour a preference for preference.
Even if passionate preference had nothing else selfish about it, it would still contain conscious or unconscious self-will. The self-will is unconscious insofar as preference lies under the power of natural determination; it becomes conscious insofar as the person gives himself boundlessly to that power and assents to it. However hidden and unconscious the self-will may be in passionate devotion to its “single object”, the arbitrary is present all the same.
The “single object” was not found by obedience to the royal law “You shall love”, but by choosing, indeed by unconditionally choosing, one single individual. Christian love also has only one object, the neighbour; but the neighbour is as far as possible from being only one single person, infinitely far from it, for the neighbour is all human beings.
When the lover or the friend can love only this one person in the whole world, something the poet delights to hear, this enormous devotion contains an enormous self-will. In his impetuous, boundless devotion the lover really relates to himself in self-love. Self-denial seeks to root out this selfish and self-willed element through eternity’s “You shall”.
Self-denial enters to judge and test self-love, and its judgement is double-edged, cutting equally in both directions. It knows that one form must be called faithless self-love, but knows equally well that another must be called devoted self-love. Its task is therefore double. In relation to faithless self-love, which wants to withdraw, the task is: give yourself. In relation to devoted self-love, the task is: give up this devotion.
The poet is indescribably pleased when the lover says, “I cannot love anyone else; I cannot stop loving or give up this love; it will be my death; I die of love.” Self-denial is not pleased at all and will not allow such devotion to be honoured with the name of love, since it is self-love. Self-denial first pronounces judgement and then sets the task: love “the neighbour”; him you shall love.
Wherever what is Christian is present, there is also self-denial, Christianity’s essential form. To relate oneself to what is Christian, one must first and foremost become sober; self-denial is precisely the transformation by which a human being becomes sober in eternity’s sense. Wherever what is Christian is absent, by contrast, the intoxication of self-feeling is the highest, and the highest point of this intoxication is what is admired.
Erotic love and friendship are precisely self-feeling’s highest point: the I intoxicated in the other I. The more firmly the two I’s close together to become one I, the more selfishly this united self shuts itself off from all others. At the highest point of erotic love and friendship, the two truly become one self, one I. This can be explained only because preference contains natural determination, drive and inclination, together with self-love, which can selfishly unite two people into a new selfish self.
The love of spirit, by contrast, removes all natural determination and all self-love from my self. Love for the neighbour therefore cannot make me and the neighbour one united self. It is love between two beings who are eternally determined, each for itself, as spirit. Love for the neighbour is the love of spirit, and two spirits can never become one self in the selfish sense.
In erotic love and friendship, the two love one another by virtue of difference, or by virtue of a likeness grounded in difference. Two friends, for example, love one another because they resemble each other in morals, character, occupation, culture, and so on: because of the likeness by which they differ from other people, or resemble one another as distinct from others. The two can therefore become one self in the selfish sense. Neither is yet himself according to spirit’s determination of “self”; neither has yet learned Christianly to love himself.
In erotic love the I is determined sensuously, psychically, and spiritually, and the beloved is a sensuous-psychical-spiritual determination. In friendship the I is determined psychically and spiritually, and the friend is a psychical-spiritual determination. Only in love for the neighbour is the loving self purely spiritually determined as spirit, and the neighbour a purely spiritual determination.
What was said at the beginning of this discourse therefore does not apply to erotic love and friendship: that a person needs to recognise only one human being as the neighbour to be healed of self-love, if in that person he loves the neighbour. In the beloved and the friend it is not the neighbour who is loved, but the other I, or the first I once again at a higher pitch. It is often as though a person, although self-love is the condemnable thing, lacks the strength to be alone in self-love. It fully reveals itself only when the other I has been found and the two I’s, in their solidarity, gain strength for self-love’s self-feeling.
Anyone who supposed that falling in love or finding a friend had taught a person Christian love would be greatly mistaken. If someone is in love in such a way that “the poet” would say, “he is truly in love”, the commandment can be altered slightly when addressed to him and yet say the same thing: love your neighbour as you love the beloved.
Does he not love the beloved “as himself”, as the command concerning the neighbour requires? Certainly he does. But the beloved whom he loves “as himself” is not the neighbour; the beloved is the other I. Whether we speak of the first I or the other I, we have not come one step nearer to “the neighbour”, for the neighbour is the first “you”. The strictly self-loving person also loves the other I at bottom, because the other I is himself. This is self-love. In the same sense, to love the other I who is the beloved or the friend is self-love.
Just as self-love in the strictest sense has been called self-idolatry, erotic love and friendship, as the poet understands them, are idolatry; this love stands and falls with his understanding. Ultimately, love for God is decisive, and love for “the neighbour” comes from it. Paganism had no intimation of this. It left God out, made erotic love and friendship into love, and abhorred self-love. But the Christian commandment commands one to love God above everything and then to love the neighbour.
In erotic love and friendship, preference is the middle term; in love for the neighbour, God is the middle term. Love God above everything, and then you also love the neighbour, and in the neighbour every human being. Only by loving God above everything can one love the neighbour in the other person. The other human being is the neighbour, the other person in the sense of every other person. Understood in this way, the discourse was right to say at the beginning that if a person loves “the neighbour” in one single other human being, he loves all human beings.
Love for the neighbour is therefore eternal equality in loving, and eternal equality is the opposite of preference. This needs no lengthy explanation. Equality means not making distinctions; eternal equality means unconditionally not making the slightest distinction, boundlessly not making the slightest distinction. Preference, by contrast, means making distinctions; passionate preference means boundlessly making distinctions.
But has Christianity, by its “You shall love”, not put something far higher in place of erotic love and friendship after thrusting them from the throne? Something far higher, yes; but let us speak cautiously, with orthodoxy’s caution. Christianity has been confused in many ways, including this: by calling it the highest and the deepest, people make it seem that the purely human relates to the Christian as the high or higher relates to the highest and very highest.
This is deceptive speech. It falsely and improperly makes Christianity appear busily eager to ingratiate itself with the human desire for knowledge or mere curiosity. Is there anything for which the human being as such, the natural human being, is more eager than “the highest”? Let a novelty-monger merely trumpet that his latest novelty is the highest, and he will cheerfully gain followers in a world that from time immemorial has had an indescribable preference for, and a deep need to be, deceived.
No, the Christian is certainly the highest and very highest, but note well: in such a way that it is an offence to the natural human being. Anyone who defines the Christian as the highest while omitting offence as the middle term sins against it. He commits a presumption more abominable than a respectable housewife dressing as a dancing girl, and still more dreadful than John, the stern judge, dressing as a fashionable dandy.
The Christian is too weighty in itself, and too serious in its movements, to flit about dancing in the frivolity of such glib and shallow talk about the higher, highest, and very highest. The way to the Christian passes through offence. This does not mean that access to the Christian consists in taking offence at it; that is simply another way of preventing oneself from grasping it. Offence stands guard at the entrance to the Christian. Blessed is the one who is not offended by it.
So too with the command to love the neighbour. Admit it; or if it disturbs you to hear the matter put this way, then I will admit that it has often repelled me and that I am still very far from imagining that I fulfil this command, which is an offence to flesh and blood and foolishness to wisdom.
Are you, my listener, perhaps what people call cultivated? Very well, I am cultivated too. But if you think “culture” brings you any nearer to this highest thing, you are greatly mistaken. Here precisely lies the error. We all desire culture, and culture incessantly has “the highest” in its mouth. No bird that has learned only one word cries it more unceasingly, and no crow cries its own name more unceasingly, than culture cries “the highest”. But the Christian is by no means culture’s “highest”; the Christian educates precisely through the repulsion of offence.
You can readily see this here. Has your culture, or has anyone’s zeal to acquire culture, taught him to love the neighbour? Has not culture, and the zeal with which it is pursued, far rather developed a new kind of difference: the difference between the cultivated and the uncultivated?
Notice what the cultivated say about erotic love and friendship: how closely the friend must resemble them in culture; how cultivated the girl must be, and cultivated in precisely the right way. Read the poets. They scarcely know how to preserve their confidence before culture’s mighty dominion; they scarcely dare believe in erotic love’s power to break the chain of every difference. Does this talk, this poetry, or a life corresponding to them, seem to bring a person nearer to loving the neighbour?
Here again the marks of offence have been left out. Imagine the most cultivated person, the one of whom we all say admiringly, “he is so cultivated”; and then imagine Christianity saying to him, “You shall love the neighbour!” A certain polish in social intercourse, courtesy towards everyone, friendly condescension to inferiors, a frank bearing before the powerful, a beautifully governed freedom of spirit: yes, that is culture. Do you think it is also to love the neighbour?
“The neighbour” is equality. The neighbour is not the beloved, for whom you have passion’s preference, nor your friend, for whom you have passion’s preference. Nor, if you are cultivated, is the neighbour the cultivated person who resembles you in culture; for with the neighbour you share the human being’s likeness before God.
Nor is the neighbour someone more distinguished than you. That is, he is not the neighbour insofar as he is more distinguished, for to love him because of his distinction can so easily be preference and therefore self-love. Nor is the neighbour someone lower than you. That is, insofar as he is lower, he is not the neighbour, for to love someone because he is lower can so easily become preference’s condescension and therefore self-love.
No, to love the neighbour is equality. In your relation to the distinguished person, it is encouraging that in him you shall love your neighbour. In relation to the lower person, it is humbling that in him you are not to love the lower person, but shall love the neighbour. It is saving, if you do it, for you shall do it.
“The neighbour” is every human being. He is not your neighbour by virtue of difference, nor by resembling you within a shared difference from other people. He is your neighbour through his likeness with you before God. Every human being has this likeness unconditionally, and has it unconditionally.
Danish and English Complete paired presentation · provisional translation
Each numbered Danish source passage is followed by the corresponding readable English. On wider screens the languages appear side by side. This comparison is distinct from a separate close-translation layer.
| Unit | Danish | Readable English |
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| 1 | Det er nemlig den christelige Kjerlighed, der opdager og veed, at »Næsten« er til, og, hvilket da er det Samme, at Enhver er det. Dersom det ikke var Pligt at elske, saa var det Begreb »Næsten« heller ikke til; men kun naar man elsker »Næsten«, kun da er det Selviske i Forkjerligheden udryddet, og det Eviges Ligelighed bevaret. | For it is Christian love that discovers and knows that “the neighbour” exists, which is the same as knowing that everyone is the neighbour. If love were not a duty, the concept “neighbour” would not exist either. Only when one loves the neighbour is the selfishness of preference rooted out and eternity’s equality preserved. |
| 2 | Det er ofte, om end paa forskjellig Maade, i forskjellig Stemning, med forskjellig Lidenskab og Hensigt indvendt mod Christendommen, at den fortrænger Elskov og Venskab. Saa har man igjen villet forsvare Christendommen, og til den Ende beraabt sig paa dens Lære, at man skal elske Gud af sit ganske Hjerte og Næsten som sig selv. Naar Striden føres paa den Maade, er det temmelig ligegyldigt, enten man strides eller man bliver enige, forsaavidt en Fægten i Luften og en Overeenskomst i Luften er lige intetsigende. Hellere maa man see at gjøre Stridspunktet ret tydeligt, for saa i Forsvaret med al Rolighed at indrømme, at Christendommen har stødt Elskov og Venskab fra Thronen, Driftens og Tilbøielighedens Kjerlighed, Forkjerligheden, for da at sætte Aandens Kjerlighed isteden, den til »Næsten«, en Kjerlighed, der i Alvor og Sandhed er i Inderlighed ømmere end Elskov – i Foreningen, og mere trofast i Oprigtighed end det berømteste Venskab – i Sammenhold. Hellere maa man see, at gjøre det ret tydeligt, at Elskov og Venskabs Priis tilhører Hedenskabet, at »Digteren« egentlig tilhører Hedenskabet, da hans Opgave tilhører det – for saa med Overbevisningens visse Aand at give Christendommen hvad Christendommens er, Kjerligheden til Næsten, om hvilken Kjerlighed der end ikke findes Anelse i Hedenskabet. Hellere maa man see ret at skifte og dele, for, om muligt, at foranledige den Enkelte til at vælge, end at forvirre og sammenblande og derved forhindre den Enkelte fra at faae et bestemt Indtryk af hvilket der er hvilket. Og fremfor Alt hellere maa man lade være at forsvare Christendommen end bevidst eller ubevidst at ville hævde den Alt – ogsaa det Ikke-Christelige. | The objection has often been raised against Christianity, though in different ways, in different moods, with different passion and intention, that it displaces erotic love and friendship. Then people have wanted to defend Christianity, and to that end have appealed to its teaching that one shall love God with all one’s heart and the neighbour as oneself. When the dispute is conducted in that way, it is fairly indifferent whether people quarrel or agree, since fighting in the air and agreement in the air are equally meaningless. Rather, one must try to make the point of dispute quite clear, so that in defending Christianity one can calmly concede that Christianity has thrust erotic love and friendship from the throne: the love of drive and inclination, preference. In their place it sets the love of spirit, love for “the neighbour”, a love that in earnest and truth is inwardly more tender than erotic love is in union, and more faithful in sincerity than the most famous friendship is in solidarity. One must make it clear that the praise of erotic love and friendship belongs to paganism, and that “the poet” properly belongs to paganism because his task belongs to it. Then, with conviction’s assured spirit, one can give Christianity what belongs to Christianity: love for the neighbour, a love of which there is not even an intimation in paganism. It is better to separate and divide rightly, and if possible prompt the single individual to choose, than to confuse and mix together and thereby prevent the single individual from gaining a definite impression of which is which. Above all, one should rather refrain from defending Christianity than consciously or unconsciously try to claim everything for it, including what is not Christian. |
| 3 | Enhver, der med Indsigt og i Alvor betænker denne Sag, vil let see, at Stridspunktet maa stilles saaledes: skal Elskov og Venskab være Kjerlighedens Høieste eller denne Kjerlighed være afsat. Elskov og Venskab forholder sig til Lidenskab, men al Lidenskab, hvad enten den angriber eller den værger sig, kæmper kun paa een Maade: enten – eller: »enten er jeg til og er det Høieste, eller er jeg slet ikke til, enten Alt eller Intet.« Det Fuskende og det Forvirrende (hvad der da er Hedenskabet og »Digteren« lige saa meget imod som det er Christendommen imod) fremkommer, naar Forsvaret løber ud paa, at Christendommen rigtignok lærer en høiere Kjerlighed, men tillige anpriser Elskov og Venskab. At tale saaledes forraader det Dobbelte: at den Talende hverken har Digterens Aand, ei heller Christendommens. Betræffende Aands-Forhold kan man – hvis man da vil undgaae at tale daarligen – ikke tale som en Kræmmer taler, der har en bedste Sort af Varen, men tillige en Mellemsort, hvilken han ogsaa meget godt tør anbefale som næstendeels lige saa god. Nei er det vist, at Christendommen lærer, at Kjerlighed til Gud og Næsten er den sande Kjerlighed, saa er det ogsaa vist, at den, som den har nedstødt al »Høihed, der opløfter sig mod Guds Kundskab, og taget al Tanke fangen i Lydighed,« at den saaledes ogsaa har nedstødt Elskov og Venskab. Var det ikke ogsaa underligt, hvis Christendommen var en saadan fuskende og forvirret Tale, som mangt et Forsvar for den, oftest værre end noget Angreb, vil gjøre den til, var det ikke underligt, at der da i det hele ny Testamente ikke findes et eneste Ord om Elskov i den Forstand, i hvilken »Digteren« besynger den og Hedenskabet forgudede den; var det ikke underligt, at der i det hele ny Testamente ikke findes eet eneste Ord om Venskab i den Forstand, i hvilken »Digteren« besynger det og Hedenskabet dyrkede det? Eller lad »Digteren«, som forstaaer sig selv i at være Digter, gjennemgaae hvad det ny Testamente lærer om Elskov, og han skal være bragt til Fortvivlelse, fordi han ikke skal finde eet eneste Ord, som kunde begeistre ham – og fandt nogen saa kaldet Digter alligevel et Ord, han brugte, da er dette en løgnagtig Brug, en Brøde, fordi han istedenfor at agte Christendommen, stjæler et kosteligt Ord og forvender det i Brugen. Lad »Digteren« søge i det ny Testamente for at finde Ord om Venskab, der kunne behage ham, og han skal indtil Fortvivlelse søge forgjeves. Men lad en Christen, som vil elske Næsten, søge, sandeligen han skal ikke søge forgjeves, han skal finde det ene Ord stærkere og myndigere end det Andet, tjenligt til i ham at opflamme denne Kjerlighed og til at bevare ham i denne Kjerlighed. | Anyone who considers this matter with insight and seriousness will easily see that the point of dispute must be put like this: shall erotic love and friendship be love’s highest form, or shall this love be deposed? Erotic love and friendship belong to passion; and all passion, whether it attacks or defends itself, fights in only one way: either-or. “Either I exist and am the highest, or I do not exist at all; either everything or nothing.” The bungling and confusing approach, which is just as much against paganism and “the poet” as against Christianity, arises when the defence comes down to this: that Christianity admittedly teaches a higher love, but also commends erotic love and friendship. To speak this way betrays two things: that the speaker has neither the poet’s spirit nor Christianity’s. In matters of spirit one cannot, if one wants to avoid speaking badly, speak like a shopkeeper who has a best grade of goods but also a middle grade, which he can recommend as almost just as good. If it is certain that Christianity teaches love of God and neighbour as true love, then it is also certain that, just as it has cast down every “height that raises itself against the knowledge of God” and taken every thought captive in obedience, it has also cast down erotic love and friendship. If Christianity were such a bungled and confused discourse as many a defence of it, often worse than any attack, tries to make it, would it not be strange that the whole New Testament contains not a single word about erotic love in the sense in which “the poet” sings it and paganism deified it? Would it not be strange that the whole New Testament contains not a single word about friendship in the sense in which “the poet” sings it and paganism cultivated it? Let “the poet”, insofar as he understands himself as poet, search through what the New Testament teaches about erotic love, and he will be brought to despair because he will not find a single word that could inspire him. If some so-called poet nevertheless found a word he used, this would be a lying use, a transgression, because instead of respecting Christianity he steals a precious word and perverts it in use. Let “the poet” search the New Testament for words about friendship that could please him, and he will search in vain to the point of despair. But let a Christian who wants to love the neighbour search; truly, he will not search in vain. He will find one word stronger and more authoritative than another, fit to kindle this love in him and preserve him in this love. |
| 4 | »Digteren« skal søge forgjeves. Men er Digteren da ingen Christen? Dette have vi jo ikke sagt, sige det heller ikke, men sige kun, at forsaavidt han er Digter er han ikke Christen. Dog maa der gjøres en Forskjel, thi der er jo ogsaa gudelige Digtere. Men disse besynge ikke Elskov og Venskab; deres Sange ere til Guds Priis, om Tro og Haab og Kjerlighed. Disse Digtere besynge ei heller Kjerlighed i den Forstand som »Digteren« besynger Elskov, thi Kjerlighed til Næsten vil ikke besynges, den vil fuldkommes. Selv om der ikke var Andet, som forhindrede »Digteren« fra at besynge Kjerlighed til Næsten, dette er allerede nok, at der ved hvert Ord i de hellige Bøger med usynlig Skrift staaer et for ham forstyrrende Mærke, thi der staaer: gak hen og gjør derefter – lyder dette vel som en Digter-Opfordring, der opfordrer ham til at synge? – Altsaa med den gudelige Digter er det en egen Sag, men om den verdslige Digter gjælder det, at han, forsaavidt han er Digter, ikke er Christen. Og dog er det jo den verdslige Digter, paa hvilken vi tænke, naar vi saadan i Almindelighed sige »Digteren«. At »Digteren« lever i Christendommen forandrer ikke Sagen. Om han er Christen, tilkommer ikke os at afgjøre, men forsaavidt han er »Digteren«, er han ikke Christen. Det kunde rigtignok synes, at da Christenheden nu saa længe har bestaaet, maa den vel have gjennemtrængt alle Forhold og – os Alle. Men dette er et Sandsebedrag. Og fordi Christendommen har bestaaet saa længe, dermed er jo dog vel ikke sagt, at det er os, der har levet saa længe eller saa længe været Christne. Netop »Digterens« Tilværelse i Christenheden og den Plads, der indrømmes ham, (thi Raahed og Misundelses Anfald paa ham er dog vel ingen christelig Indvending eller Betænkelighed mod hans Tilværelse), er en alvorlig Paamindelse om, hvor meget der er forud optaget, og om hvor let vi fristes til at indbilde os at være langt forud for os selv. Ak, thi medens det Christeliges Forkyndelse stundom høres sparsomt, saa lytte Alle til »Digteren«, beundre ham, lære af ham, fortrylles ved ham; ak, medens man hurtigt glemmer, hvad Præsten har sagt, hvor nøiagtigt og hvor længe husker man ikke hvad Digteren har sagt, især hvad han har sagt ved Hjælp af Skuespilleren. Meningen heraf kan jo ikke være, at man skulde, maaskee med Vold, see at faae Digteren bort; thi derved vilde kun vindes et nyt Sandsebedrag. Hvad hjalp det vel, om der ingen Digter var, naar der dog var i Christenheden saa Mange, der hvilede i den Forstaaelse af Tilværelsen, som »Digteren« raader over, saa Mange, der længtes efter »Digteren«! Det forlanges jo heller ikke af den Christne, at han, i blind og uviis Iver, skulde bringe det saa vidt, at han ikke mere kunde taale at læse en Digter – saa lidet som det fordres af den Christne, at han ikke maa spise med Andre sædvanlig Føde, eller at han skal boe afsides fra andre Mennesker i Særskilthedens Indelukke. Nei, men den Christne maa forstaae Alt anderledes end den Ikke-Christne, maa forstaae sig selv i at han veed at gjøre Forskjel. Hvert Øieblik udelukkende at skulle leve i de høieste christelige Forestillinger vilde et Menneske ikke være istand til, ligesaa lidet som ikke at leve af anden Spise end den ved Herrens Bord. Lad derfor kun »Digteren« være til, lad den enkelte Digter være beundret som han fortjener, hvis han virkeligt er det, men lad ogsaa den Enkelte i Christenheden forsøge sin christelige Overbevisning ved Hjælp af denne Prøve: hvorledes han forholder sig til »Digteren«, hvad ham tykkes om Digteren, hvorledes han læser ham, hvorledes han beundrer ham. See, om saadanne Sager tales der næsten aldrig i disse Tider, ak, Mangen skal maaskee denne Overveielse synes hverken at være christelig eller alvorlig nok, just fordi den taler om saadanne Gjenstande, der dog, vel at mærke, beskæftige Menneskene saa meget de sex Dage af Ugen, endog paa den syvende Dag vel i flere Timer end det Gudelige. Imidlertid fortrøste vi os – baade fordi vi ere vel underviste og oplærte i Christendom fra Barn af, og ogsaa i den modnere Alder have indviet vore Dages Tid og vore bedste Kræfter til denne Tjeneste, om vi end altid gjentage, at vor Tale er »uden Myndighed« – vi fortrøste os til at vide Besked om, hvorledes der skal, og især hvad der skal tales om i disse Tider. Vi ere jo Alle døbte og underviste i Christendommen, der kan altsaa ikke være Tale om at udbrede Christendommen; langtfra os være det paa den anden Side at dømme Nogen, der siger sig at være en Christen, at han ikke er det, der kan altsaa ikke være Tale om, at bekjende Christum i Modsætning til Ikke-Christne. Derimod er det vel gavnligt og fornødent, at den Enkelte omhyggeligt og selvbevidst agter paa sig selv, og om muligt hjælper Andre (saaledes da som det ene Menneske kan hjælpe det andet, thi Gud er den sande Hjælper) til i dybere og dybere Forstand at blive Christne. Det Ord »Christenhed« som almindelig Benævnelse for et heelt Folk er en Overskrift, som let siger for meget, og derfor igjen let foranlediger den Enkelte til at troe for meget om sig. Det er jo Skik, idetmindste andre Steder, at der ved Landeveiene staae Mærker, som angive, hvorhen denne Vei fører. Maaskee i samme Øieblik som man tiltræder Reisen, seer man allerede da paa et saadant Mærke, at denne Vei fører til hiint fjerne Sted, der er Reisens Bestemmelse: har man derfor naaet Stedet? Saaledes er det ogsaa med dette Veimærke »Christenheden«. Det angiver Retningen, men er man derfor ved Maalet, eller er man derfor altid blot – paa Veien? Eller er det at gaae frem ad Veien, at man engang om Ugen i een Time ligesom gaaer ad den Vei, medens man de sex Dage lever i ganske andre Forestillinger, og medens man intet Forsøg gjør paa, at forstaae sig selv i, hvorledes dette kan hænge sammen? Og er dette vel saa alvorligt: at fortie Sagens og Forholdenes sande Sammenhæng, for saa yderst alvorligt at tale om det Alvorligste, som dog vel skulde tages med ud i den Forvirring, hvis Forhold til dette Alvorlige man – af lutter Alvor ikke oplyser? Hvo har saa den vanskeligste Opgave: Læreren, der foredrager det Alvorlige som i et Luftsyns Fjernhed fra det Daglige, eller Lærlingen, der skulde gjøre Anvendelsen af det? Er det blot et Bedrag: at fortie det Alvorlige, er det ikke ogsaa et lige saa farligt Bedrag: at sige det – men under Omstændigheder, og fremstille det – men i en Belysning, der er aldeles forskjellig fra Virkelighedens daglige Liv? Dersom det dog er saa, at hele det verdslige Liv, dets Pragt, dets Adspredelser, dets Tryllerie paa saa mange Maader kan fængsle og besnære et Menneske, hvilket er saa det Alvorlige: enten af – lutter Alvor at fortie det Verdslige i Kirken, eller alvorligt at tale om det der, for, om muligt, at befæste Menneskene mod det Verdsliges Farer? Skulde det virkeligen være umuligt paa en høitidelig og i Sandhed alvorlig Maade at tale om det Verdslige? Og hvis det var umuligt, følger saa deraf, at det i det gudelige Foredrag skal forties? Ak, nei deraf vilde kun følge, at det i det gudelige Foredrag paa det Høitideligste skulde forbydes. | “The poet” will search in vain. But is the poet, then, not a Christian? We have not said this, nor do we say it. We say only that insofar as he is poet, he is not Christian. Yet a distinction must be made, for there are also devotional poets. They do not sing erotic love and friendship; their songs praise God and concern faith, hope, and love. Nor do they sing love in the sense in which “the poet” sings erotic love, for love of the neighbour does not want to be sung; it wants to be fulfilled. Even if nothing else prevented “the poet” from singing love of the neighbour, this would already be enough: beside every word in the holy books there stands, in invisible writing, a mark that disturbs him, for it says, “Go and do accordingly.” Does that sound like a poet’s summons, calling him to sing? The devotional poet is therefore a special case. But of the worldly poet it holds that, insofar as he is poet, he is not Christian. And it is the worldly poet we ordinarily mean by “the poet”. That “the poet” lives in Christendom does not change the matter. Whether he is Christian is not for us to decide; but insofar as he is “the poet”, he is not Christian. It may seem that since Christendom has existed so long, it must have penetrated every relation and all of us. But this is a deception of the senses. Christianity’s long existence does not mean that we have lived so long, or have been Christians so long. Precisely the poet’s existence in Christendom, and the place allowed him, is a serious reminder of how much has already been admitted and how easily we imagine ourselves far ahead of ourselves. Attacks of coarseness and envy upon the poet are surely no Christian objection to his existence. While the proclamation of what is Christian is sometimes heard sparingly, everyone listens to “the poet”, admires him, learns from him, and is enchanted by him. While one quickly forgets what the priest has said, how precisely and how long one remembers what the poet has said, especially what he has said with the actor’s help. The point is not that one should perhaps use force to get rid of the poet; that would yield only a new deception of the senses. What would it help if there were no poet, when so many people in Christendom still rested in the understanding of existence over which “the poet” presides, and so many still longed for “the poet”? Nor is the Christian required, in blind and unwise zeal, to bring himself to the point where he can no longer bear to read a poet, any more than he is forbidden to eat ordinary food with others or required to live shut away from other human beings. No, the Christian must understand everything differently from the non-Christian; he must understand himself in knowing how to distinguish. A human being could not live every moment exclusively in the highest Christian conceptions, any more than he could live on no food except that served at the Lord’s table. So let “the poet” exist; let the individual poet be admired as he deserves, if he truly is a poet. But let the single individual in Christendom also test his Christian conviction by this trial: how he relates to “the poet”, what he thinks of the poet, how he reads him, and how he admires him. Such matters are almost never discussed in these times. This deliberation may seem to many neither Christian nor serious enough precisely because it speaks about subjects that occupy people during the six days of the week and, even on the seventh, perhaps for more hours than devotional things do. Yet we trust ourselves to know how, and especially what, should be discussed in these times. We have been well instructed and trained in Christianity from childhood, and in mature life have devoted our days and our best powers to this service, though we always repeat that our discourse is “without authority”. We are all baptised and instructed in Christianity, so the question is not one of spreading Christianity. Far be it from us to judge someone who calls himself a Christian and declare that he is not; nor is the task here to confess Christ in opposition to non-Christians. What is useful and necessary is that the single individual should attend carefully and self-consciously to himself and, if possible, help others, as one human being can help another, for God is the true helper, to become Christians in a deeper and deeper sense. “Christendom”, used as a general name for an entire people, is a heading that easily says too much and therefore easily leads the single individual to believe too much about himself. It is customary, at least elsewhere, for signs beside the highways to indicate where the road leads. A sign may tell you, at the very moment you set out, that the road leads to the distant place which is your destination. Have you therefore reached it? So too with the sign “Christendom”. It gives the direction, but are you therefore at the goal, or even always on the way? Is it progress along the road if, once a week for one hour, you go as though along that road, while for six days you live within entirely different conceptions and make no attempt to understand how the two can hang together? Is it really serious to conceal the true connection of things and relations, and then speak with the utmost seriousness about the most serious thing, which ought to be carried out into the confusion, while its relation to that confusion is left unexplained out of sheer seriousness? Who has the harder task: the teacher who presents the serious as though it were a vision suspended far from daily life, or the learner who must apply it? Concealing the serious is a deception; but is it not equally dangerous to state it under circumstances, and present it in a light, wholly unlike the reality of daily life? If worldly life, with its splendour, distractions, and enchantments, can capture and ensnare a human being in so many ways, what is serious: to keep silent about the worldly in church out of sheer seriousness, or to speak seriously about it there and, if possible, strengthen people against its dangers? Could it really be impossible to speak about the worldly in a solemn and truly serious way? And if it were impossible, would it follow that devotional discourse should pass it over in silence? Ah, no: it would follow only that devotional discourse should forbid it with the utmost solemnity. |
| 5 | Altsaa paa »Digteren« ville vi prøve den christelige Overbevisning. Hvad lærer nu »Digteren« om Elskov og Venskab? Her er ikke Spørgsmaal om denne eller hiin bestemte Digter, men kun om »Digteren«, det er, kun om ham, forsaavidt han er sig selv og sin Opgave tro som Digter. Dersom saaledes en saakaldet Digter har tabt Troen paa den digteriske Gyldighed af Elskov og Venskab, paa dennes Opfattelse, og faaet sat noget Andet isteden, saa er han ikke Digter, og maaskee er det Andet, han sætter isteden, heller ikke det Christelige, men det Hele Fuskerie. Elskov er begrundet paa en Drift, som, forklaret til Tilbøielighed, har sit høieste, sit ubetingede, sit, digterisk ubetinget, eneste Udtryk i, at der kun er en eneste Elsket i den hele Verden, og at denne Elskovens eneste Gang er Elskov, er Alt, den anden Gang Intet – ellers siger man jo ordsprogligt, at een Gang er ingen Gang, her derimod er een Gang ubetinget Alt, den anden Gang ubetinget Alts Undergang. Dette er Poesie, og Eftertrykket ligger ubetinget paa Lidenskabelighedens Høieste: at være eller ikke at være. At elske anden Gang er ikke, ogsaa at elske, men er Poesien en Afskyelighed. Vil en saakaldet Digter indbilde os, at Elskov kan gjentages i det samme Menneske, vil en saakaldet Digter sysle med kløgtige Taabeligheder, som formeentligen skulle udtømme Lidenskabens Gaadefuldhed i Klogskabens »hvorfor«: da er han ikke Digter. Det, han sætter isteden for det Digteriske, er ei heller det Christelige. Den christelige Kjerlighed lærer at elske alle Mennesker, ubetinget alle. Ligesaa ubetinget og stærk som Elskov strammer i Retning af, at der kun er een eneste Elsket, lige saa ubetinget og stærk strammer den christelige Kjerlighed i modsat Retning. Vil man i Forhold til den christelige Kjerlighed gjøre Undtagelse med et eneste Menneske, som man ikke vil elske, saa er en saadan Kjerlighed ikke »ogsaa christelig Kjerlighed«, men den er ubetinget ikke christelig Kjerlighed. Og dog er dette saa omtrent Forvirringen i den saakaldte Christenhed: Digterne have sluppet Elskovens Lidenskab, de give efter, de slappe Lidenskabens Strammen, de slaae af (ved at lægge paa) og mene, at et Menneske, i Elskovens Forstand, kan elske flere Gange, saa at der altsaa bliver flere Elskede; den christelige Kjerlighed giver efter, slapper Evighedens Strammen, slaaer af og mener, at naar der dog elskes en heel Deel, saa er det christelig Kjerlighed. Saaledes er baade det Digteriske og det Christelige blevet forvirret, og det, som er traadt isteden, er hverken det Digteriske eller det Christelige. Lidenskab har altid denne ubetingede Eiendommelighed, at den udelukker det Tredie, det vil sige det Tredie er Forvirringen. At elske uden Lidenskab er en Umulighed, men Forskjellen mellem Elskov og christelig Kjerlighed er derfor ogsaa Lidenskabens eneste mulige evige Forskjel. En anden Forskjel mellem Elskov og christelig Kjerlighed lader sig ikke tænke. Dersom derfor et Menneske vil mene, paa eengang at kunne forstaae sit Liv ved Hjælp af »Digteren« og ved Hjælp af Christendommens Forklaring, vil mene at kunne forstaae disse tvende Forklaringer sammen – og da saaledes, at der blev Mening i hans Liv: saa er han i en Vildfarelse. »Digteren« og Christendommen forklare lige det Modsatte; »Digteren« forguder Tilbøieligheden og har derfor, da han bestandigt kun tænker paa Elskov, fuld Ret i at sige, at det at befale Kjerlighed er den største Taabelighed og den urimeligste Tale; Christendommen, som bestandigt kun tænker paa den christelige Kjerlighed, har dog vel ogsaa fuld Ret, naar den støder Tilbøieligheden fra Thronen og sætter dette »skal« isteden. | So we will test Christian conviction on “the poet”. What does “the poet” teach about erotic love and friendship? The question here is not about this or that particular poet, but about “the poet” insofar as he is faithful to himself and to his task as poet. If a so-called poet has lost faith in the poetic validity of erotic love and friendship, and has put something else in their place, he is not a poet. Perhaps what he substitutes is not Christian either; perhaps the whole thing is bungling. Erotic love is grounded in a drive which, transfigured into inclination, has its highest and, poetically speaking, its sole unconditional expression in this: there is only one beloved in the whole world, and this one occurrence of erotic love is love, is everything; the second time, nothing. Ordinarily the proverb says, “Once is no time.” Here, by contrast, once is unconditionally everything, and the second time is unconditionally the downfall of everything. This is poetry, and its unconditional emphasis falls upon passion’s highest pitch: to be or not to be. To love a second time is not also to love; for poetry it is an abomination. If a so-called poet tries to persuade us that erotic love can be repeated in the same person, or busies himself with clever follies that supposedly dissolve passion’s mystery into prudence’s “why”, he is not a poet. Nor is what he puts in place of poetry Christian. Christian love teaches one to love all human beings, unconditionally all. Just as unconditionally and strongly as erotic love strains towards there being only one beloved, Christian love strains with equal force in the opposite direction. If in relation to Christian love one makes an exception of a single person whom one will not love, such love is not “also Christian love”; it is unconditionally not Christian love. Yet this is roughly the confusion in so-called Christendom. The poets loosen erotic love’s passion: they give way, slacken passion’s tension, and make a concession by adding more, supposing that a person can fall in love several times and thus have several beloveds. Christian love also gives way: people slacken eternity’s tension and suppose that loving quite a number of people is Christian love. In this way both the poetic and the Christian have been confused, and what replaces them is neither poetic nor Christian. Passion always has this unconditional character: it excludes the third; the third is confusion. To love without passion is impossible. The opposition between erotic love and Christian love is therefore passion’s only possible eternal difference; no other can be conceived. Anyone who thinks he can understand his life simultaneously through “the poet” and through Christianity, combining the two explanations so that his life makes sense, is in error. “The poet” and Christianity explain precisely the opposite. “The poet” deifies inclination and, because he always thinks only of erotic love, is entirely right to call commanded love the greatest folly and most unreasonable speech. Christianity, because it always thinks only of Christian love, is surely also entirely right to thrust inclination from the throne and set this “shall” in its place. |
| 6 | »Digteren« og Christendommen forklare lige det Modsatte, eller nøiagtigere udtrykt, »Digteren« forklarer egentligen Intet, thi han forklarer Elskov og Venskab – i Gaader, han forklarer Elskov og Venskab som Gaader, men Christendommen forklarer Kjerligheden evigt. Deraf seer man igjen, at det er en Umulighed paa eengang at leve efter begge Forklaringer, thi den størst mulige Modsætning mellem tvende Forklaringer er dog vel den, at den ene ingen Forklaring er og den anden er Forklaringen. Elskov og Venskab, som Digteren forstaaer det, indeholder derfor heller ingen sædelig Opgave. Elskov og Venskab er Lykke; det er en Lykke, digterisk forstaaet, (og visseligen, Digteren forstaaer sig ypperligt paa Lykke) den høieste Lykke at blive forelsket, at finde denne eneste Elskede; det er en Lykke, den næsten ligesaa store Lykke, at finde denne eneste Ven. Opgaven kan da i det Høieste blive, ret at være taknemlig for sin Lykke. Derimod kan det aldrig blive Opgaven, at skulle finde den Elskede eller finde denne Ven; dette lader sig ikke gjøre, hvad Digteren igjen ypperligt forstaaer. Opgaven er altsaa afhængig af, om Lykken vil give En Opgaven; men dette er jo netop Udtrykket for, at der, sædeligt forstaaet, ingen Opgave er. Naar man derimod skal elske »Næsten«, saa er Opgaven, den sædelige Opgave, der igjen er alle Opgavernes Oprindelse. Netop fordi det Christelige er det sande Sædelige, veed det at forkorte Overveielserne og bortskære de vidtløftige Indledninger, at fjerne al midlertidig Venten og fritage for al Tidsspilde; det Christelige er strax ved Opgaven, fordi det har den med sig. Der føres jo i Verden stor Strid om, hvad der skal kaldes det Høieste. Men hvad der nu end kaldes saa, hvilket dette Forskjellige er: det er utroligt, saa mange Vidtløftigheder der ere forbundne med at gribe det. Christendommen lærer derimod et Menneske strax den korteste Vei til at finde det Høieste: luk Din Dør og beed til Gud – thi Gud er dog vel det Høieste. Og naar et Menneske skal gaae ud i Verden, ja da kan han maaskee gaae længe – og gaae forgjeves, vandre Verden rundt – og forgjeves, for at søge den Elskede eller Vennen. Men Christendommen forskylder aldrig at lade et Menneske gaae, end ikke eet eneste Skridt, forgjeves; thi den Dør, Du lukkede for at bede til Gud, naar Du lukker den op og gaaer ud, saa er det første Menneske, Du møder, »Næsten«, som Du skal elske. Forunderligt! Nysgjerrigt og overtroisk søger en Pige maaskee at faae sin tilkommende Skjebne at vide, at faae sin Tilkommende at see; og bedragersk Kløgt indbilder hende, at naar hun har gjort det og det og det, saa skal hun kjende ham paa, at han er den Første, hun faaer at see den og den Dag. Mon det ogsaa skulde være saa vanskeligt at faae »Næsten« at see – dersom man da ikke forhindrer sig selv i at see ham, thi Christendommen har gjort det evigt umuligt at tage feil af ham; der er i hele Verden ikke eet eneste Menneske, som er saa sikkert og saa let at kjende som »Næsten«. Du kan aldrig forvexle ham med nogen Anden, thi »Næsten« er jo alle Mennesker. Forvexler Du et andet Menneske med Næsten, da ligger Feiltagelsen ikke paa sidste Sted, thi det andet Menneske er jo ogsaa Næsten, Feiltagelsen ligger i Dig, at Du ikke vil forstaae, hvo Næsten er. Frelser Du i Mørke et Menneskes Liv, formenende, at det er Din Ven – men det var Din Næste, saa er dette jo ingen Feiltagelse; ak, det er jo derimod just en Feiltagelse, om Du kun vil frelse Din Ven. Beklager Din Ven sig over, at Du, som han mener det, ved en Feiltagelse gjør for Næsten, hvad han meente Du kun vilde gjøre for ham, ak, da vær Du rolig, det er Din Ven, der tager feil. | “The poet” and Christianity explain precisely the opposite, or more exactly, “the poet” really explains nothing. He explains erotic love and friendship in riddles; he explains them as riddles. Christianity, however, explains love eternally. It is therefore impossible to live by both explanations at once, for the greatest possible opposition between two explanations is surely that one is no explanation and the other is the explanation. Erotic love and friendship, as the poet understands them, contain no ethical task. They are happiness. Poetically understood, and the poet certainly understands happiness excellently, it is the highest happiness to fall in love and find this one beloved; it is happiness, almost as great, to find this one friend. The task can at most be to be properly grateful for one’s happiness. But finding the beloved or this friend can never become something one is required to do. It cannot be done, as the poet again understands excellently. The task therefore depends upon happiness giving one the task, which is precisely to say that, ethically understood, there is no task. When, by contrast, one shall love “the neighbour”, there is the task, the ethical task, which is the origin of all tasks. Precisely because what is Christian is truly ethical, it shortens deliberation, cuts away lengthy introductions, removes all intervening waiting, and exempts one from every waste of time. What is Christian is immediately at the task because it carries the task with it. The world conducts a great dispute about what should be called the highest. Yet whatever different thing receives the name, it is astonishing how many lengthy preliminaries are involved in grasping it. Christianity immediately teaches a person the shortest way to find the highest: shut your door and pray to God, for God is surely the highest. When a person goes out into the world to seek the beloved or the friend, he may go for a long time and in vain, may wander the world and in vain. Christianity, however, never lets a person take even one single step in vain. The door you closed to pray to God: when you open it and go out, the first person you meet is “the neighbour”, whom you shall love. How remarkable. A curious and superstitious girl may try to discover her future fate and see her future husband. Deceptive cleverness persuades her that, after doing this and that, she will recognise him as the first person she sees on a certain day. Is “the neighbour” really so hard to see, unless one prevents oneself from seeing him? Christianity has made it eternally impossible to mistake him. In the whole world no one is more certain or easier to recognise than “the neighbour”. You can never confuse him with anyone else, for “the neighbour” is all human beings. If you take some other person for the neighbour, the identification itself cannot be wrong, since that other person too is the neighbour. The mistake lies in your refusal to understand who the neighbour is. If in the dark you save someone’s life, supposing him to be your friend, but he was your neighbour, this is no mistake. The mistake would be to save only your friend. If your friend complains that you have mistakenly done for the neighbour what he thought you would do only for him, remain calm: your friend is the one who is mistaken. |
| 7 | Stridspunktet mellem »Digteren« og Christendommen lader sig da ganske nøiagtigt bestemme saaledes: Elskov og Venskab er Forkjerlighed og Forkjerligheds Lidenskab; den christelige Kjerlighed er Selvfornegtelsens Kjerlighed, derfor borger dette »skal«. At afmatte disse Lidenskaber er Forvirringen. Men Forkjerlighedens lidenskabelige Grændseløseste i at udelukke er, kun at elske een Eneste; Selvfornegtelsens Grændseløseste i at hengive sig er, ikke at udelukke een Eneste. | The point of dispute between “the poet” and Christianity can therefore be stated exactly: erotic love and friendship are preference and the passion of preference; Christian love is the love of self-denial, for which this “shall” gives surety. To weaken either passion is to create confusion. The boundlessness of passionate preference consists in excluding everyone but one single person. The boundlessness of self-denial consists in giving itself without excluding a single person. |
| 8 | Man har til andre Tider, hvor man dog gjorde Alvor af at forstaae det Christelige ind i Livet, meent, at Christendommen havde Noget mod Elskov, fordi den er begrundet paa en Drift, man meente, at Christendommen, der, som Aand, har sat Splid mellem Kjød og Aand, hadede Elskov som Sandselighed. Men dette var en Misforstaaelse, en Aandighedens Overspændthed. Det lader sig desuden ogsaa let vise, at Christendommen er meget langtfra ufornuftigt at ville ophidse det Sandselige mod et Menneske selv ved at lære ham Overspændthed; siger ikke Paulus, at det er bedre at gifte sig end at lide Brynde. Nei, netop fordi Christendommen i Sandhed er Aand, derfor forstaaer den ved det Sandselige noget Andet, end hvad man ligefrem kalder det Sandselige, og saa lidet som den har villet forbyde Menneskene at spise og drikke, lige saa lidet har den taget Forargelse af en Drift, Mennesket jo ikke har givet sig selv. Ved det Sandselige, det Kjødelige forstaaer Christendommen det Selviske; der lader sig heller ingen Strid tænke mellem Aand og Kjød, med mindre der er en oprørsk Aand paa Kjødets Side, med hvilken saa Aanden strider; der lader sig jo saaledes ingen Strid tænke mellem Aand og en Steen, eller mellem Aand og et Træ. Altsaa det Selvkjerlige er det Sandselige. Just derfor er det, at Christendommen har Mistanke til Elskov og Venskab, fordi Forkjerlighed i Lidenskab eller lidenskabelig Forkjerlighed egentligen er en anden Form af Selvkjerlighed. See, dette har atter Hedenskabet aldrig drømt om. Fordi Hedenskabet aldrig har anet Selvfornegtelsens Kjerlighed til Næsten, som man »skal« elske, derfor deelte det saaledes: Selvkjerlighed er afskyelig, fordi den er Selvkjerlighed; men Elskov og Venskab, der er lidenskabelig Forkjerlighed, er Kjerlighed. Men Christendommen, der har gjort det aabenbaret hvad Kjerlighed er, deler anderledes: Selvkjerlighed og lidenskabelig Forkjerlighed blive væsentligen Eet; men Kjerlighed til Næsten, det er Kjerlighed. At elske den Elskede, siger Christendommen, er det at elske, og tilføier »gjøre ikke ogsaa Hedningerne det Samme?« At elske Vennen er det at elske, siger Christendommen, »gjøre ikke ogsaa Hedningerne det Samme?« Dersom derfor Nogen vilde mene, at Forskjellen mellem Hedenskab og Christendom er, at den Elskede og Vennen i Christendommen elskes ganske anderledes trofast og ømt end i Hedenskabet, da er dette en Misforstaaelse. Viser ikke ogsaa Hedenskabet Exempler paa Elskov og Venskab saa fuldkomne, at »Digteren« lærende seer tilbage til dem. Men »Næsten« elskede Ingen i Hedenskabet, Ingen anede, at han var til. Hvad Hedenskabet da, i Modsætning til Selvkjerlighed, kaldte Kjerlighed, var Forkjerlighed. Men er lidenskabelig Forkjerlighed væsentligen en anden Form af Selvkjerlighed, saa seer man atter her det Sande i de ærværdige Fædres Udsagn: »at Hedenskabets Dyder ere glimrende Laster«. | At other times, when people were serious about understanding the Christian in life, they thought Christianity objected to erotic love because it is grounded in a drive. They thought that Christianity, as spirit, had set division between flesh and spirit and therefore hated erotic love as sensuousness. But this was a misunderstanding, an overwrought spirituality. It is easy to show that Christianity is far from irrationally setting the sensuous against a person himself by teaching such overstrain. Does Paul not say that it is better to marry than to burn? Precisely because Christianity is truly spirit, it understands by “the sensuous” something other than what is ordinarily called sensuous. It no more wished to condemn a drive that a person did not give himself than it wished to forbid people to eat and drink. By the sensuous, the fleshly, Christianity means the selfish. There can be no conflict between spirit and flesh unless a rebellious spirit stands on the side of flesh for spirit to contend with. There can be no conflict between spirit and a stone, or between spirit and a tree. The selfish, then, is the sensuous. This is precisely why Christianity is suspicious of erotic love and friendship: preference in passion, or passionate preference, is really another form of self-love. Paganism never dreamed of this. Since paganism had no intimation of self-denial’s love for the neighbour, whom one “shall” love, it divided matters like this: self-love is detestable because it is self-love, but erotic love and friendship, which are passionate preference, are love. Christianity, which has revealed what love is, divides differently: self-love and passionate preference are essentially one; love for the neighbour is love. Christianity asks: is loving the beloved really to love? And it adds, “Do not the pagans do the same?” Is loving the friend really to love? “Do not the pagans do the same?” It is therefore a misunderstanding to suppose that Christianity differs from paganism merely because Christians love the beloved and the friend more faithfully and tenderly. Does paganism not provide examples of erotic love and friendship so perfect that “the poet” looks back to them in order to learn? But no one in paganism loved “the neighbour”; no one had an intimation that he existed. What paganism, in contrast with self-love, called love was preference. If passionate preference is essentially another form of self-love, then here again one sees the truth of the venerable fathers’ saying that “paganism’s virtues are glittering vices”. |
| 9 | At lidenskabelig Forkjerlighed er en anden Form for Selvkjerlighed skal nu vises, samt at derimod Selvfornegtelsens Kjerlighed elsker »Næsten«, som man skal elske. Lige saa selvisk som Selvkjerligheden slutter sig om dette eneste »Selv«, hvorved den er Selvkjerlighed, lige saa selvisk slutter Elskovens lidenskabelige Forkjerlighed sig om denne eneste Elskede, og Venskabets lidenskabelige Forkjerlighed sig om denne eneste Ven. Den elskede og Vennen kaldes derfor, mærkeligt og dybsindigt nok, det andet Selv, det andet Jeg – thi Næsten er det andet »Du« eller ganske nøiagtigt Ligelighedens Trediemand. Det andet Selv, det andet Jeg. Men hvori ligger Selvkjerlighed? Den ligger i Jeget, i Selvet. Skulde saa ikke ogsaa Selvkjerligheden stikke i at elske det andet Jeg, det andet Selv? Sandeligen, man behøver ikke at være nogen stor Menneskekjender for ved Hjælp af dette Spoer at gjøre for Andre betænkelige og for En selv ydmygende Opdagelser betræffende Elskov og Venskab. Den Ild, der er i Selvkjerligheden, er Selvantændelse, Jeget antænder sig ved sig selv; men i Elskov og Venskab, digterisk forstaaet, er der ogsaa Selvantændelse. Sandt nok, man siger, at det kun er stundom og da sygeligt, at Iversygen viser sig; men deraf følger ikke, at den ikke i Grunden altid er i Elskov og Venskab. Prøv det, anbring mellem den Elskende og den Elskede som Mellembestemmelse »Næsten«, man skal elske; anbring mellem Ven og Ven som Mellembestemmelse »Næsten«, man skal elske: og Du skal øieblikkeligt see Iversygen. Men dog er »Næsten« jo netop Selvfornegtelsens Mellembestemmelse, der træder mellem den Selvkjerliges Jeg og Jeg, men ogsaa mellem Elskovens og Venskabets Jeg og det andet Jeg. At det er Selvkjerlighed, naar en Troløs vil være den Elskede qvit, vil lade Vennen i Stikken, det saae Hedenskabet ogsaa, det seer »Digteren«. Men at den Hengivenhed, med hvilken den Elskende giver sig hen til denne Eneste, ja holder ham fast, at det er Selvkjerlighed, det seer blot Christendommen. Hvor kan dog ogsaa Hengivenhed og grændseløs Hengivelse være Selvkjerlighed? Jo, naar den er Hengivenhed til det andet Jeg, det andet Selv. – Lad en Digter beskrive, hvorledes Elskov skal være i et Menneske, for at han skal kalde det Elskov; han vil nævne Meget, som vi her ikke dvæle ved, men da vil han tilføie: »og saa maa der være Beundring, den Elskende maa beundre den Elskede.« Næsten derimod er aldrig bleven fremstillet som en Gjenstand for Beundring, Christendommen har aldrig lært, at man skal beundre Næsten – man skal elske ham. Altsaa der skal være Beundring i Elskovens Forhold, og jo stærkere jo hæftigere Beundringen er, jo bedre, siger Digteren. Nu, at beundre et andet Menneske er vistnok ikke Selvkjerlighed; men, at være elsket af den eneste Beundrede, skulde dette Forhold ikke paa en selvisk Maade vende tilbage i det Jeg, der elsker – sit andet Jeg? Og saaledes ogsaa med Venskab. At beundre et andet Menneske er vistnok ikke Selvkjerlighed, men at være denne eneste Beundredes eneste Ven, skulde dette Forhold ikke paa en betænkelig Maade vende tilbage i det Jeg, hvorfra vi gik ud? Er dette ikke ligefrem Selvkjerlighedens Fare, at have een eneste Gjenstand for sin Beundring, naar saa denne eneste Beundrede igjen gjør En til eneste Gjenstand for sin Elskov eller sit Venskab? | It must now be shown that passionate preference is another form of self-love, and that self-denial’s love, by contrast, loves “the neighbour”, whom one shall love. Just as selfishly as self-love closes itself around this one “self”, and thereby is self-love, so erotic love’s passionate preference closes itself around this one beloved, and friendship’s passionate preference around this one friend. The beloved and the friend are therefore called, remarkably and profoundly enough, the other self, the other I. The neighbour, however, is the other “you”, or more exactly, the third term of equality. The other self, the other I: but where does self-love lie? It lies in the I, in the self. Should self-love not also lurk in loving the other I, the other self? One need not be a great student of human nature to follow this clue towards troubling discoveries about others and humbling discoveries about oneself in erotic love and friendship. The fire in self-love is self-ignition: the I sets itself alight. But in erotic love and friendship, poetically understood, there is also self-ignition. It is true that jealousy is said to appear only sometimes, and then as something pathological; but it does not follow that jealousy is not always present at the ground of erotic love and friendship. Try it: place “the neighbour”, whom one shall love, as a middle term between lover and beloved; place “the neighbour” as a middle term between friend and friend, and you will immediately see jealousy. The neighbour is precisely self-denial’s middle term. The neighbour steps between the self-loving I and I, and also between the I of erotic love or friendship and the other I. Paganism and “the poet” could see that it is self-love when a faithless person wants to be rid of the beloved or desert the friend. But only Christianity sees that the devotion with which the lover gives himself to this one person, indeed holds fast to him, is also self-love. How can devotion and boundless self-surrender be self-love? When it is devotion to the other I, the other self. Let a poet describe what erotic love must be like in a person if he is to call it erotic love. He will mention many things, but then add: “There must be admiration; the lover must admire the beloved.” The neighbour, by contrast, has never been presented as an object of admiration. Christianity has never taught that one shall admire the neighbour; one shall love him. In the relation of erotic love there must therefore be admiration, and the stronger and more vehement it is, the better, says the poet. To admire another human being is certainly not self-love. But to be loved by the one person admired above all others: does this relation not return selfishly into the I that loves its other I? So too with friendship. To admire another person is not self-love; but to be this one admired person’s only friend: does this relation not return troublingly into the I from which we began? Is this not directly the danger of self-love: to have a single object of admiration when that one admired person in turn makes you the sole object of his erotic love or friendship? |
| 10 | At elske Næsten derimod er Selvfornegtelsens Kjerlighed, og Selvfornegtelsen jager just al Forkjerlighed ud ligesom den jager al Selvkjerlighed ud – ellers gjorde jo ogsaa Selvfornegtelsen Forskjel og nærede Forkjerlighed for Forkjerligheden. Havde end lidenskabelig Forkjerlighed intet andet Selvisk ved sig, den har dog dette, at der i den er bevidst eller ubevidst Selvraadighed, ubevidst forsaavidt den er i Naturbestemmelsens Magt, bevidst forsaavidt den grændseløst hengiver sig i og samtykker denne Magt. Hvor skjult, hvor ubevidst end Selvraadigheden er i den lidenskabelige Hengivelse til sin »eneste Gjenstand«, det Vilkaarlige er der alligevel. Den »eneste Gjenstand« blev jo ikke funden ved Lydighed under den kongelige Lov »Du skal elske«, men ved at vælge, ja ved ubetinget at udvælge een eneste Enkelt – thi den christelige Kjerlighed har ogsaa kun een eneste Gjenstand, Næsten, men Næsten er tillige saa langt som det er muligt fra kun at være eet eneste Menneske, uendeligt langt derfra, thi Næsten er alle Mennesker. Naar den Elskende eller Vennen, hvad der er Digteren en Vellyst at høre, ikkun kan elske dette eneste Menneske i hele Verden, saa er der i denne uhyre Hengivenhed en uhyre Selvraadighed, og den Elskende forholder sig i denne fremstormende, grændseløse Hengivenhed egentligen til sig selv i Selvkjerlighed. Dette Selvkjerlige, Selvraadige vil Selvfornegtelsen udrydde ved Evighedens »Du skal.« Og Selvfornegtelsen, der dømmende trænger ind for at prøve Selvkjerligheden, er just ogsaa saaledes tveægget, at den ligeligt skærer til begge Sider; den veed meget godt, at der er en Selvkjerlighed, som man maa kalde den troløse Selvkjerlighed, men den veed ogsaa aldeles lige saa godt, at der er en Selvkjerlighed, som maa kaldes den hengivne Selvkjerlighed. Selvfornegtelsens Opgave er derfor i sig dobbelt, forholdende sig til Forskjellen mellem disse tvende Forskjelligheder. I Forhold til den troløse Selvkjerlighed, der vil unddrage sig, er Opgaven: hengiv Dig; i Forhold til den hengivne Selvkjerlighed er Opgaven: opgiv denne Hengivenhed. Og hvad der behager Digteren ubeskriveligt, at den Elskende siger: »jeg kan ikke elske nogen Anden, jeg kan ikke lade være at elske, ikke opgive denne Kjerlighed, det bliver min Død, jeg døer af Kjerlighed«, det behager slet ikke Selvfornegtelsen, og den taaler ingenlunde, at en saadan Hengivenhed æres med Kjerlighedens Navn, da den er Selvkjerlighed. Selvfornegtelsen holder saaledes først Dom, og da sætter den Opgaven: elsk »Næsten«, ham skal Du elske. | To love the neighbour, by contrast, is self-denial’s love. Self-denial drives out all preference just as it drives out all self-love; otherwise self-denial too would make a distinction and harbour a preference for preference. Even if passionate preference had nothing else selfish about it, it would still contain conscious or unconscious self-will. The self-will is unconscious insofar as preference lies under the power of natural determination; it becomes conscious insofar as the person gives himself boundlessly to that power and assents to it. However hidden and unconscious the self-will may be in passionate devotion to its “single object”, the arbitrary is present all the same. The “single object” was not found by obedience to the royal law “You shall love”, but by choosing, indeed by unconditionally choosing, one single individual. Christian love also has only one object, the neighbour; but the neighbour is as far as possible from being only one single person, infinitely far from it, for the neighbour is all human beings. When the lover or the friend can love only this one person in the whole world, something the poet delights to hear, this enormous devotion contains an enormous self-will. In his impetuous, boundless devotion the lover really relates to himself in self-love. Self-denial seeks to root out this selfish and self-willed element through eternity’s “You shall”. Self-denial enters to judge and test self-love, and its judgement is double-edged, cutting equally in both directions. It knows that one form must be called faithless self-love, but knows equally well that another must be called devoted self-love. Its task is therefore double. In relation to faithless self-love, which wants to withdraw, the task is: give yourself. In relation to devoted self-love, the task is: give up this devotion. The poet is indescribably pleased when the lover says, “I cannot love anyone else; I cannot stop loving or give up this love; it will be my death; I die of love.” Self-denial is not pleased at all and will not allow such devotion to be honoured with the name of love, since it is self-love. Self-denial first pronounces judgement and then sets the task: love “the neighbour”; him you shall love. |
| 11 | Overalt hvor det Christelige er, er ogsaa Selvfornegtelse, der er Christendommens væsentlige Form. For at forholde sig til det Christelige maa man først og fremmest blive ædru; men Selvfornegtelse er just den Forvandling, ved hvilken et Menneske i Evighedens Forstand bliver ædru. Overalt derimod, hvor det Christelige ikke er, er Selvfølelsens Berusethed det Høieste, og denne Berusetheds Høieste det Beundrede. Men Elskov og Venskab er netop Selvfølelsens Høieste, er Jeget beruset i det andet Jeg. Jo fastere de tvende Jeger slutte sig sammen til at blive eet Jeg, jo mere slutter dette forenede Selv sig selvisk ud fra alle Andre. I Elskov og Venskabs Høieste blive de Tvende virkeligen eet Selv, eet Jeg. Dette er kun forklarligt, fordi der i Forkjerlighed er indeholdt Naturbestemmelse (Drift – Tilbøielighed) og Selvkjerlighed, der selvisk kan forene Tvende i et nyt selvisk Selv. Aandens Kjerlighed derimod borttager af mit Selv al Naturbestemmelse og al Selvkjerlighed, derfor kan Kjerlighed til Næsten ikke gjøre mig til Eet med Næsten i et forenet Selv. Kjerlighed til Næsten er Kjerlighed mellem tvende evigt hver for sig som Aand bestemte Væsener; Kjerlighed til Næsten er Aandens Kjerlighed, men to Aander kunne aldrig blive til eet Selv i selvisk Forstand. I Elskov og Venskab elske de Tvende hinanden i Kraft af Forskjelligheden eller i Kraft af den Lighed, der grunder i Forskjellighed (som naar de tvende Venner elske hinanden paa Grund af Ligheden i Sæder, Charakteer, Syssel, Dannelse o. s. v., altsaa paa Grund af den Lighed, ved hvilken de ere forskjellige fra andre Mennesker, eller i hvilken de ligne hinanden som forskjellige fra andre Mennesker) derfor kan de Tvende i selvisk Forstand blive til eet Selv; Ingen af dem er endnu sig selv Aandens Bestemmelse af »Selv,« Ingen af dem har endnu lært christeligt at elske sig selv. I Elskov er Jeg’et sandselig-sjelelig-aandelig bestemmet, den Elskede en sandselig-sjelelig-aandelig Bestemmelse; i Venskab er Jeg’et sjelelig-aandelig bestemmet, Vennen en sjelelig-aandelig Bestemmelse; kun i Kjerlighed til Næsten er det Selv, som Elsker, reent aandeligt bestemmet som Aand, og Næsten en reen aandelig Bestemmelse. Det gjælder derfor ingenlunde om Elskov og Venskab, hvad der blev sagt i Begyndelsen af denne Tale, at der behøves blot eet Menneske, der erkjendes for Næsten, for at helbrede Mennesket fra Selvkjerlighed, hvis han i dette Menneske elsker Næsten; thi i den Elskede og Vennen elskes jo ikke Næsten, men det andet Jeg, eller det første Jeg endnu engang, endnu høiere. Det er ofte, som om Mennesket, skjøndt Selvkjerlighed er det Fordømmelige, dog ikke har Kraft til at være ene om Selvkjerlighed, saa denne først ret viser sig, naar det andet Jeg er fundet, og de tvende Jeg’er i dette Sammenhold finde Kraft til Selvkjerlighedens Selvfølelse. Vilde Nogen mene, at et Menneske, ved at blive forelsket eller ved at have fundet en Ven, havde lært den christelige Kjerlighed, da er han i en stor Vildfarelse. Nei, dersom En er forelsket og saaledes, at »Digteren« vilde udsige om ham »han er virkelig forelsket«, ja, da kan Kjerligheds-Budet forandres lidt, naar der tales til ham og dog sige det Samme. Kjerlighedsbudet kan til ham sige: elsk Din Næste, som Du elsker den Elskede. Og dog, elsker han da ikke den Elskede, »som sig selv«, hvad Budet, der taler om Næsten, befaler? Visseligen gjør han det, men den Elskede han elsker »som sig selv« er ikke Næsten, den Elskede er det andet Jeg. Enten vi tale om det første Jeg eller om det andet Jeg, dermed ere vi ikke komne »Næsten« et Skridt nærmere; thi Næsten er det første »Du«. Den i strengeste Forstand Selvkjerlige elsker i Grunden ogsaa det andet Jeg, thi det andet Jeg er ham selv. Og dog er dette vel Selvkjerlighed. Men i samme Forstand er det Selvkjerlighed at elske det andet Jeg, som er den Elskede eller Vennen. Og som Selvkjerlighed i strengeste Forstand er bleven betegnet som Selvforgudelse, saaledes er Elskov og Venskab (som Digteren forstaaer det og med hans Forstaaelse staaer og falder denne Kjerlighed) Afgudsdyrkelse. Thi i sidste Grund er Kjerlighed til Gud det Afgjørende, fra den stammer Kjerlighed til »Næsten«, men dette anede Hedenskabet ikke. Man udelod Gud, man gjorde Elskov og Venskab til Kjerlighed, og afskyede Selvkjerlighed. Men det christelige Kjerligheds Bud befaler at elske Gud høiere end Alt, og saa at elske Næsten. I Elskov og Venskab er Forkjerligheden Mellembestemmelse, i Kjerlighed til Næsten er Gud Mellembestemmelsen, elsk Gud høiere end Alt, saa elsker Du ogsaa Næsten og i Næsten ethvert Menneske; kun ved at elske Gud høiere end Alt kan man i det andet Menneske elske Næsten. Det andet Menneske, dette er Næsten, der er det andet Menneske i den Forstand, at det andet Menneske er ethvert andet Menneske. Saaledes forstaaet havde altsaa Talen Ret, naar den i Begyndelsen sagde, at hvis et Menneske i eet eneste andet Menneske elsker »Næsten«, saa elsker han alle Mennesker. | Wherever what is Christian is present, there is also self-denial, Christianity’s essential form. To relate oneself to what is Christian, one must first and foremost become sober; self-denial is precisely the transformation by which a human being becomes sober in eternity’s sense. Wherever what is Christian is absent, by contrast, the intoxication of self-feeling is the highest, and the highest point of this intoxication is what is admired. Erotic love and friendship are precisely self-feeling’s highest point: the I intoxicated in the other I. The more firmly the two I’s close together to become one I, the more selfishly this united self shuts itself off from all others. At the highest point of erotic love and friendship, the two truly become one self, one I. This can be explained only because preference contains natural determination, drive and inclination, together with self-love, which can selfishly unite two people into a new selfish self. The love of spirit, by contrast, removes all natural determination and all self-love from my self. Love for the neighbour therefore cannot make me and the neighbour one united self. It is love between two beings who are eternally determined, each for itself, as spirit. Love for the neighbour is the love of spirit, and two spirits can never become one self in the selfish sense. In erotic love and friendship, the two love one another by virtue of difference, or by virtue of a likeness grounded in difference. Two friends, for example, love one another because they resemble each other in morals, character, occupation, culture, and so on: because of the likeness by which they differ from other people, or resemble one another as distinct from others. The two can therefore become one self in the selfish sense. Neither is yet himself according to spirit’s determination of “self”; neither has yet learned Christianly to love himself. In erotic love the I is determined sensuously, psychically, and spiritually, and the beloved is a sensuous-psychical-spiritual determination. In friendship the I is determined psychically and spiritually, and the friend is a psychical-spiritual determination. Only in love for the neighbour is the loving self purely spiritually determined as spirit, and the neighbour a purely spiritual determination. What was said at the beginning of this discourse therefore does not apply to erotic love and friendship: that a person needs to recognise only one human being as the neighbour to be healed of self-love, if in that person he loves the neighbour. In the beloved and the friend it is not the neighbour who is loved, but the other I, or the first I once again at a higher pitch. It is often as though a person, although self-love is the condemnable thing, lacks the strength to be alone in self-love. It fully reveals itself only when the other I has been found and the two I’s, in their solidarity, gain strength for self-love’s self-feeling. Anyone who supposed that falling in love or finding a friend had taught a person Christian love would be greatly mistaken. If someone is in love in such a way that “the poet” would say, “he is truly in love”, the commandment can be altered slightly when addressed to him and yet say the same thing: love your neighbour as you love the beloved. Does he not love the beloved “as himself”, as the command concerning the neighbour requires? Certainly he does. But the beloved whom he loves “as himself” is not the neighbour; the beloved is the other I. Whether we speak of the first I or the other I, we have not come one step nearer to “the neighbour”, for the neighbour is the first “you”. The strictly self-loving person also loves the other I at bottom, because the other I is himself. This is self-love. In the same sense, to love the other I who is the beloved or the friend is self-love. Just as self-love in the strictest sense has been called self-idolatry, erotic love and friendship, as the poet understands them, are idolatry; this love stands and falls with his understanding. Ultimately, love for God is decisive, and love for “the neighbour” comes from it. Paganism had no intimation of this. It left God out, made erotic love and friendship into love, and abhorred self-love. But the Christian commandment commands one to love God above everything and then to love the neighbour. In erotic love and friendship, preference is the middle term; in love for the neighbour, God is the middle term. Love God above everything, and then you also love the neighbour, and in the neighbour every human being. Only by loving God above everything can one love the neighbour in the other person. The other human being is the neighbour, the other person in the sense of every other person. Understood in this way, the discourse was right to say at the beginning that if a person loves “the neighbour” in one single other human being, he loves all human beings. |
| 12 | Kjerlighed til Næsten er derfor den evige Ligelighed i at elske, men den evige Ligelighed er Forkjerlighedens Modsatte. Dette behøver ikke nogen vidtløftig Udvikling. Ligelighed er jo just, ikke at gjøre Forskjel, og evig Ligelighed er, ubetinget ikke at gjøre den mindste Forskjel, grændseløst ikke at gjøre den mindste Forskjel; Forkjerlighed derimod, at gjøre Forskjel, lidenskabelig Forkjerlighed, grændseløst at gjøre Forskjel. | Love for the neighbour is therefore eternal equality in loving, and eternal equality is the opposite of preference. This needs no lengthy explanation. Equality means not making distinctions; eternal equality means unconditionally not making the slightest distinction, boundlessly not making the slightest distinction. Preference, by contrast, means making distinctions; passionate preference means boundlessly making distinctions. |
| 13 | Men har saa Christendommen ikke, idet den ved sit »Du skal elske« stødte Elskov og Venskab fra Thronen, sat noget langt Høiere isteden? Noget langt Høiere – dog lad os tale med Forsigtighed, med Rettroenhedens Forsigtighed. Man har forvirret Christendommen paa mange Maader, men deriblandt ogsaa saaledes, at man, ved at kalde den det Høieste, det Dybeste, gav det Udseende af, at det reent Menneskelige forholdt sig til det Christelige som det Høie eller det Høiere til det Høieste og det Allerhøieste. Ak, men dette er en bedragersk Tale, der usandt og usømmeligt lader Christendommen geskæftigt ville indynde sig hos den menneskelige Videbegjerlighed eller Nysgjerrighed. Er der vel Noget, hvorefter Mennesket, som saadant, Noget, hvorefter det naturlige Menneske er mere lystent end efter det Høieste. Naar blot en Nyhedskræmmer udbasuner, at hans nyeste Nyhed er det Høieste, saa gaaer det lysteligt med at faae Tilhængere i den Verden, der fra Arilds Tid har havt en ubeskrivelig Forkjerlighed for og følt en dyb Trang til – at blive bedragen. Nei, det Christelige er vistnok det Høieste og det Allerhøieste, men vel at mærke saaledes, at det er det naturlige Menneske til Forargelse. Den, der i at bestemme det Christelige som det Høieste udelader Forargelsens Mellembestemmelse, han forsynder sig mod det, han begaaer en Formastelighed, afskyeligere end om den ærbare Husmoder vilde klæde sig som en Dandserinde, endnu forfærdeligere end om den strenge Dommer Johannes vilde klæde sig som en Modejunker. Det Christelige er i sig selv for tungt, i sine Bevægelser for alvorligt til dandsende at vimse i saadan letløbende Tales Letfærdighed om det høiere, høieste, allerhøieste. Gjennem Forargelse gaaer Veien til det Christelige. Ikke er hermed sagt, at Adgangen til det Christelige skulde være at forarge sig paa det, dette er jo paa en anden Maade at forhindre sig selv i at gribe det Christelige; men Forargelsen vogter paa Adgangen til det Christelige. Salig Den, som ikke forarges paa det. | But has Christianity, by its “You shall love”, not put something far higher in place of erotic love and friendship after thrusting them from the throne? Something far higher, yes; but let us speak cautiously, with orthodoxy’s caution. Christianity has been confused in many ways, including this: by calling it the highest and the deepest, people make it seem that the purely human relates to the Christian as the high or higher relates to the highest and very highest. This is deceptive speech. It falsely and improperly makes Christianity appear busily eager to ingratiate itself with the human desire for knowledge or mere curiosity. Is there anything for which the human being as such, the natural human being, is more eager than “the highest”? Let a novelty-monger merely trumpet that his latest novelty is the highest, and he will cheerfully gain followers in a world that from time immemorial has had an indescribable preference for, and a deep need to be, deceived. No, the Christian is certainly the highest and very highest, but note well: in such a way that it is an offence to the natural human being. Anyone who defines the Christian as the highest while omitting offence as the middle term sins against it. He commits a presumption more abominable than a respectable housewife dressing as a dancing girl, and still more dreadful than John, the stern judge, dressing as a fashionable dandy. The Christian is too weighty in itself, and too serious in its movements, to flit about dancing in the frivolity of such glib and shallow talk about the higher, highest, and very highest. The way to the Christian passes through offence. This does not mean that access to the Christian consists in taking offence at it; that is simply another way of preventing oneself from grasping it. Offence stands guard at the entrance to the Christian. Blessed is the one who is not offended by it. |
| 14 | Saaledes nu ogsaa med dette Bud, at elske Næsten. Tilstaae det kun, eller hvis det er Dig forstyrrende, at der tales saaledes, vel, saa vil jeg tilstaae, at det mange Gange har stødt mig tilbage, og at jeg endnu er saare langt fra den Indbildning, at jeg fuldkommer dette Bud, som netop er Kjød og Blod til Forargelse, og Viisdommen en Daarskab. Er Du, m. T., maaskee som det hedder en Dannet, nu vel, jeg er ogsaa dannet; men dersom Du troer ved Hjælp af »Dannelse« at komme dette Høieste nærmere, da tager Du høiligen feil. Og her stikker just Vildfarelsen; thi Dannelse ønske vi alle, og Dannelse har i eet væk det Høieste i Munden, ja, ingen Fugl, der kun har lært eet eneste Ord, raaber mere uafbrudt paa dette eneste Ord, og Kragen ikke mere uafbrudt paa sit eget Navn end Dannelsen altid paa »det Høieste.« Men det Christelige er ingenlunde Dannelsens »Høieste«, og det Christelige optugter just gjennem Forargelsens Frastød. Dette vil Du strax let see her; thi har vel Din Dannelse, eller troer Du, at noget Menneskes Iver for at vinde Dannelse, har lært ham at elske Næsten? Ak, ak, har ikke langt snarere Dannelsen og den Iver, hvormed den eftertragtes, udviklet en ny Art Forskjel, Forskjellen mellem de Dannede og de Ikke-Dannede? Agt kun paa, hvad der mellem Dannede tales om Elskov og Venskab, hvilken Lighed i Dannelse Vennen maa have, hvor dannet og netop paa en bestemt Maade dannet Pigen maa være; læs Digterne, der neppe vide at bevare Frimodigheden lige overfor Dannelsens mægtige Herredømme, neppe selv tør troe paa Elskovens Magt til at bryde alle Forskjelligheders Lænke – synes det Dig, at denne Talen, denne Digten, eller at et Liv, som stemmer med denne Talen og denne Digten, bringer et Menneske nærmere til at elske Næsten? See her staaer atter Forargelsens Mærker ude. Thi tænk Dig den meest Dannede, ham, som vi alle beundrende sige om »han er saa dannet«, og tænk Dig saa Christendommen, der siger til ham »Du skal elske Næsten!« Ja, en vis Belevenhed i Omgang, en Høflighed mod alle Mennesker, en venlig Nedladenhed til de Ringere, en frimodig Holdning lige overfor de Mægtige, en skjønt behersket Aandens Frihed: ja, det er Dannelse – troer Du, at det ogsaa er at elske Næsten? | So too with the command to love the neighbour. Admit it; or if it disturbs you to hear the matter put this way, then I will admit that it has often repelled me and that I am still very far from imagining that I fulfil this command, which is an offence to flesh and blood and foolishness to wisdom. Are you, my listener, perhaps what people call cultivated? Very well, I am cultivated too. But if you think “culture” brings you any nearer to this highest thing, you are greatly mistaken. Here precisely lies the error. We all desire culture, and culture incessantly has “the highest” in its mouth. No bird that has learned only one word cries it more unceasingly, and no crow cries its own name more unceasingly, than culture cries “the highest”. But the Christian is by no means culture’s “highest”; the Christian educates precisely through the repulsion of offence. You can readily see this here. Has your culture, or has anyone’s zeal to acquire culture, taught him to love the neighbour? Has not culture, and the zeal with which it is pursued, far rather developed a new kind of difference: the difference between the cultivated and the uncultivated? Notice what the cultivated say about erotic love and friendship: how closely the friend must resemble them in culture; how cultivated the girl must be, and cultivated in precisely the right way. Read the poets. They scarcely know how to preserve their confidence before culture’s mighty dominion; they scarcely dare believe in erotic love’s power to break the chain of every difference. Does this talk, this poetry, or a life corresponding to them, seem to bring a person nearer to loving the neighbour? Here again the marks of offence have been left out. Imagine the most cultivated person, the one of whom we all say admiringly, “he is so cultivated”; and then imagine Christianity saying to him, “You shall love the neighbour!” A certain polish in social intercourse, courtesy towards everyone, friendly condescension to inferiors, a frank bearing before the powerful, a beautifully governed freedom of spirit: yes, that is culture. Do you think it is also to love the neighbour? |
| 15 | »Næsten« er det Ligelige. Næsten er ikke den Elskede, for hvem Du har Lidenskabens Forkjerlighed, ei heller Din Ven, for hvem Du har Lidenskabens Forkjerlighed. Næsten er ei heller, hvis Du selv er en Dannet, den Dannede, med hvem Du haver Dannelsens Lighed – thi med Næsten har Du Menneskets Lighed for Gud. Næsten er heller ei En, der er fornemmere end Du, det er, han er ikke Næsten forsaavidt han er fornemmere end Du, thi at elske ham, fordi han er fornemmere, kan saa let være Forkjerlighed og forsaavidt Selvkjerlighed. Ei heller er Næsten En, som er ringere end Du, det er, forsaavidt han er ringere end Du er han ikke Næsten, thi at elske En, fordi han er ringere end Du, kan saa let være Forkjerlighedens Nedladenhed og forsaavidt Selvkjerlighed. Nei, at elske Næsten er Ligelighed. Det er opmuntrende i Dit Forhold til den Fornemme, at Du i ham skal elske Din Næste; det er ydmygende i Forhold til den Ringere, at Du i ham ikke har at elske den Ringere, men skal elske Næsten; det er frelsende, om Du gjør det, thi Du skal gjøre det. »Næsten« er ethvert Menneske; thi ved Forskjelligheden er han ikke Din Næste, ei heller ved Ligheden med Dig indenfor Forskjelligheden fra andre Mennesker. Ved Ligheden med Dig for Gud er han Din Næste, men denne Lighed har ubetinget ethvert Menneske og har den ubetinget. | “The neighbour” is equality. The neighbour is not the beloved, for whom you have passion’s preference, nor your friend, for whom you have passion’s preference. Nor, if you are cultivated, is the neighbour the cultivated person who resembles you in culture; for with the neighbour you share the human being’s likeness before God. Nor is the neighbour someone more distinguished than you. That is, he is not the neighbour insofar as he is more distinguished, for to love him because of his distinction can so easily be preference and therefore self-love. Nor is the neighbour someone lower than you. That is, insofar as he is lower, he is not the neighbour, for to love someone because he is lower can so easily become preference’s condescension and therefore self-love. No, to love the neighbour is equality. In your relation to the distinguished person, it is encouraging that in him you shall love your neighbour. In relation to the lower person, it is humbling that in him you are not to love the lower person, but shall love the neighbour. It is saving, if you do it, for you shall do it. “The neighbour” is every human being. He is not your neighbour by virtue of difference, nor by resembling you within a shared difference from other people. He is your neighbour through his likeness with you before God. Every human being has this likeness unconditionally, and has it unconditionally. |
Translation notes and editorial status
Edition and revision
Editorial revision 1.0 · 16 September 2026. All 15 numbered passages have been reviewed against the Danish, followed by a continuous English reading. The main reading text, comparison English and revised downloads contain the same readable translation.
Official SKS commentary and the 1847 first edition were consulted for targeted questions. The source relationships, earlier master and web wording, and dated corrections are preserved in the versioned editorial record. This is AI-assisted review; no independent bilingual adjudication is claimed.
Earlier close-English drafts remain separately preserved in the historical masters. This revision does not present them as the current readable translation.
This free, provisional AI-assisted edition remains open to correction. P Maitland does not read Danish. Published human scholarly translations remain the editions to use for academic quotation.
Source and references
Source: Søren Kierkegaards Skrifter, volume 9, Royal Danish Library. Official commentary, volume K9.
Use the permanent passage links beside the text to share a reference. Suggested reference: Søren Kierkegaard, Works of Love, Patricia Maitland Edition (Galashiels, 2026), First Series II.B, passage [number], editorial revision 1.0, 16 September 2026.
Passage numbers belong to this edition. Some mark a short statement; others contain several source paragraphs. Existing numbers and anchors remain unchanged. Why the numbering varies.
Translation choices and reading notes
These notes are editorial, not part of Kierkegaard’s discourse.
The poet and the New Testament
“The poet” names a position within this argument, not a judgement that every individual poet is outside Christianity. The passage expressly distinguishes devotional poets. In passage 3, the conditional claim about a confused defence of Christianity governs the following questions about the New Testament; the revised English restores that connection.
Equality, the other I and the other you
Ligelighed is rendered “equality”: equal standing that does not privilege a social or personal distinction. Passage 9 calls the neighbour the other “you” and equality’s third term; passage 11 calls the neighbour the first “you”. Both formulations are retained. They distinguish the neighbour from a second “I”, rather than supplying a single scheme of numbered persons. The official commentary relates the third-term wording to the third element of comparison.
1 · 9 · 11 · 12 · 15 · SKS: equality · SKS: the third term · SKS: equal standing
Natural determination and the spiritual self
The discourse does not identify the sensuous simply with bodily appetite: passage 8 explicitly rejects that interpretation. “Self-feeling” retains Selvfølelse, the I’s feeling of itself in the other I. “Psychical” concerns the life of the soul, distinguished here from both the sensuous and the spiritual. These terms mark the text’s distinctions and are not diagnoses.
8 · 10 · 11 · SKS: natural determination
The return to the beginning
The references to “the beginning of this discourse” return to the discussion in II.A.5 of loving the neighbour in one other person. The author’s wording is retained despite the website’s separate pages for II.A, II.B and II.C.
11 · SKS: the earlier discussion · SKS: the earlier claim
Offence and cultivated courtesy
Offence translates Forargelse, the stumbling block encountered by ordinary human expectations. Passage 13 does not require the reader actually to take offence. In passage 14 the marks of offence have been omitted from the picture of cultivated conduct; the Danish idiom does not say that signs are standing outside. “John, the stern judge” in passage 13 refers to John the Baptist.
13 · 14 · SKS: marks left out · SKS: John the Baptist
Revised PDFs have their own pagination; use discourse and passage numbers across formats. Earlier files remain available. Read the dated revision record · Translation Method Charter. Please identify the discourse, passage, wording and reason when suggesting a correction.