If a consciousness of the eternal were not implanted in man; if
the basis of all that exists were but a confusedly fermenting
element which, convulsed by obscure passions, produced all, both
the great and the insignificant; if under everything there lay
a bottomless void never to be filled--what else were life but
despair? If it were thus, and if there were no sacred bonds
between man and man; if one generation arose after another, as
in the forest the leaves of one season succeed the leaves of
another, or like the songs of birds which are taken up one after
another; if the generations of man passed through the world like
a ship passing through the sea and the wind over the desert--a
fruitless and a vain thing; if eternal oblivion were ever greedily
watching for its prey and there existed no power strong enough to
wrest it from its clutches--how empty were life then, and how
dismal! And therefore it is not thus; but, just as God created
man and woman, he likewise called into being the hero and the
poet or orator. The latter cannot perform the deeds of the hero--he
can only admire and love him and rejoice in him. And yet he
also is happy and not less so; for the hero is, as it were, his
better self with which he has fallen in love, and he is glad he
is not himself the hero, so that his love can express itself in
admiration.
The poet is the genius of memory, and does nothing but recall
what has been done, can do nothing but admire what has been
done. He adds nothing of his own, but he is jealous of what
has been entrusted to him. He obeys the choice of his own heart;
but once he has found what he has been seeking, he visits every
man's door with his song and with his speech, so that all may
admire the hero as he does, and be proud of the hero as he is.
This is his achievement, his humble work, this is his faithful
service in the house of the hero. If thus, faithful to his love,
he battles day and night against the guile of oblivion which
wishes to lure the hero from him, then has he accomplished his
task, then is he gathered to his hero who loves him as faithfully;
for the poet is at it were the hero's better self, unsubstantial,
to be sure, like a mere memory, but also transfigured as is a
memory. Therefore shall no one be forgotten who has done great
deeds; and even if there be delay, even if the cloud of misunderstanding
obscure the hero from our vision, still his lover will come some
time; and the more time has passed, the more faithfully will he
cleave to him.
No, no one shall be forgotten who was great in this world. But
each hero was great in his own way, and each one was eminent in
proportion to the great things he loved. For he who loved himself
became great through himself, and he who loved others became great
through his devotion, but he who loved God became greater than
all of these. Everyone of them shall be remembered, but each one
became great in proportion to his trust. One became great by hoping
for the possible; another, by hoping for the eternal; but he who
hoped for the impossible, he became greater than all of these.
Every one shall be remembered; but each one was great in proportion
to the power with which he strove. For he who strove with the
world became great by overcoming himself; but he who strove with
God, he became the greatest of them all. Thus there have been
struggles in the world, man against man, one against a thousand;
but he who struggled with God, he became greatest of them all.
Thus there was fighting on this earth, and there was he who conquered
everything by his strength, and there was he who conquered God by
his weakness. There was he who, trusting in himself, gained all;
and there was he who, trusting in his strength sacrificed everything;
but he who believed in God was greater than all of these. There was
he who was great through his strength, and he who was great through
his wisdom, and he who was great through his hopes, and he who was
great through his love; but Abraham was greater than all of
these--great through the strength whose power is weakness, great
through the wisdom whose secret is folly, great through the hope
whose expression is madness, great through the love which is hatred
of one's self.
Through the urging of his faith Abraham left the land of his
forefathers and became a stranger in the land of promise. Ke left
one thing behind and took one thing along: he left his worldly
wisdom behind and took with him faith. For else he would not have
left the land of his fathers, but would have thought it an unreasonable
demand. Through his faith he came to be a stranger in the land of
promise, where there was nothing to remind him of all that had been
dear to him, but where everything by its newness tempted his soul
to longing. And yet was he God's chosen, he in whom the Lord was
well pleased! Indeed, had he been one cast off, one thrust out of
God's mercy, then might he have comprehended it; but now it seemed
like a mockery of him and of his faith. There have been others who
lived in exile from the fatherland which they loved. They are not
forgotten, nor is the song of lament forgotten in which they
mournfully sought and found what they had lost. Of Abraham there
exists no song of lamentation. It is human to complain, it is
human to weep with the weeping; but it is greater to believe, and
more blessed to consider him who has faith.
Through his faith Abraham received the promise that in his seed
were to be blessed all races of mankind. Time passed, there was
still the possibility of it, and Abraham had faith. Another man
there was who also lived in hopes. Time passed, the evening of
his life was approaching; neither was he paltry enough to have
forgotten his hopes: neither shall he be forgotten by us! Then
he sorrowed, and his sorrow did not deceive him, as life had
done, but gave him all it could; for in the sweetness of sorrow
he became possessed of his disappointed hopes. It is human to
sorrow, it is human to sorrow with the sorrowing; but it is
greater to have faith, and more blessed to consider him who
has faith.
No song of lamentation has come down to us from Abraham. He did
not sadly count the days as time passed; he did not look at
Sarah with suspicious eyes, whether she was becoming old; he
did not stop the sun's course lest Sarah should grow old and
his hope with her; he did not lull her with his songs of lamentation.
Abraham grew old, and Sarah became a laughing-stock to the people;
and yet was he God's chosen, and heir to the promise that in his
seed were to be blessed all races of mankind. Were it, then,
not better if he had not been God's chosen? For what is it to
be God's chosen? Is it to have denied to one in one's youth all
the wishes of youth in order to have them fulfilled after great
labor in old age?
But Abraham had faith and steadfastly lived in hope. Had Abraham
been less firm in his trust, then would he have given up that hope.
He would have said to God: "So it is, perchance, not Thy will,
after all, that this shall come to pass. I shall surrender my
hope. It was my only one, it was my bliss. I am sincere, I conceal
no secret grudge for that Thou didst deny it to me." He would not
have remained forgotten, his example would have saved many a one;
but he would not have become the Father of Faith. For it is great
to surrender one's hope, but greater still to abide by it steadfastly
after having surrendered it; for it is great to seize hold of the
eternal hope, but greater still to abide steadfastly by one's worldly
hopes after having surrendered them.
Then came the fulness of time. If Abraham had not had faith, then
Sarah would probably have died of sorrow, and Abraham, dulled by
his grief, would not have understood the fulfillment, but would
have smiled about it as a dream of his youth. But Abraham had
faith, and therefore he remained young; for he who always hopes
for the best, him life will deceive, and he will grow old; and
he who is always prepared for the worst, he will soon age; but
he who has faith, he will preserve eternal youth. Praise, therefore,
be to this story! For Sarah, though advanced in age, was young
enough to wish for the pleasures of a mother, and Abraham, though
grey of hair, was young enough to wish to become a father. In a
superficial sense it may be considered miraculous that what they
wished for came to pass, but in a deeper sense the miracle of
faith is to be seen in Abraham's and Sarah's being young enough
to wish, and their faith having preserved their wish and therewith
their youth. The promise he had received was fulfilled, and he
accepted it in faith, and it came to pass according to the promise
and his faith; whereas Moses smote the rock with his staff but
believed not.
There was joy in Abraham's house when Sarah celebrated the day
of her Golden Wedding.
But it was not to remain thus; for once more was Abraham to be
tempted. He had struggled with that cunning power to which nothing
is impossible, with that ever watchful enemy who never sleeps,
with that old man who outlives all--he had struggled with Time
and had preserved his faith. And now all the terror of that fight
was concentrated in one moment. "And God tempted Abraham, saying to
him: take now thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get
thee into the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt
offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee off.[2]"
All was lost, then, and more terribly than if a son had never
been given him! The Lord had only mocked Abraham, then! Miraculously
he had realized the unreasonable hopes of Abraham; and now he wished
to take away what he had given. A foolish hope it had been, but
Abraham had not laughed when the promise had been made him. Now
all was lost--the trusting hope of seventy years, the brief joy
at the fulfillment of his hopes. Who, then, is he that snatches
away the old man's staff, who that demands that he himself shall
break it in two? Who is he that renders disconsolate the grey hair
of old age, who is he that demands that he himself shall do it?
Is there no pity for the venerable old man, and none for the
innocent child? And yet was Abraham God's chosen one, and yet
was it the Lord that tempted him. And now all was to be lost!
The glorious remembrance of him by a whole race, the promise of
Abraham's seed--all that was but a whim, a passing fancy of the
Lord, which Abraham was now to destroy forever! That glorious
treasure, as old as the faith in Abraham's heart, and many, many
years older than Isaac, the fruit of Abraham's life, sanctified
by prayers, matured in struggles--the blessing on the lips of
Abraham: this fruit was now to be plucked before the appointed
time, and to remain without significance; for of what significance
were it if Isaac was to be sacrificed? That sad and yet blessed
hour when Abraham was to take leave from all that was dear to him,
the hour when he would once more lift up his venerable head,
when his face would shine like the countenance of the Lord, the
hour when he would collect his whole soul for a blessing strong
enough to render Isaac blessed all the days of his life--that
hour was not to come! He was to say farewell to Isaac, to be
sure, but in such wise that he himself was to remain behind;
death was to part them, but in such wise that Isaac was to die.
The old man was not in happiness to lay his hand on Isaac's head
when the hour of death came, but, tired of life, to lay violent
hands on Isaac. And it was God who tempted him. Woe, woe to the
messenger who would have come before Abraham with such a command!
Who would have dared to be the messenger of such dread tidings?
But it was God that tempted Abraham.
But Abraham had faith, and had faith for this life. Indeed, had
his faith been but concerning the life to come, then might he more
easily have cast away all, in order to hasten out of this world
which was not his....
But Abraham had faith and doubted not, but trusted that the
improbable would come to pass. If Abraham had doubted, then would
he have undertaken something else, something great and noble; for
what could Abraham have undertaken but was great and noble! He
would have proceeded to Mount Moriah, he would have cloven the
wood, and fired it, and unsheathed his knife--he would have cried
out to God: "Despise not this sacrifice; it is not, indeed, the
best I have; for what is an old man against a child foretold of
God; but it is the best I can give thee. Let Isaac never know
that he must find consolation in his youth." He would have plunged
the steel in his own breast. And he would have been admired
throughout the world, and his name would not have been forgotten;
but it is one thing to be admired and another, to be a lode-star
which guides one troubled in mind.
But Abraham had faith. He prayed not for mercy and that he might
prevail upon the Lord: it was only when just retribution was to
be visited upon Sodom and Gomorrha that Abraham ventured to beseech
Him for mercy.
We read in Scripture: "And God did tempt Abraham, and said unto
him, Abraham: and he said, Behold here I am.[3]" You, whom I
am now addressing did you do likewise? When you saw the dire
dispensations of Providence approach threateningly, did you not
then say to the mountains, Fall on me; and to the hills, Cover
me?[4] Or, if you were stronger in faith, did not your step
linger along the way, longing for the old accustomed paths, as
it were? And when the voice called you, did you answer, then, or
not at all, and if you did, perchance in a low voice, or whispering?
Not thus Abraham, but gladly and cheerfully and trustingly, and with
a resonant voice he made answer: "Here am I." And we read further:
"And Abraham rose up early in the morning.[5]" He made haste as
though for some joyous occasion, and early in the morning he was
in the appointed place, on Mount Moriah. He said nothing to Sarah,
nothing to Eliezer, his steward; for who would have understood him?
Did not his temptation by its very nature demand of him the vow of
silence? "He laid the wood in order, and bound Isaac his son, and
laid him on the altar upon the wood. And Abraham stretched forth
his hand, and took the knife to slay his son.[6]" My listener!
Many a father there has been who thought that with his child he
lost the dearest of all there was in the world for him; yet
assuredly no child ever was in that sense a pledge of God as
was Isaac to Abraham. Many a father there has been who lost his
child; but then it was God, the unchangeable and inscrutable
will of the Almighty and His hand which took it. Not thus with
Abraham. For him was reserved a more severe trial, and Isaac's
fate was put into Abraham's hand together with the knife. And
there he stood, the old man, with his only hope! Yet did he not
doubt, nor look anxiously to the left or right, nor challenge
Heaven with his prayers. He knew it was God the Almighty who
now put him to the test; he knew it was the greatest sacrifice
which could be demanded of him; but he knew also that no sacrifice
was too great which God demanded--and he drew forth his knife.
Who strengthened Abraham's arm, who supported his right arm that
it drooped not powerless? For he who contemplates this scene is
unnerved. Who strengthened Abraham's soul so that his eyes grew
not too dim to see either Isaac or the ram? For he who contemplates
this scene will be struck with blindness. And yet, it is rare enough
that one is unnerved or is struck with blindness, and still more
rare that one narrates worthily what there did take place between
father and son. To be sure, we know well enough--it was but
a trial!
If Abraham had doubted, when standing on Mount Moriah; if he
had looked about him in perplexity; if he had accidentally discovered
the ram before drawing his knife; if God had permitted him to
sacrifice it instead of Isaac--then would he have returned home,
and all would have been as before, he would have had Sarah and
would have kept Isaac; and yet how different all would have been!
For then had his return been a flight, his salvation an accident,
his reward disgrace; his future, perchance, perdition. Then
would he have borne witness neither to his faith nor to God's
mercy, but would have witnessed only to the terror of going to
Mount Moriah. Then Abraham would not have been forgotten, nor
either Mount Moriah. It would be mentioned, then, not as is Mount
Ararat on which the Ark landed, but as a sign of terror, because
it was there Abraham doubted.
Venerable patriarch Abraham! When you returned home from Mount
Moriah you required no encomiums to console you for what you had
lost; for, indeed, you did win all and still kept Isaac, as we
all know. And the Lord did no more take him from your side, but
you sate gladly at table with him in your tent as in the life to
come you will, for all times. Venerable patriarch Abraham! Thousands
of years have passed since those times, but still you need no
late-born lover to snatch your memory from the power of oblivion,
for every language remembers you--and yet do you reward your lover
more gloriously than any one, rendering him blessed in your
bosom, and taking heart and eyes captive by the marvel of your
deed. Venerable patriarch Abraham! Second father of the race! You
who first perceived and bore witness to that unbounded passion
which has but scorn for the terrible fight with the raging elements
and the strength of brute creation, in order to struggle with God;
you who first felt that sublimest of all passions, you who found
the holy, pure, humble expression for the divine madness which was
a marvel to the heathen--forgive him who would speak in your praise,
in case he did it not fittingly. He spoke humbly, as if it concerned
the desire of his heart; he spoke briefly, as is seemly; but he will
never forget that you required a hundred years to obtain a son of
your old age, against all expections; that you had to draw the knife
before being permitted to keep Isaac; he will never forget that in
a hundred and thirty years you never got farther than to faith.