A Bicentennial Birthday Party

Reviewed and edited by David A. Erlandson

Editor’s note: In the early summer of 2013, while my wife and I were visiting friends and

relatives around Wayne, Pennsylvania, I took the SEPTA train into Philadelphia to look for some

books at the Free Library that I hadn’t been able to locate elsewhere. The train was relatively

empty, and I took a seat next to the window and casually looked out the window, paying

particular attention to ways the landscape had changed since I had last traveled this route many

decades earlier. The sunlight on the south side of the train brought my attention to something

wedged between my seat and the window. It appeared to be a plastic folder containing a number

of papers. With some difficulty I pulled it out its place and found in it a typewritten paper

entitled “A Bicentennial Birthday Party.” There was no identifying name on the paper; but it

looked interesting, and I decided to read it. It seemed likely that this was the work of some

academic (probably in philosophy and perhaps a graduate student) from some university. Since

the SEPTA line served both the University of Pennsylvania and Villanova University, I took trips

to the philosophy departments of both institutions to see if I could return it to its owner.

However, these efforts proved unsuccessful, and I am now presenting it to a wider audience in

the hope of identifying the author.

It was early evening on the 5th

of May 2013, and the air was fragrant with the fresh smell

of forsythia and spring flowers. The landscape was golden with “nature’s first green,” as

described by Robert Frost. The sky was clear, the temperature was moderate, and the whole

scene was as close to what one could imagine for a perfect day in the suburban area west of

Philadelphia.

But not everyone was outdoors to enjoy it. Inside an historic old hotel located in one of

Philadelphia’s suburbs, a solitary gentleman, quaintly dressed in a manner that seemed to be of

an earlier age and place, sat at the hotel bar, apparently immersed in his own thoughts. The man,

who introduced himself to the bartender as “John,” slowly sipped from the pint of Carlsberg that

was in front of him, paying little attention to the hotel guests or the employees in the room.

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Rather suddenly, another gentleman, also attired somewhat quaintly though much more

elegantly, came up behind the man at the bar, placed his left hand on the man’s right shoulder

and said rather loudly, “Johann, glad to see that you could make it.”

The man at the bar turned his body halfway around, looked at the man who had greeted

him and said quietly: “Hello, Constantin. It’s good to see you. Who else is coming?”

“I’ve invited Johannes Climacus, Vigilius Hofniensis, and Anti-Climacus. They all

indicated they’d be here. For this little celebration of the boss’s 200th

birthday, I thought it

would be interesting to get everyone together whose writings had something to say about man’s

relation to God. As you know, the first dinner I arranged brought together a group of five to

discuss the subject of woman. Then in 1913 we met in Berlin, just before the war, to talk about

the ethical life. Judge William was there as were also Victor Eremita, Frater Taciturnus, and

Johannes Climacus.”

“That’s an interesting group. What does some guy who merely uncovered some already

finished work in a desk drawer have to say about ethics?”

“I hope you’re not miffed because you weren’t invited. Are you?

“No, just curious.”

Constantin sat down next to Johannes de Silentio and ordered a glass of Merlot. As the

two became engaged in conversation about the weather in Philadelphia, they were joined by the

other three invitees. Johannes Climacus warmly greeted both of them, and a few minutes later

Vigilius Haufniensis and Anti-Climacus came in together. At a signal from Constantin a young

woman came over and escorted them to the small banquet room where they were to have their

dinner. She informed them that the dinner would be served in half an hour and that she would be

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with them throughout the evening to refresh their drinks and provide them with whatever else

they needed from the hotel’s services.

The meal was served in a succession of elegant stages, with a sufficient variety at each

stage to satisfy even the most particular appetites. Constantin, as usual, had arranged a

thoroughly satisfying feast in an ideal setting for fellowship and conversation. When they were

approaching the end of the meal and their young server was clearing the table, Constantin laid

out the design for the evening’s presentations. The topic, as he had informed them all

previously, was to be on the role of God in the universe and the lives of men, a topic that all five

of them had written about. They had read each other’s works and had from time to time

discussed their works with each other. But since pseudonyms, like characters in great novels but

unlike their human creators, live forever, they now had the chance, 200 years after the birth of

their creator, to get together, enjoy each other’s company, and explore a topic of mutual interest.

As time passes, their individual views are likely to expand and even change to some degree.

Now on the two-hundredth birthday anniversary of their creator they would bring each other up

to date on the thoughts and themes of their earlier works.

Constantin had determined that if there were no objections from the group (and there

were none) that the order of presentation should begin with the author of the earliest published

work and proceed in order up through the authors of the most recent works. The presentations

would begin with Johannes de Silentio, followed by Constantin himself, and then by Johannes

Climacus, Vigilius Haufniensis, and Anti-Climacus in that order. Following the pattern

established at the first banquet, described in In Vino Veritas, in preparation for the presentations

they would first thoroughly enjoy their food and drink to the point where their senses were

invigorated but their thoughts and words still intelligible and coherent— much like the condition

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of those who participated in the original banquet. Each speaker was to reflect briefly on how his

writings had been received over the years and perhaps also how his original views, as exhibited

in the work for which he was best known, had been further developed or modified. He was also

encouraged to make brief comments or raise questions about the works of the other authors as he

saw fit. No questions were to be raised or responses made to what was said, except during the

presentation period allowed to each speaker.

But before their speeches began Constantin suggested that it would be appropriate to sing

Happy Birthday to Søren Kierkegaard, even though he had been dead for over 150 years. His

colleagues thought this was a splendid idea, and Constantin started them off with on a note he

found appropriate for his own baritone voice. The note was not appropriate for all the members

of the group, and the cheerful, loud noise that resulted made it difficult for the young woman

who was serving them to suppress both grimaces and giggles. It was clear that while

Kierkegaard may have created a group of excellent scholars, he certainly hadn’t given them any

musical sensitivity.

Then the pseudonyms’ speeches began. Their entire presentations, two of which went on

quite long, will not be included in this summary description of the events of the evening.

However, the author relies upon her memory and the notes she took during the evening and

believes that her account is a valid representation of what transpired.

Johannes de Silentio put down his Carlsberg, slowly rose to his feet, and addressed his

peers:

I don’t exactly know where to begin or where to go in what I have to say. You’ve all

read Fear and Trembling, and nothing in what I wrote has essentially changed in my

view, though some of my thoughts have been somewhat modified, refined, or extended. I

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never did find a knight of faith who fully met the criteria I had established. I think I

expected that once a person had achieved the knight of faith status that that status would

fully define him for the rest of his life. If that expectation were valid, I’d have to say that

I still haven’t found a knight of faith. But I have encountered individuals who, like

Abraham, approached that status at particular points in their lives—when faced with

overwhelming, impossible situations as they moved forward by faith to do what God was

telling them they must do, even though both they and the people around them could see

that the move was absurd. However, often when the crisis had passed, and certainly

before it had arrived, they moved forward with infinite resignation, but not with true

faith. As I looked at these individuals, I realized that even Abraham, labeled as the “man

of faith” by the apostle Paul, didn’t always act like a true knight of faith. Lying to both

Pharaoh and Abimelech about the status of his wife, Sara, indicated that he was too

willing to play it safe in a very dangerous world. In his eagerness to obtain the heir that

God had promised him, he precipitously impregnated Hagar, and in doing so betrayed his

own inability to believe that God could fulfill his promise even if it was patently absurd.

When he anxiously returned again and again to God in his request to save the city of

Sodom, he fell short of the simple trust in the ultimate goodness of God that true faith

requires. However, when he and Isaac went up to Mount Moriah, he did make the second

movement and acted as a true knight of faith. There is no question in my mind that

Abraham is the ultimate example of a knight of faith, but I have seen others in both the

19th

and 20th

centuries that exhibited essentially the same quality. These, for the most

part, have been quiet, unremarkable men and women going about their daily ordinary

lives, very much like the knight of faith I described in my book. I am in awe in the

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presence of these people—even when I merely hear or read about how God has operated

in their lives.

As to my comments and questions that I have for you, my beloved colleagues and

friends, I have many. However, in the interest of priority and time I would address only

the one question that has bothered me for nearly two centuries. It is a question for you,

my dear Constantin.

I truly enjoyed Repetition and was greatly stimulated into the insights it provided about

the nature of faith and the experience of a person, like Job, who wrestles with God at the

boundary of faith. Yet I am confused. After reading your book several times I am still

not sure what “repetition” is. You provide many ways of testing this central concept; but

the results of your experiments are mixed, and it seems as though you yourself don’t have

a clear definition of it. Roger Poole, writing in the last decade of the 20th

century, shares

my problem. Also, in writing Repetition, why did you give all the good lines and the

great insights about the nature of faith to the young man you created, but whom you then

totally disown? I would be indebted to you if you would take a small part of your

presentation time to answer these questions.

With that Johannes de Silentio took another sip from his pint of Carlsberg to quench the

dryness in his throat and sat down. Constantin rose to his feet and immediately launched into his

presentation:

It always amazes me how people have difficulty understanding the concept of

“repetition” as I’ve presented it. I ran several experiments, described in my book, which

tested my early and perhaps naïve notion of the concept; but in the end these experiments

vindicated my earlier assumptions. Even my young man, who never mastered the

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concept of repetition showed by his naivety and his failure to follow my excellent advice

why repetition is so important. Since you, Mr. de Silentio, and perhaps others present

have failed to grasp the essential meaning and value of the concept of repetition, I doubt

that I can successfully communicate it to you in our limited time this evening. Perhaps

the best direction I can give you is to consider the example I gave you of the coach horn.

True repetition never is identical to the experience it repeats. If it were, it obviously

would not advance knowledge or understanding. Repetition enhances previous

understandings and insights. Its validity and usefulness have extended even into the 21st

century.

Repetition remains the single best conceptual tool for advancing thought and action in

society. Repetition never looks back to imitate or to glory in what has been done but

adapts experience from the past to encompass the present and the future. Repetition

draws from the essence of the past to respond productively to the future. This is what I

meant when I wrote that repetition is an indestructible garment that fits closely and

tenderly or when I wrote that repetition is a beloved wife of whom one never wearies.

Regarding the behavior of the young man I created, the mere fact that his failure to

follow my advice produced happy delusions for him does not change the fact that he was

quite obtuse and impractical in what he did. Ever since I created him I have had grave

concerns about how he will manage. I put some stupid words into his mouth to make my

point, and I’m sorry that you, Johannes, and perhaps others, have seen wisdom in his

poorly conceived ramblings.

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I have a question, and it’s for you, Johannes Climacus: Since you provided such a

scholarly and intricate defense of Christianity in your two books, why is it that you aren’t

a Christian? With this Constantin resumed his seat.

Johannes Climacus slowly got up, looked over the group, and adjusted his glasses.

Looking directly at Constantin he began:

As I’ve pointed out previously, and as my friend Anti-Climacus has explained so well,

knowing about Christianity doesn’t make a person a Christian. It takes the inwardness

and earnestness of a follower of Christ to truly be a Christian. Why am I not a Christian?

Because I’ve never been ready to make that kind of a commitment.

Nor is my defense of Christianity either scholarly or intricate if by those terms you mean

that it is probable or provable by finite, human calculations. The beauty and power of

Christianity is that it is improbable, that it in fact rests upon a paradox. Its absolute

paradox and contemporaneity are its truth. I attack the probability of Christianity, but I

defend its truth.

Then pausing to look around the room and make eye contact with each of his peers, Climacus

continued:

Regarding my work in my two books I must admit that I am rather surprised and

somewhat flattered at the impact they have made. Perhaps most surprising, is the wide

variety of writers and latter-day philosophers who have picked up my work and shaped it

(twisted it perhaps) to serve their own ends. I’m glad I destroyed the Hegelian system,

but I’m a little embarrassed by the writings of some of the people who claim, or are

considered by others, to be my heirs. I would say to many existentialists and nearly all

postmodernists that my position was never to destroy God, but to remove God from the

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hands and minds of others who wanted to create a lap dog God in their own image so that

they could control him. Just because we have a God whose existence is beyond our

comprehension and whose relationship to humanity in the Incarnation constitutes the

absolute paradox, it does not follow that an infinite, omnipotent God does not exist. The

bellicose anti-Christian position of existentialists and postmodernists who want to totally

deny Christianity is the flip side of the pride of so-called Christians who try to create a

God they can control and define in human terms. In both cases they want to be in

control. What neither group understands is that it simply doesn’t work that way.

Incidentally, Constantin, de Silentio is right. You simply lost control over the young

man you created. Nor should you have expected anything different. It’s the same as

when the boss created us. He turned us loose and let us develop our own thoughts. As an

addendum to my Concluding Unscientific Postscript he made a point of telling readers

that they should attribute our views to us and not to him. I have a lot of respect for you,

Constantin, but the fact is that your young man, quite innocently, made you look pretty

bad. He appreciated your listening and even your advice; but either latent good sense or

divine Governance enabled him to follow a path that provided him with a wonderful

solution to his dilemma. As for that young man you created, I’ve often wondered what

happened to him. Like the rest of us, he must be out there somewhere; but after being

introduced to him in your book, I have never since heard of him.

These last comments obviously upset Constantin. His face reddened, and his mouth

opened several times and then closed, as though he wanted to say something but thought better

of it, apparently remembering the rules that he himself had established. Climacus continued:

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I have one question for my friend and colleague, Vigilius Haufniensis, that I’d like him to

address in his remarks if he’s willing to do so: Do you still believe that man has free will

to choose God? It seems to me that if we have an omniscient, omnipotent God,

everything that happens is a direct consequence of what he has decided. You built your

book around the concept of hereditary sin; but I’m not sure how you’ve addressed how

man, so bound by sin, ever chooses God. What does the grace of God mean to you? It

seems to me that if any human in desperation reaches out of his own will to receive

God’s gift, then that in truth is to some extent an act of merit, not an act of grace. I

believe that both St. Paul and Luther taught us that merit has nothing to do with salvation.

Luther and the other reformers shouted: “Sola gratia!” Have your thoughts changed at all

on this? I realize that this position is somewhat different from what I believed when I

wrote my two books; but as a great man once said to an acquaintance of mine in the 20th

Century: “I reserve the right to get smarter.”

With this Johannes Climacus sat down, and Vigilius Haufniensis stood up and began his

presentation:

Thank you, Constantin, for inviting me to this celebration of Magister Kierkegaard’s

birthday. I feel privileged to be among this distinguished group of invitees and have

greatly enjoyed your conversation during dinner and the first three presentations that have

been made. I would like to start by responding to the question that Johannes Climacus

presented to me. As I recall his question was whether or not I still believe in the free will

of man to choose to do good or to do evil. The simple answer is: Yes, I still believe that

every man or woman who enters this world has the opportunity to choose God, despite

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man’s inherited sin nature. As you know, Magister Kierkegaard agrees with me on this

point and referred to it regularly in his journals.

Johannes Climacus smiled amicably at Vigilius and made a few notes on a piece of scrap

paper in front of him. He slipped this note to Anti-Climacus who was sitting next to him, who

quickly read it and nodded his head approvingly. Vigilius Haufniensis continued:

As for my own Concept of Anxiety, the views I expressed in it are still pretty much intact,

though they have probably been refined over the years. I am certainly indebted to you,

Johannes de Silentio, for the great work you did on faith. Your comment in the preface

to Fear and Trembling is powerful. You stated that “in our age everyone is unwilling to

stop with faith but goes further.” This has remained true since you wrote that and it’s still

true in the 21st Century. As you pointed out, faith is not simply an initial act, but is the

deeds that follow it, the thought that flows from it, and the confirming communication

with God that results from it. There is nothing beyond faith.

I am gratified by how my short, simple book has made an impact on theology,

philosophy, and psychology in the many years since it was written. Great scholars, such

as Martin Heidegger, Jean-Paul Sartre, Paul Tillich, Karl Barth, Reinhold Niebuhr, and

even Sigmund Freud have linked with my work or been linked by others with it. This is

quite an honor for a simple inquirer such as myself. When Magister Kierkegaard created

me, he endowed me with what has proven to be some remarkable insights. To him I am

grateful, and, again, I am most pleased to take my place with this remarkable group this

evening.

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With this, Vigilius Haufniensis concluded his remarks. The last speaker, Anti-Climacus,

took his place and began his concluding presentation:

It’s been my very good fortune to be the last speaker. It has given me the opportunity to

hear all of your excellent presentations, to consider them in connection with what I have

learned from your written works, and to put together my final thoughts for this moment.

Thank you, Constantin.

I first want to say, Vigilius, that I totally agree with your comments about Johannes de

Silentio’s contributions in Fear and Trembling. Without his contributions, I think we all

would have had a fragile shell to build on. Thank you, Johannes. Abraham, as the man

of faith, is indeed the model for anyone who would call him or herself a Christian. He

was a follower to the highest degree. I also want to thank you, Vigilius, for writing The

Concept of Anxiety. You can add my name to the list of philosophers and theologians

who have benefitted from your work, though I certainly do not consider myself worthy to

be ranked with the names you provided. Without The Concept of Anxiety, I could have

never written The Sickness Unto Death.

In a similar manner, I want to extend my gratitude to you, Johannes Climacus, for the

deep ground-breaking work you displayed in Philosophical Fragments and Concluding

Unscientific Postscript. As you noted, one can’t always choose his literary heirs, but the

very fact that you have so many heirs is powerful testimony to the seismic impact of your

work. You truly changed the philosophical landscape for the world. Just one note on the

brief exchange between you and Vigilius: As you guys know, you are arguing a point that

has been alive in Christianity almost from the beginning, and some of the great Christian

minds of the past two millennia, Augustine for example, have seemed to argue on both

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sides of the issue. Over the years I’ve tended to come around to your current way of

thinking, but I’m not going to make a big thing of it. I need to seek God with all my

heart, with all my soul, with all my strength, and with all my mind. To me this seems

like something that has originated within me, but stepping outside I realize that as a

totally depraved sinner that determination could only have come from outside. The

important thing is that for whatever reason, I did respond to God’s grace. You are quite

right, Vigilius, that the boss agreed with you about free will; but as I’ve examined what

he wrote and the events of his life, I can’t help but thinking that his position on this

matter was to some degree a reaction against the sour predestination espoused by his

father.

Finally, Constantin, I must also thank you, as others have tonight, for exploring the nature

of the relationship that ensues when a man or woman reaches out to God on the frontiers

of faith. The inwardness and earnestness that is needed in order to meet God at the

boundary of faith, as exhibited by Job and the young man you created, provides an

excellent illustration of the message I was trying to deliver in my writings. Just one

thing, though—I think you make a mistake in being unwilling to give adequate credit to

the beauty of the faith exhibited by the young man you created when he decided to go out

on his own and reject your advice.

With this, Anti-Climacus sat down and the presentations were ended. Constantin, who

had fairly well recovered himself from what he considered his earlier humiliation, was again

frustrated and angry. He stood up and searched for words to satisfactorily conclude the meeting;

but he could fine none. Finally, Anti-Climacus rose to his feet again and asked the group to give

a round of applause to Constantin for the work he had done in organizing this successful

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evening. He put his arm around Constantin’s shoulder and said loudly: “We couldn’t have done

this without you.” Constantin gradually regained his composure and went to each of the guests

to thank them for coming. He seemed to become his old confident self again.

The group adjourned to the magnificent, spacious lobby of the hotel and continued as a

group to discuss the evening, their plans for their trips home, and their future endeavors. Just

then the door from outside opened, and a quite handsome young man entered the room and

immediately went over to the group’s server, who had been standing in the lobby near the door.

The two obviously were happy to see each other, and she pulled him over to the part of the lobby

where the pseudonyms were congregated.

She addressed the pseudonyms:

“Gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to a friend of mine. But first I need to tell you

something about myself. I am a doctoral student in philosophy and am writing my

dissertation on the pseudonyms of Søren Kierkegaard. I have greatly enjoyed the

opportunity to serve you tonight, and just listening to your conversations and

presentations has been a priceless experience for me. Part of the reason I chose to focus

on Kierkegaard was because of this young man, whom I met in the university library one

evening. He has read all of your works and has an almost personal knowledge of each of

you. I’d like you to meet him.”

The young man greeted each of them and mentioned something about themselves and

their writings that more than convinced them that their server was absolutely correct in her

estimation of him. When he got to Constantin, his greeting was especially warm:

“How good it is to see you again. You probably don’t remember me. It’s been such a

long time. But I want to thank you for all you did for me. If it hadn’t been for your

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willingness to listen to me and read my letters, I would have never recovered from that

ordeal. I know I didn’t follow your advice, but knowing you were there and reading my

letters meant everything to me. I’m sorry that I disappointed you, but I did the right

thing. Thanks to my ordeal I found Job, and he carried me through it. Now look where I

am today. I’m engaged to this wonderful woman that you met tonight, and this time there

will be no question about canceling it. We plan to get married in about another year, and

we may move back to Copenhagen then. If we do, I hope to see more of you. You were

right, my friend and mentor: meeting this young woman and now meeting you is truly a

repetition.”

After an initial “hello,” Constantin hadn’t said a word to the young man. Now he said

nothing and stared emptily into space. His eyes widened as though he had seen a ghost, which

perhaps he had. After a moment, he turned on his heel, left the lobby, and went into the hotel

bar. He took a seat at the bar and gave his order to the bartender: “Double shot of Braunstein

and a pint of Carlsburg.’’

As the bartender went to fill his order, Constantin muttered: “There is no repetition after

all.”

He was still sitting there when the other pseudonyms and the young woman and young

man had left the lobby and gone their separate ways.