By Declan Mears ’27

Throughout my early life as a Christian, whether hearing stories told by animated vegetables or listening to youth pastors, the narrative that Abraham acted as a paradigmatic figure of faith nevertheless prevailed. He ascended Mount Moriah and took the knife to Isaac. However, I think that might’ve been censored in the vegetable version, and God prevented the killing of his only son and let them return down the mountain together. This reinforces the idea that no matter what, we as Christians should trust in God’s plan for us, even if, at times, it seems paradoxical or absurd. However, I find a problem with this narrative, and so do scholars such as Soren Kierkegaard, who argue that Abraham was instead not a stoic figure who prevailed through his blind faith in God but a man who was so deeply devoted to his God that he was able to overcome the intense personal trouble he must’ve been dealing with during the ascent. And that very idea is what I hope to explore throughout this blog post.

First, let’s ground ourselves in the actual scripture for the story of Abraham; spanning just 13 verses, the scripture doesn’t give much context surrounding what Abraham or Isaac must’ve felt during the ascent. “And it came to pass after these things, that God tested Abraham and said unto him, ‘Abraham!” And he said, “Behold, here I am. And He said, “Take now thy son, thine only son Isaac whom thou lovest, and get thee into the land of Moriah, and offer him there for a burnt offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee of. And Abraham rose up early in the morning and saddled his ass, and took two of his young men with him and Isaac his son. He cleaved the wood for the burnt offering, rose, and went to the place God had told him. Then, on the third day, Abraham lifted up his eyes and saw the place afar off. And Abraham said unto his young men, “Abide ye here with the ass; and I and the lad will go yonder and worship, and come again to you. And Abraham took the wood of the burnt offering and laid it upon Isaac, his son, and he took the fire in his hand and a knife, and they went together. And Isaac spoke unto Abraham his father and said, “My father!” And he said, “Here am I, my son.” And he said, “Behold the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for a burnt offering? And Abraham said, “My son, God will provide Himself a lamb for a burnt offering.” So they went both of them together. And they came to the place God had told him of, and Abraham built an altar there, laid the wood in order, bound Isaac, his son, and laid him on the altar upon the wood. And Abraham stretched forth his hand and took the knife to slay his son. And the angel of the Lord called unto him out of heaven and said, “Abraham, Abraham!” And he said, “Here am I.” And He said, “Lay not thine hand upon the lad, neither do thou anything unto him; for now, I know that thou fearest God, seeing thou hast not withheld thy son, thine only son, from Me.” And Abraham lifted his eyes and looked; behold, behind him, a ram caught in a thicket by his horns. Abraham went and took the ram and offered him up for a burnt offering in the stead of his son.”

This is very likely the story you’ve been told your entire life, possibly not as graphically as your youth or local pastors described, but nonetheless. The only change I hope to inspire about how we view this text is within what is not stated in the scripture. For this, I will be heavily relying on and adopting Kierkegaard’s view of the stories of Abraham in his work Fear in Trembling. In this work, Kierkegaard reinterprets the story of Abraham in multiple different ways, each showing how if Abraham acted like a normal human being, for lack of better terms, he would’ve ended up in some way failing God. Either through extreme anxiety, fear, panic, or not wanting Isaac to lose faith in God, Kierkegaard explores each of the standard human emotions and reactions one would face if they were in the position of Abraham. Specific to this article, however, I will be referring to the second Abraham story. For brief context, the initial ascent into Mount Moriah is the same; however, we get additional information that Abraham, throughout the journey, is continuously looking down at the ground.

The story proceeds as usual: the knife is drawn, the sheep is revealed to Abraham, and they return down the mountain. What is interesting about this specific story of Abraham is that it is extremely short and doesn’t contain much of the additional dialogue seen in the other versions of Kierkegaard’s situations. The only additions we get are: “From that time on, Abraham became old, he could not forget that God had required this of him. Isaac thrived as before, but Abraham’s eyes were darkened, and he knew joy no more.” The following line summarizes the story through a metaphor of a mother and child: “When the child has grown big and must be weaned–so the child has no more a mother. Happy the child which did not in another way lose its mother.” With this context, in what way does Abraham fail to trust God? After all, he draws the knife, is only stopped by the angel (which is inferred but likely evident), and sacrifices the ram to God. I believe Abraham failed to trust God the moment this command was given. Isaac was supposed to be the ruler of nations, the fulfillment of God’s promise to Abraham, his connection to the divine, and a miracle child to whom he and his wife had devoted their lives. All their hard work and piety had finally paid off. And then Abraham is told to slaughter that child solely to show his devotion.

For Abraham, there was no way this could be the same God. Even though his son was ultimately saved, the mere fact that he was commanded to do such a thing broke the promise God had given to him. We can see evidence of this in Abraham’s demeanor even before the act—he is described as depressed while ascending the mountain. Afterward, in the best-case scenario, he becomes entirely devoid of joy. His God was no longer the one of love and benevolence who had given him his son; this command revealed a side of God that Abraham could not reconcile, causing him to lose his faith. Some might argue that the final line with the mother-child metaphor contradicts this interpretation. After all, it suggests that Abraham (the child) was happy not to lose his mother in another way. However, the critical distinction here lies in the language: Abraham is described as happy, not joyful. While these terms are often used interchangeably, they carry different meanings in this passage. Abraham is happy that he didn’t have to give up on God by killing his son, but this happiness is fleeting and situational. The joy he once felt from his connection to the divine is gone. The command required him to contemplate an act he should never have been asked to perform, severing his blissful connection to God.

The only emotion Abraham can now feel is the human one of brief, momentary, and circumstantial happiness. The divine connection and the joy it brought have been severed. At least, that’s how I interpreted the second story. As for what I find interesting about the various Abraham stories, it’s how all his moments of doubt stem from deeply human experiences and relationships rather than outlandish, unrealistic scenarios. These stories reflect situations that could plausibly occur if anyone else were placed in similar circumstances, making them resonate on a profoundly human level. While the point of Kierkegaard was to mainly explain how faith is innately absurd, which I think is shown throughout his example, an underlying element of his work is explaining how Abraham acted ‘human’ in the sense while not directly stated, he still went through immense fear and suffering and chose to trust in God. 

In today’s world, I often find my peers and friends comparing themselves to seemingly paradigmatic figures like the Abraham we’re taught in Sunday school. This ultimately leaves us feeling inferior to others as we can’t understand the impulse behind their actions; the stoic Abraham, who never faltered, is hard to form a human connection with. But the trembling Abraham, we can understand. That is to say, I believe by reinterpreting Abraham through a more humanistic lens, we can unburden ourselves in a way and come to terms with our own situations. Not every instance is going to result in our blind faith in God; we struggle, we cry, and we suffer, and acknowledging that people like Abraham did as well removes this paradigmatic faith hierarchy that is unfortunately instilled through the generalization of scripture in things like Sunday school.

Questions for Thought/Discussion: 

• Is this a reasonable interpretation of the Abraham Story? 
• Does this view how we might interpret other figures from the scriptures? 
• In what ways do you think this interpretation is correct, and in what ways does it miss the mark?

The views in the post are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Lutheran Center or St. Olaf College.