When Justice Shudders: Agape Love Part III

In his extensive writing career, 19th century Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard used pseudonyms like he was Mick Jagger on world tour. Employing, at various times, nom de plumes as inauspicious as “Judge William” and as ostentatious as “Anti-Climacus”, the so-called father of existentialism masked even his greatest works (Fear and Trembling, The Sickness Unto Death) in the names of his fictitious personas. But when it came to his weighty deliberation on love, Works of Love, Kierkegaard removed the mask of anonymity. Penning that great work in his own name, the philosophical pride of Denmark seemed to acknowledge the deeply personal nature of his subject, creating one of history’s greatest explorations of the cardinal virtue. And it is in the Second Series of that treatise that Kierkegaard pens a brief definition of that ambiguous concept that I imagine to be another stepping stone on the path to perfect love – selflessness.

In the essay, “Love Does Not Seek Its Own”, Kierkegaard writes:

Love does not seek its own, for there are no mine and yours in love….

Justice is identified by its giving each his own, just as it also in turn claims its own. This means that justice pleads the cause of its own, divides and assigns, determines what each can lawfully call his own, judges and punishes if anyone refuses to make any distinction between mine and yours….—But sometimes a change intrudes, a revolution, a war, an earthquake, or some such terrible misfortune, and everything is confused. Justice tries in vain to secure for each person his own; it cannot maintain the distinction between mine and yours; in the confusion it cannot keep the balance and therefore throws away the scales – it despairs!

Terrible spectacle! Yet does not love in a certain sense, even if in the most blissful way, produce the same confusion?...Love is a revolution, the most profound of all, but the most blessed! So, then, with love, there is confusion; in this blissful confusion there is for the lovers no distinction between mine and yours. Wonderful! There are a you and an I, and there is no mine and yours! For without a you and an I, there is no love, and with mine and yours, there is no love; but “mine” and “yours” (these possessive pronouns) are, of course, formed from a “you” and an “I” and as a consequence, seem obliged to be present wherever there are a you and an I. This is indeed the case everywhere, but not in love, which is a revolution from the ground up. The more profound the revolution, the more completely the distinction “mine and yours” disappears, the more perfect is the love. Its perfection essentially depends upon its not becoming apparent that hidden at the bottom there has lain and still lies a distinction between mine and yours; therefore it depends essentially on the degree of the revolution. The more profound the revolution, the more justice shudders; the more profound the revolution, the more perfect is the love.

“The more profound the revolution, the more justice shudders; the more profound the revolution, the more perfect is the love.”

This is both counter-intuitive and powerful. As Westerners, we live in a society obsessed with justice. Our other premier philosophers – like Plato and Rawls – dedicated their greatest works to the concept of justice, to the perfection of justice. But in a simple turn of phrase, Kierkegaard flips the philosophical scales. Rather than exalting justice to the detriment of our deeper yearnings, he exalts that which defies and confuses justice with a power greater than justice. He shows us a deeper justice. He paints for us a picture of the pathway of love.

This is the other half of the parable, “The Prodigal Son”. When reading that story, I am always struck first by the patience and forgiveness of the father. His love is timeless and it is undaunted by the disrespect of the son. But when I look deeper, it always occurs to me that at the heart of the story is a deeper revolution than simple patience; and that at the heart of the father’s forgiveness, there is a blindness greater than forgiveness – there is a love rooted in selflessness, an utter disregard for the distinction between yours and mine.

If this isn’t apparent in his actions toward the prodigal son (e.g., relinquishing his property, sacrificing his best upon the son’s return); it is clear and bold in his statements to his elder son – the son who stayed home. That son became angered when the father accepted the prodigal son and welcomed him home with a party. That son had stayed with the father all along. He had worked steadfastly and respected his family. In every way he had obeyed, and when the younger son returns to accolades he fumes (Luke 15: 29-30):

Look, all these years I served you and not once did I disobey your orders; yet you never gave me even a young goat to feast on with my friends. But when your son returns who swallowed up your property with prostitutes, for him you slaughter the fattened calf.

He is mad. He feels betrayed. He has obeyed but his brother, who should be outcast, receives honor.

In a way, we agree with the eldest son. Our sense of justice is violated. We empathize with the elder son’s plight. And then the father’s reply shows us where our own understanding of love falls short. In the very next verse, he says to the elder son:

My son, you are here with me always; everything I have is yours (emphasis mine). But now we must celebrate and rejoice, because your brother was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.

The elder son sees injustice, the father sees sons who are more important than justice. The elder son sees the waste of his father’s property, the father sees property that is nothing without sons. The elder son sees a mine and a yours –the waste of his by the antics of his brother – but the father sees no such distinction, for he knows that his love means a willingness to cede everything, even life itself, to these sons.

As Kierkegaard said, “…the more profound the revolution, the more perfect the love.”

Where, in our lives, does love make justice shudder? Where in our lives, is there a selflessness so great that the very idea of self – the basis of democracy! the calling card of the modern age! – simply melts away? I know in my life I remember snapshots of such love. I remember college nights at the Waffle House – a best friend who studied with me until the early hours of the mornings – and an unspoken agreement that neither one of us noticed or remembered who paid the bill. I remember gifts I’ve been given – paintings, shoulders to cry on, long days of wiffle ball, hour-long storybook sessions from a tired mom, and one Nintendo (when we didn’t have the money but I was a very sick little kid!) – that came from nowhere but the heart, and took everything the giver had. I remember the few times when my own sense of self melted – even if for a moment – into that blissful state where I really considered someone else better than myself. And I also remember how hard such a self-sacrificing state of mind is to maintain.

I’m slowly realizing that almost all virtues drive to agape love because agape love isn’t simply a virtue. It is the perfection and proper ordering of all other virtues. And I’m slowly realizing that just because love isn’t initially perfect, that doesn’t mean it’s not fighting to get there. We are put here on this earth to walk one path, to perfect one thing, to realize one quality that illuminates all the others. We have been given a capacity, an understanding, a virtue that – in its perfection – could confuse all the troubles of this world and eliminate the need for all other virtues because it is the very reason for virtue.

What a revolution if one day, we could find ourselves drawing nearer to such a thing.

Comments

[Ruth]

Here's to late nights at Waffle House.

[Matt]

Bravo!

Well said, John, well said.

It's amazing how the more you think about almost anything the more it always leads back to one place. How could it not, ey?

[Meg]

John Coleman, I was reading VELVET ELVIS by Rob Bell and he mentioned that the biggest problem with the son who stayed home was that he had available ALL of the things that the prodigal son was given, but that he was too caught up in what he had to do to deserve those things in the future to be able to enjoy those things... since that's all one sentence, I'm not sure it made sense. Maybe read it a couple of times... haha

Anyway, as usual I'm provoked thoughtfully by what you have to say. I hope that all is well!

[James Chang]

Wow, John, that was a wonderful post. I've been reading S.K. lately too. There is an interesting dialectic at work here too, the dialectic between love and freedom. Kierkegaard, along with Karl Barth, had the idea that we as sinners are under the bondage of sin and do not enjoy perfect freedom, unlike God, whose freedom is reflected in and evidenced by his love towards the human race. It is precisely because the "father" is free that he is able to dispense with the restrictive notion of "justice," or, the "Law," in Hebrew theology. This is the heart of the Gospel. The Law is valid, but only as a pointer to something greater.

Thank you for posting this!

[John]

Matt,

Thanks! It was partially your comment on the previous post that inspired me to extend the analysis.

Meg,

That sounds like a great take on yet another dimension of the parable. Sometimes thinking that we are earning something (when we are not) leaves us but disillusioned and under the illusion that we have more power and less grace than we actually have.

James,

Awesome points. It is God's ultimate freedom that allows him to elevate the greatest result of freedom, love.

[Beth]

I like the new picture!

I think this is the best post on Agape love you have done, and I love the way you used the Prodigal son to run a thread through the last two.

Beautiful.

[L]

I liked this very much. One thing that I just can't resolve about this Agape Love thing:

It takes an extremely strong character to love someone like this. Building this strength of character is definitely a lifelong journey, which I understand. However, as you mention here, our society has created barriers to this development by reinforcing principles of personal justice and fairness. Hence, many people never accomplish the ability to love someone unconditionally and selflessly. Moreover, the pain one endures when they love someone unconditionally but that love is not returned is enough to discourage a person for a lifetime.

In the Prodigal Son, does the father ever get discouraged? He has given so much to his son. What feeds his Agape love when his son does not love him back?

[John]

L,

Thank you for the observation. I think this is one of the hardest things I struggle with -- the notion that love exercises its demands even in the absence of reciprocity. I think it's almost impossible to get to the point of perfect love (as I noted, I'm beginning to think love a more complex thing than I initially envisioned -- something like the perfection and proper ordering of all the other virtues). But it is precisely the need for a strong individual character in the face of pain and social barriers that makes the instances of true love we observe all the more impactful (I wrote about my memories of closeness to such instances, or snapshots, at http://johncoleman.typepad.com/ex_nihilo/2006/09/agape_love_part.html).

Here's my two cents. I'd love to hear more of your thoughts. In a way, our social value systems have, I think, erected walls to the observance of real love. We place an emphasis (sometimes justified) on moderation and individualism. Individualism leads us to care more about ourselves (hence, justice and fairness) than about the connections between us and the virtue those can bring. In seeking to avoid pain, we become risk averse and seek moderation. Even if shying away from extremes costs us the purest joys in life, it saves us the most excruciating of pains; and in avoiding those pains we learn to live our lives flat, so to speak. Our emotions never ride too high or too low because we never expose ourselves to the uncertainty of dependency and love.

But I am learning, personally, that that flatness simply leads me to a deeper kind of discomfort and discontent -- something Walker Percy referred to asa malaise. And as I learn to let go and expose myself a little more, the upside (joy, truer love, chance) is worth the risk.

It also seems that life is a little too short and fickle to focus too much on fairness. Above, the father knew that it was unfair to himself to give all he had worked so hard for to an ungrateful son. But he also knew that his love for the son, unconditional, was far more important than any material posession he had. It wasn't fair for the son to reject him. It wasn't fair for the son to take his things. But in light of the ultimate choice -- between demanding obedience and giving the opportunity for totally free and voluntary love -- the father knew that nothing could be greater or more thrilling than the latter.

Like I said, I'm writing these posts to figure these things out myself (translation: I have no idea what I'm talking about;)), but those are my initial thoughts.

I think individualism is exactly the problem. We get so isolated that we're paralyzed we lock ourselves in rooms and convince ourselves that stepping out is more frightening than standing inside alone.