Days before receiving the Nobel Prize in Literature, Hungarian author László Krasznahorkai delivered a powerful speech in Stockholm challenging conventional notions of the divine and prompting reflection on human dignity in a world marked by conflict and suffering. The address, delivered December 7th, centered on a reimagining of angelic figures-not as symbols of glory, but as embodiments of pain and marginalization present within society. Krasznahorkai’s observations, drawing connections between theological thought, literature, and current events, have sparked widespread discussion about compassion and our collective obligation to those on the fringes.
Nobel laureate László Krasznahorkai, in a recent speech delivered in Stockholm days before receiving the prestigious award, explored the idea of divine presence not in grandeur, but in suffering and marginalization. His reflections, touching on themes of sacrifice and human dignity, have resonated widely as the world confronts ongoing conflicts and humanitarian crises.
Krasznahorkai described a new kind of angel – one “without wings” – arriving “from the Irrevocable, to us who struggle in the dust, (…) wandering in the dust down here.” These angels, he argued, exist among us, often unrecognized, possessing the power to reveal truth in a single moment. “They stand and look at us, searching our gaze, and in that search is a plea, that we look into their eyes, give them a message,” he said.
Unlike traditional depictions of angels delivering messages through words or art, Krasznahorkai’s angels communicate through silent observation. “As if they have been silenced, they simply stand and look at us, seeking our gaze, and in that search is a request that we meet their eyes, offer them a message.”
The author’s vision aligns with a long tradition of reimagining angelic figures. He referenced the work of Hungarian poet Domokos Szilágyi, who rejected idealized imagery, and Attila József, who wrote of “very forgotten” angels who had “stuffed their white wings into fat cushions.” The image of a wounded angel, as depicted in Finnish symbolist Hugo Simberg’s painting The Wounded Angel, also resonated with Krasznahorkai, representing a world burdened by war and brutality. He posited that these new angels are, perhaps, not angels at all, but “victims.”
Examining these figures, Krasznahorkai imagined placing a stethoscope to their chests, hearing “their fate, their own.” He concluded that their suffering is “not for us, but because of us.”
This observation led Krasznahorkai to contemplate human dignity, ultimately finding it diminished. He described humanity abandoning “the noble and common possession of knowledge, beauty, and moral good,” and retreating into a desolate landscape where “the swamp sinks, the marsh pulls you down.”
He then drew a stark parallel to a scene in Berlin, focusing on a homeless man publicly urinating on a subway platform. The act, deemed “a truly unprecedented violation of the rules, order, law, common sense,” sparked outrage and drew the attention of police. This image, reminiscent of a verse by György Petri, “Hogy elérjek a napsütötte sávig” (To Reach the Sunlit Strip), highlights the depths of human suffering often ignored or condemned by society.
The reaction to the man’s distress – the public’s indignation and the police intervention – underscored a societal impulse to avoid confronting difficult realities. Krasznahorkai questioned whether this man, and others like him, might be the very “wingless angels” he described.
He argued that these figures represent not the heights of glory, but the depths of despair, existing as victims “not for us, but because of us.” Both Krasznahorkai’s and Petri’s work, he noted, demonstrate compassion and mercy. He expressed hope that the police officer would refrain from arresting the man, echoing Petri’s own desire to offer a small kindness – “to give that unfortunate couple, say, the color of your eyes, and a rare word, so that they are not so disgustingly degraded” – to those on the margins.
Turning to theological reflection, Krasznahorkai recalled the angelic chorus from the Gospel of Luke: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men” (Luke 2:14). He shared a story of a rebellious angel who consistently altered the lyrics, proclaiming “Glory to God in the depths.” Despite being corrected by other angels, the rebel insisted that God’s presence is most profoundly felt among the suffering.
“If he is already there, then it does not mean that God can be found in the depths?” the angel argued. “Where we least expect it, he is closest to us.” This sentiment, Krasznahorkai suggested, captures the essence of the Christmas story: “God is not born in a palace, but in a manger. He does not choose the heights, but the depths.”
Drawing on the work of Carl Jung, Krasznahorkai observed that God bends down to meet those living in extreme poverty, war zones, and marginalized communities, such as those in Budapest’s Szőlő Street correctional facility. He sees Jesus embodying this descent into suffering, echoing the psalmist’s cry from the depths.
Krasznahorkai emphasized that Jesus’ life was defined by this marginalization, from his family’s flight to Egypt to escape Herod’s persecution to his eventual crucifixion outside the walls of Jerusalem. He noted that even the Roman census, intended to exert control and collect taxes, served as a backdrop for the birth of the savior in the humble town of Bethlehem.
He contrasted this with the power structures of the Roman Empire, which sought to catalog and control every aspect of life. But, Krasznahorkai argued, God subverts such systems. The act of defiance, he said, is embodied by the homeless man who transgresses the boundaries of the Berlin subway, compelled by necessity to act outside the bounds of societal rules.
This act of rebellion mirrors the suffering of those unjustly harmed – the boys beaten in Szőlő Street, the victims of abuse in Bicske, those affected by the war in Ukraine, and the Jewish community targeted in Sydney. They are all, Krasznahorkai wrote, victims “not for us, but because of us.”
Krasznahorkai concluded by expressing his belief in a fragile God, one who receives blows in a fetal position, yet maintains sovereignty and remains the God of those who live in the depths. He echoed the rebellious angel’s cry: “Glory to God in the depths!” He also affirmed his belief that God descended into the depths to lift up those who dwell there. Concluding his speech, Krasznahorkai, who began by stating his loss of hope, ultimately offered a glimmer of possibility: “I have said everything about what I think about rebellion, human dignity, angels, and yes, perhaps everything – even about hope.”
This article was created in collaboration between Szemlélek and Telex.
