Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard
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.
II
He who invites is, then, Jesus Christ in his abasement, it is he
who spoke these words of invitation. It is not from his glory
that they are spoken. If that were the case, then Christianity
were heathendom and the name of Christ taken in vain, and for
this reason it cannot be so. But if it were the case that he who
is enthroned in glory had said these words: Come hither--as though
it were so altogether easy a matter to be clasped in the arms of
glory--well, what wonder, then, if crowds of men ran to him! But
they who thus throng to him merely go on a wild goose chase,
imagining they know who Christ is. But that no one knows; and
in order to believe in him one has to begin with his abasement.
He who invites and speaks these words, that is, he whose words
they are--whereas the same words if spoken by some one else are,
as we have seen, an historic falsification--he is the same lowly
Jesus Christ, the humble man, born of a despised maiden, whose
father is a carpenter, related to other simple folk of the very
lowest class, the lowly man who at the same time (which, to be
sure, is like oil poured on the fire) affirms himself to be God.
It is the lowly Jesus Christ who spoke these words. And no word
of Christ, not a single one, have you permission to appropriate
to yourself, you have not the least share in him, are not in any
way of his company, if you have not become his contemporary in
lowliness in such fashion that you have become aware, precisely
like his contemporaries, of his warning: "Blessed is he whosoever
shall not be offended in me.[10]" You have no right to accept
Christ's words, and then lie him away; you have no right to accept
Christ's words, and then in a fantastic manner, and with the aid
of history, utterly change the nature of Christ; for the chatter
of history about him is literally not worth a fig.
It is Jesus Christ in his lowliness who is the speaker. It
is historically true that h e said these words; but so soon as
one makes a change in his historic status, it is false to say
that these words were spoken by him.
This poor and lowly man, then, with twelve poor fellows as his
disciples, all from the lowest class of society, for some time
an object of curiosity, but later on in company only with sinners,
publicans, lepers, and madmen; for one risked honor, life, and
property, or at any rate (and that we know for sure) exclusion
from the synagogue, by even letting one's self be helped by
him--come hither now, all ye that labor and are heavy laden!
Ah, my friend, even if you were deaf and blind and lame and
leprous, if you, which has never been seen or heard before,
united all human miseries in your misery--and if he wished to
help you by a miracle: it is possible that (as is human) you
would fear more than all your sufferings the punishment which
was set on accepting aid from him, the punishment of being cast
out from the society of other men, of being ridiculed and mocked,