A few years ago, while visiting a friend who was undergoing treatment for pancreatic cancer, I found myself in an intense discussion of the ideas in the book “Fear and Trembling” by Søren Kierkegaard. Kierkegaard published the book under a pseudonym: “Johannes de silentio.” The Danish philosopher and theologian drew the title of the book from scripture: “Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence but much more now in my absence, work on your own salvation with fear and trembling,” (Philippians 2:12) I read the book when I was a college student, and it has occupied a place on my bookshelves since, but I have rarely referred to it over the years. After my initial conversation with my friend, I returned to my study and pulled down the book to refresh my memory.

Numerous scholars have written about Søren Kierkegaard, who is widely regarded as one of the founders of existentialism. My friend was fascinated by the ethical dilemma presented in the book. The title of the book hints at the dilemma. A couple of verses after the one from which the book gains its title, the author of the letter to the Philippians challenges readers to live ethical lives: “Do all things without murmuring and arguing, so that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, in which you shine like stars in the world, holding forth the word of life so that I can boast on the day of Christ that I did not run in vain or labor in vain.” (Philippians 2:14-16). The letter holds out what seems to be an impossible standard. How is it possible to live a life without blemish?

Kierkegaard begins his book with a discussion of Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son, Isaac, in obedience to God. The story, in Genesis 22, challenges my understanding of God. I’ve struggled with it repeatedly throughout my career. How can a good and loving God make such a demand? How can a faithful father even consider following the instruction? Kierkegaard uses the story to distinguish the religious and the ethical. Being religious demands faith, and faith compels Abraham to comply with what he perceives as God’s instruction. In the story, Abraham appears to be willing to sacrifice his son. He takes him to the mountain, binds him upon an altar, and raises the knife, only averting at the last moment to sacrifice an animal instead. Kierkegaard views this as a sign that Abraham is willing to do something ethically wrong to be religiously right.

I think that my friend’s interest in Kierkegaard and our ongoing conversations were part of his working out his personal faith and evaluating his own ethics as he faced the illness that would end his life. He had been a successful lawyer and prosecutor throughout a distinguished career. He had studied ethics and argued in favor of punishing those who had committed ethical violations. Prosecutors focus not only on crimes committed, but also on the process of determining the appropriate punishment for those crimes. I’m sure that as he looked back on his life and tried to gain a sense of integration, my friend was aware that there were many times when his faithfulness to the law had placed him in positions that caused him to question the ethical or moral consequences of the law.

Our conversation continued until it was cut short by his increasing illness and eventual death. I do not know if my friend found a sense of resolution. What I do know and admire about him is that he was willing to engage in serious self-evaluation even when it raised questions about the ethics of his life and career. He was a courageous man, and I admire that courage.

The reality is that being human involves engaging in complex moral decisions. Unintended consequences often confound the attempt to live a “right” or ethical life. Morality goes far beyond the application of a simple set of rules. When we dare to examine the motivation for our behavior, we discover that it is possible to do the right thing for the wrong reasons. Human rules and systems of justice are prone to mistakes. Like Abraham, it is possible to convince ourselves that we are doing the right thing, even when an obviously innocent victim is in our hands.

Life is complex. Sometimes our attempts at helping another creates dependencies and inequalities.

I was thinking of my friend’s honest wrestling with right and wrong near the end of his life as I have been wrestling with a minor decision in my own life. I’ve been asked to present a poem at a fundraising event. The cause supported, a local food bank, is a worthy cause. Hunger and homelessness are problems with real victims in our community. Indeed, providing food to hungry people is a charity worthy of our support. The event, however, involves a dessert auction. It is a simple thing, but somehow the idea of wealthy and comfortable people who rarely, if ever, feel the pangs of hunger paying large sums to eat decadent desserts so they can provide food to others strikes me as bizarre. “I’ll eat chocolate decadence so you can have a package of ramen.”

Whether or not I participate in the event is not a major ethical decision. I occupy a position of power. I can make a choice. Those receiving food from the pantry have fewer options. I pray, however, that I can find the courage to examine my motives and the broader context of my choice. May I, like my friend, look back with clarity and honesty that I, like him, might embrace the end of my life with fear and trembling.