And now let us speak about him in a homely fashion, just as
his contemporaries spoke about him, and as one speaks about
some contemporary--let him be a man of the same kind as we are,
whom one meets on the street in passing, of whom one knows where
he lives and in what story, what his business is, who his parents
are, his family, how he looks and how he dresses, with whom he
associates, "and there is nothing extraordinary about him, he
looks as men generally look"; in short, let us speak of him as
one speaks of some contemporary about whom one does not make a
great ado; for in living life together with these thousands upon
thousands of real people there is no room for a fine distinction
like this: "Possibly, this man will be remembered in centuries to
come," and "at the same time he is really only a clerk in some
shop who is no whit better than his fellows." Therefore, let us
speak about him as contemporaries speak about some contemporary.
I know very well what I am doing; and I want you to believe that
the canting and indolent world-historic habit we have of always
reverently speaking about Christ (since one has learned all about
it from history, and has heard so much about his having been
something very extraordinary, indeed, or something of that kind)--that
reverent habit, I assure you, is not worth a row of pins but
is, rather, sheer thoughtlessness, hypocrisy, and as such blasphemy;
for it is blasphemy to reverence thoughtlessly him whom one is
either to believe in or to be offended in.
It is the lowly Jesus Christ, a humble man, born of a maiden
of low degree, whose father is a carpenter. To be sure, his
appearance is made under conditions which are bound to attract
attention to him. The small nation among whom he appears, God's
Chosen People as they call themselves, live in anticipation of
a Messiah who is to bring a golden period to land and people.
You must grant that the form in which he appears is as different
as possible from what most people would have expected. On the
other hand, his appearance corresponds more to the ancient prophecies
with which the people are thought to have been familiar. Thus
he presents himself. A predecessor has called attention to him,
and he himself fastens attention very decidedly on himself by
signs and wonders which are noised abroad in all the land--and
he is the hero of the hour, surrounded by unnumbered multitudes
of people wheresoever he fares. The sensation aroused by him
is enormous, every one's eyes are fastened on him, every one
who can go about, aye even those who can only crawl, must see
the wonder--and every one must have some opinion about him,
so that the purveyors of ready-made opinions are put to it because
the demand is so furious and the contradictions so confusing.
And yet he, the worker of miracles, ever remains the humble man
who literally hath not where to lay his head.
And let us not forget: signs and wonders as contemporary events
have a markedly greater elasticity in repelling or attracting
than the tame stories generally re-hashed by the priests, or the
still tamer stories about signs and wonders that happened--1800
years ago! Signs and wonders as contemporary events are something
plaguy and importunate, something which in a highly embarrassing
manner almost compels one to have an opinion, something which,
if one does not happen to be disposed to believe, may exasperate
one excessively by thus forcing one to be contemporaneous with it.
Indeed, it renders existence too complicated, and the more so, the
more thoughtful, developed, and cultured one is. It is a peculiarly
ticklish matter, this having to assume that a man who is contemporaneous
with one really performs signs and wonders; but when he is at some
distance from one, when the consequences of his life stimulate
the imagination a bit, then it is not so hard to imagine, in a
fashion, that one believes it.
As I said, then, the people are carried away with him; they follow
him jubilantly, and see signs and wonders, both those which he
performs and those which he does not perform, and they are glad
in their hope that the golden age will begin, once he is king.
But the crowd rarely have a clear reason for their opinions, they
think one thing today and another tomorrow. Therefore the wise
and the critical will not at once participate. Let us see now
what the wise and the critical must think, so soon as the first
impression of astonishment and surprise has subsided.
The shrewd and critical man would probably say: "Even assuming
that this person is what he claims to be, that is, something
extraordinary--for as to his affirming himself to be God I can,
of course, not consider that as anything but an exaggeration for
which I willingly make allowances, and pardon him, if I really
considered him to be something extraordinary; for I am not a
pedant--assuming then, which I hesitate to do, for it is a matter
on which I shall at any rate suspend my judgment--assuming then
that he is really performing miracles: is it not an inexplicable
mystery that this person can be so foolish, so weak-minded, so
altogether devoid of worldly wisdom, so feeble, or so good-naturedly
vain, or whatever else you please to call it--that he behaves
in this fashion and almost forces his benefactions on men? Instead
of proudly and commandingly keeping people away from himself at
a distance marked by their profoundest submission, whenever he
does allow himself to be seen, at rare occasions: instead of
doing so, think of his being accessible to every one, or rather
himself going to every one, of having intercourse with everybody,
almost as if being the extraordinary person consisted in his
being everybody's servant,[12] as if the extraordinary person
he claims to be were marked by his being concerned only lest
men should fail to be benefited by him--in short as if being
an extraordinary person consisted in being the most solicitous
of all persons. The whole business is inexplicable to me--what
he wants, what his purpose is, what end he has in mind, what he
expects to accomplish; in a word, what the meaning of it all
is. He who by so many a wise saying reveals so profound an insight
into the human heart, he must certainly know what I, using but
half of my wits, can predict for him, viz. that in such fashion
one gets nowhere in the world--unless, indeed, despising prudence,
one consistently, aims to make a fool of one's self or, perchance,
goes so far in sincerity as to prefer being put to death; but
anyone, one desiring that must certainly be crazy. Having such
profound knowledge of the human heart he certainly ought to know
that the thing to do is to deceive people and then to give one's
deception the appearance of being a benefaction conferred on
the whole race. By doing so one reaps all advantages, even the
one whose enjoyment is the sweetest of all, which is, to be called
by one's contemporaries a benefactor of the human race--for, once
in your grave, you may snap your fingers at what posterity may
have to say about you. But to surrender one's self altogether,
as he does, and not to think the least of one's self--in fact,
almost to beg people to accept these benefactions: no, I would
not dream of joining his company. And, of course, neither does he
invite me; for, indeed, he invites only them that labor and
are heavy laden."
Or he would reason as follows: "His life is simply a fantastic
dream. In fact, that is the mildest expression one can use about
it; for, when judging him in this fashion, one is good-natured
enough to forget altogether the evidence of sheer madness in his
claim to be God. This is wildly fantastical. One may possibly
live a few years of one's youth in such fashion. But he is now
past thirty years. And he is literally nothing. Still further,
in a very short time he will necessarily lose all the respect
and reputation he has gained among the people, the only thing,
you may say, he has gained for himself. One who wishes to keep
in the good graces of the people--the riskiest chance imaginable,
I will admit--he must act differently. Not many months will
pass before the crowd will grow tired of one who is so altogether
at their service. He will be regarded as a ruined person, a kind
of outcast, who ought to be glad to end his days in a corner,
the world forgetting, by the world forgot; providing he does
not, by continuing his previous behavior, prefer to maintain
his present attitude and be fantastic enough to wish to be put
to death, which is the unavoidable consequence of persevering
in that course. What has he done for his future? Nothing. Has
he any assured position? No. What expectations has he? None.
Even this trifling matter: what will he do to pass the time
when he grows older, the long winter nights, what will he do
to make them pass--why, he cannot even play cards! He is now
enjoying a bit of popular favor--in truth, of all movable property
the most movable--which in a trice may turn into an enormous
popular hatred of him.--Join his company? No, thank you, I am
still, thank God, in my right mind."
Or he may reason as follows: "That there is something extraordinary
about this person--even if one reserves the right, both one's own
and that of common sense, to refrain from venturing any opinion
as to his claim of being God--about that there is really little
doubt. Rather, one might be indignant at Providence's having
entrusted such a person with these powers--a person who does
the very opposite of what he himself bids us do: that we shall
not cast our pearls before the swine; for which reason he will,
as he himself predicts, come to grief by their turning about and
trampling him under their feet. One may always expect this of
swine; but, on the other hand, one would not expect that he who
had himself called attention to this likelihood, himself would
do precisely[13] what he knows one should not do. If only there
were some means of cleverly stealing his wisdom--for I shall
gladly leave him in undisputed possession of that very peculiar
thought of his that he is God--if one could but rob his wisdom
without, at the same time, becoming his disciple! If one could
only steal up to him at night and lure it from him; for I am
more than equal to editing and publishing it, and better than
he, if you please. I undertake to astonish the whole world by
getting something altogether different out of it; for I clearly
see there is something wondrously profound in what he says, and
the misfortune is only that he is the man he is. But perhaps,
who knows, perhaps it is feasible, anyway, to fool him out of
it. Perhaps in that respect too he is good-natured and simple
enough to communicate it quite freely to me. It is not impossible;
for it seems to me that the wisdom he unquestionably possesses,
evidently has been entrusted to a fool, seeing there is so much
contradiction in his life.--But as to joining his company and
becoming his disciple--no, indeed, that would be the same as
becoming'a fool oneself." Or he might reason as follows: "If
this person does indeed mean to further what is good and true
(I do not venture to decide this), he is helpful at least, in
this respect, to youths and inexperienced people. For they will
be benefited, in this serious life of ours, by learning, the
sooner the better, and very thoroughly--he opens the eyes even
of the blindest to this--that all this pretense of wishing to
live only for goodness and truth contains a considerable admixture
of the ridiculous. He proves how right the poets of our times
are when they let truth and goodness be represented by some
half-witted fellow, one who is so stupid that you can knock
down a wall with him. The idea of exerting one's self, as this
man does, of renouncing everything but pains and trouble, to be
at beck and call all day long, more eager than the busiest family
physician--and pray why? Because he makes a living by it? No, not
in the very least; it has never occurred to him, as far as I
can see, to want something in return. Does he earn any money by
it? No, not a red cent--he has not a red cent to his name, and
if he did he would forthwith give it away. Does he, then, aspire
to a position of honor and dignity in the state? On the contrary,
he loathes all worldly honor. And he who, as I said, condemns
all worldly honor, and practices the art of living on nothing;
he who, if any one, seems best fitted to pass his life in a most
comfortable _dolce far niente_--which is not such a bad thing--:
he lives under a greater strain than any government official who
is rewarded by honor and dignity, lives under a greater strain
than any business man who earns money like sand. Why does he
exert himself thus, or (why this question about a matter not
open to question?) why should any one exert himself thus--in
order to attain to the happiness of being ridiculed, mocked,
and so forth? To be sure, a peculiar kind of pleasure! That one
should push one's way through a crowd to reach the spot where
money, honor, and glory are distributed--why, that is perfectly
understandable; but to push forward to be whipped: how exalted,
how Christian, how stupid!"
Or he will reason as follows: "One hears so many rash opinions
about this person from people who understand nothing--and worship
him; and so many severe condemnations of him by those who, perhaps,
misunderstand him after all. As for me, I am not going to allow
myself to be accused of venturing a hasty opinion. I shall keep
entirely cool and calm; in fact, which counts for still more, I
am conscious of being as reasonable and moderate with him as is
possible. Grant now--which, to be sure. I do only to a certain
extent--grant even that one's reason is impressed by this person.
What, then, is my opinion about him? My opinion is, that for the
present, I can form no opinion about him. I do not mean about his
claim of being God; for about that I can never in all eternity
have an opinion. No, I mean about him as a man. Only by the
consequences of his life shall we be able to decide whether
he was an extraordinary person or whether, deceived by his imagination,
he applied too high a standard, not only to himself, but also to
humanity in general. More I cannot do for him, try as I may--if
he were my only friend, my own child, I could not judge him more
leniently, nor differently, either. It follows from this, to be
sure, that in all probability, and for good reasons, I shall
not ever be able to have any opinion about him. For in order to
be able to form an opinion I must first see the consequences of
his life, including his very last moments; that is, he must be
dead. Then, and perhaps not even then, may I form an opinion of
him. And even granting this, it is not really an opinion about
him, for he is then no more. No more is needed to say why it is
impossible for me to join him while he is living. The authority
he is said to show in his teaching can have no decisive influence
in my case; for it is surely easy to see that his thought moves
in a circle. He quotes as authority that which he is to prove,
which in its turn can be proved only by the consequences of his
life; provided, of course, it is not connected with that fixed
idea of his about being God, because if it is therefore he has
this authority (because he is God) the answer must be: yes--if!
So much, however, I may admit, that if I could imagine myself
self living in some later age, and if the consequences of his
life as shown in history had made it plain that he was the extraordinary
person he in a former age claimed to be, then it might very well
be--in fact, I might come very near, becoming his disciple."
An ecclesiastic would reason as follows: "For an impostor and
demagogue he has, to say the truth, a remarkable air of honesty
about him; for which reason he cannot be so absolutely dangerous,
either, even though the situation looks dangerous enough while
the squall is at its height, and even though the situation looks
dangerous enough with his enormous popularity--until the squall
has passed over and the people--yes, precisely the people--overthrow
him again. The honest thing about him is his claim to be the
Messiah when he resembles him so little as he does. That is honest,
just as if some one in preparing bogus paper-money made the bills
so poorly that every one who knows the least about it cannot fail
to detect the fraud.--True enough, we all look forward to a
Messiah, but surely no one with any sense expects God himself
to come, and every religious person shudders at the blasphemous
attitude of this person. We look forward to a Messiah, we are all
agreed on that. But the governance of the world does not go forward
tumultuously, by leaps and bounds; the development of the world,
as is indicated by the very fact that it is a development, proceeds
by evolution, not by revolution. The true Messiah will therefore
look quite different, and will arrive as the most glorious flower,
and the highest development, of that which already exists. Thus
will the true Messiah come, and he will proceed in an entirely
different fashion: he will recognize the existing order as the
basis of things, he will summon all the clergy to council and
present to them the results accomplished by him, as well as his
credentials--and then, if he obtain the majority of the votes
when the ballot is cast, he will be received and saluted as the
extraordinary person, as the one he is: the Messiah.[14]
"However, there is a duplicity in this man's behavior; he assumes
too much the role of judge. It seems as if he wished to be, at
one and the same time, both the judge who passes sentence on the
existing order of things, and the Messiah. If he does not wish
to play the role of the judge, then why his absolute isolation,
his keeping at a distance from all which has to do with the
existing order of things? And if he does not wish to be the
judge, then why his fantastic flight from reality to join the
ignorant crowd, then why with the haughtiness of a revolutionary
does he despise all the intelligence and efficiency to be found
in the existing order of things? And why does he begin afresh
altogether, and absolutely from the bottom up, by the help of--fishermen
and artisans? May not the fact that he is an illegitimate child
fitly characterize his entire relation to the existing order
of things? On the other hand, if he wishes to be only the Messiah,
why then his warning about putting a piece of new cloth unto an
old garment.[15] For these words are precisely the watchwords
of every revolution since they are expressive of a person's
discontent with the existing order and of his wish to destroy
it. That is, these words reveal his desire to remove existing
conditions, rather than to build on them and better them, if
one is a reformer, or to develop them to their highest possibility,
if one is indeed the Messiah. This is duplicity. In fact, it is
not feasible to be both judge and Messiah. Such duplicity will
surely result in his downfall.[16] The climax in the life of a
judge is his death by violence, and so the poet pictures it
correctly; but the climax in the life of the Messiah cannot
possibly be his death. Or else, by that very fact, he would
not be the Messiah, that is, he whom the existing order expects
in order to deify him. This duplicity has not as yet been recognized
by the people, who see in him their Messiah; but the existing
order of things cannot by any manner of means recognize him as
such. The people, the idle and loafing crowd, can do so only
because they represent nothing less than the existing order
of things. But as soon as the duplicity becomes evident to them,
his doom is sealed. Why, in this respect his predecessor was
a far more definitely marked personality, for he was but one
thing, the judge. But what confusion and thoughtlessness, to wish
to be both, and what still worse confusion, to acknowledge his
predecessor as the judge--that is, in other words, precisely to
make the existing order of things receptive and ripe for the
Messiah who is to come after the judge, and yet not wish to
associate himself with the existing order of things!"
And the philosopher would reason as follows: "Such dreadful
or, rather, insane vanity, that a single individual claims to
be God, is a thing hitherto unheard of. Never before have we
been witness to such an excess of pure subjectivity and sheer
negation. He has no doctrines, no system of philosophy, he knows
really nothing, he simply keeps on repeating, and making variations
on, some unconnected aphoristic sentences, some few maxims, and
a couple of parables by which he dazzles the crowd for whom he
also performs signs and wonders; so that they, instead of learning
something, or being improved, come to believe in one who in a
most brazen way constantly forces his subjective views on us.
There is nothing objective or positive whatever in him and in
what he says. Indeed, from a philosophical point of view, he
does not need to fear destruction for he has perished already,
since it is inherent in the nature of subjectivity to perish.
One may in all fairness admit that his subjectivity is remarkable
and that, be it as it may with the other miracles, he constantly
repeats his miracle with the five small loaves,[17] viz., by
means of a few lyric utterances and some aphorisms he rouses
the whole country. But even if one were inclined to overlook
his insane notion of affirming himself to be God, it is an
incomprehensible mistake, which, to be sure, demonstrates a
lack of philosophic training, to believe that God could reveal
himself in the form of an individual. The race, the universal,
the total, is God; but the race surely is not an individual!
Generally speaking, that is the impudent assumption of subjectivity,
which claims that the individual is something extraordinary.
But sheer insanity is shown in the claim of an individual to
be God. Because if the insane thing were possible, viz. that
an individual might be God, why, then this individual would
have to be worshipped, and a more beastly philosophic stupidity
is not conceivable."
The astute statesman would reason as follows: "That at present
this person wields great power is undeniable--entirely disregarding,
of course, this notion of his that he is God. Foibles like these,
being idiosyncrasies, do not count against a man and concern no
one, least of all a statesman. A statesman is concerned only
with what power a man wields; and that he does wield great power
cannot, as I have remarked, be denied. But what he intends to do,
what his aim is, I cannot make out at all. If this be calculation
it must be of an entirely new and peculiar order, not so altogether
unlike what is otherwise called madness. He possesses points of
considerable strength; but he seems to defeat, rather than to
use, it; he expends it without himself getting any returns. I
consider him a phenomenon with which--as ought to be one's rule
with all phenomena--a wise man should not have anything to do,
since it is impossible to calculate him or the catastrophe threatening
his life. It is possible that he will be made king. It is possible,
I say; but it is not impossible, or rather, it is just as possible,
that he may end on the gallows. He lacks earnestness in all his
endeavors. With all his enormous stretch of wings he only hovers
and gets nowhere. He does not seem to have any definite plan of
procedure, but just hovers. Is it for his nationality he is fighting,
or does he aim at a communistic revolution? Does he wish to establish
a republic or a kingdom? With which party does he affiliate
himself to combat which party, or does he wish to fight all
parties?
"I have anything to do with him?--No, that would be the very
last thing to enter my mind. In fact, I take all possible precautions
to avoid him. I keep quiet, undertake nothing, act as if I did
not exist; for one cannot even calculate how he might interfere
with one's undertakings, be they ever so unimportant, or at any
rate, how one might become involved in the vortex of his activities.
Dangerous, in a certain sense enormously dangerous, is this
man. But I calculate that I may ensnare him precisely by doing
nothing. For overthrown he must be. And this is done most; safely
by letting him do it himself, by letting him stumble over himself.
I have, at least at this moment, not sufficient power to bring
about his fall; in fact, I know no one who has. To undertake the
least thing against him now, means to be crushed one's self. No,
my plan is constantly to exert only negative resistance to him,
that is, to do nothing, and he will probably involve himself
in the enormous consequences he draws after him, till in the
end he will tread on his own train, as it were, and thus fall."
And the steady citizen would reason as follows (which would
then become the opinion of his family): "Now, let us be human,
everything is good when done in moderation, too little and too
much spoil everything, and as a French saying has it which I
once heard a traveling salesman use: every power which exceeds
itself comes to a fall--and as to this person, his fall is certainly
sure enough. I have earnestly spoken to my son and warned and
admonished him not to drift into evil ways and join that person.
And why? Because all people are running after him. That is to
say, what sort of people? Idlers and loafers, street-walkers and
tramps, who run after everything. But mightily few of the men
who have house and property, and nobody who is wise and respected,
none after whom I set my clock, neither councillor Johnson, nor
senator Anderson, nor the wealthy broker Nelson--oh no! they
know what's what. And as to the ministry who ought to know most
about such matters--ah, they will have none of him. What was it
pastor Green said in the club the other evening? 'That man will
yet come to a terrible end,' he said. And Green, he can do more
than preach, you oughtn't to hear him Sundays in church so much
as Mondays in the club--I just wished I had half his knowledge
of affairs! He said quite correctly, and as if spoken out of
my own heart: 'Only idlers and loafers are running after that
man.' And why do they run after him? Because he performs some
miracles. But who is sure they are miracles, or that he can
confer the same power on his disciples? And, in any case, a
miracle is something mightily uncertain, whereas the certain
is the certain. Every serious father who has grown-up children
must be truly alarmed lest his sons be seduced and join that
man together with the desperate characters who follow him--desperate
characters who have nothing to lose. And even these, how does
he help them? Why, one must be mad to wish to be helped in this
fashion. Even the poorest beggar is brought to a worse estate
than his former one, is brought to a pass he could have escaped
by remaining what he was, that is, a beggar and no more."
And the mocker, not the one hated on account of his malice, but
the one who is admired for his wit and liked for his good nature,
he would reason as follows: "It is, after all, a rich idea which
is going to prove useful to all of us, that an individual who
is in no wise different from us claims to be God. If that is
not being a benefactor of the race then I don't know what charity
and beneficence are. If we assume that the characteristic of
being God--well, who in all the world would have hit on that
idea? How true that such an idea could not have entered into
the heart of man[18]--but if we assume that it consists in looking
in no wise different from the rest of us, and in nothing else:
why, then we are all gods. Q. E. D. Three cheers for him, the
inventor of a discovery so extraordinarily important for mankind!
Tomorrow I, the undersigned, shall proclaim that I am God, and
the discoverer at least will not be able to contradict me without
contradicting himself. At night all cats are gray; and if to
be God consists in looking like the rest of us, absolutely and
altogether like the rest of mankind: why, then it is night and
we all are..., or what is it I wanted to say: we all are God,
every one of us, and no one has a right to say he isn't as well
off as his neighbor. This is the most ridiculous situation imaginable,
the contradiction here being the greatest imaginable, and a
contradiction always making for a comical effect. But this is
in no wise my discovery, but solely that of the discoverer:
this idea that a man of exactly the same appearance as the rest
of us, only not half so well dressed as the average man, that
is, a poorly dressed person who, rather than being God, seems
to invite the attention of the society for the relief of the
poor--that he is God! I am only sorry for the director of the
charitable society that he will not get a raise from this general
advancement of the human race but that he will, rather, lose
his job on account of this, etc."
Ah, my friend, I know well what I am doing, I know my responsibility,
and my soul is altogether assured of the correctness of my procedure.
Now then, imagine yourself a contemporary of him who invites.
Imagine yourself to be a sufferer, but consider well to what you
expose yourself in becoming his disciple and following him. You
expose yourself to losing practically everything in the eyes of
all wise and sensible and respected men. He who invites demands
of you that you surrender all, give up everything; but the common
sense of your own times and of your contemporaries will not give
you up, but will judge that to join him is madness. And mockery
will descend cruelly upon you; for while it will almost spare him,
out of compassion, you will be thought madder than a march-hare
for becoming his disciple. People will say: "That h e is a wrong-headed
enthusiast, that can't be helped. Well and good; but to become--in
all seriousness--his disciple, that is the greatest piece of
madness imaginable. There surely is but one possibility of being
madder than a madman, which is the higher madness of joining
a madman in all seriousness and regarding him as a sage."
Do not say that the whole presentation above is exaggerated.
Ah, you know (but, possibly, have not fully realized it) that
among all the respectable men, among all the enlightened and
sensible men, there was but one--though it is easily possible
that one or the other of them, impelled by curiosity, entered
into conversation with him--that there was but one among them
who sought him in all seriousness.[19] And he came to him--in
the night! And as you know, in the night one walks on forbidden
paths, one chooses the night to go to places of which one does
not like to be known as a frequenter. Consider the opinion of
the inviter implied in this--it was a disgrace to visit him,
something no man of honor could afford to do, as little as to
pay a nightly visit to--but no, I do not care to say in so many
words what would follow this "as little as."
Come hither to me now all ye that labor and are heavy laden,
and I will give you rest.