Soren Kierkegaard

to founder, he prayed not only for his eternal salvation, but also for his
temporal salvation.”
It was Saint Paul who inspired Kierkegaard with the title of the work. In
his letter to the Philippians, Paul calls on them to “work” for their salvation
“with fear and trembling” (Philippians 2:12). It is impossible to sa yhow
much of the manuscript ofFear and TremblingKierkegaard had completed
before he arrived at this redemptive insight, but it is quite certain that his
own personal situation is more or less the best introduction to the work. It
is scarcel yan exaggeration to sa ythat inFear and TremblingKierkegaard was
writing his wa ytoward his own salvation, toward greater self-understand-
ing. The work turned out to be one of Kierkegaard’s most perfect creations,
and he found its perfection edifying in several respects. In the late summer
of 1849 he noted proudl yin his journal: “O, some da yafter I am dead,Fear
and Tremblingalone will be enough to immortalize m yname as an author.
Then it will be read and translated into foreign languages. People will practi-
call yshudder at the frightful emotion in the book.”
In writing this, Kierkegaard revealed the depth of his personal involve-
ment with the work. Indeed, he honestl yadmitted, the work “reproduced
m yown life.” But what does that reall ymean? How can a book reproduce
or depict a life? And what is the source of this biographical trembling?
The first inkling of an answer to this question seems to be concealed at
the end of a little note Kierkegaard sent to Emil Boesen in the latter part of
October 1843. Boesen la ysick in bed and wished to borrow “Blicher’s
Short Stories.” Kierkegaard could not satisf ythat request, so instead he sent
Boesen “the best I possess, m yIsaac.” With this elegant gesture, Boesen was
presented withFear and Trembling, but that was b yno means the end of
Kierkegaard’s symbolism, for he signed himself “Yours forever, Farinelli.”
He had done this once before, also in a letter to Boesen, specificall yin the
letter he had sent Boesen from Berlin in 1841, asking him to send a cop yof
The First Love. That time Kierkegaard had crossed out the name, presumably
because he had had last-minute regrets about the self-revelation implied by
signing himself as the castrato singer. Thus not quite two years later, when
he again made use of the signature, there must have been ver yspecial rea-
sons for doing so, for Kierkegaard could of course have given himself a great
man yother names—Johannes de silentio or Constantin Constantius, for
example. But he didn’t do so, he called himself Farinelli, and in so doing
he used a code that Boesen had to break. But which code?
The matter can onl ybe cleared up b yreading. So we must now turn to
the work.