Purity of Heart
Kierkegaard isn’t a “contemplative” writer, but Purity of Heart as he conceptualizes it is, at the very least, a side effect of the contemplative journey. It is spoken of in various ways by all of the contemplative traditions. The traditions encourage seekers to practice as a means of transformation into someone who wills and completes the Good in a completely unforced way – naturally – from the center of one’s being.
I need to reject self-will that is not in service of the Ultimate Good.
That’s my personal understanding of the second noble truth of Buddhism.
The origin of suffering/dissatisfaction, trishna, is self-will that is not oriented towards the Ultimate Good. In Christian terms, that’s what needs to be mortified.
The experience of anxiety seems to imply that one has not achieved Purity of Heart. If one really only cares about doing the Good, self-concern and the anxiety that surrounds that should disappear.
The experience of anxiety should tell us that we are not fully formed yet. It should tell us to get back to work.
The contemplative traditions each have some way of talking about a “higher self” – an egoless ego, the selfless self, our Buddha nature, Atman, the Divine Indwelling. The primary characteristic of this higher self is that it operates with a lack of concern for chasing self-interested desires. It is at peace and no longer seeks satisfaction from the world. It lives purely to do the will of God, simply to serve the Good.
These ideas of a higher self sometimes become confusing because they are discussed in terms of ontology. Because each tradition has very different models of the self, they will likewise have different models of what constitutes a “higher self.”
Perhaps an easier way of thinking about these concepts is in terms of the Higher Self as a Mode of Being. The Higher Self spoken of in various ways by various traditions is simply a human being who has achieved and operates with Purity of Heart. However one conceptualizes it, it is a way of being in the world.
Contemplative practice is a, perhaps the, way through which one allows themselves to be transformed into that kind of person.
“Father in Heaven! What is a man without Thee! What is all that he knows, vast accumulation though it be, but a chipped fragment if he does not know Thee! What is all his striving, could it even encompass a world, but a half-finished work if he does not know Thee: Thee the One, who art one thing and who art all! So may Thou give to the intellect, wisdom to comprehend that one thing; to the heart, sincerity to receive this understanding; to the will, purity that wills only one thing. In prosperity may Thou grant perseverance to will one thing; amid distractions, collectedness to will one thing; in suffering, patience to will one thing. Oh, Thou that giveth both the beginning and the completion, may Thou early, at the dawn of day, give to the young man the resolution to will one thing. As the day wanes, may Thou give to the old man a renewed remembrance of his first resolution, that the first may be like the last, the last like the first, in possession of a life that has willed only one thing. Alas, but this has indeed not come to pass. Something has come in between. The separation of sin lies in between. Each day, and day after day something is being placed in between: delay, blockage, interruption, delusion, corruption. So in this time of repentance may Thou give the courage once again to will one thing. True, it is an interruption of our ordinary tasks; we do lay down our work as though it were a day of rest, when the penitent (and it is only in a time of repentance that the heavy-laden worker may be quiet in the confession of sin) is alone before Thee in self-accusation. This is indeed an interruption. But it is an interruption that searches back into its very beginnings that it might bind up anew that which sin has separated, that in its grief it might atone for lost time, that in its anxiety it might bring to completion that which lies before it. Oh, Thou that givest both the beginning and the completion, give Thou victory in the day of need so that what neither a man’s burning wish nor his determined resolution may attain to, may be granted unto him in the sorrowing of repentance: to will only one thing.”
At this point the reader may ask, What Then Must I Do? What is the Good that I must be ready to suffer all for? And how do I complete it? To which Kierkegaard returns the following responses:
“… at each man’s birth there comes into being an eternal vocation for him, expressly for him. To be true to himself in relation to this eternal vocation is the highest thing a man can practice… ”
“The talk asks you, then, whether you live in such a way that you are conscious of being an ‘individual.’ The question is not of the inquisitive sort; as if one asked about that ‘individual’ in some special sense, about the one whom admiration and envy unite in pointing out. No, it is the serious question, of what each man really is according to his eternal vocation, so that he himself shall be conscious that he is following it; and what is even more serious, to ask it as if he were considering his life before God… Indeed it is precisely this consciousness that must be asked for. Just as if the talk could not ask in generalities, but rather asks you as an individual.”
“You do not carry the responsibility for your wife, nor for other men, nor by any comparative standard with other men, but only as an individual, before God, where it is not asked whether your marriage was in accordance with others, with the common practice, or better than others, but where you as an individual will be asked only whether it was in accordance with your responsibility as an individual.”
“For as only one thing is necessary, and as the theme of the talk is the willing of only one thing; hence the consciousness before God of one’s eternal responsibility to be an individual is that one thing necessary.”
Regardless of if a modern reader agrees that an “eternal vocation” is given to him at birth, life will call us to something which we are responsible to fulfill. This is very, very similar to Viktor Frankl’s thought:
"In an age in which the Ten Commandments seem to lose their unconditional validity, man must learn more than ever to listen to the ten thousand commandments arising from the ten thousand unique situations of which his life consists."
“To be sure, man is free to answer the questions he is asked by life. But this freedom must not be confounded with arbitrariness. It must be interpreted in terms of responsibleness. Man is responsible for giving the right answer to a question, for finding the true meaning of a situation. And meaning is something to be found rather than to be given, discovered rather than invented.”
In Kierkegaard’s terminology we must “live as Individuals.” We must take personal responsibility for our lives and responsibilities before God. We must ask, What is my life calling me to? and take responsibility for completing that calling. In Frankl’s terms, we must listen to the ten thousand commandments.
As the philosophers attest, you can’t definitively answer “What is the Good?” in the abstract. The Good is concrete, embodied in each particular situation in each Individual’s life. It is up to us to find it and complete it.
Purity of Heart is a one-pointed focus on finding and fulfilling the Good we are uniquely called to do, in each individual moment, without any ulterior motives.
After discussing the barriers to willing the Good authentically and in simplicity, Kierkegaard tells his reader that “if a man shall will the Good in truth, then he must be willing to do all for the Good or be willing to suffer all for the Good.”
Willing the Good authentically demands complete commitment. Kierkegaard will go on to encourage his reader to “use his cleverness to expose evasions” – to examine all the ways he cleverly avoids doing the Good he knows he should do.
Thus far Purity of Heart has been fairly abstract. In the final portion of this work, things get more concrete for the reader as Kierkegaard turns his attention to the question What Then Must I Do?
“My listener, before going further, if it seems right to you, we shall look at the course our talk has taken up to this point. For the talk, too, has its laborious development, and it is only when this is completed in the necessary slowness that we may come to an understanding with each other about what the talk presupposes. Only at that point can the talk, being then secure, make use of the agreeable speed that is properly the very life of conversation. Thus, purity of heart is to will one thing, but to will one thing could not mean to will the world’s pleasure and what belongs to it, even if a person only named one thing as his choice, since this one thing was only one by a deception. Nor could willing one thing mean willing it in the vain sense of mere bigness, which only to a man in a state of giddiness appears to be one. For in truth to will one thing, a man must will the Good. This was the first, the possibility of being able to will one thing. But in order genuinely to will one thing, a man must in truth will the Good. On the other hand, as for each act of willing the Good which does not will it in truth, it must be declared double-mindedness. Then there was a type of double-mindedness that in a more powerful and active sort of inner coherence seemed to will the Good, but deceptively willed something else. It willed the Good for the sake of reward, out of fear of punishment, or as a form of self-assertion. But there was another kind of double-mindedness born of weakness, that is commonest of all among men, that versatile double-mindedness that wills the Good in a kind of sincerity, but only wills it ‘to a a certain degree.’”
In Chapter 7 Kierkegaard lists his final barrier to willing the One Thing – commitment to a certain degree:
“Before finally leaving the subject of double-mindedness for a similar examination of purity, the talk should at least touch upon that versatile form of double-mindedness: the double-mindedness of weakness as it appears in the common things of real life; upon the fact that the person who wills the Good up to a certain degree is double-minded.”
What Kierkegaard critiques here is laziness, wishy-washiness, only willing and doing the Good when you are in the mood. He gives an example of someone “with faith” who ignores his neighbor because he just didn’t have the right feeling at the time…
“So the double-minded person, then, may have a feeling – a living feeling for the Good. If someone should speak of the Good, especially if it were done in a poetical fashion, then he is quickly moved, easily stimulated to melt away in emotion. Suppose the world goes a little against him and then someone should tell him that God is love, that His love surpasses all understanding, encompassing in His Providence even the sparrow that may not fall to the earth without His willing it. If a person speaks in this way, especially in a poetical manner, he is gripped. He reaches after faith as after a desire, and with faith he clutches for the desired help. In the faith of this desire he then has a feeling for the Good. But perhaps the help is delayed. Instead of it a sufferer comes to him whom he can help. But his sufferer finds him impatient, forbidding. This sufferer must be content with the excuse ‘that he is not at the moment in the spirit of the mood to concern himself about the sufferings of others as he himself has troubles.’ And yet he imagines that he has faith…”
How many times is there something we ought to do but are not “at the moment in the spirit of the mood to concern ourselves”? Kierkegaard also spends a lot of time in this chapter discussing busyness – not willing/doing the Good because we are too busy, too caught up in our own world.
Kierkegaard again seems harsh in this chapter. We are human are we not? Everything is set to the pitch of “be perfect because your heavenly Father is perfect,” and he will go on in subsequent chapters to say that the Good demands “readiness to suffer all.” There is an ongoing seriousness to this entire work. It’s not an option to will the Good – something we try out when we are in the mood – but our duty.
Ultimately though, those who struggle with this barrier are at least on the right path.
“In preference to the earlier double-mindedness, this has the Good on its side, in that it wills the Good, even though weakly…”
They will the Good, though weakly.
Kierkegaard has already addressed reward-seeking and avoidance-of-punishment as barriers to willing the Good in simplicity. In Chapter 6, he adds “Egocentric Service of the Good” to the list:
“Furthermore it must be said that the man who wills the Good and wills its victory out of a self-centered willfulness does not will one thing. He is double minded.”
“Suppose a man wills the Good simply in order that he may score the victory, then he wills the Good for the sake of the reward, and his double-mindedness is obvious, as the previous section of the talk has sought to point out. Actually he does not care to serve the Good, but to have the advantage of regarding it as a fruit of conquest.”
“He wills that the Good shall triumph through him, that he shall be the instrument, he the chosen one. He does not desire to be rewarded by the world – that he despises; nor by men – that he looks down upon. And yet he does not wish to be an unprofitable servant. The reward which he insists upon is a sense of pride and in that very demand is his violent double-mindedness.”
In a sense, as Kiergegaard points out, this could be considered another type of reward-seeking – in this case the reward being the sense of pride one gets from doing the Good. This, perhaps, is where Kierkegaard gets close to St. John of the Cross when he speaks of rejecting “spiritual rewards” or “consolations.” If the focus is on any type of good feeling – if the focus is on the self in any way – one is not willing the Good in simplicity.
Towards the end of this chapter, Kierkegaard talks about the individual who does not seek worldly rewards for doing the good, nor does he fear worldly punishment for not doing the Good, and yet he still hasn’t achieved single-mindedness:
“...this double-minded person is not so easily recognizable on earth. He does not will the Good for the sake of reward, for then he would have become obvious in his aspiration or in his despair. He does not will the Good out of fear of punishment, for then he would have become obvious in his cowardice, in his shunning of punishment, or in his despair, when he was not able to avoid it. No, he wishes to sacrifice all, he fears nothing, only he will not sacrifice himself in daily self-forgetfulness. This he fears to do.”
Egocentric service of the Good is characterized by a lack of self-forgetfulness.
According to Kierkegaard, the flip side of the “Reward-Disease” is willing the Good out of fear of punishment.
“Next it must be said that the man who only wills the Good out of fear of punishment does not will one thing. He is double-minded.
The other aspect of the reward-centered man is willing the good only out of fear of punishment. For in essence, this is the same as to will the Good for the sake of the reward, to the extent that avoiding evil is an advantage of the same sort as that of attaining a benefit. The Good is one thing. Punishment is something else. Therefore the double-minded person does not desire one thing when he desires the Good under the condition that he shall avoid punishment.”
As with rewards, Kierkegaard is primarily talking about immediate, “this-worldly” punishments that people wish to avoid by doing the Good:
“… double-mindedness seldom dwells on eternity’s punishment. The punishment it fears is more often understood in an earthly and temporal sense. Of a man who only wills the Good out of fear of punishment, it is necessary to say with special emphasis, that he fears what a man should not and ought not to fear: loss of money, loss of reputation, misjudgment by others, neglect, the world’s judgment, the ridicule of fools, the laughter of the frivolous, the cowardly whining of consideration, the inflated triviality of the moment, the fluttering mist of vapor.”
An example that stands out to me is doing the Good because you will “look bad in front of others” if you don’t. A good action that you know is only done because others are watching. Each one of us probably sees this, or completes acts because of this reason, every day.
Kierkegaard makes two additional interesting observations in this chapter.
First, he makes the claim that, if we saw rightly, we should want the punishment that comes from doing wrong, because it can be a medicine:
“…if he has done wrong, then he must, if he really wills one things and sincerely wills the Good, desire to be punished, that the punishment may heal him just as medicine heals the sick.”
“This is firmly established: that punishment is not illness, but medicine…. all double-mindedness that wills the Good only out of fear of punishment can always be known in the end, because it considers punishment as an illness.”
Second, he alludes to the character development that comes from continually willing the Good.
”Even if it happened to be a good man who in the agony of fear preserved a certain slavish blamelessness out of fear of punishment: still he is double-minded. He continually does what he really would rather not do…”
Over time, we should want to do the Good more and more. If have to continually try to stir ourselves, for some reason or another, to do the Good – if we are really doing what we would rather not do – then we are not fully formed yet. There is more work to do.
One final element that, to me, seems to be a continuing tension in Kierkegaard’s thought is the relation between temporal rewards/punishments and what he calls “eternity’s” rewards or punishments. For Kierkegaard, it seems that we ought to fear eternity’s (God’s) punishment. That that is a right thing to fear. And yet he makes statement’s like the following:
“…as the Good is only one thing, so it wishes to be the only thing that aids a man.”
It seems to me that fearing eternal punishment is a motivator outside of simply willing the Good for the sake of the Good. In my opinion, if you take some of Kierkegaard’s thought to its logical conclusion, “eternity’s rewards or punishments” should not have a baring on if we will the Good. Even if after this life there were simply an abyss of nothingness, we should still will the Good because it is right to do so.
This seems to be a tension in Kierkegaard’s thought throughout the work. It’s possible that this is because Kierkegaard was an orthodox Christian and thus “bound by the (biblical) texts,” some of which use the rewards and punishments of eternity as a motivator for behavior.
“A good man… would be at one with himself and at one with all about him because he wills one thing…”
Kierkegaard has already listed worldly goals – pleasure, honor, riches, power – as barriers to willing the Good. Getting caught up in the pursuit of these ambitions leads one off the authentic spiritual path.
In Chapter 4 Kierkegaard begins to talk about more subtle traps that keep one from willing the Good in simplicity. Here he addresses “the Reward-Disease”:
“In the first place a statement must be made which is easy to grasp: that the man who desires the Good for the sake of the reward does not will one thing, but is double-minded. The Good is one thing; the reward is another that may be present and may be absent for the time being, or until the very last. When he, then, wills the Good for the sake of the reward, he does not will one thing but two. It is now certain that he will not in this way make much progress along the pathway of the Good.”
“To will the Good for the sake of reward is double-mindedness. To will one thing is, therefore, to will the Good without considering the reward.”
He goes on to give an example of a man who loves a girl for her money:
“If a man loves a girl for the sake of her money, who will call him a lover? He does not love the girl, but the money. He is not a lover but a money-seeker. But if a man said ‘It is the girl I love and she has money’ and he should ask us for our judgment, for we have no particular call to judge, then a good answer would be, ‘It is a difficult matter with this money. Money may have a great influence, one can easily be deceived, and it is very difficult to know oneself.’ If he were really very intent on this matter he could even wish that the money were not there, just to test his love. For a true lover would say, ‘The girl has only one fault, she has money.’”
What Kierkegaard critiques in this chapter, interestingly, is seeking external rewards in the world for doing the Good. He seems to be ok with the experience of natural interior rewards (i.e. “feeling good” because one “does the Good”) and also with seeking one’s eternal reward (the Christian idea of Salvation or Heaven).
“This reward, that we are talking about here, is the world’s reward. For the reward which God for eternity has joined with the Good has nothing bad in it.”
“Now, that the Good has its own reward is indeed forever certain. There is nothing so certain. It is not even more certain that God exists, for that is one and the same thing. But here on earth, Good is often temporarily rewarded by ingratitude, by lack of appreciation, by poverty, by contempt, by many sufferings, and now and then by death. It is not this reward to which we refer when we say that the Good has its reward. Yet this is the reward that comes in the external world and that comes first of all. And it is precisely this reward which the man is anxious about, who wills the Good for the sake of the reward.”
Other contemplative authors have much to say about rejecting, or at least being indifferent to, even interior rewards (“spiritual consolations,” or good feelings) that come from prayer or doing the Good. For instance, here is what St. John of the Cross has to say about those who seek God only for how it makes them feel:
"...they still feed and clothe their natural selves with spiritual feelings and consolations instead of divesting and denying themselves of these for God's sake. They think denial of self in worldly matters is sufficient without annihilation and purification in the spiritual domain. It happens that, when some of this solid, perfect food (the annihilation of all sweetness in God – the pure spiritual cross and nakedness of Christ's poverty of spirit) is offered them in dryness, distaste, and trial, they run from it as from death and wander about in search only of sweetness and delightful communications from God. Such an attitude is not the hallmark of self-denial and nakedness of spirit but the indication of a spiritual sweet tooth."
In my own mind, when considering the natural interior goods that come from doing the Good (or, in St. John’s case, seeking God), the key is your intention. If, while doing the Good, you’re constantly thinking about how you are going to feel or what kind of a person you are for doing it, if your attention is on the good feeling that comes, then in Kierkegaard’s terms you are double-minded. In St. John’s terms, you are doing something because you have a sweet tooth; you just want to feel good. The Good does have its own reward. It’s “built in.” But if one loses focus on the Good, longing instead for that built in reward, then one is not willing the Good in simplicity.
A Viktor Frankl quote comes to mind:
"...being human always points, and is directed, to something, or someone, other than oneself, be it a meaning to fulfill or another human being to encounter. The more one forgets himself, by giving himself to a cause to serve or another person to love, the more human he is and the more he actualizes himself. What is called self-actualization is not an attainable aim at all, for the simple reason that the more one would strive for it, the more he would miss it. In other words, self-actualization is possible only as a side-effect of self-transcendence."
The natural reward for doing the Good needs to come as a side-effect, not as an aim.
Regardless of how one breaks down exterior or interior, present or future, rewards, willing the Good in simplicity means willing the Good without considering the reward.
In Chapter 3 Kierkegaard provides the scriptural verse which forms the basis of the work, clarifies that to will one thing is to will the Good, and begins his list of Barriers to Willing One Thing.
In regards to the first element of the chapter, he begins with the following:
“So let us, then, upon the occasion of a time of Confession speak about this sentence: Purity of Heart is to Will One Thing as we base our meditation on the Apostle James’ words in his Epistle, Chapter 4, verse 8:“‘Draw nigh to God and he will draw nigh to you. Cleanse your hands, ye sinners; and purify your hearts ye double-minded.’ For only the pure in heart can see God, and therefore, draw nigh to Him; and only by God’s drawing nigh to them can they maintain this purity.”
And adds:
“Let us speak of this, but let us first put out of our minds the occasion of the office of Confession in order to come to an agreement on an understanding of this verse, and on what the apostolic word of admonition ‘purify your hearts ye double-minded’ is condemning, namely, double-mindedness.”
James 4:8 is the springboard for the rest of the work and what James 4:8 condemns is double-mindedness – what Kierkegaard will essentially interpret as ulterior motives to willing the Good in simplicity. These ulterior motives are what he will elaborate on and call Barriers to Willing One Thing in subsequent chapters.
After briefly expounding on James 4:8, Kierkegaard goes on to clarify that willing one thing is to will the Good.
“The person who wills one thing that is not the Good, he does not truly will one thing.”
“...for the Good is one thing.”
“...it is certain that a man in truth wills one thing, then he wills the Good…”
“Only the Good is one thing in its essence and the same in each of its expressions.”
“In truth to will one thing, then, can only mean to will the Good, because every other object is not a unity.”
Although in the Introduction Kierkegaard calls God “the one thing,” for the remainder of the work he will call “the one thing” the Good. For Kierkegaard only the Good is One Thing. All else is a striving after multiplicity. For example, when speaking of the goal of pleasure, he says:
“In the time of pleasure see how he longed for one gratification after another. Variety was his watchword. Is variety, then, to will one thing that shall ever remain the same? On the contrary, it is to will one thing that must never be the same. It is to will a multitude of things. And a person who wills in this fashion is not only double-minded but is at odds with himself. For such a man wills first one thing and then immediately wills the opposite, because the oneness of pleasure is a snare and a delusion.”
I think the equation of the Good being the only goal that is “one thing” is somewhat confusing. Could we not as easily say that the goal of Power is “one thing”? Or the goal of Fame? Or Wealth? And because “the Good” looks different in each concrete situation, could it not just as easily be spoken of as a multiplicity? For this reason, I think the work would have been more clearly titled Purity of Heart is to Will Only The Good (but that doesn’t have quite the same ring to it…). Regardless, for Kierkegaard the Good, and only the Good, is One Thing.
Finally, Kierkegaard begins his Barriers to Willing One Thing.
In this chapter, Kierkegaard essentially names all varieties of worldly ambition and labels them as barriers to willing the Good.
“For pleasure and honor and riches and power and all that this world has to offer only appear to be one thing.”
Nothing in the world is the proper aim of attainment. These goals will all prove themselves to be a multiplicity – endlessly changing and ultimately empty.
At the end of the chapter, Kierkegaard talks about more noble goals:
“Love, from time to time, has in this way helped a man along the right path. Faithfully he only willed one thing, this love. For it, he would live and die. For it, he would sacrifice all and in it alone he would have his eternal reward. Yet the act of being in love is still not in the deepest sense the Good. But it may possibly become for him a helpful educator, who will finally lead him by the possession of his beloved one or perhaps by her loss, in truth to will one thing and to will the Good. In this fashion a man is educated by many means; and true love is also an education towards the Good.”
“Perhaps there was a man whose enthusiasm reached out toward a definite cause. In his enthusiasm he desired only one thing. He would live and die for that cause. He would sacrifice all for that in which alone he would have his happiness, for love and enthusiasm are not satisfied with a divided heart. Yet his endeavor was perhaps still not in the deepest sense the Good. Thus enthusiasm became for him a teacher, whom he outgrew, but to home also he owed much.”
Even the more noble ends of love or a giving oneself for a good cause are ultimately only teachers which – because they are myopic and limited in scope – one must outgrow to will the Good in simplicity.
In the second chapter of this work, Kierkegaard gets very serious. There is certainly a heavy tone throughout, but it is felt most strongly in this section.
For Kierkegaard it is not an option to will one thing. Not something we are at liberty to choose if it happens to suit us. For Kierkegaard, it is one’s duty to will one thing. Not to do so is a moral failure before God. Not to do so is good old fashioned sin.
Within the world’s contemplative traditions there are various ways to look at what needs to be overcome in the process of spiritual transformation. One common, probably the most common, lens is that of personal “attachment/craving” – we crave and are attached to things in the external world (or even internal realities, often concepts we have about ourselves), things that we get our life from but which are ultimately temporary, without substance, illusory, impermanent. Breaking those attachments (in some traditions, in order to be attached ultimately to God) leads to liberation – part of which includes the release of the “selfless self,” one’s “Buddha Nature,” etc. The language of attachment and craving is characteristically Buddhist, but also finds expression in the Christian contemplative tradition, for instance in the writings of St. John of the Cross.
Another lens to look at what needs to be overcome is the lens of sin. It is our sin, our moral failure, that stands in the way of liberation. We must repent and turn from that sin in order to find God. One thinks of Dante climbing the Mountain of Purgatory in The Divine Comedy, passing those who are being purified of the sins they have committed in life. Kierkegaard is first and foremost a Christian, and the themes of sin, guilt, repentance, and forgiveness are never far away.
Interpreting the path through the lens of sin and repentance lends to a feeling of weight, of sobering, a sense of seriousness. It adds a moral dimension to the contemplative quest. We are morally obligated to turn away from our biased self-will towards the Good. Feel the difference, for instance, between saying “repent of your vanity” vs. “lose your attachment to your vanity.”
In Chapter 2, Kierkegaard speaks mainly of two guides – remorse and repentance – which should bring us back to the Good. If we are honest with ourselves, if we unflinchingly look at our lives, remorse should lead to a feeling of guilt, in turn leading to repentance and a turning back to the Good.
“There is, then, something which should at all times be done. There is something which in no temporal sense shall have its time. Alas, and when this is not done, when it is omitted, or when just the opposite is done, then once again, there is something (or more correctly it is the same thing, that reappears, changed, but not changed in its essence) which should at all times be done. There is something which in no temporal sense shall have its time. There must be repentance and remorse.
One dare not say of repentance and remorse that it had its time; that there is a time to be carefree and a time to be prostrated in repentance. Such talk would be: to the anxious urgency of repentance – unpardonably slow; to the grieving after God – sacrilege; to what should be done this very day, in this instant, in this moment of danger – senseless delay. For there is indeed danger. There is a danger that is called delusion. It is unable to check itself. It goes on and on: then it is called perdition. But there is a concerned guide, a knowing one, who attracts the attention of the wanderer, who calls out to him that he should take care. That guide is remorse. He is not so quick of foot as the indulgent imagination, which is the servant of desire. He is not so strongly built as the victorious intention. He comes on slowly afterwards. He grieves. But he is a sincere and faithful friend. If that guide’s voice is never heard, then it is just because one is wandering along the way of perdition. For when the sick man who is wasting away from consumption believes himself to be in the best of health, his disease is at the most terrible point. If there were someone who early in life steeled his mind against all remorse and who actually carried it out, nevertheless remorse would come again if he were willing to repent even of this decision. So wonderful a power is remorse, so sincere is its friendship that to escape it entirely is the most terrible thing of all.”
There is nothing “contemplative” here outside of a yearning for a self (sometimes called the selfless-self, Buddha nature, Atman/Brahman, True Self, the Holy Spirit/Christ working within) that is committed only to the Good. This is good old fashioned Christian preaching.
The contemplative practices, if one is so inclined, can be seen as “means of grace” for unlocking this self. This is something Kierkegaard doesn’t touch on, so far as I see, in this work.
In the Introduction to his work, Kierkegaard, through an opening prayer, anticipates themes that will return:
“Father in Heaven! What is a man without Thee! What is all that he knows, vast accumulation though it be, but a chipped fragment if he does not know Thee! What is all his striving, could it even encompass a world, but a half-finished work if he does not know Thee: Thee the One, who art one thing and who art all! So may Thou give to the intellect, wisdom to comprehend that one thing; to the heart, sincerity to receive this understanding; to the will, purity that wills only one thing. In prosperity may Thou grant perseverance to will one thing; amid distractions, collectedness to will one thing; in suffering, patience to will one thing. Oh, Thou that giveth both the beginning and the completion, may Thou early, at the dawn of day, give to the young man the resolution to will one thing. As the day wanes, may Thou give to the old man a renewed remembrance of his first resolution, that the first may be like the last, the last like the first, in possession of a life that has willed only one thing. Alas, but this has indeed not come to pass. Something has come in between. The separation of sin lies in between. Each day, and day after day something is being placed in between: delay, blockage, interruption, delusion, corruption. So in this time of repentance may Thou give the courage once again to will one thing. True, it is an interruption of our ordinary tasks; we do lay down our work as though it were a day of rest, when the penitent (and it is only in a time of repentance that the heavy-laden worker may be quiet in the confession of sin) is alone before Thee in self-accusation. This is indeed an interruption. But it is an interruption that searches back into its very beginnings that it might bind up anew that which sin has separated, that in its grief it might atone for lost time, that in its anxiety it might bring to completion that which lies before it. Oh, Thou that givest both the beginning and the completion, give Thou victory in the day of need so that what neither a man’s burning wish nor his determined resolution may attain to, may be granted unto him in the sorrowing of repentance: to will only one thing.”
For Kierkegaard, a well lived life is a life in which one has “willed one thing.”
“As the day wanes, may Thou give to the old man a renewed remembrance of his first resolution, that the first may be like the last, the last like the first, in possession of a life that has willed only one thing.”
But something lies in the way.
“Alas, but this has indeed not come to pass. Something has come in between. The separation of sin lies in between. Each day, and day after day something is being placed in between: delay, blockage, interruption, delusion, corruption.”
Anything that lies in between the soul and God, or the soul and willing one thing, is, for Kierkegaard, sin.
In this introductory prayer, a basic outline of the entire work is present. The soul’s goal is to will one thing. Sin lies in the way. The correct response is repentance and a turning back to the one thing. The rest of the book will essentially elaborate on these themes.
In the remainder of the Introduction, Kierkegaard explores things in life which have their time.
“...the talk about the natural changes of human life over the years, together with what externally happened there, is not in essence any different from talking of plant or of animal life. The animal also changes with the years. When it is older it has other desires than it had at an earlier age. At certain times it, too, has its happiness in life, and at other times it must endure hardship. Yes, when late autumn comes, even the flower can speak the wisdom of the years and say with truthfulness, ‘All has its time, there is a time to be born and a time to die; there is a time to jest lightheartedly in the spring breeze, and a time to break under the autumn storm; there is a time to burst forth into blossom, beside the running water, beloved by the stream, an a time to wither and be forgotten; a time to be sought out for one’s beauty, and a time to be unnoticed in one’s wretchedness; there is a time to be nursed with care, and a time to be cast out with contempt; there is a time to delight in the warmth of the morning sun and a time to perish in the night’s cold. All has its time.’”
There is a time to dance with delight, and a time to weep with sorrow. A time to work, a time to rest. A time to prosper, and a time to wilt. But there is something that always has its time – the Eternal – and something that ought always be done – the Good.
This is a good broad overview of some of Kierkegaard’s religious thought from Academy of Ideas.
Kierkegaard’s conception of the “Knight of Faith” reminds me of the final stage of the Zen Ox-Herding Pictures – “Returning to the Marketplace.”
I am beginning a short series on Soren Kierkegaard’s Purity of Heart is to Will One Thing. Kierkegaard is a daunting author to tackle, and I will be keeping things pretty broad in this series. One gets the feeling that you could read even his short works over and over again, with new ideas presenting themselves each time. Kierkegaard, in his preface, seems to think similarly. Of this work he says:
“It is in search of that solitary ‘individual,’ to whom it wholly abandons itself, by whom it wishes to be received as if it has arisen within his own heart; that solitary ‘individual’ whom with joy and gratitude I call my reader; that solitary ‘individual’ who reads willingly and slowly, who reads over and over again, and who reads aloud – for his own sake.”
I feel like you sometimes have to read Kierkegaard “willingly and slowly,” “over and over again” just to get what he’s trying to say! Regardless of the details of this work, I find the broad idea of having the goal of achieving Purity of Heart – to relativize self-concern and simply will “the Good” (or perhaps “God’s Will”) – to be core to many contemplative traditions and authors. The contemplative journey can be summarized in many ways – achieving Union with God, losing all attachments, realizing the Self, etc. As I’ve said before, I think a good way to synthesize some of these ideas is by summarizing the contemplative journey as “the path from self to no-self.” In this case, the path is from willing simply your own good, to willing the Universal Good. If Purity of Heart isn’t the goal of the contemplative quest, it’s at least a byproduct of the journey.
Soren Kierkegaard was a 19th Century Danish philosopher who sought to renew authentic Christian faith within his contemporary “Christendom.” Kierkegaard was a prolific author whose well-known works include Fear and Trembling, The Sickness Unto Death, and Either/Or as well as many Christian devotional writings. He is often thought of as the father of existentialism.