COME HITHER UNTO ME ALL YE THAT LABOR AND ARE HEAVY
LADEN, AND I SHALL GIVE YOU REST.
Pause now! But what is there to give pause? That which in the
same instant makes all undergo an absolute change--so that,
instead of seeing an immense throng ofthem that labor and are
heavy laden following the invitation, you will in the end behold
the very opposite, that is, an immense throng of men who flee
back shudderingly, scrambling to get away, trampling all down
before them; so that, if one were to infer the sense of what
had been said from the result it produced, one would have to
infer that the words had been "_procul o procul este profani_,"
rather than "come hither"--that gives pause which is infinitely
more important and infinitely more decisive: THE PERSON OF HIM
WHO INVITES. Not in the sense that he is not the man to do what
he has said, or not God, to keep what he has promised; no, in
a very different sense.
Pause is given by the fact that he who invites is, and insists
on being, the definite historic person he was 1800 years ago,
and that he as this definite person, and living under the conditions
then obtaining, spoke these words of invitation.--He is not, and
does not wish to be, one about whom one may simply know something
from history (i.e. world history, history proper, as against
Sacred History); for from history one cannot "learn" anything
about him, the simple reason being that nothing can be "known"
about him.--He does not wish to be judged in a human way, from
the results of his life; that is, he is and wishes to be, a
rock of offense and the object of faith. To judge him after
the consequences of his life is a blasphemy, for being God, his
life, and the very fact that he was then living and really did
live, is infinitely more important than all the consequences of
it in history.
_A_ Who spoke these words of invitation?
He that invites. Who is he? Jesus Christ. Which Jesus Christ?
He that sits in glory on the right side of his Father? No. From
his seat of glory he spoke not a single word. Therefore it is
Jesus Christ in his lowliness, and in the condition of lowliness,
who spoke these words.
Is then Jesus Christ not the same? Yes, verily, he is today, and
was yesterday, and 1800 years ago, the same who abased himself,
assuming the form of a servant--the Jesus Christ who spake these
words of invitation. It is also he who hath said that he would
return again in glory. In his return in glory he is, again, the
same Jesus Christ; but this has not yet come to pass.
Is he then not in glory now? Assuredly, that the Christian believes.
But it was in his lowly condition that he spoke these words; he
did not speak them from his glory. And about his return in glory
nothing can be known, for this can in the strictest sense be a
matter of belief only. But a believer one cannot become except
by having gone to him in his lowly condition--to him, the rock
of offense and the object of faith. In other shape he does not
exist, for only thus did he exist. That he will return in glory
is indeed expected, but can be expected and believed only by him
who believes, and has believed, in him as he was here on earth.
Jesus Christ is, then, the same; yet lived he 1800 years ago in
debasement, and is transfigured only at his return. As yet he
has not returned; therefore he is still the one in lowly guise
about whom we believe that he will return in glory. Whatever he
said and taught, every word he spoke, becomes _eo ipso_ untrue
if we give it the appearance of having been spoken by Christ in
his glory. Nay, he is silent. It is the lowly Christ who speaks.
The space of time between (i.e. between his debasement and his
return in glory) which is at present about 1800 years, and will
possibly become many times 1800--this space of time, or else
what this space of time tries to make of Christ, the worldly
information about him furnished by world history or church history,
as to who Christ was, as to who it was who really spoke these
words--all this does not concern us, is neither here nor there,
but only serves to corrupt our conception of him, arid thereby
renders untrue these words of invitation.
It is untruthful of me to impute to a person words which he
never used. But it is likewise untruthful, and the words he used
likewise become untruthful, or it becomes untrue that he used
them, if I assign to him a nature essentially unlike the one
he had when he did use them. Essentially unlike; for an untruth
concerning this or the other trifling circumstance will not make
it untrue that "he" said them. And therefore, if it please God
to walk on earth in such strict incognito as only one all-powerful
can assume, in guise impenetrable to all men; if it please him--and
why he does it, for what purpose, that he knows best himself;
but whatever the reason and the purpose, it is certain that
the incognito is of essential significance--I say, if it please
God to walk on earth in the guise of a servant and, to judge
from his appearance, exactly like any other man; if it please
him to teach men in this guise--if, now, any one repeats his
very words, but gives the saying the appearance that it was
God that spoke these words: then it is untruthful; for it is
untrue that h e said these words.
_B_ Can one from history[7] learn to know anything about Christ?
No. And why not? Because one cannot "know" anything at all about
"Christ"; for he is the paradox, the object of faith, and exists
only for faith. But all historic information is communication of
"knowledge." Therefore one cannot learn anything about Christ
from history. For whether now one learn little or much about him,
it will not represent what he was in reality. Hence one learns
something else about him than what is strictly true, and therefore
learns nothing about him, or gets to know something wrong about
him; that is, one is deceived. History makes Christ look different
from what he looked in truth, and thus one learns much from history
about--Christ? No, not about Christ; because about him nothing
can be "known," he can only be believed.
_C_ Can one prove from history that Christ was God?
Let me first ask another question: is any more absurd contradiction
thinkable than wishing to prove (no matter, for the present,
whether one wishes to do so from history, or from whatever else
in the wide world one wishes to prove it) that a certain person
is God? To maintain that a certain person is God--that is, professes
to be God--is indeed a stumbling block in the purest sense. But
what is the nature of a stumbling block? It is an assertion
which is at variance with all (human) reason. Now think of proving
that! But to prove something is to render it reasonable and real.
Is it possible, then, to render reasonable and real what is at
variance with all reason? Scarcely; unless one wishes to contradict
one's self. One can prove only that it is at variance with all
reason. The proofs for the divinity of Christ given in Scripture,
such as the miracles and his resurrection from the grave exist,
too, only for faith; that is, they are no "proofs," for they are
not meant to prove that all this agrees with reason but, on the
contrary, are meant to prove that it is at variance with reason
and therefore a matter of faith.
First, then, let us take up the proofs from history. "Is it not
1800 years ago now that Christ lived, is not his name proclaimed
and reverenced throughout the world, has not his teaching (Christianity)
changed the aspect of the world, having victoriously affected
all affairs: has then history not sufficiently, or more than
sufficiently, made good its claim as to who he was, and that
he was--God?" No, indeed, history has by no means sufficiently,
or more than sufficiently, made good its claim, and in fact
history cannot accomplish this in all eternity. However, as
to the first part of the statement, it is true enough that his
name is proclaimed throughout the world--as to whether it is
reverenced, that I do not presume to decide. Also, it is true
enough that Christianity has transformed the aspect of the world,
having victoriously affected all affairs, so victoriously indeed,
that everybody now claims to be a Christian.
But what does this prove? It proves, at most, that Jesus Christ
was a great man, the greatest, perhaps, who ever lived. But that
he was God--stop now, that conclusion shall with God's help fall
to the ground.
Now, if one intends to introduce this conclusion by assuming that
Jesus Christ was a man, and then considers the 1800 years of
history (i.e. the consequences of his life), one may indeed
conclude with a constantly rising superlative: he was great,
greater, the greatest, extraordinarily and astonishingly the
greatest man who ever lived. If one begins, on the other hand,
with the assumption (of faith) that he was God, one has by so
doing stricken out and car celled the 1800 years as not making
the slightest difference, one way or the other, because the
certainty of faith is on an infinitely higher plane. And one
course or the other one must take; but we shall arrive at sensible
conclusions only if we take the latter.
If one takes the former course one will find it impossible--unless
by committing the logical error of passing over into a different
category--one will find it impossible in the conclusion suddenly
to arrive at the new category "God"; that is, one cannot make
the consequence, or consequences, of--a man's life suddenly
prove at a certain point in the argument that this man was God.
If such a procedure were correct one ought to be able to answer
satisfactorily a question like this: what must the consequence
be, how great the effects, how many centuries must elapse, in
order to infer from the consequences of a man's life--for such
was the assumption--that he was God; or whether it is really
the case that in the year 300 Christ had not yet been entirely
proved to be God, though certainly the most extraordinarily,
astonishingly, greatest man who had ever lived, but that a few
more centuries would be necessary to prove that he was God. In
that case we would be obliged to infer that people in the fourth
century did not look upon Christ as God, and still less they
who lived in the first century; whereas the certainty that he
was God would grow with every century. Also, that in our century
this certainty would be greater than it had ever been, a certainty
in comparison with which the first centuries hardly so much as
glimpsed his divinity. You may answer this question or not, it
does not matter.
In general, is it at all possible by the consideration of the
gradually unfolding consequences of something to arrive at a
conclusion different in quality from what we started with? Is
it not sheer insanity (providing man is sane) to let one's judgment
become so altogether confused as to land in the wrong category?
And if one begins with such a mistake, then how will one be able,
at any subsequent point, to infer from the consequences of something,
that one has to deal with an altogether different, in fact,
infinitely different, category? A foot-print certainly is the
consequence of some creature having made it. Now I may mistake
the track for that of, let us say, a bird; whereas by nearer
inspection, and by following it for some distance, I may make
sure that it was made by some other animal. Very good; but there
was no infinite difference in quality between my first assumption
and my later conclusion. But can I, on further consideration
and following the track still further, arrive at the conclusion:
therefore it was a spirit--a spirit that leaves no tracks? Precisely
the same holds true of the argument that from the consequences
of a human life--for that was the assumption--we may infer that
therefore it was God.
Is God then so like man, is there so little difference between
the two that, while in possession of my right senses, I may
begin with the assumption that Christ was human? And, for that
matter, has not Christ himself affirmed that he was God? On the
other hand, if God and man resemble each other so closely, and
are related to each other to such a degree--that is, essentially
belong to the same category of beings, then the conclusion "therefore
he was God" is nevertheless just humbug, because if that is all
there is to being God, then God does not exist at all. But if
God does exist and, therefore, belongs to a category infinitely
different from man, why, then neither I nor any one else can
start with the assumption that Christ was human and end with
the conclusion that therefore he was God. Any one with a bit
of logical sense will easily recognize that the whole question
about the consequences of Christ's life on earth is incommensurable
with the decision that he is God. In fact, this decision is to
be made on an altogether different plane: man must decide for
himself whether he will believe Christ to be what he himself
affirmed he was, that is, God, or whether he will not believe so.
What has been said--mind you, providing one will take the time
to understand it--is sufficient to make a logical mind stop
drawing any inferences from the consequences of Christ's life:
that therefore he was God. But faith in its own right protests
against every attempt to approach Jesus Christ by the help of
historical information about the consequences of his life. Faith
contends that this whole attempt is--blasphemous. Faith contends
that the only proof left unimpaired by unbelief when it did
away with all the other proofs of the truth of Christianity,
the proof which--indeed, this is complicated business--I say,
which unbelief invented in order to prove the truth of Christianity--the
proof about which so excessively much ado has been made in Christendom,
the proof of 1800 years: as to this, faith contends that it
is--blasphemy.
With regard to a man it is true that the consequences of his
life are more important than his life. If one, then, in order to
find out who Christ was, and in order to find out by some inference,
considers the consequences of his life: why, then one changes
him into a man by this very act--a man who, like other men, is
to pass his examination in history, and history is in this case
as mediocre an examiner as any half-baked teacher in Latin.
But strange! By the help of history, that is, by considering
the consequences of his life, one wishes to arrive at the conclusion
that therefore, therefore he was God; and faith makes the exactly
opposite contention that he who even begins with this syllogism
is guilty of blasphemy. Nor does the blasphemy consist in assuming
hypothetically that Christ was a man. No, the blasphemy consists
in the thought which lies at the bottom of the whole business,
the thought without which one would never start it, and of whose
validity one is fully and firmly assured that it will hold also
with regard to Christ--the thought that the consequences of his
life are more important than his life; in other words, that he
is a man. The hypothesis is: let us assume that Christ was a
man; but at the bottom of this hypothesis, which is not blasphemy
as yet, there lies the assumption that, the consequences of a
man's life being more important than his life, this will hold
true also of Christ. Unless this is assumed one must admit that
one's whole argument is absurd, must admit it before beginning--so
why begin at all? But once it is assumed, and the argument is
started, we have the blasphemy. And the more one becomes absorbed
in the consequences of Christ's life, with the aim of being able
to make sure whether or no he was God, the more blasphemous is
one's conduct; and it remains blasphemous so long as this consideration
is persisted in.
Curious coincidence: one tries to make it appear that, providing
one but thoroughly considers the consequences of Christ's life,
this "therefore" will surely be arrived at--and faith condemns
the very beginning of this attempt as blasphemy, and hence the
continuance in it as a worse blasphemy.
"History," says faith, "has nothing to do with Christ." With
regard to him we have only Sacred History (which is different
in kind from general history), Sacred History which tells of
his life and career when in debasement, and tells also that he
affirmed himself to be God. He is the paradox which history never
will be able to digest or convert into a general syllogism. He
is in his debasement the same as he is in his exaltation--but
the 1800 years, or let it be 18,000 years, have nothing whatsoever
to do with this. The brilliant consequences in the history of
the world which are sufficient, almost, to convince even a professor
of history that he was God, these brilliant consequences surely
do not represent his return in glory! Forsooth, in that case it
were imagined rather meanly! The same thing over again: Christ
is thought to be a man whose return in glory can be, and can become,
nothing else than the consequences of his life in history--whereas
Christ's return in glory is something absolutely different and a
matter of faith. He abased himself and was swathed in rags--he
will return in glory; but the brilliant consequences in history,
especially when examined a little more closely, are too shabby
a glory--at any rate a glory of an altogether incongruous nature,
of which faith therefore never speaks, when speaking about his
glory. History is a very respectable science indeed, only it must
not become so conceited as to take upon itself what the Father
will do, and clothe Christ in his glory, dressing him up with
the brilliant garments of the consequences of his life, as if
that constituted his return. That he was God in his debasement
and that he will return in glory, all this is far beyond the
comprehension of history; nor can all this be got from history,
excepting by an incomparable lack of logic, and however incomparable
one's view of history may be otherwise.
How strange, then, that one ever wished to use history
in order to prove Christ divine.
_D_ Are the consequences of Christ's life more important than
his life?
No, by no means, but rather the opposite; for else Christ were
but a man.
There is really nothing remarkable in a man having lived. There
have certainly lived millions upon millions of men. If the fact
is remarkable, there must have been something remarkable in a
man's life. In other words, there is nothing remarkable in his
having lived, but his life was remarkable for this or that. The
remarkable thing may, among other matters, also be what he accomplished;
that is, the consequences of his life.
But that God lived here on earth in human form, that is infinitely
remarkable. No matter if his life had had no consequences at all--it
remains equally remarkable, infinitely remarkable, infinitely more
remarkable than all possible consequences. Just try to introduce
that which is remarkable as something secondary and you will
straightway see the absurdity of doing so: now, if you please,
whatever remarkable is there in God's life having had remarkable
consequences? To speak in this fashion is merely twaddling.
No, that God lived here on earth, that is what is infinitely
remarkable, that which is remarkable in itself. Assuming that
Christ's life had had no consequences whatsoever--if any one
then undertook to say that therefore his life was not remarkable
it would be blasphemy. For it would be remarkable all the same;
and if a secondary remarkable characteristic had to be introduced
it would consist in the remarkable fact that his life had no
consequences. But if one should say that Christ's life was remarkable
because of its consequences, then this again were a blasphemy; for
it is his life which in itself is the remarkable thing.
There is nothing very remarkable in a man's having lived, but it
is infinitely remarkable that God has lived. God alone can lay
so much emphasis on himself that the fact of his having lived
becomes infinitely more important than all the consequences
which may flow therefrom and which then become a matter of history.
_E_ A comparison between Christ and a man who in his life endured
the same treatment by his times as Christ endured.
Let us imagine a man, one of the exalted spirits, one who was
wronged by his times, but whom history later reinstated in his
rights by proving by the consequences of his life who he was. I
do not deny, by the way, that all this business of proving from
the consequences is a course well suited to "a world which ever
wishes to be deceived." For he who was contemporary with him and
did not understand who he was, he really only imagines that he
understands when he has got to know it by help of the consequences
of the noble one's life. Still, I do not wish to insist on this
point, for with regard to a man it certainly holds true that
the consequences of his life are more important than the fact
of his having lived.
Let us imagine one of these exalted spirits. He lives among
his contemporaries without being understood, his significance
is not recognized--he is misunderstood, and then mocked, persecuted,
and finally put to death like a common evil-doer. But the consequences
of his life make it plain who he was; history which keeps a record
of these consequences re-instates him in his rightful position,
and now he is named in one century after another as the great and
the noble spirit, and the circumstances of his debasement are
almost completely forgotten. It was blindness on the part of his
contemporaries which prevented them from comprehending his true
nature, and wickedness which made them mock him and deride him,
and finally put him to death. But be no more concerned about this;
for only after his death did he really become what he was, through
the consequences of his life which, after all, are by far more
important than his life.
Now is it not possible that the same holds true with regard
to Christ? It was blindness and wickedness on the part of those
times[8]--but be no more concerned about this, history has now
re-instated him, from history we know now who Jesus Christ was,
and thus justice is done him.
Ah, wicked thoughtlessness which thus interprets Sacred History
like profane history, which makes Christ a man! But can one, then,
learn anything from history about Jesus? (_cf. b_) No, nothing.
Jesus Christ is the object of faith--one either believes in him
or is offended by him; for "to know" means precisely that such
knowledge does not pertain to him. History can therefore, to be
sure, give one knowledge in abundance; but "knowledge" annihilates
Jesus Christ.
Again--ah, the impious thoughtlessness!--for one to presume
to say about Christ's abasement: "Let us be concerned no more
about his abasement." Surely, Christ's abasement was not something
which merely happened to him--even if it was the sin of that
generation to crucify him; was surely not something that simply
happened to him and, perhaps, would not have happened to him in
better times. Christ himself wished to be abased and lowly. His
abasement (that is, his walking on earth in humble guise, though
being God) is therefore a condition of his own making, something
he wished to be knotted together, a dialectic knot which no one
shall presume to untie, and which no one will untie, for that
matter, until he himself shall untie it when returning in his glory.
His case is, therefore, not the same as that of a man who, through
the injustice inflicted on him by his times, was not allowed
to be himself or to be valued at his worth, while history revealed
who he was; for Christ himself wished to be abased--it is precisely
this condition which he desired. Therefore, let history not trouble
itself to do him justice, and let us not in impious thoughtlessness
presumptuously imagine that we as a matter of course know who he
was. For that no one knows; and he who believes it must become
contemporaneous with him in his abasement. When God chooses to let
himself be born in lowliness, when he who holds all possibilities
in his hand assumes the form of a humble servant, when he fares
about defenseless, letting people do with him what they list: he
surely knows what he does and why he does it; for it is at all
events he who has power over men, and not men who have power
over him--so let not history be so impertinent as to wish to
reveal who he was.
Lastly--ah the blasphemy!--if one should presume to say that
the percussion which Christ suffered expresses something accidental!
If a man is persecuted by his generation it does not follow
that he has the right to say that this would happen to him in
every age. Insofar there is reason in what posterity says about
letting bygones be bygones. But it is different with Christ!
It is not he who by letting himself be born, and by appearing
in Palestine, is being examined by history; but it is he who
examines, his life is the examination, not only of that generation,
but of mankind. Woe unto the generation that would presumptuously
dare to say: "let bygones be bygones, and forget what he suffered,
for history has now revealed who he was and has done justice by him."
If one assumes that history is really able to do this, then
the abasement of Christ bears an accidental relation to him;
that is to say, he thereby is made a man, an extraordinary man
to whom this happened through the wickedness of that generation--a
fate which he was far from wishing to suffer, for he would gladly
(as is human) have become a great man; whereas Christ voluntarily
chose to be the lowly one and, although it was his purpose to
save the world, wished also to give expression to what the "truth"
suffered then, and must suffer in every generation. But if this
is his strongest desire, and if he will show himself in his
glory only at his return, and if he has not returned as yet;
and if no generation may be without repentance, but on the contrary
every generation must consider itself a partner in the guilt of
that generation: then woe to him who presumes to deprive him of
his lowliness, or to cause what he suffered to be forgotten, and
to clothe him in the fabled human glory of the historic consequences
of his life, which is neither here nor there.
_F_ The Misfortune of Christendom
But precisely this is the misfortune, and has been the misfortune,
in Christendom that Christ is neither the one nor the other--neither
the one he was when living on earth, nor he who will return in
glory, but rather one about whom we have learned to know something
in an inadmissible way from history--that he was somebody or other
of great account. In an inadmissible and unlawful way we have
learned to know him; whereas to believe in him is the only permissible
mode of approach. Men have mutually confirmed one another in the
opinion that the sum total of information about him is available
if they but consider the result of his life and the following
1800 years, i.e. the consequences. Gradually, as this became
accepted as the truth, all pith and strength was distilled out
of Christianity; the paradox was relaxed, one became a Christian
without noticing it, without noticing in the least the possibility
of being offended by him. One took over Christ's teachings, turned
them inside out and smoothed them down--he himself guaranteeing
them, of course, the man whose life had had such immense consequences
in history! All became plain as day--very naturally, since Christianity
in this fashion became heathendom.
There is in Christendom an incessant twaddling on Sundays about
the glorious and invaluable truths of Christianity, its mild
consolation. But it is indeed evident that Christ lived 1800
years ago; for the rock of offense and object of faith has become
a most charming fairy-story character, a kind of divine good
old man.[9] People have not the remotest idea of what it means
to be offended by him, and still less, what it means to worship.
The qualities for which Christ is magnified are precisely those
which would have most enraged one, if one had been contemporaneous
with him; whereas now one feels altogether secure, placing implicit
confidence in the result and, relying altogether on the verdict
of history that he was the great man, concludes therefore that
it is correct to do so. That is to say, it is the correct, arid
the noble, and the exalted, and the true, thing--if it is he who
does it; which is to say, again, that one does not in any deeper
sense take the pains to understand what it is he does, and that
one tries even less, to the best of one's ability and with the
help of God, to be like him in acting rightly and nobly, and in
an exalted manner, and truthfully. For, not really fathoming it
in any deeper sense, one may, in the exigency of a contemporaneous
situation, judge him in exactly the opposite way. One is satisfied
with admiring and extolling and is, perhaps, as was said of a
translator who rendered his original word for word and therefore
without making sense, "too conscientious,"--one is, perhaps, also
too cowardly and too weak to wish to understand his real meaning.
Christendom has done away with Christianity, without being aware
of it. Therefore, if anything is to be done about it, the attempt
must be made to re-introduce Christianity.