[From Part I Chapter I, "Love's Hidden Life and Its Recognizability by Its Fruits"]
Each tree is recognized by its own fruit. People do not pick figs from thornbushes, or grapes from briers. ~Luke 6:44 (NIV)
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| Kierkegaard hard at work in a Copenhagen Cafe |
"There is no word in human language, not one single one, not the most sacred one, about which we are able to say: If a person uses this word, it is unconditionally demonstrated that there is love in that person. On the contrary, it is even true that a word from one person can convince us that there is love in him, and the opposite word from another can convince us that there is love in him also. It is true that one and the same word can convince us that love abides in the one who said it and does not in the other, who never the less said the same word. “There is no work, not one single one, not even the best, about which we unconditionally dare to say: The one who does this unconditionally demonstrates love by it. It depends on how the work is done. There are, of course, works that in a particular sense are called works of love. But even giving to charity, visiting the widow, and clothing the naked do not truly demonstrate or make known a person’s love, inasmuch as one can do works of love in an unloving, yes, even in a self-loving way, and if this is so the work of love is no work of love at all….[1]”
When Kierkegaard speaks of the hidden
life of Love, this is what he means: that there are no words or
actions that are objectively loving. The most loving words can be said without
any real love behind them; the most loving actions can be done for the most
selfish of reasons. Each one of us should be able to confirm this by our own experience,
when we have pretended to show love to another person, not out of love, but out
of obligation or with ulterior motives. But if this is the case, which it
undoubtedly is, then how can love be known by its fruit? Doesn’t this one
observation undercut the very claim of scripture? Kierkegaard continues:
“Yet it remains firm that love is to be known by its fruits. But those sacred words of that text are not said to encourage us to get busy judging one another; they are rather spoken admonishingly to the single individual, to you, my listener, and to me, to encourage him not to allow his love to become unfruitful but to work so that it could be known for its fruits, whether or not these come to be known by others. He certainly is not to work so that love will be known by the fruits but to work so that it could be known by the fruits… "It does not read in the gospel, as sagacious[2] talk would say, ‘You or we are to know the tree by its fruits,’ but it reads, ‘The tree is to be known by its fruits.”… The divine authorship of the gospel does not speak to one person about another, does not speak to you, my listener, about me, or to me about you—no, when the Gospel speaks, it speaks to the single individual. It does not speak about us human beings, you and me, but speaks to us human beings, to you and me, and what it speaks about is that love is to be known by its fruits.”[3]
Scripture does not say that “we or you
are to know love by its fruits.” The point of this verse is not to grant human
beings the right to judge each other’s love. Inevitably we will make errors in
judgment. We will think an act is done from love when it was really done
selfishly, or we will dismiss a genuine act of love out of pure cynicism. When
Scripture tells us that love is to be known by its fruits, it is not talking to
us about the fruits of others, but our own fruits. We are
meant to ask ourselves, “Is it possible to see my love in my fruits?”
Ultimately love is hidden—it exists in our hearts; it cannot be measured or
distilled or dissected. We cannot prove beyond doubt to others that our actions
are based in love. But scripture commands us to live in such a way that our
love can be seen by those who look for it—and by the one who sees all things
perfectly, the triune God.
Dear Father,
We are so often prone to using scripture
to judge others before ourselves. I confess that I will read a passage and
think, “So-and-so should read this passage, then they would understand how
wrong they are.” And yet, your Son has taught us to address the speck in our
own eyes first. I confess, my love cannot always be known by my fruits. I do
not always produce the fruit of love, because I do not always love. Grant me
the clarity to see the true quality of my fruits, to know when I am not bearing
the fruit of love. Grant me the wisdom to know how to grow good fruit instead
of the mixed harvest of my life.
In the name of Jesus Christ, the only
perfect tree of love,
Amen.
[1] Søren Kierkegaard, Works of Love. Translated
by Howard V. and Edna H Hong. Princeton University Press, 1995. p. 13. Emphasis
in original.
[2] shrewd
[3] Ibid., p. 14
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